Prologue

‘Come now child it’s time for bed,’ Kvel Mavec told her daughter.

‘But Momma, can’t I stay up and watch the Circus, please?’

‘Etris, you know you’re too young to watch the Circus Pantrixnia broadcasts! They’re far too violent for one of your age. I’m none too pleased your Father allows you to watch football. Did Father let you watch the Circus?’

‘No, I saw it at Tria’s house, Momma, at her sleep-over. They had one prisoner who was on his third day before he got eaten. Three days! Tria’s father says that’s almost a record!’

‘Well, I’ll have a talk with Tria’s parents tomorrow. Now, that’s enough. On your knees child and say your prayers.’

‘Yes, Momma,’ the girl sighed, folding her sprightly silvery form at the side of her bed. She looked up through her bedroom window, through the clear climate controlled skies of the planet Kempec Primus, and crossed her arms over her breast. Her beautifully luminous pupil-less eyes closed and she recited the same litany repeated a trillion times every moment by trillions of galactic children.

‘Bless my world my life to keep, bless my people as they sleep. Slumber sweet, yet slumber light, lest Alexander evade our sight. For the Conqueror shall never cease, on that day I’ll make my peace. Beneath Alexander’s throne, I pray, rather Death take me away. If I die before I wake, I pray my God my soul to take. Amen.’

‘Amen, my sweet,’ Mavec said, tucking the girl under the covers.

‘Is Alexander coming tonight Momma?’

‘Not tonight, dearest. I would have heard something.’

Etris smiled, as she always did with her mother’s reassuring answer. ‘But why does Alexander want to come here, Momma?’

‘He’s a Terran, he’s a conqueror. That’s what Terran’s do my love.’

‘But why?’

Mavec sighed, and said, ‘Because long ago, Alexander the Great united all of Terra under his bannera banner of conquest. Terrans yearn for unity, and one day they will unite again under the heir of Alexander. When they do they’ll follow Alexander’s call to the stars, for though he is dead, his philosophy survives. It’s their religion; it’s their way of life.’

‘Will he make me part of his harem?’

‘Gracious what a thought!’ Mavec started, and then she sighed, stroking her child’s head. ‘It’s alright Etris; I remember having the same thoughts as a girl of your age. We’d sit around the light of a lumen and talk about the terrible Terrans and what would happen to all of us when Alexander finally cameoh the morbid thoughts of school-age girls!’

‘But why does Alexander want to hurt us?’

‘I don’t know if it’s anything personal, dear. That’s how they are. Terrans have hurt and killed countless millions of their own people in this centum alone. We can expect no mercy from them. They are an adolescent race of uncivilized barbarians. Now, enough of that, Etris, if you really want to know, ask the school-computer about Terran history. The night is no time for such talk.’

‘You’re a Senator, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’ she asked again, clutching her covers around her. ‘Alexander’s not coming tonight is he, you promise?’

‘No, the Terrans have not found the heir to Alexander; they are far too fractured after the last great war to unite. There is no cause to fear tonight or for many to follow!’ Mavec kissed her daughter tenderly and turned off the light.

‘Good night, Momma!’

‘Good night, dearest!’

Chapter 1: the Pain

‘I am Alexander! I am Alexander! I am Alexander!’

Desperately Alexander fought the alien probe trying to control his mind. Instinctively, he fought back in the most elemental way, repeating his name over and over. It was a basic form of identification, but the more he fought the more a rising tide of pain engulfed him. The pain started in the hollows of his temples. From there it spread along his nerves, tunneled through his skull, and rode the subterranean rivers of his blood until finally it spilled into his cortex and flooded his thalamus, permeating every fiber of his being. A malignant surging force pushed aside every shred of self awareness leaving Alexander blind, deaf and frozen in the agonizing moment. He wanted to writhe, to kick, to scream, but he couldn’t move. A weight crushed him, as if he was under water too deep for his muscles to overcome, too deep for him to force air though his throat and too deep for him to concentrate on any thought but the pain.

As a helpless observer he watched the ephemeral glow of the pain grow in his mind’s eye. His brain became a fiery thing. The pain transformed each neuron into a tiny inferno as it sped like a sentient torrent of fire through the hemispheres of his mind. It advanced in its merciless search, ratcheting along every neural path, deeper and deeper into his psyche until his mind swelled, throbbing with an acerbic, delirious ringing of titanic bells. The pain entered the core of his memory, rushing through the gates, clutching and ripping at the tendrils of his thought. There it gathered, as if the pain found what it soughtit surrounded the citadel of his past. The assault trebled. He fell into a sucking whirlpool of anguish. Alexander’s fury rose in a last desperate rebellion against the mind rape of the pain.

Revulsion churned within his spirit; revulsion against a crime so horrific to his identity that the debilitating power of the pain dwindled noticeably. He fought. Yet even as he grasped for a way to combat the pain a lock turned, a door opened, and something within his being was now naked, open for inspection.

The gate to his memories burst, and a deluge of repressed events shrieked through his consciousness, exposed for all to see. They distracted his effort, and involuntarily he witnessed the images of his own existence.

There, along a lonely stretch of road, he watched himself, the victim of a kidnapping by strange frail beings with shark’s eyes. The eyes latched upon him; they were black as pits and devoid of feeling. The beings put him in a coffin-like prison. The interior glowed with a sickly hue. It was bare metal, comfortless, cold, with skeletal ribs dripping with condensation. There was no sound, no movement, no sensation of touch; his only companion was the pain. The coffin opened, and under a battery of bright lights he saw the operating table. He was looking up at the lights. The table was like a slab of ice. He couldn’t move. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw instruments, probes and equipment standing out in brutal relief. The frail beings bent silently over his naked form. Then there was the pain.

He was back on earth amidst the mind numbing normalcy of existence. Time marched onyears it seemed. Then events repeated themselves: a kidnapping, another coffin and the pain. They returned him again and normalcy settled in until the cycle began all over again: a kidnapping, and nowin the presentthe ever-present pain.

Alexander reeled, screaming, ‘Oh God, not again!’

Anger replaced helplessness, and he focused on a single motor activity. With a battery of thoughts roused by fury, each more resolute, more insistent than the last, he attempted to open his eyes. His first try earned no result, but he felt the sensation of pain fade. A glimmer of gray light tingled his optic nerve. He redoubled his effort, feeling as if he lifted massive steel doors with his will, not the insignificant hoods of flesh that hid his sight. The gray turned green with areas of fuzzy light and dark patches. Two of the dark patches moved and grew. They were small and thin. Were they people; the captors of his memories? He concentrated on one of them, but his sight was inexplicably dim. Try as he might he could not resolve the shapes. Frustrated, he sent a command to his arm. A buzz of sensation ran through the limb. Ah! His nervous system was reacting to his commands! He reached for the shape.

It moved away suddenly, and the pain returned tenfold, overwhelming, incontestable. He cringed, expecting to collapse under the onslaught. His mind almost gave up, but his body automatically resisted the pain, tensing to weather the storm. The wave of pain passed and he remained consciousthough drained to the point of death.

Through narrowed eyes he watched two strange beings at work on him; at the moment he was unable to do anything about it.

Chapter 2: Experiments

In the narrow confines of the ship’s laboratory Alexander convulsed and went limp. The two slight figures standing alongside exchanged meaningful, but silent glances.

‘Extraordinary,’ the Scythian, a telepath, thought to its companion. ‘I cannot recall ever seeing one cognizant of the probe at such a high level. Was that level five as anticipated?’

‘It was,’ the other replied. It scanned a series of screens, shifting the patterns with thought keys. At length it thought, ‘We have nine millennia worth of data on this species, but I have no record of any cognitive activity for Terran subjects above level four, however, this is the Terran male’s third capture. It’s possible the male is developing resistance to the probe.’

‘Impossible,’ replied the first. ‘Many Terrans are captured dozens of times without any increased resistance to the probe. Still, it is unusual, and this is one of our profile cases, not a random subject, is it not?’

The second Scythian watched a series of lights wink in response to his mental commands, and the screens displayed a new set of data. ‘Yes, the Terran caught the attention of the profile protocols. Prior to the initial capture the subject was a gladiator in one of the more violent entertainment spectacles.’ The Scythian pointed to a screen with a long thin finger. The screen showed Alexander in purple and white armor, with horns on his helmet, battling with other gladiators in silver and white. Alexander stood in the snow over his fallen foe, bloody, muddy, with his breath smoking from beneath his helmet. He raised his arms to the adulation of thousands.

The Scythian keyed the computer, and the scene shifted to a series of warplanes. ‘After a short period in the games it became an officer in the atmospheric arm of one of the nation states. That is where the protocol made the first identification.’ The Scythian turned to another screen that displayed personality categories and their scores. ‘As you know the protocols routinely scan the Terran’s battery of intelligence and personality tests. The information is primitive, but still useful in tagging those individual Terrans which, under the right conditions, could cause significant upheaval on a planetary scale.’

The Scythian left the displays and returned to the prone body of Alexander. ‘This subject fits many of the alarm categories. Strangely enough it is considered highly intelligent, even by galactic standards. Although its education is understandably primitive, the subject held advanced degrees in the sciences including physics, mathematics and astronomy. The subject’s unusually high level of aggressiveness, demonstrated leadership skills and its high intelligence flagged the subject. From the protocol’s point of view there was great potential in this individual.’

‘Where does the Terran’s career stand at this time?’

A mental note of surprise emanated from the second Scythian. ‘It is in transition. The Terran is no longer in the military, but there seems to be no particular reason for its departure in the Terran records. Records indicate a swift rise in positions of responsibilityas our observers expected. The Terran had considerable expertise and command experience, as noted by its superiors, but in the end he failed to advance to the upper echelons of command.’ The Scythian stepped away from the screen, his thin arms spread wide. ‘I cannot interpret this data.’

‘I can interpret this for you,’ the first Scythian thought as he looked over the data. ‘I have seen this before. This particular Terran meets the classic personality profiles for times of conflict. In its career no conflicts of significant scale occurred. Often Terran military institutions quietly discourage aggressive strong willed officers during such times. Apparently, the more politically oriented Terrans are threatened by this aggressive type of Terran. This Terran, which thrived in Terra’s gladiatorial games, only aggravated its situation. Events have already quelled what potential it had, without our intervention. What else is pertinent in the Terran?’

The second Scythian changed the data displays, and thought, ‘The Terran is consistent with its personality profile. Records indicate it is an expert in physical warfare, as well as with assorted weapons. It is highly intelligent, as mentioned, possessing degrees in advanced science. Interestingly enough, its work focused primarily on space travel. The subject is well above the average in size and as expected it is physically quite powerful. There is, however, a noticeable decline in physical capability primarily due to age and various injuries. If you will address the medical scan we’ve highlighted the major areas of difficulty.’

The second Scythian moved over to the table where Alexander lay. A blue swath of light enveloped his body and he rose about a foot off the table. Portions of Alexander’s structure became transparent down to the level of the damage. Symbols floated in the blue air next to the injury explaining the extent and nature of the problem. Slowly, as if on an invisible spit, Alexander’s body rotated while the second Scythian studied it.

‘There is major connective tissue damage to nearly every joint. There is evidence of primitive replacement surgery on the right knee. The artificial joint is a metal alloy, heavy and crudely manufactured, but apparently serviceable. The Terran has multiple injuries to the spinal column. There is a significant amount of scar tissue in the extremities. Incredible! A Scythian would terminate its life cycle rather than endure such physical difficulty.’

‘The injuries undoubtedly originate from the Terran’s career in the games. Perhaps that is why there was a change in careers. That is enough on this subject; do we have access to the Terran’s memory patterns? Good. What do the previous core scans reveal?’

‘This is interesting,’ the second Scythian thought, moving in a short clipped motion as if unused to unsettling events. ‘Normally we gain access to the memory core of the brain on the initial study. It is noted, however, that the Terran’s resistance to the probe on the previous two studies was significant enough to bypass the memory scan routine. This is then our first memory scan for this individual.’

‘Really, that is quite unusual,’ the first admitted.

Images came through on the screens. The pictures were incoherent at first, but after some telepathic adjustment the Scythian announced success. ‘I have accessed the portion of the memory with previous personalities.’

‘Find the oldest coherent fragment,’ the first ordered.

‘Identified, and stimulated,’ replied the second. Screens previously dark sprang to life within the room. The two beings glanced at images of mountains and the sea. There was a woman with hair of gold, and lovemaking. Multiple scenes of primitive war followed, all in different locales. The Scythians witnessed dozens of towns burned, towers stormed and the great crush of steel clad men savagely hacking away with blood drenched blades. There were gray skies and mountains. There was the sea. There was the woman and his children.

The second Scythian said, ‘It is an older persona, by Terran standards. But there is nothing extraordinary in the observations: the particular mate, mating and offspring are constant themes amongst the Terrans.’

‘That is a failing with the two sex species. I see no relevance to these images,’ the first replied with repugnance.

The images shifted to the woman again, as if the memory was taking a long last look at her. A cold fog enshrouded morning replaced the woman. A growing battle scene erupted out of the glooms, this time in greater clarity and detail than ever before. It swiftly formed into an image of the man, his beard red with blood and his armor rent. He stood alone on a bridge while a horde of enemies tried to cross it. His notched ax rose and fell amongst the ranks of his foes leaving a mound of tangled dead.

‘This must be the death memory,’ the second noted.

‘Shocking, make a note of it for the Bureau of Information. I can think of no better example of Terran ferocity.’

‘As you wish,’ the second said. The image went on, giving an interminable sense of time, until finally another warrior stabbed him from underneath the bridge. The image faded, but before it went completely dark there was a dim picture of two women dressed in glowing metal scales. They came to the fallen man. Beyond them a huge red bearded Terran waited. The image disappeared.

‘What was that last portion?’ the second Scythian asked.

The first answered, ‘Possibly a primitive ritualistic belief. Often the Terrans attempt to explain the unknown with a set of beliefs based on identificationI believe they term the concept religion. It is prevalent in all of the thalamic driven races of the galaxy. Catalogue it and move on to the next.’

The Scythians continued with the memory scans. The life memories of Alexander varied, and they grew sharper and more complex as they climbed into recent Terran history. The exercise took some time, and by the end of it the first Scythian was disinterested.

‘Catalogue what we have, then prepare the male for return.’

The Scythians’ colleague, however, appeared agitated, thinking, ‘I believe there is something noteworthy in this Terran.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked the first, its thoughts perturbed. ‘The memories were not so different from the thousands of others we have catalogued.’

‘I believe there is something else,’ the second replied. ‘The computer has run its correlation scan against recorded Terran history and has found matches.’

‘So the Terran has been noteworthy in their history on more than a singular instance. I admit it is unusual, but,’

‘You do not understand,’ the second thought, interrupting his superiora highly unusual act for a Scythian. ‘The significance is in the consistency of this Terran’s affect on Terran history. These are not insignificant life events. The Terran is linked in all of its life memories to Terrans identified in their own recorded history. In other words this Terran made a significant impact upon his world in every lifetime.’

‘All of them?’ the first Scythian thought, stiffening perceptibly.

‘All of them,’ the second Scythian replied firmly.

‘We have seen this before. Certain Terrans, as did Alexander the Great, make their presence felt in each life experience. Is this one of those Terrans? What do his current life memories tell us? How do they compare with our current observation of Terra?’

‘There is nothing which correlates this Terran with records of present history outside of his performance in the gladiatorial games. That facet of his life is insignificant and can be discounted. Gladiators of this world are lauded and admired, but never remembered. However,’ the second Scythian thought, but there was a lapse, and an incomplete thought.

‘Well?’ the first pressed.

‘There are many images of what they call dreams,’ the Scythian replied. ‘The empathic charts also show extraordinarily high readings of frustration. Apparently, the subject is agitated over his lack of signature success. Although there is evidence of significant accomplishment associated with the gladiatorial games the Terran appears to views these glories as irrelevant. There are also images of events that have not occurred. There is a great deal of mental energy expended on these pseudo-memories. There is one other thing I feel I must point out.’

‘Proceed.’

‘You mentioned with great accuracy that such a being as this could not succeed in times without conflict. He is ambitious, aggressive, intelligent, and a leader. I’ve run a comparator protocol. The subject does compare quite favorably with the personality profile of the Alexander of two millennia past; that is, Alexander the Great.’

‘Comparisons are one thing, however intriguing; association to past personalities is another. There was no indication in the memory scan that this being even had an ancestral personality in Alexander’s time.’

‘That is not unusual,’ the second said. ‘We ran only a surface scan to the oldest coherent fragment. If there were a memory pattern dating to Alexander’s time it would undoubtedly need to be rebuilt. That could be done with an in depth catalogue of the core. Of course, such a scan would take time.’

‘Yes, we would undoubtedly spend more than the allotted time on this individual,’ the first thought uncomfortably. ‘Without further proof of identity I cannot justify the deviation.’

‘Yet his first cognitive thought trigger was an identification of self. It was identification not of Alexander Thorsson, but simply of Alexander!’ the second thought, uncharacteristically and earnestly pressing its point. ‘Meaning that even if this is not a continuation of the personality of Alexander the Great it could very well be a being who at least sees himself as the next Alexander. It is a lengthy supposition, but one with merit.’

‘Shall I set the scanners for a prolonged study then?’

The first Scythian hesitated. It turned, and in a very unusual display of physical agitationfor a Scythianit paced. Round and round the laboratory it went. Finally, it stopped, and thought, ‘Set the scanners for a fragment search. Often old psyches can be identified from a fragment of a pattern; a single visual cue momentous for a particular life cycle will identify the general time frame of the psyche. We might investigate a dozen such visualizations in the time it would take the scanners to catalogue a single memory pattern. Proceed.’

The second Scythian did as he was told. They ran through several images, each of some import to its owner, but none enlightening. Then a silhouette of the man appeared on their screens. He looked over a darkening landscape from the vantage of a high mountain pass. Beyond the stars shone fitfully over a slumbering world.

The Scythians stiffened bolt upright as if hit by an electric shock, but any further inspection was interrupted. Their screens went suddenly blank and flashed on again. When they brightened the image of one of their own people appeared. Its thought-expression instantly demanded their attention. A telepathic carrier wave addressed them.

‘This is the Scythian High Council with an urgent update for all Scythian citizens, especially those outside the home territories of Scythia. After lengthy negotiations with the Chem, we regret to inform you that the Chem have thus far refused our calls to open their borders. As you know Chem is the only civilization completely outside our sphere of influence. Our only protection from this thalamic race is through self imposed Chem isolation, which has lasted since the termination of their wars of expansion thirteen millennia past. There is increasing doubt as to Chem reaction. At this point in time, there is any number of possible Chem reactions, including punitive action. However, our calculations view this possibility as remote.

‘Heretofore, our approach with the Chem has embraced the logic of our proposals as the central reasoning behind acquiescence. The ineffectiveness of this direction of negotiation can be blamed on the Chem weakness of linking emotion and reason in policy. The over-emphasized sense of honor the Chem hold as their primary dogma makes them jealous of incursion and has been particularly difficult to overcome. We therefore conclude that we must invigorate our approach with an emotional argument.

‘Our ambassadors are approaching the Chem with the intention of using the Terran stratagem. As you well know we used this technique of negotiation on the Golkos, who are our closest approximation to the Chem. We experienced markedly successful results following an initial negative reaction. The Chem are expected to react with extreme emotion to the threat of Terran mercenaries being used against their empire. We predict such a reaction will be short-lived with no serious repercussions.

‘Despite this assurance all Scythians are to be on the alert for aggressive Chem activity, especially along the Scythia-Chem frontier.’

The message went on, but the first Scythian commanded the ship’s computer to send the tapes to the Homeworlds. ‘We must inform the Council of our findings. This particular Terran, if his records are manipulated correctly, could be used against the Chem …’

The two beings turned away from him, watching another of their kind on the view screen. Alexander saw his chance. He felt ill with exhaustion, but he had no choice. Carefully, he slid off the table. His legs were rubbery and it took a concentrated effort to stand, but the aliens were still engrossed in their communication. He took an uncertain step, then another, creeping up behind them. Alexander was going to take their two melon heads and smash them together. He doubted if he had the strength to kill them, which was just as wellhe might need them alive.

He reached for their heads.

A hammer blow shook the ship, jarring Alexander painfully. He reeled across the metal deck, careening into the instruments and sending them crashing onto the floor. Alexander tried desperately to extricate himself before the aliens saw him; he needn’t have worried.

The shock sent the aliens skidding across the deck as well, crashing violently against instruments and bulkheads. Their little round mouths warbled hideously, as if they were terrified animals not sentient beings.

Alexander found the irony momentarily intriguing.

He didn’t have time for further reflection; something was happening to the ship, and he had to at the very least maintain his freedom. Alexander scrambled up through the tangle of metal, screens and cables and headed for the aliens.

One of the aliens saw him. It howled in a high keening way, eerily in synch with the ringing hull. It reached for something in its belt and aimed it at Alexander.

Another blow hit the ship, and the alien’s blue beam sailed wide. The gun flew out of the alien’s slight hand, and instinctively Alexander snatched it out of mid air.

Alexander reached the alien and backhanded it across the face. Despite Alexander’s weakened condition the alien cart wheeled across the deck. It crashed into a wall of screens, and Alexander froze.

The images on the screens were unimaginable. They were all of him, or so it seemed. It was as if he was watching movies of himself in different times. He saw his football days; he saw himself as Viking warrior; he was a general; he was a king; and in the center plate he saw himself looking over a broad valley from a high passlights twinkled in the distance.

‘Have mercy, oh Alexander!’ said a high sing-song voice, breaking his reverie. He looked down to see the one alien helping the other to its knees. It prostrated itself before him.

Before Alexander could say or do anything a loud hissing noise began behind him. The aliens covered their faces.

He looked back to see a red light force its way around the rim of the chamber’s hatch. A bright flash erupted, blinding Alexander, and a shot split the air as the clamps gave way. The hatch spun off its mounts and whirled across the short space, crushing one of the Scythians’ against the wall. A dark pool of sluggish blood spread from underneath the twisted metal.

A menacing figure stepped into the chamber. Though almost as tall as Alexander the being was markedly slighter in build.

‘Alexander save us!’ cried the remaining alien.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Alexander demanded.

The new alien stood scarcely three yards away. He drew what looked to be a pistol and shot Alexander.

Alexander twisted away at the last second, but the shot hit him on the right side of the chest anyway. It whirled him around, burning his chest and shoulder with a sharp electric sizzle. His head swam, and his eyes lost their focus, but as he fought the urge to fall into unconsciousness. Going on pure instinct, Alexander bull rushed the new alien. He struck the lighter alien with his shoulder, knocking him easily aside. Alexander headed for the glimmer of light that must be the hatch; he had to get out of there.

His vision started to come back, at least enough to see that there were two other tall dark figures entering the hatch as he was trying to leave it. He plowed through the bodies as he used to do with the behemoths of the NFL. There was no resisting him. He burst through, staggering down a bright green corridor, bouncing off the walls like a pinball.

Alexander’s vision began to clear. There were hatches on either side of him. He passed by several closed hatches, then he stopped. A hatch on the right was open. Within, on a huge screen, was the unmistakable horizon of the Earth. He ducked in and found a long curved panel littered with panels and lights tucked beneath the screen. It had to be the bridge.

First things first, he muscled the hatch closed. He didn’t know how to operate the automatic mechanism so he forced it closed, spun the latch, and locked it. Then he turned to the control board.

‘Alexander, if you can’t figure out the door how are you going to fly the ship?’

He’d just started to scan the displays when a familiar hissing sound turned him around. He leapt out of the line of the door as the hatch came free. It crashed into the control board. Alexander rushed the figures beyond the open hatch, but three bright blue beams hit him in mid stride. Everything instantly went black.

The Chem warrior stepped onto the bridge and stood over Alexander. He wore a mottled suit of metal-like armor and a close fitting helm. Luminous blue eyes stared down at Alexander with satisfaction.

‘So this is a Terran in the flesh,’ he said, rubbing his jaw where the Terran struck him. ‘Impressive. Signal Lady Nazeera. We’ve accomplished our mission. Bring him and let us go!’

Chapter 3: The Legacy of Alexander

Sixty-seven parsecs away Ambassador Kvel Mavec of the Kempec Empire entered the marble halls of the Galactic Senate on the neutral planet Roma. Mavec, as she always did when first arriving in the Senate, toured the upper galleries before descending into the pit of the Senate chamber. There, looking down from niches in the gallery, were the marble statues of figures renowned throughout the known galaxy. They were the builders of Roma; beings of nobility, destiny, peace, war, and even betrayal. Not all the beings were glorious in their lives, and some recalled the darkest failures of a civilized galaxy, but they earned a place on the gallery overlooking the Senate, nonetheless. Their unseeing eyes gazed down upon the rulers of the galaxy so that the lessons they taught in history might never be forgotten.

Mavec could recite the particulars for each of the statues in the gallery, and she stopped for some time beneath the noble artifice of Novus Novek, the Conciliator, of her Homeworld, Kempec. She was tall and spare, as were most of her people, being of the same galactic family as the Chem and the Golkos, but the marble did not reveal the dusky glisten to her flesh or the luminous eyes. Still, Mavec was impressed with the likeness, and reveled in the honor of having one of her people in the gallery.

Novek’s inclusion with the famous of history was no mistake. She mediated the final peace between the Golkos and the Chem, ending the millennium of brutality known as the Chem Wars of Expansion. That was thirteen millennia past, and since then peace reigned in the civilized galaxy beneath Novek’s gaze. Next to the Kempec was the likeness of Terumaz of Chem herself, the great lady with whom Novek brokered the lasting peace. It was a triumph of memory that warmed the heart of Mavec.

Yet even as she enjoyed the flush of satisfaction she felt a burning gaze on her temple. Involuntarily she cast her glance across the gallery to the most infamous of the Roma’s builders.

There, set aside from his peers in a solitary niche at the end of the gallery was the most disquieting being in the galactic company. It was not that the figure was malevolent in form or composure, quite the opposite. The statue initially recalled glory in its most basic form. Heavy musculature characterized the being as a Terran warrior, but from the gilded cuirass to the flowing shock of marble hair the being was still beautiful and awe inspiring. Such was its peril; for the genius of the artisan revealed the true character of the man. He was a conqueror.

The blank stare of the far seeing eyes looked up to the heavens, caring not for policy, advancement or benevolent prosperity, only conquest. Mavec walked over to the statue, even as she had every time since, as a young woman, she entered these hallowed halls. She stood beneath the powerful being; her breath caught in her lungs.

‘Alexander the Great,’ announced a silken voice behind her, startling even the composed Kempec. The announcement came from the Hrang ambassador, a tail-less saurian of stout frame, whose people were remarkably adept at galactic intrigue. Mavec knew the Hrang over many periums, and though she respected her peer, there was always a level of suspicion to be dealt with. The Hrang were master spies, using dermal implants to amplify their native chameleon-like attributes, and they normally knew quite a bit more than was good for them.

Ambassador She-Rok bowed stiffly in apology, and told her, ‘This has always been one of my favorite places. I suppose I am fascinated by the dreadful. I can never ignore Alexander when I come here. Almost as a punishment I peruse his words and imagine their ultimate effect on our civilization.’

He pressed a switch at the base of the statue. A golden glow enveloped the effigy, and suddenly the marble took on the olive tone of flesh, and the harsh gleam of bronze beneath ruddy gold. The eyes took on life and looked out to a darkening landscape from the vantage of a high mountain pass. Beyond the stars shone fitfully over a slumbering world. A strong magical voice cried out to them.

‘How may I look to the horizon and be satisfied with past victories? The conquests of the past matter not; it is the striving forward which feeds our restless hearts. So it is that we must move onward, never ceasing, lest we stagnate and grow rank in spirit. To that end shall I seek that which lies beyond, and verily shall I have it, then on to the next. Behold the vistas of the universe! In it there is enough to sate even my yearning spirit, aye, even to the spirits of my descendants. From this pinnacle I look afar and I see countless worlds to conquer, even to the everlasting and innumerable stars.’

The monologue ended, and the statue’s newfound life returned to cold distant marble. The Hrang smiled nervously. ‘No words ever spoken in this galaxy of ours have ever borne so much weight, or ever entailed so much dread. Is it not strange that Roma should play host to a being who could not imagine its existence? Certainly even Alexander could not have foreseen how far his words would carry, or how many empires would tremble at his name. Yet it is always the same, no matter the number of times I listen. I cannot rid myself of the oppression which hangs over me, or the thrill which courses my limbs when faced with the semblance of Alexander. The terrible and yet awe inspiring Alexander! Is the sensation similar for you, Mavec, or do the Kempec have a lesser opinion of Terra’s God-king?’

‘Why ask when you know the answer?’ Mavec replied. ‘Who of the Galactics may ignore Alexander’s boast, or the burden which it delivers? Not the Kempec, at least. Not the prideful Golkos. Not even the vaunted Chem. Alexander affects us all, even to the ideal of this city, this world, and the Galactic seat of government.’

Mavec turned away from Alexander and walked to the gallery rail. Below was the pit of the Senate where the twelve civilized cultures of the known galaxy labored at the mechanization of coexistence. It had worked for thirteen millennia, but ever since the rise of the Terran God-king there was a pall cast over the gleaming marble city. Mavec addressed that very thought and wondered aloud whether Roma of the Galactics would ever bear the same fate as its progeny: the Eternal City on Terra, Rome.

Mavec shook her head, and said, ‘Two millennia past, shortly after the death of Alexander, we covertly founded the city of Rome. The city prospered; growing upon a political model we formulated to encourage coexistence as the overpowering goal. Secretly we molded the philosophy of the city, stressing service over ambition, citizenship over discrimination, prosperity over luxurious sloth.’

Mavec left the rail and walked back to Alexander. ‘Surprisingly, there were many completely Terran ideals to draw from, not the least of which was Alexander’s example of a true multicultural empire. We ensured that Greek and Egyptian philosophers, magistrates and artisans found their way into Rome. An empire grew from Roman ingenuity and their extreme desire for order. In the span of a few centuries it encompassed most of Alexander’s former empire.’

Mavec sighed and returned to the rail. ‘There was a time when it seemed we achieved what we sought. Yet despite the massive Galactic effort Rome was a completely Terran city, and a Terran empire. Terrans are an adolescent race. While the ideals of Rome drew them, their attention was soon diverted to the possibility of using Rome’s power for gain. The security provided by Rome’s legions became a tool for expansion, glory and conquest. New names arose amongst histories generals, all vying to be the heir of Alexander. For a time, even in its distinctly Terran flavor Rome was a stabilizing factor in Terra’s progression.’

‘Yet then Rome slipped into sloth and greed,’ She-Rok said. ‘The Empire fell, and it took Terra into darkness and barbarism.’

‘We failed,’ Mavec admitted. ‘When the Roman Empire was no more, we accepted our defeat, and relegated the uncontrollable, unalterable Terrans to strict Scythian quarantine.’ Mavec turned her luminous eyes on the Hrang, and added, ‘Yet like the Roman experiment, the quarantine of Terra was not handled exactly as we envisioned.’

‘Rome was not such a failure as you might think, Mavec,’ She-Rok said, joining Mavec at the rail. Less morose and more practical than his counterpart he could conjecture dispassionately. ‘Even the Terrans, from Scythian report, glorify their version of our city. I do not think it was a mistake for us to found it. It was a risk, but not so much of one. The Terrans had already proven themselves capable of prolonged empires by that point in their development, and even of idealism. Rome was meant to harness the constructive energies of a potentially dangerous race within a carefully constructed framework which would promote order, prosperity and mutual respect. In many ways it was successful.’

‘Rome still failed, She-Rok,’ Mavec said sternly. ‘It was successful so long as it followed the Galactic model and was not too Terran. That was our mistake. We did not realize that so far as the Terrans are concerned the legacy of Alexander is all consuming. Alexander touched a nerve in their psyche; his philosophy still resonates after two millennia.

‘How long did Rome last before a warlord seized power intent on following in Alexander’s footsteps, two, maybe three centellia? In the end Alexander’s will held sway. Despite all the advantages we offered the Terrans turned Rome into a more efficient and vastly more superior destructive power. We would have been better served to leave well enough alone.’

‘Perhaps, but I still do not accept our complete failure,’ She-Rok replied. ‘In many ways Rome has served to mentor the Terrans into our systems of law, citizenship and morality. These are apparent, even if they are not dominant. We have, I admit, failed to change the core Terran philosophy of cosmic domination. That may be too much to expect, however. Alexander is as much a legend to his own folk as he is to us. It is difficult to change the words of your once and future lord. The Terran situation, for better or worse, is set. The Terrans have their dreams of galactic conquest, but they cannot reach us, yet. The Scythians still hold the keys to Terra’s shackles. Without the ability to leave their planetary system the Terrans are dangerous only to themselves, and they may very well succeed where we fear to tread. The last centellium has been very encouraging!’

‘Encouraging?’ Mavec exclaimed. ‘She-Rok, what is encouraging about it? They’ve progressed from a planet bound people to the outer reaches of their solar system in less than half a centellium! When has another culture in the known galaxy presented us with such volcanic technological growth? Two centellia past they used beasts of burden for transport! Even given the technological capability to match such growth we could never adapt to it. Galactic culture and its technology are linear. We change with exquisite sloth. Our technology has remained at an equivalent level not only through the last age, but three hundred millennia prior to the Chem Wars of Expansion. I cannot even fathom such growth, such chaos. How can we know what to expect?’

‘We do not need to know, so long as the Scythians’ keep the Terrans where they belong.’

‘The Scythians, Terra’s ever-present keepers and protectors,’ Mavec said, her angular face framing an expression as close to a smile as her demeanor would allow. ‘Whenever Scythia desires a new trade agreement, lower tariffs, or anytime there is a resolution in the Senate protesting Scythian ownership of extra-empire commercial interests the Scythians threaten us economically. With their vast holdings in financial institutions and their monopoly on trade we cannot answer their demands in an equivalent manner. The only recourse we have is military. We have a great stigma against using force as an instrument of policy, but even considering we deemed such a horrendous step necessary there is always Terra to stop us. In recent history both the Seer’koh and the Golkos threatened the Scythians only to retreat under threat of unleashing the Terrans. It is stupefying and simple: if any state threatens Scythia, they will unleash Alexander and his legions upon the galaxy. What recourse do we have then? We accede, and thereby feed the bloated Scythian juggernaut, making our position all that much more untenable.’

Mavec pounded her slight fist on the marble rail in a rare expression of emotion. Her voice was bitter. It was a marked departure from her diplomatic demeanor.

‘They are remarkably adept at reminding us of that particular bit of blackmail. They have Terra, and the Terrans wait upon them for their opportunity. Terrans are nothing more than Scythian mercenaries, but even in that they present their keepers with a deadly danger. Though they prod us with a Terran threat, could the Scythians actually control the Terrans once they were loosed upon the galaxy?’

‘Certainly not,’ the Hrang said with steadfast certainty. ‘Greed and profit drive the Scythians, but they are not fools. They have a wonderfully developed sense of self protection. I would think, and all our observations support this theory, that the Scythians would do almost anything to avoid an actual relationship with Terrans which might lead to their expansion into the galaxy. They are far too dangerous.’

‘I do not disagree with you, She-Rok, but still I wonder just how far they are willing to push that particular bluff. I wonder whether we have the strength and fortitude to actually answer such a possibility.’

Mavec sighed, gazing down into the pinnacle of galactic civilization: the pit of the Senate. Normally she would recall with pride their accomplishment of ordered civilization, for here even amongst the layer upon layer of galactic intrigue even age old enemies like the Chem and Golkos met with civility. Passions remained, but they didn’t interfere with the workings of the galactic bureaucracy. She looked about the Senate at members of the twelve civilized cultures, seeing in them a growing homogeneity. True, they still considered themselves members of twelve separate empires rather than citizens of a single galactic entity, but there were certain inarguable ideals which bound them all together.

‘I wonder She-Rok, for all that Roma and our Galactic Senate have accomplished, have we succumbed to the inevitable apathy of success? For thirteen millennia we’ve been at peace. Precious little has changed in technology, customs or people.’

She-Rok shrugged, and joined her at the rail. ‘You’re right, of course. Peace on a galactic scale for such an extreme period of time allows for unprecedented prosperity, but there is always a price. Expansion and exploration ceased as our cultures recovered from the catastrophic wars. When normality returned stagnation came with it, and matters of debate are now relatively petty. No one is willing to risk war for pride or policy.’

A loud gong sounded in the cast chamber. All eyes turned to the center of the Senate pit where a huge holographic image brightened. It showed the graven features of the President of the Senate, a Golkos. His voice instantly commanded the attention of the audience.

‘My fellow Senators an event is transpiring in our galaxy that has not happened in decands. Fate stands upon the knife’s edge. The next few moments will write history. Behold!’

Mavec moved to the rail, and She-Rok was right beside her. She waited impatiently for the face of the President to fade, and the follow on image to clear. There was some problem with the transmission, as if it were being beamed from some remote corner of the galaxy.

‘What in the world can this be about, do you know anything She-Rok?’

‘On my word, I’m as surprised as you Mavec.’

The image cleared to the view of a single planet, blue and white, floating like an iridescent marble in a sea of velvet.

‘This day on Terra history is being made,’ the President said gravely. The scene narrowed to a gathering of thousands of thousands of Terrans, their voices raised in a deafening roar. The Senate shook.

‘By the stars, they’ve discovered the heir of Alexander!’ Mavec breathed.

CHAPTER 4: The Terran Gambit

The hologram in the central pit of the Senate panned down to the scene below the enormous crowdit was a green field painted with parallel white lines. On one side of the field was a group of gladiators in purple, on the other side and equal group in white.

Mavec and She-Rok sighed with relief. The Kempec felt as if she could breathe again; indeed, so terrible was the moment of anticipation that her chest hurt with a sharp cramp.

‘I invite you all to enjoy the first session of overtime warfare in the pinnacle of gladiatorial games: the Super Bowl!’

She-Rok cursed, ‘Damn him, I was going to watch this after today’s sessionnow it’ll be ruined for me! Minnesota and Pittsburgh are playing, the Vikings are my team and they’re going for their first Super Bowl since the days of Alexander the Great.’

Mavec looked at him in amazement.

‘Not the true Alexander, of course,’ She-Rok smiled. ‘This was a defensive tackle that played for the Vikings, I don’t know, maybe fifteen periums past. He was a joy to watch, absolutely ferocious to the corebut somehow honorable. He was the Most Valuable Gladiator in their only win. They haven’t been back to the Super Bowl since.’

‘How ironic is it that we now find our entertainment amongst the very people we’re deathly afraid of,’ Mavec sighed, watching the contest because no matter how terrible it was she was fascinated by it. Not only was she mesmerized by the spectacle, every member of the Senate put aside their business to watch the gladiators.

It was a damning sight. Mavec knew that her people, whether they be Chem, Golkos, or Kempec were not the people of an age past. They’d lost their edge, and it was obvious every time they beheld that most immature and fascinating species, the Terrans. True, Terrans were barbaric, single minded, and utterly without compassion, but there was a ferocious love of challenge which she could not help but admire. Terrans dared to live, always changing the rules by which they existed; Terrans challenged the very universe to keep up with them.

Mavec knew with a profound sense of loss that her people had no such aspirations. The Galactics discovered long ago that singular formula for living within the universe, and their intention was not to stray from it whatsoever.

‘Damn!’ She-Rok cursed, as one of the players in white kicked the football through the white uprights of the goal posts. ‘Lost againthey should really send the kicker for Minnesota to Pantrixnia! Ah well, at least they made a game of it this time. Unfortunately, I’m not nearly as adept at picking my gladiatorial teams as I am at political intrigue. The Vikings haven’t won since the days of Alexander. I wonder whatever happened to him.’

‘I can’t imagine why I would care,’ Mavec said. She couldn’t get away from the fascination of Terrans quickly enough. ‘Whatever became of that particular gladiator can’t be nearly as inauspicious as what’s going on in the pit belowlook.’

The match was over, and business returned to normal.

The Scythian ambassador approached Nazeera of Chem. The Chem kept an ambassador in Rome. It was a traditional role, for the Chem as a rule offered little advice and asked for none at all. Recently, however, the Scythians had been pushing the Chem to open their borders. The people of Terumaz, the old galaxy’s proudest and sternest people, sent a member of their Triumvirate in response to the amazing solicitation. Nazeera of Chem, tall, powerful in mind and manner and honorable to the core of her being, answered only to the venerable Elder of Chem. She came to Rome to discover why the Scythians should make so bold a request, and then to issue a final inevitably negative response.

Mavec liked Nazeera, and admired her for her steadfast resolve. As she suspected, Nazeera’s review did not take long, and she rejected the Scythians’ out of hand. The Chem, she told them, had no need of Scythian trade and no desire to open Chem space to Scythian convoys. With that issue resolved Nazeera felt the subject was closed irrevocably, but the Scythians apparently thought otherwise. For the past several decands the Scythian ambassadors poked and prodded other Ambassadors, including Mavec, trying to gain support for their cause. The endorsements were half-hearted at best, but as Mavec told them in her steady diplomatic voice, ‘While we are sympathetic to your over all goals the Chem are, after all, the Chem, and my people are not willing to openly antagonize the people of Terumaz.’

It was a veiled reference to the Chem’s more militaristic but still recognizable past. Frustrated, the Scythians upped the ante, actually including the reminder of Terra in their dialogue with their fellow ambassadors. They did not use this tact directly with the Chem, for who could know how the Chem would react to such outright threats? The intent got to the Chem anyway, even as intended. The result was inconclusive, but it was obvious that the Chem did not like what the Scythians were saying at all.

This was the cause for Mavec’s concern. The slight Scythian in drab gray-green stood out in stark contrast to the exotic Nazeera, dressed as she was in her ceremonial armor. The Chem planted her long nailed fists on comely hips, daring the Scythian to interrupt her privacy, but the slight being approached nonetheless and addressed her. Mavec couldn’t hear the conversation itself, she didn’t need to. She shook her head in the universal gesture of disapproval, muttering, ‘Here we have a scenario which fleshes out the difficulties we have been speaking of She-Rok. The Scythians of pre-Alexander days would not consider breaching Chem isolation for any reason. Yet here they are, and quite sure of themselves, mind you. Nothing good can come of this.’

‘Indeed, Kvel Mavec, you appear struck with apprehension at the sight of our Chem and Scythian friends in parley. The Kempec are well renowned for their skill in diplomacy. Why would you be dissatisfied with dialogue?’

‘No doubt you already know the answer to your query, She-Rok,’ she chuckled nervously. ‘Should I disappoint you with the truth or allow you to gauge my opinion with your misconceptions. What do you think?’

‘The truth is always more fascinating than the most fanciful supposition, my friend, and I hope you will not rob me of the pleasure. In this case, however, your distress is not unique, either to the Kempec or to yourself, Mavec. I would not be surprised if we shared many of the same concerns regarding the Scythians. Therefore, I have no objection to opening my mind to you, in exchange for your honest opinion, if such is the price.’

‘You need not buy my honesty, She-Rok. I will tell you plainly and bluntly my opinion: the Scythians are overplaying their hand. I can see nothing good coming of this.’

‘Have you informed the Scythians of your opinion? After all, you know the mind of Nazeera of Chem perhaps better than any other politician, or have I been misinformed? Rumor has it that you’ve been heavily tasked these last decurns to ease the growing tensions between the two states.’

‘Your information is quite correct, as usual, She-Rok. Unfortunately, the facade which you see before usthe Chem and the Scythians in rational dialogueis just that: a facade and nothing more. The Scythians have told me repeatedly that although they appreciate my efforts they are their own best counselors. I was cautioned in the most strenuous way not to interfere with their negotiations and especially not to build a consensus decrying the Scythian attempts in Chem.’

‘Indeed? I assume that the Kempec government conveniently found itself content to be of any use it could for the Scythians. After all, when seventy-five percent of your trade and sixty-three percent of your financial institutions are controlled by the Scythians you must take care not to tread on their all too delicate toes.’

‘Your data and your assertions are unfortunately accurate, She-Rok. It is all the more distressing when we represent the status quo as far as Scythian influence is concerned. It presents us with a very difficult problem, and we have precious little capacity to affect the outcome. On one hand the Scythians are steadfast in their contention that Chem must at the very least open routes through their space for Scythian traders, if not open up their empire to free trade. That the Chem shall never do, they prize their privacy most jealously.’

‘There is no compulsion whatsoever for the Chem to deal with the Scythians,’ She-Rok added. ‘They are unique among the civilized cultures in that they have no need of the Scythians. They did not need Scythian aide to rebuild after the wars and are thus completely autonomous. The Scythians, of course, would like to change that slight oversight. There are vast markets in Chem, or at the very least, if they win free passage that would improve the efficiency of their freighter traffic by approximately thirty-five percent. That would be pure profit.’

‘Profitone hundred and thirty-five percent of infinity is still infinity! The fools are risking another galactic war based on incalculable profit! They have no idea who they are dealing with.’

‘Do you really think the Chem will go so far?’ She-Rok asked, showing surprise at the level of Mavec’s concern.

‘My dear She-Rok, we have here a classic example of two bulls going up against one another. That in itself wouldn’t trouble me so much. If this were a Chem-Golkos problem neither I nor any of our galactic cousins would care one way or another. The general peace would continue, and the two parties could quarrel amongst themselves. Our particular problem is that the Scythians, unlike the Golkos, have neither the inclination nor the capability of defending themselves. Yet they don’t need a military when they can coerce support from the rest of us. The Scythians have established an economic hegemony over most of the civilized galaxy. This economic power directly translates into political power, of course, and it doesn’t take many whispered threats for even the Golkos to be cowed. Balk at Scythian leadership and Golkos would be without power, food and money in a decand! A galactic civilization with roots a ki-millenium past would be back to barbarism.’

‘We’ve all received communiqués from the Scythians expressing their desire for political support, Mavec, and we have all acquiesced. Why shouldn’t we? Certainly the Chem are not going to launch another war of expansion over this issue. The Chem wars were long ago, and I cannot think that even Nazeera, despite her well established image as a soldier, would be so keen as to begin a war over trade routes.’

‘Do you actually expect Nazeera to accept Scythian demands?’

‘Of course not, and the matter will end there. The Scythians will be disgruntled, but unlike the rest of us they have nothing to hold over the Chem. Despite thirteen millennia of peace the tradition of Chem militarism is still too vaunted to illicit any aggressive response on our part. Even the Scythians cannot expect that level of cooperation.’

‘I do not think that will be the end of it,’ Mavec told him sternly.

She-Rok shook his bullet head, unfazed. ‘Mavec, you read too much into this. Even the Golkos, whom I admit may be tempted by the idea, would not go to war with Chem over such an insubstantial issue in their interests. Despite their bluster they remember all too well their disaster at Koor-tum, where the Chem destroyed half their fleet. The Chem are their betters, and they know it. They will not support such a scheme, no matter the Scythian threats, and without the Golkos there is no chance of militarily competing with the Chem. There the matter will end. Our states shall perhaps disappoint the Scythians, but no more.’

‘You do not understand the Scythian mindset, She-Rok. They consider the Chem their last great challenge to uncontested power in the galaxy. Remind yourself why we as advanced cultures have allowed such growth and influence within the Scythian Empire at the expense of our pride and sovereignty? The Golkos and the Chem are not the only military states in the galaxy, and they may not be the most dangerous.’

‘Alexander? Do you really believe the Scythians would consider threatening the Chem with Terra?’

‘Yes, haven’t we been talking of this very thing? Whether they know it or not the Terrans are no less than Scythian mercenaries. For two millennia, She-Rok, the Terrans have fought the galaxy’s bloodiest wars amongst themselves for dominion. They search for that singular being that will fill Alexander the Great’s glorious throne, and lead the Terrans to the stars in search of endless glory and conquest. The ‘Legend of Alexander’ is studied in every school, college and university. We know their motives, and by constant report we know the veracity of their barbarism. Yet as we all know the Scythians, and the Scythians alone, hold the key to Terra. We dare not make a move without fear of a Terran legion landing on our Homeworld; a legion transported by the fastest ships in the galaxy and armed with the most modern weaponry. I shudder to think what would occur if Terrans ever set foot on Kempec! After witnessing the slaughter they impose on themselves imagine what they would do to another race! The thought is too terrible to comprehend!’

She-Rok sighed, nodding, ‘In the last centellium alone they’ve killed over one hundred million of their own brethren. I do not think even the Chem would wish to face such barbarity.’

‘That is the central question in my mind, She-Rok. What will the Chem do if the Scythians openly threaten them with Terra? We have always backed down in the past, but the Chem, who knows what they will do?’

‘They may well call the Scythians’ bluff. The Chem prize honor above all. Yet were I to wager between a Terran warrior and a Chem I would call it no contest. Could you see it any other way? Terrans are the pinnacle of the sentient warrior. A Chem may be quicker, but Terrans are half again as large, hardier and far, far stronger than any other sentient. That does not even consider the fact that Terrans are born and bred in a warrior society. What the Chem recall as a distant memory Terrans experience in everyday life. Normally, nothing, not even death, would cause the Chem to give in; but who can say what a race will do when their empire is at stake?’

‘It depends entirely on just how great the Scythian offense is,’ Mavec answered. ‘This is Nazeera of Chem we speak of, probably the most prideful Chem since Terumaz herself, and by all accounts her equal. Nazeera will not take well any amount of Scythian meddling, and I can only imagine her reaction if the Scythians threaten Chem with Terran legions.’

‘I am of like mind, Mavec, but there is only one way to find out,’ the Hrang told her, and he dialed in a setting on his disk. A red light flashed on the circumference. She-Rok pressed it with his thumb and another hologram materialized above the disk. The hologram featured Nazeera of Chem and the Scythian ambassador. She-Rok cut off Mavec’s protest with a wave of his stubby hand, ‘This situation is far too important for Kempec prudence, now listen!’

Even in miniature they could see the luminous blue orbs of Nazeera flicker with concentration as the tiny Scythian waited upon her. The eavesdropping Kempec and Hrang missed little of the confrontation; however, as Nazeera was wholly absorbed in an incoming communiqué on her secure etherlink. When the link was complete, she gave a short, wry smile and tucked the comm-pad into her belt. Glancing up, she found the Scythian still there, patiently awaiting its audience. A flush of anger raced across her darkling chiseled cheeks. Placing her hands on her armored hips only served to expand the perilous nature of the Scythian incursion, but if the being took the hint there was no sign of it. The volume of She-Rok’s hologram was low, but the perturbation in Nazeera’s voice was unmistakable.

‘What is it now, Scythian? You have my answer, and that of the Elder of Chem. There is nothing to debate. We will not, now or ever, allow you access to our space. Nor will we allow Scythian freighters passage through Chem space. What could be clearer? I see no reason for continued discourse, and as such you should do well to avoid trying my patience!’

‘We are painfully aware of the jealousy to which the Chem regard their territory, Nazeera of the Triumvirate,’ the Scythian answered in its high sing-song voice. ‘Yet I think you still mistake our intentions, and that, more than all else, demands our attention.’ It cocked its over-large head, as if giving a lecture and began a litany all too obviously rehearsed. ‘The rest of the galaxy is indelibly connected by the bonds of economic dependency. This interdependency has created a peace too final to be broken. The Galactics have finally turned to the answers which drove Terumaz the Great to end the hostilities perpetrated by the noble Chem. You have grown and blossomed for it. Do you feel no desire to share your experience with your brethren? Certainly the Galactics, and the galaxy as a whole, cannot but help to build upon the structure of civilization with the Chem as their guides. How can self imposed isolation further either the cause of Chem or her Galactic cousins?’

Nazeera was in a towering rage, but the decorum of the Galactics oldest establishment restrained her. In a tightly controlled voice she told the Scythian, ‘You may dispense with such fantastic inventions of idealism, ambassador. There is no Scythian altruism behind your facade; there is only your search for increased profit and power. I find both motives irritating in the extreme. Chem does not need you, Ambassador, nor does Chem desire your presence in her space. Understand this, ambassador: we will not subjugate our sovereignty in any manner to Scythian desire for profit. Do you understand? There is no other purpose for continuing this discussion. Good day, Ambassador!’

‘I had hoped for a more rational approach to the problem, Nazeera of the Triumvirate. At the very least let me apply to you again for license to run our freighters through a limited number of corridors across Chem space. The galaxy is a vast place, and even a small number of these corridors would bring our cultures closer together. Though you disdain profit I am certain that we could come to some agreement whereby the compensation would be equitable. It is not just for Scythia that I ask this. Your galactic cousins support us fervently on this particular issue.’

‘Once again you dissect the meaning of dialect with a cut of your own flavor, Ambassador. I have indeed received position papers from your fellow Ambassadors, all lauding the possibilities. Hear you nothing of what I say, or are you deaf to all that does not meet with your approval? We do not care. Send all the leaders of all the cultures to Nazeera’s doorstep and have them plead on your behalf, it will fail to alter my mind. Chem will do as Chem sees fit. The hand of Scythia may be heavy without our borders, Ambassador, but in the empire of the Elder of Chem it is inconsequential at best.’

‘The policy of Scythia is many things, Nazeera of the Triumvirate, but it is never to be ignored,’ the Ambassador told her. The Scythian stood stock still, and though its voice was constantly pleasant, anything but threatening, there was exactness to its words, which made it more keen and dangerous than a lion’s roar. Nazeera’s eyes took on a deep purple burn, but the Scythian pressed on. ‘We have explained the advantages of our offer numerous times. Our patience wears thin. Perhaps it is time to consider other options. If the Chem are unwilling or unable to grasp the opportunity Scythia and her galactic companions offer, then she must be left behind. We can no longer afford to slow our evolution as a galactic community because Chem prizes the ancient ways. We would, of course, rather have the Chem as willing companions, and cherished protectors of our traditions, rather than leaving our brethren behind to dwindle and fade into insignificance. Yet if we must leave you behind, then that shall be a loss, and a lesson, to our community.’

‘Very well,’ Nazeera smiled, ‘if that is all to your offer then by all means leave Chem behind. Why should we desire your company? Chem has kept a representative in the Senate since the days of Terumaz, and despite our well guarded sovereignty we have attempted to be a calm steady influence on galactic growth. If, however, the galactic community is so devoutly supportive of Scythian jealousy and desires our advice no longer then so be it. We shall withdraw today, this moment!’

‘Believe me, Nazeera of Chem, nothing would so pain Scythia, but for one distressing eventuality. For our community is growing, and needs space. Peace! I speak not of our established community, for who among us would be so bold, and foolish, as to have designs on Chem territory? We have too much respect for Chem to wish it as a possibility. Yet we are not alone, and of this we poor Scythians know too much. For two millennia, we have borne the hardest tasking: to maintain the incarceration of Terra and the heirs of Alexander. Unfortunately, the Terrans are far too potent a species to keep isolated for all time. When presented with a difficulty they have the unnerving habit of stubbornly seeking for a solution until the problem is solved. This is the eventuality we feared, and the reality we now face. The Terrans are on the verge of breaking out of their system despite Scythian efforts to prevent this possibility. Once they are out we have no way of controlling them, unless it is to present a constant front to them. The Galactics must speak as one voice, Nazeera of Chem, for only in that manner may we turn the legions of Alexander into the empty cosmos and away from our homes. Do you then still wish to stand alone? With the Galactics Chem may grow and prosper, as Terumaz the thrice renowned no doubt intended. Without us you stand alone against the legions of Alexander. Which way shall Chem go?’

‘You dare to threaten the Chem with your Terran mercenaries! You worms! You have not the courage to openly challenge your betters, but rather use a mythical confederacy to justify your endless greed. That is subterfuge too deep, Scythian, even for your people! I shall not stand by and hear more of it! Prepare yourself, Scythian. If you can truly commune with all of your folk during times of import then do it now! For the next time you see Nazeera of Chem it shall be after she has settled with Alexander once and for all time. Then, my treacherous friend, you shall see me on the smoking husk of your Homeworld, where I shall sentence you to Circus Pantrixnia for your crimes!’

Nazeera promptly left the field of the hologram. She-Rok turned the image of the lone Scythian off and said, ‘Dear me, that did not go well at all!’

CHAPTER 5: Turning Lies into Truth

The group of five Scythians gathered around the low metal table was misleading. Though only a limited number of Scythians were present in the Spartan council chamber the entire cognitive consciousness of the race was present. There was no spoken dialogue, no visual presentation and no animation whatsoever. There were only the silent figures, but they belied the mountainous decision before them. Thoughts flew around the Empire with uncharacteristic speed; unsettling thoughts born of a rising and perilous tide.

‘Our Ambassador to Roma delivered the Terran strategy exactly as prescribed by our behavioral calculations. We accounted for every variable; however, there was no way to plan for psychotic emotional reactions. There could have been no way to predict Nazeera of Chem’s actions. Still, the information gained from our operatives in the Terran System may well prove valuable, and the directness of our threat may well buy us time.

‘We now enter a dangerous and unplanned phase. If the Chem are indeed sincere in their warlike stance, as they seem to be, then they must believe we are just as determined in our defense: i.e. the Terran Stratagem.

‘The miscalculation of Chem intentions has placed the Empire in a precarious position, however. By our calculations, the possibility of Chem overreaction to our probing was negligible. Yet Chem attacked nonetheless. In the decurns since the Chem incursion, we have noted no new activity along our frontier, but we cannot be overly comfortable. The Chem gave us no reason to expect their aggression prior to the destruction of our experimentation vessel. We must now decide whether Chem aggression will expand. The Chem are a thalamic race with ancient codes of emotional restrictions governing their behavior. These emotional codes limit rationale and logic in Chem actions, making them very difficult to predict. After our initial failure in estimating Chem reaction we must now come to a conclusion based on limited data. The central question to our dilemma is this: will the Chem escalate from murder to genocide?’

There was a long pause in the train of thought.

‘Is it necessary to discard the socio-economic model all together? Admittedly the database for the Chem is as limited as is our historic contact with them, but it is hardly non-existent. We have free access to Chem ethernet broadcasts, and thus an accumulation of their socio-economic communication information over the last twenty millennia. Why would the model be so unreliable? There is no obvious reason for such an error. Can we conjecture, perhaps, that the failure of the model may be due to an individual’s interference as opposed to the calculated reaction of a culture at large? It is well understood that the socio-economic mathematical models are very accurate in estimating probable cultural actions, but virtually worthless in estimating individual actions. It could be proposed that Nazeera of Chem, with whom the final negotiations were brokered, has manipulated Chem policy by her own opinion and not through cultural evolution. In that case we must assume that we face an individual of great power and ruthless character who acts on personal opinion and not for the good of the whole.’

The original thought replied after a short pause.

‘That line of reasoning is well worth noting. We note as well, however, the discrepancy of time in Chem actions. Certainly even the socio-economic model for the Chem showed an increased level of risk after the Terran strategy was introduced, but our experimentation ship was boarded, its crew murdered, and the Terran subject kidnapped immediately after Nazeera of Chem refused our overture. It takes at least seven decurns to travel from the Chem frontier to the region of Terra, and even then it would take a Chem scout ship some time to ascertain the correct coordinates. Terra’s position is not known without our empire inside one thousand cubic light years. Therefore, if Nazeera of Chem gave the order to send a scout ship into Scythian space then that order occurred in the midst of our negotiations. It is a small point, but it paints her as an individual capable of pro-active decisions as opposed to reaction. We must take this into account.’

‘Point taken, but considering this individual’s characteristics is it your conclusion that Nazeera of Chem has formulated a complete plan of action consistent with her threats and that this plan has already been implemented?’

‘That is our estimation. There is no data to support it, however. Our profiles are built upon the Chem culture and not individuals. The Chem are the most historically violent race in the known galaxy outside of Terra, and extraordinarily jealous of their ways. They are not above mimicry, however. The Chem are perhaps more fascinated with Terra than any of the other civilizations. Recall the Chem recreation of Roma Terra’s gladiatorial games. The Chem have cultivated this bastardization of Terra’s Circus Maximus on their prison planet of Pantrixnia. The Chem revere Terrans, to a certain extent, as brother warriors, but it is also apparent that they fear them. Even the Chem would not breach intergalactic law so blatantly without some real concern.’

‘That is, then, to our advantage, and it is our tasking now to increase that concern. Inaction is no longer an option.’

‘It is then your opinion that Chem will pursue their threats?’

‘They must, as the threats were issued in a public forum and are now common knowledge. Even considering the past failure of our model there is no rationale that results in the Chem reversing their position. We reiterate; they rule themselves with the irrational emotions of honor and pride. Nazeera of Chem and her people cannot now retract their threat. We face certain cultural genocide with inaction.’

‘There remains only one option then. We must awaken the people of Alexander and unleash their legions on the foes of Scythia.’

There was a long silence.

‘Is it within our capacity to control these beings?’

‘Ours is the superior intellect.’

‘Agreed, but the question remains.’

Another silence.

‘At the moment we have no choice.’

CHAPTER 6: The Trial for Terra

A blur of gray light signaled Alexander’s return to consciousness. The flash of cold metal on his flesh snapped him awake. Instinctively, he recoiled at the memory of the cold operating table, but upon opening his eyes he realized he was somewhere else. The dim light was barely sufficient to reveal a cylindrical dull metal room. Seamless metal plates clad the walls, distinguishable from each other only by grain and shade. There was an alien texture to the metal. There was a different feeling in the air; it was a feeling he couldn’t explain but it was obvious in the smell, the weight of the air, and the temperature. This was a different ship, and considering his past experiences that was all to the good.

Beyond this simple observation, however, there was nothing to enlighten him. An injury shortened five year career as a defensive tackle, a nine year stint in the Air Force, and four years in the airlines didn’t prepare him very well for this predicament. All he could trust were his instincts, but all they told him was that he was far, far away from home.

Alexander sat up and shivered. He was naked and coldso cold the chill settled in the marrow of his bones and radiated outward into his flesh. The chill was worst in his metal knee, and it made the fused attachment points in his femur and tibia ache. It was a familiar sensation, thoughhe went through it every winterand strangely enough that sense of familiarity made him more at ease. Other than the cold, his only discomfort was being hungry, and a slight pain behind his left ear.

Alexander reached behind his ear and found a minuscule lump. Beneath his skin there was a small hard substance; it felt like a granular sliverirregular like shrapnel. He shook his head, unable to explain what was going on. He struggled for a moment, a profusion of thoughts and memories sporadically bombarded him. Making sense out of the deluge was impossible. Was this one of those dreams within dreams; where nothing made sense and every event twisted in its own strangely irrelevant direction, or was this reality? The former struck him as somehow disappointing, while the latter caused a buzz of trepidation in his stomach.

He stood up stiffly, grunting at the ache in his knee. Laboriously, he moved around the room; he desperately needed an activity, a goal or at least a purpose. It was not through any training that he accomplished this leap from languid apathy; rather it was the instinctual response of his nature to do something, anything constructive.

His movements, albeit slow and careful, were nonetheless painful. He stopped, and slowly methodically stretched the muscles in his great frame. Every muscle in his body was excruciatingly stiff; it was evidence of a long confinement. There was otherwise no sense of time for his captivity, but for the first time he had conscious memories of his internment. As he haltingly paced about the room examining the walls he felt his memory returning with more order. The strangeness of the memories attacked him, and everything he’d learned from institutional Earth told him to reject them out of hand. But Alexander trusted himself more than his teachers. In doing so a paradigm shift took place. As Alexander accepted his memories for what they were, he expanded his universe exponentially.

The shock of his ordeal with the aliens struck him with horrible clarity. Each capture, imprisonment, experiment and return was indelibly branded into in his mind. In fact, he had a clear memory of the Scythian Council’s message, his subsequent escape and the boarding by the Chem. That he could remember anything of these strange encounters was surprising. Certainly he’d remembered nothing of his previous abductions when he lived on Earth. The Scythians habitually repressed his memory before returning him to Earth, but they obviously had neither the opportunity nor the inclination to do so after being boarded.

The Chem killed the Scythians, but he knew nothing of what happened after they shot him on the bridge. He must therefore be under the Chem’s control. The slight deductive victory made him feel better, but beyond that, his reason failed. He still had no clear answers as to the basic questions of who, what, where, and why.

Those answers, he felt, would come eventually whether he wanted them to or not. The very memory of his previous abductions helped to steel him against the unwelcome sense of panic that now festered in the pit of his stomach. He at least understood the nature of his predicament. Events still controlled him, but he had his wits about him. He was still a prisoner, but he was conscious and unrestrained. In general his circumstances had improved considerably.

Alexander walked around the room a while longerthe strength returned to his body. Feeling physically better he now had to think, to concentrate. He sat down in the center of the room, assuming the closest approximation of the lotus position he could manage. He needed calm.

With a determination to prepare for the future, Alexander recalled every memory of his abductions from the first occurrence over ten years ago to his present situation. Reviewing them in minute detail, he became convinced that this situation was markedly different from the previous abductions in more ways than its interruption. He was cognizant of something unique about himself that troubled or excited the aliens considerably.

He took some comfort in the change of events, for two reasons. First, he was conscious, and that alone meant he’d have at least some control over things. Second, it was apparent that he had some value if, as it seemed, this other group of aliens had gone to the trouble of capturing him. Before, he was simply an object of study, now whoever had him would not so easily discard him, or so he hoped.

Suddenly he found himself laughing out loud. The action caught him off guard, but it was healthy. He attempted to remain calm and in control, but deep inside he was still deathly afraid. His instincts told him he was in deadly danger and completely out of his experience. No rationalization could make his circumstances better. He was afraid, and he’d every right to be. In admitting that fear he prevented it from controlling him. He couldn’t remove his fears, but he didn’t have to give in to them either. He laughed again, and this time he found comfort in his own voice.

‘Well, Alexander you always wanted to get into space, but you weren’t prepared to make the political sacrifices to get there by a more traditional route. That would have meant selling your soul. You’ve been frustrated time and time again by a tedious existence where you didn’t make a difference. I don’t know what it is that drives you to the expectation of something more than the ordinary lot in life, but here it is. You’ve gotten what you wanted: something more exciting than the rat race everyone else has to deal with. Make the best of it! Fretting over it certainly won’t help.’

He’d always envisioned his life with a greater purpose than the institutions of Humanity could somehow provide. Now his mind cleared and a thrill of anticipation coursed through his sinews. His instincts told him this was what he’d been waiting for all these years. All remaining stiffness and discomfort faded, and his muscles filled with warm blood, swollen, tensed and ready for anything.

A voice filled the room. Initially it was absolutely unintelligible, but in a few seconds words formed in his head, even though his ears made no sense of them. ‘Terran, can you understand me? Terran, can you understand me?’

A look of consternation crowded his face, as the conflict between what his brain heard and what his ears heard caused a wave of nausea to wash over him. The speaker continued and he grew accustomed to the sensation. His ears and brain reached some form of agreement.

‘Yes, I understand you,’ he answered eventually, standing up and waiting for a door to open.

No door opened. Instead, the floor trembled, and then slowly rose. Looking up he watched the ceiling open. The floor rose through the hole, and a bank of lights flashed on, bathing him from above. The glare blinded him, and the old urge to panic returned, knotting itself in his throat. His mind raced to prevent his newfound courage from disappearing. He shut his eyes tightly and saw himself as his captors must: a naked blind Human, completely at their mercy, at the point of cowering in fear of his life.

Revulsion and anger rose in response, and the momentary fear left him. He told himself, ‘If these are your last moments Alexander don’t spend them as a quivering lump of flesh! You’ve lived proud and well, if to no purpose. You can die just the same!’

Alexander drew himself up, once again strong and resolute. Crossing his arms defiantly over his chest he flexed every muscle in his frame. He almost laughed at the attempt to look intimidating, thinking, ‘If Hollywood is right, then every other alien, excepting the ones who captured me, are bigger stronger, faster and smarter than me!’

The thought put a scowl of disdain on his face. His eyes smoldered under knit brows daring anything and anyone to challenge him. The harsh lights finished his transformation, cutting deep shadows into his body, amplifying the athletic build into the graven image of a gladiator. The lift stopped, and after a long silence a resonant voice came out of the glare.

‘Terran, as Warlord of Terra you stand accused of acts of aggression towards the Galactic peoples! What say you?’

Alexander stared in the direction of the voice, astounded. The indictment was curt, damning and incomprehensible. Warlord? Terran? What was all this? They thought he, Alexander, was the Warlord of Terra? Terra? Earth! Warlord of Earth? Earth didn’t have a warlord, and never had, unless one went all the way back to Alexander the Great.

How could an advanced civilization ever come to that conclusion? He hated to admit it, but Alexander was as anonymous a Human Being as could be found. As for planet-bound Earthling’s threatening a space faring empire, well that was so farfetched it didn’t even register.

There was no way of answering the questioner, but he accepted the statement as their opinionwhat else could he do? He didn’t trust his diplomatic skills so he made a demand instead. Drawing himself to full height Alexander lowered his voice to a forceful growl.

‘I do not answer to thieves in the dark, nor do I answer to derogatory labels. I am Alexander Thorsson. If you wish to parley with me then let me see my accuser. Then I shall respond!’

‘You are in no position to issue ultimatums, Terran!’ the voice told him. ‘You will answer, and then you and your race will face punishment!’

The last statement held no room for argument, but it also held out little hope for reason. Alexander, by his own hastily formed opinion had nothing to lose, so he chose to retain the aggressive tact to the end. Pleading with unreasonable people never worked on Earth, so he had no expectation of success here.

He recalled the final moments on the previous ship. These were presumably the Chem, his new captors. They appeared strong and warlike, while the Scythians were anything but that. He played on the contrast, using his seeming ignorance as a dagger.

Shaking his head and putting contempt into his statement, he replied, ‘Enough of your games! Do not try to intimidate me! You Scythians, or whatever you call yourselves, have had your way with me in your experiments. That’s the only way you can face Terrans: in the dark with your technology as your shield. Well I grant your science gives you an advantage. You’re right to use it. With your puny bodies and technocratic ways I don’t expect you to have the courage to face me!’

There was a wrathful roar all around him. It was deafening. Then two sharp concussions, metal on metal, turned the cacophony into an uneasy silence.

The voice said, ‘You dare to mistake the glorious Chem for the worms of Scythia? With that you forfeit your life Terran, and the existence of your race!’

Alexander jumped upon the Chem’s response, trying to restrain the concern in his voice, but his words quavered just the same. He spread his arms wide and addressed the darkness behind the lights, his strength undiminished but rationality became the dominant tenor of his voice.

‘You say to me I’m now in the hands of another captor? How should I know that? Moreover, you ask me to see a difference, how so? I am a captive, blinded, immobilized and subject to the basest treatment imaginable for an intelligent being: a subject for experimentation! Now another race has me, and rather than dissecting me with your machines you put me on trial. You bring me naked and blind to judgment for myself and my race? I ask you, as a civilized being, if you were in my position what difference would you see in your captors?’

The Chem met his answer with silence. The lights dimmed and the Chem revealed themselves to Alexander. They stood above and around him on the raised steps of a semi-circular chamber. Their blue eyes glowed from long angular faces. The Chem were a lean race, bipedal and in all obvious respects humanoid. They were almost as tall as Alexander, but not nearly as heavy in build. Ropy muscles cut through varying shades of tawny flesh, and their clothing accented their somewhat wild and warlike nature. The Chem wore metallic cloth of dull amber, red or purple beneath ceremonial armor. Alexander saw both male and female representatives in the audience. The dress of the two sexes was similar, though it differed in very Earth-like qualities. The male dress accented the arms and shoulders, while the female’s accented the breasts and hips. The commonalty between their worlds almost amused Alexander, but the expressions from the assembly, though alien, were obviously hostile.

‘I am held captive by a race of warriors, as unlike to the worms of Scythia as a dead planet to the glory of a star,’ he said quickly, and then he let his voice rise and become more demanding again. ‘But why then, people of Chem, do you treat me thus? If you have complaint with me or my race why did you not face us openly with your questions? Why this covert kidnapping, for it seems to me to be beneath you?’

‘A fair question in appearance,’ answered a smooth voice, and Alexander’s eyes darted to a female in the foremost ranks. The new speaker was exotic in her alien beauty; she was lithely built, with long blue-black hair sweeping back from her dark crested forehead. The vibrant blue eyes, strange in their absence of pupil or iris, but intent on him nonetheless, glowed under finely chiseled brows. Nobility marked her sharply cut cheeks and her aquiline nose. Her chin, providing a narrow base for such a proud visage, was almost delicate. A fantastic array of crimson-purple armor and clothing did nothing to conceal her strong but graceful form; rather, it accentuated her in a wild unrelenting air. With her arms clasped before her she lost none of the power or strength of her male counterparts, but she added a perilous feline ferocity to her presence. She continued her question in a dangerously venomous tone.

‘Why should the Chem stoop to such tricks? Come now, Terran, we are not children. Is it any wonder you, of all beings, should demand stealth? Who else but Alexander himself should we expect to find communing with the Scythians? Who else would be so bold as to usurp the appellation of the legendary conqueror, and the privilege of the son of your God of War?’

She stepped down from the stands and walked around Alexander in a wide circle. ‘Look at you! Victories lay upon your breast, battle-scars upon your body, and blood upon your hands. There is dread upon you and within you; so much so that you enticed the intervention of the Galactic worms, and fell into our fortunate hands. It is now our part to play the inquisitor, Alexander of Terra, retrograde though that may be to your life experience.’ She stopped in front of him and planted her hands on her hips. ‘This should prove an interesting test of adaptability, for what manner of being is Alexander, but one accustomed to command, or demand? Still, you are right to demand such an accounting from us, aren’t you?’

‘Am I?’ he asked, feeling that she expected a brutish answer from a brutish racebeneath their contempt. Alexander had no idea why they considered him a warlord of Earth, or what their beef was with his planet, but they thought so, and he didn’t get the impression that arguing the point with this woman would get him anywhere. He accepted the fact, and his responsibilityand it was surprisingly easy for him to do so. He didn’t have the time to hone his crude words into eloquence, but he sensed that at all costs he had to make her understand that he, and Humanity, was worth consideration and respect.

‘Am I right to demand a reason for my kidnapping, and for these charges levied against my race and myself? Why should I wish to know the reason I’m suddenly plucked from my home and put on trial? Is it any wonder why I ask such questions or make such demands? If the Scythians did the initial theft and you, the Chem, merely took me from their laboratory then I may have some cause to thank you. I find that difficult to do under the circumstances. I find it doubly difficult to believe that you should rescue me from the Scythians and then put me on trial for such capital charges.’

He looked around at the tiers of Chem, and spread his arms wide. ‘You tell me that I stand accused of complicity against your empire, but that is a broad statement, my dear Chem. I find it a difficult concept to imagine considering our ignorance of you, and the superiority of your technology. What manner of threat can Humanity be to the Chem? The idea is fantastic but impossible!’ He looked back at the woman, and said tersely, ‘We know nothing of you; you are not being reasonable. Can you explain any of this?’

The woman turned to her people and raised her arms, and Alexander had the unsettling feeling that she was telling them, ‘You see, just as I expected!’

She turned around and approached Alexander. She moved like a cat, with a silky deadly grace. She glared directly into his eyes. He returned her stare with conviction, but could not read her intent. The blue orbs of the Chem woman were almond in shape, but there was nothing that told Alexander she focused on him, unless it was the almost imperceptible and universal power of the stare. The eyes presented no clue as to her mood, or her soul, and that alone made him stridently uncomfortable.

She passed close by his shoulder, went behind him and came back around, as if stalking him. Alexander stood still, though he followed her with his eyes. Finally, she halted by his side and smiled. The effect of her sharp canines resting on her full lips increased his agitation, and his fascination, but he merely narrowed his eyes to grim slits.

‘You are a wily one, Terran,’ she told him, laying a sharp nailed hand on his shoulder. She smiled broadly now and looked about to her peers, saying, ‘Behold the innocent Terran, stolen with nefarious purpose from his Homeworld and charged with heinous crimes! Oh, ignorant Alexander of Terra, whom we plucked like a flower from his scholarly studies of wit and altruism!’ She smiled again, and sauntered to stand directly before him. Brazenly she looked him up and down, and then she reached up and grasped his shoulders. She tried to shake him, but though Alexander endured her gaze and her advances, he barely shuddered as she tried to move him.

She nodded, stepping away with her arms spread wide, and announcing, ‘Behold the body of a scholar! Have we not seen, oh members of the Assemblage, the scholarly activities of Terrans through the millennia? Their many clever wars based upon reason and carried out through debate, where the victor beat the opponent in a battle of wits and words? By this Terran’s reasoning his mentor, the inestimable Alexander the Great, conquered Terra with his potent parables of philosophy! Look at this Terran and note the proportions of a thinker! Of what use are those shoulders and arms Terran? Are you brawny from lifting books? Where does your chest spring from, the tilling of flowers? Why are your legs so knotted and bulky? Is it from the chasing of women? By the looks of you they may need the chasing; I’ll warrant they’ll not come to you willingly!’

The assembled Chem laughed, and the Chem woman finally turned back to him. ‘Really, Terran, what would you have us believe? You are no scholar! If this is not the body of a warrior then what are you? I ask you, Terran, what are you?’

Alexander withstood her chiding, and her anger, stoically. It would do no good to rant or argue; he’d not win that battle. He was no orator, he was not gifted in debate but he thought he understood something of the woman before him; people, it seemed, were people after allno matter where they might come from. He played on that. With no anger in his voice, and just a touch of sadness, as a teacher would a pupil who still didn’t understand, he asked simply, ‘What’s your name?’

The immediately identifiable question shifted the woman’s thought, for it was as if he heard nothing of what she just said. In seeming frustration she threw up her arms and stated, ‘There is no profit in this! Either the Terran has no understanding of his position at this moment, or he’s mad. I see no use in continuing this interrogation.’

She began to stalk off, but Alexander stopped her by saying, ‘I might very well be both you know.’

She turned around and stared at him.

He allowed a silence to develop and then he slowly began to make a circuit of the pit, as if lecturing a new assembly of college students. ‘Has it ever occurred to you and your fellow Chem that I might very well be wondering the very same things? What is it you really want of me, you Chem? You make sport of me, and bait me, but you don’t ask reasonable questions. I might eventually take such actions as a purposeful attack on my honor, but I don’t know you. So, for the moment, before I give in to any irreconcilable and unfortunate opinions, I shall give you Chem the benefit of the doubt.’ He let his gaze sweep over every member of the audience before letting it rest with finality on the woman. ‘I assume you tempt me through your own ignorance and trepidation, but I warn you my patience has its limits.’

‘Does it?’ the woman smiled, approaching him again. ‘What would those limits be, I wonder?’

Alexander crossed his arms over his breast. ‘You have been walking upon their borders for quite some time now.’

‘What happens if I cross that border, Terran?’ The Chem prodded him.

Alexander’s brows furrowed, and his sigh of frustration rumbled from his chest like a discordant organ. The Chem woman actually leaned away from him, though she did not step back. Alexander shook his head. ‘What have I done that you should mock me so? Am I so far beneath you as a being that I should not be worth the slightest amount of your courtesy?’

‘What would you have of me then, Terran?’ she asked, relenting in her scorn somewhat.

‘My name is Alexander,’ he said forcefully.

‘Very well, Alexander of Terra. You’ve earned that title on Terraand we the Chem know how laudable that is. I will no longer admonish it, though I condemn you for it.’

‘May I ask your name?’ Alexander requested.

‘For what purpose,’ she asked, her manner at least partially decipherable to him: an irritated but amused puzzlement.

‘If you want to start a dialogue then it would help if I knew your nameyou, after all, know mine. It’s only fair.’

‘We did not bring you here to begin a dialogue, Alexander of Terra,’ she told him. ‘We brought you before the august body of the Chem Assemblage to answer charges.’

‘Then you are my accuser,’ Alexander told her. ‘Among my people it is the right of the accused to know one’s accuser. No person of name or rank should be charged by the nameless or the anonymous.’

The woman paced in front of him for a moment, cocking her head as if in consideration of his words. At length she turned again to him, and told him, ‘So it is with us. Very well, I am Nazeera of Chem, of the Triumvirate of Chem. Does that satisfy you, Alexander of Terra?’

‘Thank you, Nazeera of Chem. For what crimes do you accuse my people and me?’

‘Now you try my patience,’ Nazeera told him, her eyes growing somewhat brighter.

‘We are two new races, completely unfamiliar with each other, Nazeera of Chem,’ Alexander told her quickly, following directly with a question. ‘Isn’t it reasonable to make things plain, instead of assuming they are understood?’

‘Your understanding is of precious little importance to me, Alexander of Terra,’ Nazeera told him curtly, but she added, in a matter of fact voice. ‘It is part of the Galactic record that Scythia subtly threatens her neighbors with forceful invasion by Terran legions to gain economical advantage. Terra has been at Scythia’s beck and call for over two millennia; that is not a matter for debate. What is a matter for debate is the particular threat Terrans pose to Chem. That is why you are here. You are here, Alexander of Terra, so that we may learn all that we can of you. Then we shall end your threat to ourselves and the galaxy.’

‘This is a matter between Scythia and Chem, not Chem and my people,’ Alexander told her.

‘You are Scythia’s might, and so you are Scythia, Alexander of Terra,’ Nazeera told him harshly, adding, ‘It is beneath your warrior’s nature to plead a separate innocence from your masters!’

‘We recognize no masters but ourselves!’

‘And you are justifiably damned for it!’ Nazeera retorted. ‘You validate the Galactic legends then, and the Scythians’ threats! Terra has waited all this time to find the means of unleashing her power on the galaxy and continuing her conquests! Terra is the aggressor, and Scythia holds the key to her cage. You dare not cross your words now, Alexander of Terra. You’ve caught yourself in your own web!’

Alexander realized the utter futility of pursuing that tact further, and he felt he’d lost a valuable opportunity to his temper. He’d let a chance for reason, slight though it may have been, disappear for the moment at least. Still, he’d learned something: the Chem and the Galactics feared Earth, or to be more accurate, Terra. He had no idea why, but the name of Alexander the Great and the fear of Terran legions ready to advance upon the galaxy weren’t lost on him. The Scythians, his original captors, were involved in some way, but he had no time to figure out how.

The reality of the Chem conviction remained, however, and it was a more powerful tool than he could have hoped for. Returning to his former tactic, he told her grimly, ‘I can see your mind is set, and that no amount of truth or reason will sway it. Very well, think what you will, Nazeera of Chem, as your prejudice will prevent you from believing anything but what you wish to hear. Mark this, however, and mark it well! Terrans are a breed best left to themselves! Leave us alone and we will respect you in kind. Threaten us and we will respond in kind! Mark me, it is better to have Terrans as a possible threat on an isolated planet, than Terrans set in a desperate war against you. Do not make that mistake! The Chem are an honorable and admirable people, but take care. To declare us a renegade race is an offense of the first order. Measure your actions accordingly. We do not easily forgive treachery!’

‘You speak proudly, Alexander of Terra, as one would expect from the mercenaries of Terran legend. Look, Chem warriors, how cunning the Terran is to demand answers from us, appeal to our justice and reason and then threaten us with defiance! I see through you Terran, as we all should. I will waste no more time bandying words with you. You are a common mercenary guilty of plotting with the Scythians. We shall treat you as such. You deserve no better.’

‘Do you therefore favor execution Nazeera?’ a heavy, white bearded Chem asked.

Nazeera bowed to him, saying, ‘Such a question, noble Elder of Chem, may perhaps be best directed to our prisoner.’ A dangerous smile curled on the face of Nazeera, a face that Alexander, under other circumstances, would have called beautiful. There was a lilt in her raspy voice which translated across any distance, and she turned to the Terran and caressed his cheek with one razor sharp nail. Blood sprang from beneath the edge, but Alexander did not move.

‘Well, Alexander of Terra,’ she purred, ‘what would you have us do with you? Would you desire a death swift and painless? We can be merciful in that way. You will simply slide into a deep sleep with no pain, no discomfort. Or perhaps you would wish imprisonment instead. You could live out your days, alone, confined, but alive and comfortable. What do you say to that, Alexander?’

CHAPTER 7: The Birth of Alexander

In that moment Alexander knew who he must be. The Chem saw him as a warrior of a warrior race. They would never believe otherwise. Therefore, that was what he must be with every fiber of his being. He must present Terrans as a race too formidable and dangerous to be meddled with. He couldn’t afford reality. He couldn’t afford feelings. He had to focus on the perceptions of his audiencethe Chem. That’s all that mattered.

Alexander didn’t have the luxury of lengthy reflection or even reality. He drew upon himself, his past, his beliefs and those of his ancestors to flesh out his new persona.

The need of the moment balanced on the point of a knife, and he realized the dangers of a false step. He was a single Terran out of almost five billion beings, but before the warriors of Chem he spoke for all, and this guided his words. Fortunately, the Chem game was transparent. These beings detested weakness, as was obvious in their view of the Scythians. They were contemplating conflict with Terra, and he was here to confirm their suspicions of a warrior race too brutish to be given respect or consideration. He must change that view.

The Chem must think that conflict with Terra would come at too high a cost. There could be no weakness in his demeanor. He would have to dredge up every bit of the ruthless cunning that enabled Terrans to ascend from woefully armed gatherers to the masters of one of the most fantastic planets in the galaxy. The failure of his performance could spell the doom of the Terran race or at best a horrible thralldom under unyielding masters.

Finally, certain of his situation and his course, Alexander smiled. Slowly he reached up and took Nazeera’s hand from his cheek. Her flesh was firm, but with silkiness to it. Her blood was as warm as his, and he felt her thrill at the alien contact. He held her hand for just a moment, firmly but without threat, then he gently kissed it, saying, almost in a whisper, ‘If this is how you wish things, Nazeera of Chem, then so be it.’

Alexander released her hand, addressing her directly, and forcefully. ‘There is more to your question than words, Nazeera of Chem. You insult me brazenly, for what is imprisonment but a lingering death? What is execution but slaughter fit only for domesticated animals? My ancestors roved the wild seas in search of war and plunder. They feared only to die in their beds of old age without a sword in their hand. How have I wronged you and so warrant such a sentence? My ancestors should laugh me out of Valhalla as a coward!

‘You have your opinion of me; words alone will not change it. I hoped for more from advanced beings. Very well then, you shall see that we are not so trite as to beg for our lives, but we shall not give them up willingly.’ He turned from Nazeera and addressed the entire Assemblage. He raised a threatening finger to all of them. ‘Do what you will with me, if you can. I defy you to the end. Yet gauge well what you see in me, for it will return to you five billion fold! It will come to you with fire and revenge, as in your unwarranted actions you forfeit the respect and kinship we might have offered you as friends. Think carefully about your next steps concerning us. I am one Terran, and my death may be excused, but you shall rue the day that you threaten all of Terra! Think carefully on it! You do not yet realize your peril!’

The Elder Chem addressed Nazeera, ‘Alexander of Terra speaks as if he were a warrior of Chem, Nazeera, what do you say now?’

When he turned back to her there was a strange expression on Nazeera’s face, and she held the hand Alexander kissed as if bemused by the act. She nodded, as if impressed by Alexander’s words, and said, ‘Let us test the mettle of this incarnation of Alexander, for we all know how well Scythians weave their words. For a mercenary he is eloquent and clever. So much may we expect of a Terran warlord. Yet what lies behind the title? Let deeds be the test of him. Pantrixnia has Terran beasts upon it, so he should not feel so far from his home. Send him to the prison planet!’

There was a roar of approval from the assembled throng, and Nazeera, regaining her full composure, climbed back on the first step, an evil smile lighting her exotic face.

The floor began to descend. Nazeera called to him, ‘We shall see if you fight as well as you speak, Alexander of Terra. Farewell, and remember that I shall be watching!’

Alexander pointed a threatening finger at Nazeera, saying in a commanding voice, ‘Mark what I have said concerning Terra! If wronged we will come to you with fire and fury, and shall never stop until the thirst for vengeance is forever sated! Take what you need from me and leave my planet to itself! As for myself, I forgive your trespasses, and bear you no ill will.’

Alexander smiled and bowed. ‘It was an interesting meeting, Nazeera of Chem. If my words had no effect on you then maybe my deeds will bear me out. I shall make every effort not to disappoint you. Farewell, I look forward to our next meeting!’

Darkness enveloped him as the metal ceiling slid closed over his head.

Nazeera folded her lithe arms over her bosom and cursed, ‘Impudent Terran!’

‘Have a care beloved sister, I think he likes you,’ noted a handsome, and large, Chem male next to her. He simply laughed at her responding scowl. Nazeera’s husband, a shorter heavier Chem standing behind him found no humor in the remark.

‘You speak disgusting thoughts, Nazar,’ he growled, his light skin blushing. ‘I do not wish to hear such things spoken before myself, or my wife!’

Nazar grinned, showing all of his brilliant platinum teeth. His elongated canines snapped together as he laughed, ‘Why I almost think you sound jealous, Bureel! Don’t pursue that charade, or make any false claims of affection in front of me. It’s no secret that your father arranged this marriage because of my sister’s place, and my own, in the Assemblage. My father would never have agreed to such a union if he did not owe his life to yours. That’s no debt of mine, however. I tolerate you, no more, and would gladly have traded my seat for my sister’s happiness, but such was not our father’s final wish.’

‘Your opinion matters little to me, Nazar,’ Bureel replied. ‘I only voice my revulsion to your thoughts, as much as to your opinions.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, he was rather handsome in an alien sort of way,’ Nazar said. ‘Leastwise you wouldn’t mistake him for a female! He certainly held himself well. Much better than you would have Bureel.’

‘You dare to insult me!’ Bureel started, but Nazeera cut them both off.

‘Cease this bickering, both of you!’ she ordered. ‘We’re on the brink of war with a race that may very well be our equal and you two are busy chattering nonsense! You will cease and desist at once.’

Bureel flared with manufactured anger, saying, ‘Our equal? Think what you say, my wife! Let me sport with him in mortal combat and we shall quell this fear of Terrans in your heart.’

Nazeera instantly confronted him, placing her angrily contorted features inches from those of her husband. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Bureel backed away. ‘You will not address me as wife in the Assemblage. I am your senior in this chamber, Bureel. Tread with care. I will not remind you again!’

The male Chem drew back with a snarl, but he said, ‘I stand corrected, Nazeera, but what of my charge? Bring the Terran and myself together in equal combat, and I will end this discussion here and now! Why do we waste our time with probing and evaluating these Terrans? If this Alexander is any example then the Scythians exaggerated every quality of their persons. He is a lout, without brains enough to bear me service. I daresay he has the courage to match his wits, and faced with a challenge to the death he would crawl upon his belly for mercy!’

‘From the looks of his arms, Bureel and those saurian eyes, I would hazard to say that Nazeera would be free to search for a new mate of her own choosing, and not our father’s,’ Nazar told him.

‘You dare!’

‘Enough! Enough!’ Nazeera exclaimed. ‘I’ll hear no more of this discussion. Bureel, I will not sponsor your request, and since you must have one of the three Triumvirates to sponsor a bill from a lower level of the Assemblage-I doubt if either Karel or Puriezia would go against my wishes-your challenge will go unfulfilled. Without my support, I don’t think your scheme for glory will come to much. Now, I must attend to the Chamber, where the Elder and the Triumvirate will discuss the particulars of this unpleasant situation in detail. I therefore take my leave of you.’

Nazeera turned on her heal, her black tresses whipping behind. The two males bowed as befitting junior members of the Assemblage and left in opposite directions.

Alexander settled himself once again in the gloom of his cell, exhausted. The enormous effort of self control and debate that characterized the most important half hour of his life, and possibly of Terran existence, drained him of all energy. He had no illusions as to the import of his actions, and as ill an ambassador as he thought he was Alexander couldn’t afford the luxury of failure. He sat on the metal floor and gathered his thoughts. He won a small victory. The Chem would send him to a prison planet, he couldn’t remember the name, and there test his ‘mettle.’ The situation was turning out to be logical, if not desirous. The Chem wanted to know what they were up against.

His task now, his only task, was to put forward such a powerful image of Humankind that the Chem would have second thoughts on attacking Earth. His personal survival and safety were secondary now. He was an actor assigned to play the role of a Human as he should be, and not necessarily as he was. His only regret was his condition. At thirty-nine he was past the peak of his physical powers. He’d seen too little of the gym or dojo in the last years, and old injuries made themselves more apparent. Still, he told himself, he wasn’t completely without physical ability. At six foot two, two hundred and thirty pounds he was somewhat pared down from his playing days in Minnesota. A black belt in the martial arts could be thanked for his not ‘ballooning’ in weight when injuries forced his premature retirement from football. His short career in the trenches of the NFL, although saddling him with an artificial knee and a suspect back, still endowed him with a commanding physique and a sense of fearlessness in personal combat. In the military he became an expert marksman, and had the benefit of annual survival training.

With his experience and remaining physical powers he’d no doubt he could live off the land of this prison planet. He could handle himself, unless it came down to a test of tooth and claw. In that arena genetics hobbled him, and so it did not warrant his concern.

As he pondered his position Alexander was unaware of the changes that came over him. His entire being centered on his task. The cold of the floor disappeared because it was unimportant. The discomfort of his physical position didn’t reach his brain because it was trivial. Imperceptibly, all that was dominant for survival asserted itself. The brutal endurance and cunning of the primitive Homo sapiens combined with the skill and intelligence of modern man. Without his knowledge, he advanced as a being, even as parts of him regressed to their most primitive. It was the secret to survival for the Human race throughout the millennia, to somehow reach their full potential when nature demanded it. He sat and he thought, waiting with the stamina of newfound patience.

He drifted off to sleep. How much time passed he couldn’t say, but his mind was busy with a swirling avalanche of dreams and thoughts. Finally, he awakened. He was sitting on the edge of a bedhis bed. He felt groggy and disoriented. What was that dream he had? It was like a book. Muttering to himself he got up and went into the bathroom. He relieved himself, brushed his teeth, lathered his face and began to shave. It was then, as he looked at the bathroom in the mirror, that he realized this was his apartment in his Air Force days.

The thought struck him, ‘I’m not in the Air Force anymorethis must be a dream.’

The bathroom disappeared, and his eyes snapped open. He was still in his cylindrical metal cell, but a panel was open revealing a lighted corridor.

CHAPTER 8: Little Green Men

‘Bloody hell, what the devil does this mean?’ growled Admiral Sten Augesburcke. He stared incredulously at the message Captain Buckminster gave him. The Captain ordered flank speed, and the acceleration of the ‘Starship Enterprise’ through the Atlantic swells forced the Admiral to steady himself against the rail.

Augesburcke read the message twice, again breaking into swearing heavily laced with his Australian accent, belaying both his temper and his background. Augesburcke was an Australian exchange officer now in his second tour of service with the U.S. Navy. He was so well thought of that the Navy enticed him with the opportunity of a lifetime: the Enterprise battle group.

They were steaming back to Norfolk for a well deserved rest when a classified message from the Pentagon interrupted the ship’s routine. The flush of Augesburcke’s temper reddened the already swarthy features. He ran his hands through his short cropped silver-white hair and pulled at his mustache. None of his aboriginal ancestor’s patience, however, seemed to touch the Admiral at moments of ill or, as in this case, mysterious news. After a third perusal of the message the Admiral demanded, ‘This was it? They sent nothing else? What kind of order is this?’

‘I have no idea, sir,’ the Captain reported, adding, ‘But the orders are quite specific. There’s not much room left for interpretation.’

‘None, I would say!’ Augesburcke agreed, reading the massage aloud as if to assert to himself it was true. ‘To all USN vesselsproceed at flank to nearest friendly port. Break formation. Readiness status Alpha. Await further instructions. To Enterprise: B41 will transfer Adm A to new post as CINCCODOTS. Congrats. Urgent, no delay.’

Augesburcke glared at the paper, ignoring the broad context of the message for the moment. ‘CODOTS, what the blazes is that supposed to mean? I would have sworn we thought up every possible nonsensical abbreviation possible, but this is a new one. And what’s a B41? Is that a ship or a plane?’

‘Neither of those designations is in the book, Admiral, and they’re not codes that I know of. We received an alphanumeric code immediately after the clear text confirming the validity of the message. I’ve already ordered all ships to Alpha. All decks are sealed, and we are in the process of moving ammunition from the magazines. Our aircraft will all be loaded and ready to go within the hour. The first fully armed patrol has already been launched. Each ship in the battle group has its orders.’

Augesburcke crossed the bridge and glared down at the deck. The Enterprise anti-submarine helicopters were in the process of launching, and fully armed fighters and bombers were taking their place on the vast armored deck. The ‘Hornets’ rose from the bowels of the ship bristling with needle-like air-to-air missiles, but on some of the aircraft the weapons were fatter, longer, and with larger fins. The latter weapons were not the conventional olive in color, but a dangerous shining white. Augesburcke stared in disbelief.

‘My God has it come to this? Why no warning? Is it terrorists or the Russians gone mad? I can’t think of anything but that the balloon’s gone up, John, can you? Why else would we be loading nukes? But this is damn strange. We’re heading to port and not to open sea; we’re splitting up the battle group and ignoring standard submarine defense; we’ve got nukes on our jets and there’s no mention of who or what we’re aiming these things at. Is this for real? Let me see that code!’

The Captain showed him the alphanumeric message which followed the clear text message already read by the Admiral. Returning to the bridge the two officers decoded it, although it had already been through numerous iterations by the Captain and the bridge officers.

In the end Augesburcke simply swore, ‘Goddamn it, that’s a fine how do you do! Clearance to unlock, arm, and launch, but at who, they haven’t given us any damn targets?’

Augesburcke took out his pipe, lit it and puffed savagely away. After a moment of reflection he left the bridge, Captain in tow, steaming like a freight train. Once outside he leaned over the rail, the wind whipped by at over seventy miles an hour with the ‘Starship Enterprise’s’ speed. A froth of white foam boiled from the ‘Enterprise,’ and her escorts were fading fast towards the horizon.

‘Damn strange!’

He puffed savagely at his pipe. The wind tore at the smoke, sending it off over his shoulder and out to sea. The thrill of the big ship’s speed broke the Admiral’s temper, and he suddenly grinned, shouting over the wind, ‘Look at that, John! She’s still the fastest ship afloat; even the new ‘Aegis’ ships can’t keep up with her when she’s got her steam up! Damn, but it’s good to have this feeling again! John, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s hot! This is no bluff and bluster. My dad used to say he’d get a bellyful of shrapnel before engagements. I’ve missed my wars, except for chasing these damned 7 century zealots around. Not anymore. This is big; I can feel it.’

‘I hope you’re wrong, Sten, but here’s my problem: when I got the initial message I asked our communications people what they’d been listening to. I mean, there’s got to be something going on. They’ve got nothing, absolutely nothing. It’s as if the world communications nets had all gone off the air.’

‘How did we get our message then?’

‘There was a window of one minute where all of a sudden every military channel worldwide came alive. We called our people, the Russians called theirs, the Brits, etc. Then everything went dead again. Even the French shut up. If it’s radio silence then everyone’s in on it.’

‘Well it won’t do any good to worry about what we can’t control; we’ll just have to wait. Maybe this B41 that’s coming to get me will have some answers.’

An hour later, still two thousand miles off the coast of Virginia, a solitary aircraft announced itself on radar. Captain Buckminster informed the Admiral, ‘It’s your bird, sir and he’s coming in hot. We clocked him at mach three-seven.’

‘Hell, I didn’t know we had any carrier plane that went that fast!’

‘We don’t, at least as far as I know. The ‘Hornets’ will join up on him as soon as he slows. We’re turning into the wind. I gave orders for the deck officer to bring the pilot to the bridge as soon as he’s aboard.’

‘How long will that be?’

‘About five minutes,’ the Captain said. The two men waited outside, and in a few moments they spied the sleek shapes of the fighters escorting a long angular aircraft half again their size. As the aircraft entered downwind Buckminster called it out, ‘I’ll be damned, it’s a ‘Vigilante’ with a NASA/DARPA tail flash. I didn’t know there was any still flying.’

‘Someone’s in a hurry,’ Augesburcke nodded. ‘Make ready to fuel him as soon as he shuts down. The big guns don’t let their toys out in public without good reason. You may not know it, John, but NASA and DARPA don’t put their flashes on the same bird unless it’s a Dreamland airplane. Area 51 and all that super secret squirrel stuff. Don’t bother getting the pilot out, like as not he’s under orders not to leave the cockpit. Just get me suited up.’

Buckminster did as the Admiral asked, and as the ‘Vigilante’ touched down they came out on the deck to meet it. The flight deck crew expertly released the cable and guided the pilot directly to the port catapult where a fuel line waited for it. The pilot shut down, but only the aft canopy of the aircraft rose. Without hesitation Augesburcke scrambled up the ladder and squeezed into the aft cockpit. The Admiral plugged his communications cord in immediately, asking, ‘What’s this all about?’

‘Just strap in, Admiral, I’ll explain on the way,’ a female voice answered.

‘We’re just sitting here, and it will take at least a few minutes to get gas. Can’t you give me anything?’

‘Admiral, I don’t know the full picture,’ the pilot informed him. ‘There is a briefing file in the back there that you are not to open until we are airborne. I’m afraid that’s all I know. I just drive these things. Now sit tight, whatever’s not in your file will have to wait until we get to New York.’

‘New York, why the hell aren’t we going to D.C.? Strike that, you wouldn’t know would you? Well, when will we get there?’

‘Less than an hour, sir,’ the pilot told him. ‘You better strap in, Admiral, we’ve got our gas, so we’re out of here!’

‘Roger,’ Augesburcke answered, motioning to Buckminster, who was on the ladder strapping him in. The Captain raised an ear of his headset and leaned into the cockpit to listen.

‘I don’t know what the hell is going on John! They’re bugging me out to New York-who knows why-little green men from Mars are probably trying to take over Wall Street and they need an Aussie who can drink them into negotiating!’

‘Drink a few for me then, Sten! I don’t want to hear that some half-pint put you under the table! Good luck!’ Buckminster laughed, shaking the Admiral’s hand. He hopped down the ladder to the steel deck, and gave a final wave.

Augesburcke strapped on his Oxygen mask and felt the cool flow of air. His canopy came down, and now he was trapped in the aircraft, like a sausage in a can that was slightly too tight. He fought the feeling of claustrophobia that tightened his gut and made the sweat pop out on his forehead. The ‘Vigilante’ shuddered as the engines started, and the sickly sweet odor of exhaust and jet fuel permeated the cockpit. He switched his mask to ‘100%’ Oxygen, and the all he could smell was rubber and plasticit was an improvement.

A roaring grew in his ears. The jet rocked violently.

Almost too late he saw the deck officer give the go signal. Augesburcke planted his head against the seat just as the catapult fired. Despite his readiness the acceleration threw him back into the seat. The deck of the ship disappeared and all Augesburcke saw was the bottle green windswept Atlantic. It looked dangerously close, so close the streamers of spray whipped up to grab him. Involuntarily Augesburcke lifted himself in his seataway from the water. It was a mistake.

The pilot pulled back on the stick. The g-force plastered Augesburcke back into the steel seat. In his dimming vision all the Admiral could see were the thick Atlantic clouds.

The mystery of the file was forgotten. All Augesburcke wanted to do for the next few minutes was to keep his lunch where it belonged. He’d never particularly liked flying, and though he’d logged more ‘cats’ and ‘traps’ than he cared to remember this flight was particularly nasty. The ‘Vigilante’ punched its way through layer after layer of cumulus clouds, bucking the Admiral like he was a doll. The ascent lasted ten interminable minutes. When they finally found smooth air above the clouds, and Augesburcke was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the pilot pushed the nose over. The maneuver allowed the aircraft to accelerate more rapidly, but it sent the Admiral flying against his straps, his stomach rising with him. In a desperate bid to retain his dignity Augesburcke threw the oxygen switch to ‘Emergency.’ Immediately a welcome stream of cold Oxygen splashed his face, and in a few moments he could concentrate on something besides trying not to heave.

With a momentary respite from the nausea Augesburcke tore open the envelope. In the space of a moment every symptom of airsickness was completely gone.

‘Mother of God,’ he whispered. The document at the top of the stack was the most incredible piece of paper he’d ever seen. The letterhead was from the United Nations Security Council. That was not so unusual; Augesburcke received taskings and status reports from the council before. It was the first line of the communiqué that drew his attention.

‘On January 2, two days ago, official contact was made with representatives of the extraterrestrial Scythian Empire. Contact was initiated by the Scythians after their representatives landed on the front lawn of the United Nations. A Scythian delegation has been in constant dialogue since first contact with representatives from the Security Council. The purpose for Scythian contact is twofold: a desire to warn the population of Earth (Terra in galactic standard) of possible hostile actions to be taken against our system by another extraterrestrial empire, the Chem; and the establishment of a mutual defense agreement between our two cultures. Substantial evidence, (contained within this briefing package) exists to substantiate Scythian claims. The United Nations Security Council, working at the behest of the governments of the member nations and in cooperation with civilian and military working groups from member nations, has created the Council of Defense of the Terran System, CODOTS, for implementation of terrestrial policy. This council will be limited in membership to twenty-two representatives of various backgrounds. The membership selected comprises people of civilian, military, political and academic experience from six continents. The CODOTS council is a streamlined working group which shall formulate and implement a plan of action appropriate to our present circumstances. CODOTS shall wield the equivalent of executive planetary authority during the current crisis with the United Nations Security Council acting as a legislative governing body. As Commander in Chief of the CODOTS council, you shall have all the respective powers as commander, manager, etc. All information relevant to this position is contained herein. You will brief the Security Council on your initial impressions of the situation and your plan of attack on arrival at the United Nations. Good Luck.’

Augesburcke let out a long whistling sigh, paging absently through the thick stack of papers behind the cover letter. There were dossiers on the twenty-one other members of the CODOTS council, dozens of photographs of the Scythians, and a file on the Chem. At the back was a photocopy of star fields showing the relative positions of the Scythian Empire, the Chem Empire, and buried in the midst of Scythian space a circled star: the Terran System. He shook his head, thinking of that small circled dot amidst the hundreds upon hundreds of like dots.

‘What could anyone possibly want with this place?’ he asked himself, and then he turned back to the cover letter and read it again. He stopped at the last part and shook his head again.

‘It looks like I’ve got an hour to become the expert. Not expecting much are they? Ah well, I suppose one way or another something’s got to be done about it. I must admit, though, this would go down a lot easier with a bottle or two of brandy.’

CHAPTER 9: Nazeera

Nazeera exited the Elder’s chambers exhausted. The meeting of the three Triumvirates of the Assemblage and the Elder of Chem took nearly a fifth of a decurn. The ‘Legend of Alexander’ had everyone on edge, even the eldest members of the Assemblage, but the debate tried her patience.

Nazeera was a creature of action. The limited scope of Chem action thus far comprised only the boarding of the Scythian experimentation ship and the taking of Alexander. That took place only after the insistence of Nazeera. There had been a debate for some time in the Assemblage concerning the anticipated Scythian demands, which were as unacceptable in their hypothetical status as when Scythians made them formally. The nebulosity of the issue centered on the Terran question, and what the Scythian threat would eventually mean to Chem. Nazeera was vehemently against any concession to the Scythians, but she was also aware of their complete ignorance of the Terrans. True, they had many millennia worth of Scythian distributed data, all of which was authentic. Yet data could easily be edited to maintain a particular view, and Nazeera wasn’t willing to accept any Scythian authored viewpoint without contention.

If the Chem had an innate distrust for the Scythians then Nazeera personalized it. The visceral philosophies of the two peoples were diametrically opposed. Their relationship fell from the diplomatic pedestal of cordiality to open hostility in one fatal step. Unfortunately, from Nazeera’s point of view, what should have been a swift response to the Scythians dissolved into another quagmire of endless debate. Though they now had Alexander there were no plans for military action. The Chem Armada was to be mobilized, but beyond that there was only talk.

The dominant member of the Triumvirate stalked out of the council chamber to find Nazar waiting for her. She stopped next to him, taking a deep breath before she trusted herself to speak. Her shoulders rose as she slowly took in the moist heavy air of the Chem Homeworld. With excessive control she allowed her breath to whistle through her sharp teeth, releasing her tension and clearing her mind. Shaking her leonine mane she was now ready to address her closest confidant and friend. Nazar was dear to her, and all the more so since the death of their father, but she betrayed little warmth in her greeting.

‘Waiting for news I suppose?’

‘Waiting for you,’ Nazar smiled, handing her a regenerative drink. ‘I owe you an apology. You have more than enough on your mind without my baiting Bureel. It was rather callous of me.’

Nazeera threw him a half hearted grin, ‘Yes it was callous, but more so for Bureel. Therefore, it was not without amusement. Your baiting of him, my dear Nazar, is somewhat of a tonic for me. As his wife,’ she spat out the word as if the concept were pure poison, ‘I have no right to speak my mind in public, despite my repugnance of him. An arranged marriage has its elements of chance, but that I should mate with a dog such as Bureel is unthinkable! I wish I could forgive father for that.’

‘He’s bringing up the subject of an heir is he?’ Nazar asked cautiously.

‘He is most insistent on it, and I have little recourse,’ Nazeera admitted, tossing the drink down and stomping down the hallher anger apparent. ‘It is not only time honored tradition, but it is in my marriage vows, and so it is law. I can delay, as I have, but I have no right to refuse.’

Nazar followed, staying close on her shoulder. His voice was insistent, but it sank to a harsh whisper.

‘Maybe you can’t legally refuse him, but there may be another way, Nazeera.’

She glanced at him without stopping. ‘Go on.’

‘It is somewhat eccentric, I admit, but then again we are approaching desperate straits aren’t we? Oh, I’ve seen that look of yours before, but hear me out. I propose we allow Bureel to make good on his boast to combat the Terran. He is a brawny fellow with pluck. I daresay he could solve the problem of Bureel quite permanently.’

Nazeera stopped quite suddenly, staring at the floor. The image of Alexander throttling Bureel brought a momentary smile to her lips. Then duty intervened, and she felt the responsibility of the Empire on her shoulders. ‘No, I can’t use this for personal gain, that’s going too far!’ she thought, but to Nazar, she said, ‘You tempt me, brother, you sorely tempt me, but we have already decided the dispensation of the Terran.’

She started walked again, but at a more measured pace.

‘I hope you weren’t serious about executing him,’ Nazar said. ‘I realize Terrans are a possible danger to the Empire, but I’m not certain executing their warlord is the best idea. I wouldn’t deal so ignobly with even a Scythian without due cause. At least allow him to die in battle. Terrans could understand that without enmity. My advice is for you to allow Bureel’s challenge. This would be to our advantage.’

Nazeera laughed, ‘You are a simple schemer, sweet Nazar. You are right, it would be to our advantage but it would not be to the advantage of the Empire. What if Bureel killed the Terran? We would have lost a wonderful opportunity to study a potential adversary. There isn’t time enough to return to Terra and abduct another. No, we can’t use him to our own advantage, but we won’t dishonor him with execution or Scythian style experimentation either. That avenue was taken out of our hands with the discovery of his unique status. We will send him to Pantrixnia, as I suggested. There I believe we will find out much more about our adversary than any battery of tests, or even a combat with Bureel. He does have pluck. I think he might survive quite a while longer than many envision.’

‘Pantrixnia, I thought you were jesting at the Assemblage!’ Nazar replied. ‘I can’t think of what you can learn of him there. The most pernicious Chem villains don’t last a full decand, and I can’t imagine the Terran doing that well. Terrans may be the most physically powerful Galactic sentient, but there’s more to Pantrixnia than brawn. He didn’t look particularly swift and his strength will not help him against the beasts of that planet!’

‘Nonetheless, that is what we decided. His cunning interests me more than his physical prowess. I studied the information our scouts retrieved from the Scythian data banks thoroughly while the Terran was enroute. Thus, I knew a great deal more about him than he could have guessed during our tęte-ŕ-tęte in the Assemblage. The Scythian tapes contained a great deal of piquant information, including past life memories. He’s a warrior that one, always has been. There are indications of an extremely savage past, and much of that in positions of power. This being is hungry for notoriety, and his past lives indicate a willingness to take great risks to accomplish his goals. This particular life cycle is remarkably devoid of any great accomplishment, and it galls him. It is somewhat remarkable, as his accomplishments in this life cycle are considerable when projected against the norm. He was a gladiator, Nazar, rewarded for his exploits in the arena of football. He was promoted from the pit of Terra’s most savage game to full citizenship and the post of a military officer in one of the premier factions on the planet. There he became a field commander and an expert at unarmed and mechanized combat, but somehow failed to advance any further. Politics seemed to play a part. In that respect, at least, Terrans may not be much different than us. He left that faction embittered. It was a mistake.’

Nazeera led Nazar outside the building, past the guard, and into the forest surrounding the Assemblage compound. No other buildings were apparent. She took a path that wound through the jungle.

‘Considering the Terran caste system and its volatility I’m surprised he was allowed the freedom of departing his faction, I would certainly never have allowed such a defection! Alexander is frustrated with his position in life, and considering his past he may have reason for it.’

‘Then what is this about his status as Warlord of Terra?’

‘I’m getting to that. Alexander is one of those rare figures that are dangerous if left uncontrolled, and true to form his aspirations did not die after his dismissal. It’s difficult to sort out fact from fantasy when dealing with memory, but we know for a fact that the Scythians had multiple contacts with him. It’s obvious now why. Alexander had the aspiration and the ability, and the Scythians were intent on tackling the Chem problem. They found the heir to Alexander.’

They walked for a while, listening to the birds in the jungle. After about five minutes they came to a waterfall. Brown foamy water slipped over an outcropping of black rock to fill a muddy pool. It began to rain.

Nazeera stooped to wash her hands, fully aware of tenseness in the jungle. This pool was set apart from the Assemblage compound. It was the perfect place for an assassination, or an ambushshe heard the parting of undergrowth and instantly leapt aside. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Nazar leap the other way.

A vibrant green body several times her size landed on the mud where she’d stood. It was a small carnivore, a purla, and it scrambled at the bank, its six legs trying to keep it from toppling into the muddy water after missing Nazeera.

She laughed, drew her pistol and shot it.

The purla jumped into the air, flipped around, and landed with a heavy plop on the muddy bankdead.

‘Nice shot,’ Nazar smiled, holstering his own gun.

‘He’ll make a nice business suit,’ Nazeera said, holstering her gun and pulling out a long knife. She squatted over the dead animal and began to skin him.

‘It’s intriguing that we found Alexander in a state of communion, possibly with the Scythian Council, when we boarded their ship. I can’t say what their negotiations were about, but it seems clear that the Scythians identified him as the heir to Alexander, possibly even the genetic descendant of Alexander himself! The Scythians needs fit Alexander’s desires perfectly.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ Nazar asked, cutting several long strips of flank meat and roasting them on branches with his gun. ‘I mean, if we know who he is, and we know what the Scythians want to do then what’s the mystery?’ He handed her some roasted meat.

‘We know so little about Terrans in the flesh,’ she said, squatting like some primeval cavewoman and ripping at the roasted meat while she talked Galactic politics. ‘We’ve known what the Scythians were up to all along, but now that it’s happening we need to know more. I’m not convinced Alexander is the only warlord of Terra, there’s too much dissatisfaction with this life cycle. For a being like that anything but the pinnacle is empty. Whatever his motivations were on Terra he now has his opportunity at notoriety as the de facto representative of his race. This is what he’s been waiting for. I want to see how he uses it.’

‘Remind me never to perplex you. I don’t want you trying to find out what makes me tick.’

Nazeera just smiled and finished her snack.

‘I wouldn’t want the fate of Chem resting on my performance on Pantrixnia,’ Nazar grunted, finishing his meal. He wiped his greasy lips on his sleeve. ‘I’d give myself two decurns. The second night would find me with no luck left to draw on.’

‘We’ll see,’ she nodded, as she finished skinning the purla. She rolled up the pelt, washed her hands and tucked it under her arm. ‘Ah, now that was a refreshing lunch. Now back to business.’ She headed back down the forest path. A scavenger was already pulling at the purla’s carcass. ‘The challenge on Pantrixnia will answer many of our questions concerning Terrans, but I have many more I want to pose to Alexander in particular.’

‘Such as whether or not the Terrans are massing even as we speak?’

‘Amongst others,’ she said. ‘The spy ship didn’t see any signs of that when they took Alexander, but what they may have in mind I don’t know. We’re finally mobilizing our Armada, and I can’t imagine the Scythians being able to transport millions of Terran warriors into our space before we’re ready. We’re not as lax as our brethren, though we’re not as strong as our ancestors. It takes a lot to motivate us out of the Empire, Nazar. I spent the last hours persuading the Elder to take even these meager steps. We’ve become a contented people. Our empire building days are in the past, and now we sit and enjoy the luxury of our ancestor’s gains. We’re proud and haughty, but we’re slow to anger. Perceived threats don’t concern us, at least they didn’t concern us, until now. The Scythians’ affronts finally pushed us to action, but there is a great amount of inertia in the Chem.’

They reached the compound. A door slid open and they entered the corridor. Nazeera led Nazar into an elevator. She pressed the button for the lowest level. There was a slight bump, and then the lift whirred as it took them deep into the bowels of the compound. ‘We can and will deal with Scythia, but we know so little of Terrans. Have we finally met our match in this galaxy? Can Terrans actually defeat us? Do they even wish to? We don’t risk the Empire of our ancestors without careful consideration.’

Nazar shook his head, saying, ‘I can’t argue against your logic. You’ve won the point, dear sister; very well, but what do you wish to accomplish concerning this particular Terran? Pantrixnia may well settle issues of cunning and mettle, but it does nothing to answer questions of motive.’

‘You’re quite right, Nazar, and maybe we can expect nothing more than dissuading some of the myths. Whatever we find out will be more useful than the whisperings of the Scythians which like as not, make the Terrans more than they are. We shall not let all our information be dependent on Pantrixnia, however. On that point you demonstrate remarkable foresight. The Elder agrees with you, Nazar, and has therefore assigned me to interrogate the Terran before his departure. He’s given me three decurns within which to form a personality portrait of the Terran independent of Scythian data. I don’t know that I expect to find anything special, but perhaps he’ll let down his guard more so with me, than he would before the entire Assemblage.’

‘The plan has merit. Beautiful women have historically been more successful at wheedling secrets out of men, and this fellow doesn’t look as he’ll be intimidated. You mean to see him alone then?’

‘I do. Now is the best time, as Pantrixnia will forever prevent any further interrogation.’

‘That is, unfortunately true,’ Nazar agreed. ‘It’s a pity though. He impressed me. Yanked from his Homeworld to the Assemblage, that’s not the way I’d like to be introduced to interstellar travel.’

‘Why Nazar, you speak of him as if you thought him ignorant of the Scythians and the galaxy at large!’ The lift stopped and the door slid open. They were in a metal corridor. Luminescent panels on the ceiling were the only thing breaking up the monotony of metal. ‘Galactic history has always placed the Terrans firmly in the Scythian camp, waiting only the time when they acquire the means to reach the stars and begin their conquests.’

‘I didn’t get that sense from him,’ Nazar told her. ‘He’s intelligent, more so than I expected. He chose his words very carefully before the Assemblage, and as you so deftly pointed out he deflected our questions with his own demands. That tells me two things. If he’s a Scythian mercenary he’s intelligent enough to avoid problematic questions. If he isn’t, if he is indeed ignorant of all that’s going on out here in the cosmos, then there was no answer for him to give, and he thought quickly on his feet. If Terrans are that intelligent, and they’ve known about space travel for two thousand of their years, then I defy the Scythians to keep them planet bound. I am, therefore, undecided. It seems then, somehow wrong of us to send him to place where we put criminals to die.’

‘You are growing an appallingly large conscience, my dear brother. I’d agree with you if the stakes weren’t so high.’ They came to a blank wall at the end of the corridor. A small panel slid open. A silver baseball sized sphere with a single red lens floated out. It took their retinal scans and disappeared back into its hole. The wall opened onto another metal corridor.

‘Isn’t this the time we fall back upon our principles?’ Nazar asked. ‘Aren’t times of doubt and decision when we define ourselves as a culture and a people?’

‘You raise difficult points, Nazar, and there are truths in them, but we’re running out of time. The Armada will take at least six decands to mass. It is enough time for us to launch the invasion of Terra and the Scythian Homeworlds, but hopefully not enough time for the Scythians to arm the Terrans to any great degree. We face a difficult task ahead, and the future of our civilization may depend on the smallest scrap of insight we can gain from this Terran. It’s not at all a desirable situation; compromises are inevitable.’

‘What are you going to ask him?’

‘I haven’t gotten that far. Maybe there is no right question. He is alien, and I do not know how he thinks. We’ll sit down and hopefully have a nice little chat.’

Nazar smiled that evil grin unique to the Chem. ‘You’re going to have a nice chat, maybe a cup of tea, and then you’re sending him to the most infamous planet in the galaxy, specifically cultivated over millennia to affect the honorable execution of all who enter its confines. My beloved sister sometimes you can be deliciously cruel.’

‘Spare me the observations, brother, are you coming or not?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss this, except possibly for Bureel’s hanging. Lead on,’ Nazar told her, an unsettling laugh erupting from his thin lips.

They came to another set of security doors. This time there was a vibrant red band coursing across the floor, walls, and ceiling. Nazeera stepped through it, and it scanned her. As the crimson band of light passed over her body a tiny object leapt out from beneath her armor. It was metallic, hardly the size of a pea, and it intelligently avoided discovery. Silently it swirled into the air behind them and sped, unseen, down the hallway.

CHAPTER 10: Bureel

In his personal office high in the central spire of the Assemblage Bureel pushed away from his desk, growling. ‘Damn them! I’d like to hear the interrogation of that accursed Terran.’

‘Unwise, my lord,’ Gurthur, Bureel’s lieutenant, told his master. ‘The security screens would pick up the bug.’

‘True enough,’ Bureel frowned in an unpleasant way and moved over to the window. It commanded a sweeping view of Cherumaz, the capital of the Empire. The city was as much jungle as it was structure, and even then the buildings were of shades of jade, purple and ochre according to the colors of the Chem landscape. The beauty was lost on Bureel. His conniving mind was scheming.

‘The Terran’s trials on Pantrixnia will give us a wonderfully humiliating death to watch, though unfortunately too quick. I would that he could die slowly, preferably in the company of my brother-in-law! That grace! Bait me will he? Well, I am a patient Chem. There is always opportunity awaiting those who look for it.’

‘Have a care though, my lord,’ Gurthur cautioned. ‘Do not wear your intentions in public lest they undo you. Nazeera has powerful allies who love her as much for herself as for her father’s memory. The people love Nazar as well. He is a young lion who recalls the memory of his noble father.’

‘That noble father paid his debts to my own with this hellish marriage!’ Bureel reminded his companion angrily, but then he thought better of it complaint. ‘Still, I have wealth, a title, and a seat on the council; none of which my lesser father could have left me. Miserable favor though it is I shall work it to my likes in the end.’

‘Then have patience,’ Gurthur advised him. ‘Wear a mask of long suffering and noble silence in public while we work your future plans in private.’

‘An intelligent approach, certainly,’ Bureel replied. He returned to his chair and leaned back, popping a live beruba into his mouth. The beruba was a frowned upon worm-like delicacy with subtle hallucinogenic powers. The drug enhanced Bureel’s daydreams as he ticked off the possible scenarios that might result in his continuing fortune and increased power.

He laughed.

‘You know, Gurthur, this Terran may have more use for us than I originally anticipated. Certainly he will play his part cooperatively and die swiftly on Pantrixnia. That should settle the doubts of the Council and encourage them to push on with the plans to make war on the Terrans and Scythia. Now if the Terrans prove to be stubborn enough to put up some semblance of a fight, well, the safety of my wife and brother-in-law would concern me greatly. Nazar, unfortunately, cannot be dissuaded from rushing headlong in search of glory in battle. There are many strange fortunes in war not the least of which is a knife in the back.’

He chuckled greedily, slurping up another of the worms which chirped in distress as it slid through his lips.

‘My noble Nazeera is of similar mind. I shall curtail her adventurous nature, though, until she produces me an heir. I must press that suit quick and hard. Once we settle that issue I shall have no right to keep her from her destiny. She is a reckless one, if only she was more domesticated! It would be unthinkable if I should become an aggrieved widower due to her insatiable quest for glory. Alas, it’s unthinkable that I should be left alone with my heir, her lands, her wealth and her title to carry on as best I can.’

‘Unthinkable, my lord, absolutely unthinkable,’ Gurthur smiled evilly, knowing his master’s mind as completely as his own. ‘Might I suggest, as an initial step, that we inform the networks of the coming spectacle on Pantrixnia? I’m certain that they could ensure a live broadcast of the Terran’s adventures, with some help from your influence, of course.’

‘A subtly ingenious idea, Gurthur,’ Bureel agreed. ‘We can have the most positive effect on the Council if we pre-empt their policy and sway the people’s desire to war and expansion over these upstarts. A live broadcast should keep everyone on the edge of their seats, for a limited time. Meanwhile we shall loudly proclaim a strategy of renewed expansion, first Terra and the Scythian Empire, and then those interloping cultures who sought to shield them!’

‘And as the author of this policy the laurels will fall upon your shoulders, my lord,’ Gurthur reminded him.

‘Possibly, though it would be a mantle of popularity that would need a pulpit. As a Fifth Level Member of the Assemblage my voice would be too silent, considering the import of my words.’

‘Should an unlooked for vacancy at a more powerful level occur, however, what option would the Elder have but to appoint you even if it were to the First Level itself?’

Bureel paced in mock agitation, ‘The Triumvirate! For instance, if my beloved wife were to fall in battle what better tribute to her could I make than to continue her work in her seat?’

‘A noble sacrifice, my lord,’ Gurthur said. ‘Although you would of course initially wish to retire to private life …’

‘… In my grief at such a sudden, but not unforeseen tragedy.’

‘It would be a short retirement, as you could not ignore your call to duty from the people, and the legacy of your wife’s unfinished work.’

‘Just so, my selfless devotion to my duty would break my grief. The avenging Chem, I would continue our conquests to their logical completion, as a tribute to her. Should I succeed then there would be nothing in the Empire outside my reach.’

Satanic glee clouded Bureel’s face. He laid a nailed hand on his lieutenant’s shoulder. ‘Let us begin. Go to the networks and advise them of the coming attraction. I will publish my position on galactic expansion. With luck I shall beat the Terran into the evening broadcasts, but either way I shall certainly outlast him!’

CHAPTER 11: Haunted by Himself

Alexander eyed the open door with suspicion.

He got up and walked over to it. Peering inside he saw a small chamber. There was a plain cube about eighteen inches to a side in one corner. In the back was a small area with a lip on the floor and what appeared to be a drain. He stepped inside.

A small waterfall flowed from a slot in the wall into the area with the drain. It was a shower. Alexander moved over to the cube and the top lifted off to reveal a seat with a large hole in ita toilet. Alexander took immediate advantage of the discovery. When he finished showering under the waterfall he simply stepped out of the area and a rush of air dried him off.

Alexander stepped out of the bathroom, still naked and hungry, but feeling somewhat refreshed.

‘Now what?’ he asked aloud. ‘I assume you’re watching me. Well, Nazeera, I’m ready for the next round.’ There was no answer. ‘Probably testing my patience,’ he grumbled. Truth be told, that was a problem. After winning his inner battle Alexander was ready to get on with whatever the Chem had in mind, so long as it wasn’t immediate execution.

His statements to the Assemblage were at worst exaggerations of his personal views, so he wasn’t worried about his story. His personal survival was a moot point, as quite frankly Alexander was too far from any kind of rescue to make longevity a concern. It was a grim point of reality, but once he unloaded this emotional baggage, it gave him a remarkable feeling of freedom. His concern was now that of putting the best possible face on Humankind as a species, and not with individual survival. He was ready; he wanted to get going.

He decided that if the Chem weren’t going to play along then he’d at least keep up appearances. As his racing mind spun through the last hours Alexander began a choreographed routine used in martial arts. The slow movements focused his concentration, eating away at his self doubt, and leaving him calm with strong willed resolution. After fifteen minutes he got the desired response.

‘Terran, I desire your attention,’ announced a strong female voice. It was Nazeera.

Alexander continued his routine. When she repeated her demand, he answered, ‘You can call me by my name, Nazeera. You know it well enough, unless the Chem have excessively short memories or no tape recorders.’

There was a lengthy pause, then she said, ‘Very well, Alexander of Terra, I will let you have this small victory. I do not wish your subjugation, only your attention.’

Alexander stopped. ‘You have my attention.’

Another door slid open in the curved wall. ‘Enter; it will bring you to a chamber where we can discuss your situation in greater comfort. If you are obstinate, Alexander, let me assure you that I have several unpleasant ways of forcing you to do my bidding.’

‘That will be unnecessary,’ Alexander told her. He went through the opening and into a short hall of the same gray metal. After ten paces he entered a small Spartan chamber. There was a chair placed before a large plain metal desk, and behind that desk stood Nazeera of Chem. As soon as he saw her he was suddenly, and uncomfortably, self conscious of his nakedness.

‘Interesting,’ she said, her brow rising. ‘Modesty? Why? You showed no such reaction in the Assemblage, and you seem to be well made. I do not see anything to complain of.’

‘I thank you for your kind observation,’ he said sarcastically, ‘but I had other things on my mind during my trial. Being alone with you is somewhat different. Besides it is not the custom of my people to go without clothing.’

‘Nor mine. Here, this is fittingfrom one carnivore to another.’ She threw him the purla pelt.

Alexander caught it, trying to mask his surprise with a grimace. The pelt was still warm, and his hands were red with blood. ‘We usually tan our pelts on Terra,’ he said. ‘Is there some hidden message in this? Am I to dress like a caveman because my intellect and manners are so primitive?’

Nazeera laughed, and to Alexander it almost sounded like she was sincere. ‘A warlord with a sense of humoryou surprise me, Alexander.’ She snapped her fingers. A black sphere the size of a basketball appeared from within a niche in the wall. It had various appendages, several rows of winking lights, and a large red eye-like lens.

It flew over to Alexander, hovered for a moment, and then said, ‘Excuse me, please!’ and snatched the pelt from his hands.

‘Stand still!’ it ordered, and a swath of blue light scanned him up and down and all around.

Alexander shuddered involuntarily.

Nazeera’s eyes narrowed. ‘Does the automaton cause you discomfort?’

‘No, it simply reminds me of something the Scythians did,’ Alexander admitted. ‘Their presence, even their memory, makes me patently uncomfortable.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Nazeera said.

‘You’re huge, how am I supposed to tailor proper clothing for someone this size?’ the automaton asked. ‘There’s not enough material to fit him into the current style.’

‘Do the best you can,’ Nazeera said.

‘The things you people force me to do,’ the automaton whined. ‘Promise me he won’t go out in publicI won’t have my work ridiculed!’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Nazeera smiled.

The ball went to work. It let go of the pelt, which floated in the air under the scrutiny of a reddish-orange beam of light. Alexander smelled roasting flesh.

‘Sphere’s with personalities, a gay tailor by the sound of it, fantastic,’ Alexander said.

‘You don’t have automatons on Terra, I assume?’ Nazeera asked.

‘We prefer to work with our hands.’

‘And this makes the tailor gay?’

Alexander smirked, and said, ‘Not necessarily.’

‘How strange, that a warrior race such a Terra should allow for a tailor,’ Nazeera mused, making a note on a small rectangular pad.

Alexander realized he was letting his wit get the better of him, this was business. He recovered, saying, ‘Who else would make the armor? You can’t just let anyone forge it.’

‘Of course.’

The worker finished tanning the pelt and proceeded to cut it with amazing speed. Every once in a while it stopped working to fly over to Alexander, measure him again, mumble to itself, and then go back to work.

‘How long is this going to take,’ he asked.

‘First you mock me, and then you ask me when I’m going to be done! Miracles take time!’ the automaton said.

Alexander sighed and turned away from Nazeera.

‘I have had plenty of time to see your nakedness, Alexander. It does not shock me, nor do I find Terrans as strange or ugly in the flesh as I would have thought.’

‘I’m glad I’m not revolting to you on that account.’

‘You are beyond my likes and dislikes, Alexander of Terra,’ Nazeera told him. ‘Personal matters are beyond my purpose here.’

‘And what is your purpose?’ he asked, turning toward her and crossing his arms over his breast.

‘Simply put, to find as much about yourself and Terrans as I can.’

‘There are better ways of doing that then sentencing me to death,’ he told her. ‘History on Terra teaches us that incarceration and intimidation are the least effective ways for people to communicate. Different races, different species, even men and women have found more practical methods of understanding one another.’

‘Do you insinuate sexual activity? I can’t see that as appropriate or desirable in this situation. Certainly a Chem male wouldn’t think so. Is this a particular obsession with Terran males?’

‘It is an obsession, certainly, but that was not my meaning,’ he replied with a genuine laugh. ‘I meant something more innocent such as a sporting event, a concert or dinnersomething more representative of normal life than imprisonment. I’d have to be clothed in proper attire, of course.’

The automaton flew around to him, saying, ‘Well, this is as proper as it’s going to get, time and materials permitting. Go ahead, put it on!’

Alexander shrugged the pelt on. It was cut as a tunic that reached to just above his knees, but the automaton fashioned a collar, sleeves and even a belt. It fit to perfection and allowed him absolute freedom of movement.

‘There is a short cape, just in case it gets cold or you have to go formalplease don’t use it for that, my reputation is at stake.’

‘It’s amazing,’ Alexander said, and he meant it. ‘You made this out of a fresh pelt in only five minutes? Amazing!’

‘Well then, that’s quite kind of you,’ the automaton said, and it whirred away apparently quite pleased with the compliment.

‘So what do you say, Nazeera?’ Alexander said, turning back to the Chem woman. She looked on with what might be termed interest, he couldn’t tell. ‘I’m now properly clothed. Would you like to take a walk in the park, or better yet how about dinner? I’m starving, and I promise to be talkative while I eat.’

‘Circumstances prevent us from enjoying recreation at the present time, Alexander.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Can you be so ignorant, or are you just being obstinate?’ ‘I am ignorant, Nazeera,’ he told her forcefully, but calmly. ‘I am ignorant of you, of where I am, and why I am here. I am ignorant of everything about this entire ridiculous situation.’

‘You were read the charges by the Elder,’ she reminded him. ‘Terra, whom you represent’

‘I cannot claim to represent my world without the consent of the population’

‘Nonsense, Alexander of Terra, it is the right and duty of every being to represent their race wherever they may be and under any circumstances. You are here, alone of your race, therefore, you are the de facto representative of Terra. You will be treated as such.’

Alexander sighed with resignation.

‘We accuse Terra of complicity with the Scythians in planned acts of aggression against the Empire of Chem. What do you have to say to these charges?’

‘Exactly what I said before the Assemblage: nothing. I know absolutely nothing of the charges, and until I met your Assemblage I had never heard of the Chem, or any other extraterrestrial race. At this point in time the accepted view on Terra is that there is a possibility of intelligent life elsewhere, but that is all. We have no evidence that even suggests that the Chem exist, and that alone should rule out an act of complicity in aggression.’

Alexander’s voice lowered to a growl, his head tilted down, and his brows knit together. ‘As far as the Scythians are concerned, Nazeera, all I know is that I’ve been a subject for their experiments on three occasions. I’m not in league with themrather the opposite! There’s certainly no dialogue between us, and if there were I doubt very much whether it would be amicable!’ Alexander shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memories of Scythian experimentation.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair, and admitted. ‘My personal experience tells me nothing beyond that. We Terrans have fictional stories of such things, but there’s nothing factual. That’s pretty much it.’

‘An interesting story,’ Nazeera said, sitting down behind the desk and motioning for Alexander to do the same. ‘Unfortunately, there is little to base my trust in you, especially when the stakes for Chem are so high. You have in the past, Alexander, proved to be vicious and untrustworthy. What has caused you to change?’

‘What have I done in my past that gives you that indication?’

‘Really, can you be so bold as to seduce me into your ignorance?’ She inquired, her brows knitting and her eye’s increasing in brightness. ‘I have the data records from the Scythians. It’s obvious to me that you were important to them. They themselves admit as much. They singled you out for attention. Why is that?’

‘Maybe they like football. I have no earthly idea.’

‘Really,’ Nazeera smiled, at least Alexander took it as a smile but it was feral, threatening and enticing, like a tigress slowly stalking him. She punched a switch in the desk. A small screen flipped up from the surface. She touched the surface of the screen, apparently punching in commands, and said, ‘This may help loosen you tongue.’

Alexander jumped up.

He wasn’t in the metal room anymore. He stood in the mud on a stone bridge under a cold misty sun. He could feel the chill of the moist British air. Britain, how did he know that? He looked himself over. He was wearing a chain mail hauberk, carried a round shield painted with a purple wolf on a golden field. In his right hand was a long handled axe. He gazed at a line of Saxon soldiers through the Viking goggles of his conical helm. Alexander took an involuntary step backward, but Nazeera’s voice stopped him. She stood next to him, smiling.

‘The Scythians compiled memories from your past lives, Alexander. This is one of my favorites. You called yourself a ‘Viking,’ and you spent your life pillaging the civilized world. You amassed quite a fortune before you finally fell on this bridge, holding an army at bay.’

Alexander felt a chill rush through his body. The tramp of booted feet engaged his attention. The Saxons advanced on the bridge, a solid wall of spears and iron five men abreast. Alexander glanced behind, there stood King Harold Hardratti, and two faces he recognizedhis sons. Like the rest of the army they were without their armor, caught by surprise by King Harold the Saxon’s unexpected advancethey were doomed.

‘See to the King, go now!’ he heard himself yell in the Norse tongue. ‘Tell your mother I’ll see her in Thor’s hall at Bilskirnir!’

Without thinking, Alexander the Viking threw himself at the Saxons and his axe reaped heads and limbs as wheat on that bloody morning.

It was like a movie, except every movement, every breath, every sensation was too familiar. He couldn’t explain or comprehend it.

‘I daresay your namesake, Thor, would be proud, but that wasn’t enough for you, was it Alexander?’

He glanced at her between strokes, a twisted grimace on his blood spattered face, having no idea what she meant.

Nazeera snapped her fingers and the afternoon at Stamford Bridge disappeared.

Alexander found himself standing on the battlements of a lonely castle. He wore a long purple cloak and a crowned helm. The helm dug into the flesh of his brow, as if it belonged to someone else. Below in the glooms he watched an army advance on his walls. They carried the hewed branches of trees so he couldn’t tell their numbersit was as if the forest itself moved. He laughed grimly, again as if this were scripted and not because he found anything amusing about it.

‘You had a taste of riches and power,’ Nazeera told him, putting her hand on his shoulder as if she was the narrator for his past lives. ‘You wanted more. So in your next life you murdered your kinsman the king and took his crown. Your conscience and your enemies caught up to you eventually, though, and again you died nobly in battle. It’s ironic that during the next life you are the pinnacle of honesty and honor.’

‘What do you mean, these were my lives?’

Nazeera snapped her fingers.

The castle disappeared, and Alexander found himself kneeling on a small platform next to a dirty brown river. Around him was an ancient city. The place smelled of turbid water, weeds and sewage. Alexander craned his neck to see a small circle of people looking down on him.

‘What the hell is going on here?’

Some one behind him pushed his shoulders forward, forcing his head onto a stained block. He turned his head to the side; his cheek against the sticky wood. A large man swathed in black took his place next to him. He held a great axe.

Alexander struggled, but his hands were bound behind his back and a pair of hands held him down.

‘Show some decorum, Gov’nor, you’ll ruin my stroke and that won’t go easy for you!’

There was a whistle in the air, and the executioner grunted. Something cold hit him in the back of the neck. There was a dull painful crunch as his vertebrae crushed his windpipe. His vision grew hazy, and the world twisted and turned. For a moment, his eyes focused and he saw the circle of people looking at him. To his horror Alexander realized the executioner was holding his severed head aloft.

Nazeera’s face appeared in the crowd, and she asked, ‘What’s next, Alexander?’

The vibrant heat of the Caribbean replaced the gloomy quays of London. Alexander was whole again and dressed in a burgundy frock coat with a pair of pistols in his belt and a cutlass in his hand. He stood on the swaying deck of a sailing ship, his free hand grasping the rigging. The smell of burnt powder and salt was heavy in the moist air. The sound of guns and shouts of men roiled around him. Through the smoke he saw another ship barely a yard away.

Alexander walked steadfastly along the deck, ignoring the whizzing shot and the splintering wood. He squinted through the smoke and calmly dictated the order of the battle.

‘It’s back to your old ways,’ Nazeera said, dressed in the outlandish gear of a buccaneer. ‘As a pirate you become infamous in the persecution of a king that wronged you. I could go on. Suffice it to say, Alexander, that you have a telling and appropriate name. Can it be by chance that you bear the name of Alexander the Great, the mightiest of Terra’s warrior-kings? A warrior race such as your own does not bestow laurels without reason. Why were you named for Alexander the Great, whose name reaches the council chambers of every galactic culture, even the Chem?’

Alexander didn’t answer, he couldn’t and he was still trying to come to grips with what Nazeera was showing him. Were these really snippets of his past lives or were they nefariously manufactured films meant to cause a response? He couldn’t tell, but they seemed horribly real, and his instincts told him these events actually happened to him.

‘Do you still claim ignorance?’

Alexander was silent.

‘You’ve been a pirate, a general, a king, and maybe morewe haven’t delved as deeply as we might. What remains? You are thus far devoid of the accomplishments of your former manifestations. By the Scythian data tapes you yearn for something more, don’t you?’

Alexander glowered at her, and ordered a broadside of grape. The guns thundered one after another. Screams and howls cut the air. He could hear the shot ping through the Spaniard’s steel cuirasses, thump into the wood and give a horrible succulent plop as they penetrated flesh.

‘I don’t need your answer; I see it in your eyes. What is it? What can quell your spirit? What accomplishment in this life will gain you satisfaction? You are the representative for your race at this moment in time, Alexander, but will that be enough? Or, do you aspire to greater pinnacles? For two millennia dominant Terrans have vied for the honor of Alexander’s mantle. Even I, alien to your race and culture know their names: Caesar, William the Conqueror, Genghis Khan, Attila, Napoleon, Lincoln, Hitler. Do you wish to add your name to this list of warlords? Are you intent on being the next Alexander?’

Nazeera walked behind Alexander. Laying a sharp nailed hand on each shoulder she spoke in his ear. The feeling of her breath upon his neck caused him to shudder, but not with concern or revulsion. He caught himself enjoying the touch of her hands on his body evening the midst of the meleeeven against the shock of his reincarnation.

‘Is there reason for Chem to fear you? Did the Scythians discover your ambition? They’ve wanted passage through our space for a millennium, but we do not bow to their jangling of coins. They hate that, and us. You would be a perfect opportunity for them. You have all the skills they need: brutality, a lust for power, intelligence, even charm. Tell me truthfully Alexander, if the Scythians offered you the means to make the stars your kingdom would you refuse them?’

‘I’m not interested in galactic conquest,’ he told her, trying to catch up with the realities of his past lives, his responsibility to Terra, and the reality of this beautiful alien woman.

Nazeera let him go but stalked around his mountainous form to put her face inches from his own. ‘Not interested in conquest?’ she said sharply, her eyes turning dangerous lavender. ‘Look all around you! You base your entire existence upon conquest! Were everything you’ve said here to be the truth I should still condemn you for your past as a danger to the future of the Chem!’

Nazeera stalked to the opposite end of the ship and whirled on him. There was a gun in her hand. It was unlike anything Alexander had ever seen, but there was no mistaking its purpose, or her intention. She pointed it at his breast, and said, ‘There is nothing in your history that tells me that you can either change or be swayed to alter your opinion or your goals, Alexander. Well, what have you to say?’

CHAPTER 12: An Invitation to Dinner

Alexander growled like a cornered wolf. His own lives overwhelmed him. He knew too much, too suddenly. It was more than any Terran was prepared to learn about themselves. But he knew himself, and he trusted himself. He thought of himself as an honorable man, not the madman Nazeera saw. He drew a pistol and climbed onto the rail.

‘How can a man fight himself, Nazeera?’ he asked, and he leapt over the gulf and onto the deck of the Spanish ship. He shot the closest man to him and then lay about with his cutlass. The heavy blade beat the slight rapiers of the Spanish Officers easily aside, and he cut them or pistol whipped them into submission. ‘If I am who you say I am, the next Alexander, and an intractable, ruthless conqueror then you may have every reason to shoot me,’ he shouted over the din of battle, the glee of bloodlust twisted his face with a wicked wolfish grin. ‘If all you’ve shown me is true I’ll be back in a hundred years, two hundred years, when Terrans are more capable and then complete my conquest of the Chem, and whoever else stands in my way.’

Alexander fought his way to the afterdeck, tossing aside the pitiful Spanish sailors who barred his way. The Captain waited for him. Alexander charged him. He parried the Captain’s cut, and clubbed him in the face with the hilts of his sword.

The Captain fell to the deck, staring up at Alexander with sweat running in rivulets down his red face and fear in his eyes.

Alexander pulled his other pistol and held it over the Captain’s breast.

‘Yield to me; lower your flag and I’ll spare your lives!’

The Captain dropped his sword and yielded.

A cheer went over the ship, but as the pirates celebrated Alexander turned. Nazeera stood behind him, still holding the gun on him. He shook his head and walked up to her so that the muzzle rested on his breast. ‘We Terrans don’t recall our past lives Nazeera. Until you showed me this I couldn’t tell you whether I ever had a previous existence or not.

‘You ask me if I’m the next Alexander. I’d like to be, but not by conquering other worlds. Oh, we Terrans dream of glory and battle, but when I look into the darkness of space I don’t see worlds to conquerI see worlds to explore.

‘Does that sound enlightening? Sorry. Terrans aren’t that simple. We’re a paradox; we’re magnificently benevolent one moment, and cruel the next.’ As if to punctuate the point the pirate crew picked up a Spanish sailor, and much to his distress, they heaved him overboard. They went to another Spaniard who held up his hand in fear.

‘Don’t worry mate,’ one said. ‘Your partner was done forwe did im a favor. What you’ve got is naught but a scratch. Do as we say and the Cap’n will let you live.’

They helped him up, took him to the center of the deck and gave him water.

Alexander laughed, and said, ‘You may well fear us, Nazeera but I tell you, Terrans are just as likely to risk their own lives to save yours, without knowing you, as they are to attack you.’

Alexander went back to the rail and looked out over the impossible blue sea that was the Caribbean. ‘After this your concern may grow. But let me add this to what I’ve said, it is another quality which defines us: we take a back seat to no one. We will not subordinate ourselves to the wishes of others. We don’t desire superiority, but we demand equality. That’s where your Scythian conspiracy falls through. As a planet Terrans would never accept such a yoke. We are proud, sometimes too proud, and we do not play the part of the pawn well. We like to think we control our own destinies.’

‘You are eloquent, Alexander of Terra,’ Nazeera said. ‘Despite the evidence of your own lives you speak well, but I fear you, and I fear Terrans. For the sake of the Chem I fear you now more than ever.’

‘You have nothing to fear of me, Nazeera,’ he told her. ‘I am an insignificant man of a planet bound people. The Chem have no cause to fear us, for the Chem have in no way wronged us. Were it in my power the only race that need fear retribution would be the Scythians.’

‘You are vindictive, and ambitious,’ Nazeera told him. ‘Your lack of notoriety in this life frustrates you no end. You are vengeful for the wrongs you believe the Scythians have inflicted upon you.’

‘I will admit to all. Would you feel differently?’ Alexander said, pacing the deck. He ignored the ongoing business of plunder that began all around him, engrossed in a search to allay Nazeera’s fears. Every word that came from his lips sounded artificial. A sense of defeat encompassed him. He climbed back onto his ship and headed aft. He passed a door and walked down a short, dark, cramped corridor to his cabin. He opened the door and stepped inside.

It was like coming home. He knew everything there. Alexander couldn’t help walking around the cabin and gazing at all of his old things. Then he realized with an absolute assurance that this was his memory. This was once his world.

‘I’m all that Nazeera. I plead guilty to wanting to make a difference in the life of my planet, hopefully for the better. I’m guilty for wanting to lead my people from this,’ he gestured to the horrific scene in the cabin windows. The dead and nearly dead were bobbing in the water. The sharks were already upon them. A single boat filled with the living prisoners bumped through the grisly obstacles.

‘I don’t want this as the future of my planet. I plead guilty to the desire to redress my grievances on the Scythians, but beyond that I’ve never meant to expand our strife to the stars. Unfortunately, the Scythians destroyed the same thing for me as the Spaniards did back thensomething very special for my people and me.’

‘What is that Alexander?’ Nazeera asked with new interest.

‘They destroyed a dream. They destroyed an innocent adventure. Just as the sea was then, Space is our final frontier.’ He fell into a high backed leather chair, exhausted. ‘We dreamed of exploring its vastness even before we took our first tentative steps beyond our atmosphere. But the Scythians, by their slander, have turned space into a life and death struggle. It no longer beckons us. It threatens us.

‘I’ve dreamed of the possibility of meeting someone from beyond Terra, and now here I am. I’m in the company of an extraordinary being, and a lovely woman. I feel as if I should be asking you to dinner, but instead I’m attempting to disprove slanderous accusations which may spell the end of my civilization. This moment should not have happened like this. We weren’t meant to meet this way, but somehow the Scythians got a hold of history and twisted it out of whack. That is what I blame them for.’

Nazeera’s expression seemed to lose the inquisitorial harshness. ‘You speak of dinner as a ritual. Does the consumption of nourishment have some social significance on Terra?’

Alexander smiled, and some of the energy returned to his limbs. He stood up and went over to his personal cabinet. Using a small key he found still in his pocket he unlocked the door. Alexander knew what he was looking for, and there it wasa bottle of French wine. He opened it and poured two glasses. ‘On Terra when a man and a woman meet for the first time, and there is an interest on each side, the first social event they share is often to have dinner together.’ He handed her a glass.

‘Why should you desire this of me?’ Nazeera asked, taking the glass in one hand but still holding the gun on him with the other. ‘Alexander, I’m responsible for sentencing you to Pantrixnia. Why don’t you hold the same level of anger against me, as you do the Scythians?’

‘I can’t hold you responsible for how they’ve twisted history,’ he said, tapping her glass. ‘To our health and to Terra and Chem!’ he toasted, sipping the wine. The taste caused him to break out in a joyful smile, and exclaim, ‘Still excellent after all this time! Even if it’s only a memory it’s worth it. Go on, have a sip. It’s called a toast, and I doubt the memory of my wine can poison you!’

Nazeera tried the wine. ‘It’s excellent.’

‘This ‘Legend of Alexander’ does indeed have its base in reality. Terrans have, I am afraid, given you ample reason to believe the Scythians. Still, it’s the Scythians, and not Terrans, who manipulated the Chem. It is unfortunate, because, as I told you, it was not supposed to be this way.’

‘That’s an irrelevant statement,’ she told him. ‘From what I’ve seen of your past, you are proud and vindictive. You should hate me by now. You’re plotting something. I’ll not end up like your kinsman the king, Alexander. Despite your charm, your words do not change my mind about sending you to Pantrixnia.’

‘The answer would be apparent, Nazeera, if you understood Terrans,’ he told her, leaving the cabin and climbing back on deck. He laughed grimly as his crew heartily waved goodbye to the marooned sailors, and began stowing away the plunder. ‘This is not our best moment,’ he said, ‘but it was reality. The Scythians, on the other hand, dealt with us in a devious and underhanded way. Treating us as inferior beings fit only for study. That grates against every sense of honor and honesty I have. You, on the other hand, have been open with me. I appreciate your candor.’

Nazeera cradled her wine, sipping it again before shaking her head, and saying, ‘Alexander, I’m sending you to Pantrixnia and you will undoubtedly die a violent death. That is the reality of this life. Do you still feel no malice toward me?’

‘Disappointment, yes, malice, no,’ he told her. ‘We both know why you are sending me there. It is not because of some personal animosity of yours.’

‘No Alexander. It is not that.’

He leaned against the rail, almost losing himself in the moment of this previous life. ‘You need to know what you’re up against, and this is your best way of accomplishing that. It’s not how I would have wanted my first journey into space to end up, but there it is. You have your responsibility, and I have mine.’

‘What is yours Alexander?’

‘To show you what Terrans are capable of, and hopefully persuade you that we are not worth the fight,’ Alexander told her bluntly. ‘It’s a simple purpose, I admit, but if I’ve won your respect before I die, Nazeera, I’ll have accomplished my goal.’

‘You have already done that, Alexander,’ she said, letting her gun fall to her side.

‘Good, let’s have dinner. In fact, let’s dine in my cabin. We can have roast pork, bananas and oranges. I think I remember some dainties that were in that Spanish galleon’s holdthey’ll make a fine desert. We’ll also get a chance to finish this wine.’ He raised his glass and drained it. ‘Who knows, we might even enjoy it.’

‘I’m afraid my answer is still the same, Alexander,’ Nazeera said, and she raised her gun and shot him.

CHAPTER 13: CODOTS

The United Nations in New York, USA, was a veritable beehive of activity, as was every international institution across the planet. People rushed hither thither, seemingly without purpose, but even in the labyrinth that was the vast circulatory system of information gathering, processing and decision making a certain order reigned. The vast organization of Terra was emerging, and though not without its stresses and strains it was, nonetheless, single-minded in its purpose. At the head of this purpose was the Council of Defense of the Terran System, or CODOTS.

The title of this exclusive group of twenty-two Human Beings, drawn literally from all over the globe, was significant. The adoption of the archaic place-name Terra identified a planet and a people, once solitary and unique in their experience, as a star system; as a system they were common, insignificant, and very, very vulnerable. It was a paradigm shift of extraordinary magnitude, with a physical sensation akin to a slush ball down the neck, but it was necessary.

It was vital that Terrans as a race recognize and accept their own unimportance and get on with the labor of survival. To this end the nations of Terra agreed to the creation of CODOTS and gave the group almost sovereign powers over the system. Governments agreed to unquestioned use of everything from military resources to economic secrets. It was a total and unimaginable nationalistic capitulation, but the overwhelming evidence of the threat swayed nearly all the narrow minds within the realms of ancient Earth.

That the power of all of her nations now emanated from a tiny group of people was a necessity. The vehicle of the United Nations was not intended, or designed, for swift authoritarian action. They could, however, coordinate the implementation of decisions, and that is what they were relegated to do. In the CODOTS council was the power of decision making, brainstorming and strategy.

This awesome responsibility centered on the Commander in Chief of CODOTS, Admiral Sten Augesburcke. The Admiral was the perfect choice both politically and practically speaking. As a man of mixed heritage, he could represent all as easily as he could represent none. As a military man from the Australian Commonwealth, he avoided the suspicious distinction of an American dominated world government. As a leader, he could understand both the military and the scientific side of the dilemma, being a recognized expert in both professions.

Still, the greatest argument in favor of Augesburcke was his bullish, hard charging habit of attacking a problem and coming to a solution, whatever the cost. This manner was not easy for some of the CODOTS membership to endure, and it was nearly impossible for the Scythian Liaison, but results were all that mattered now.

In the bowels of the United Nations building the Scythian Liaison and two of its aides were in the process of enduring one of Admiral Augesburcke’s long glowers of dissatisfaction. He’d quickly adapted to his new position, and Terra’s new situation. It was an adaptation born of his own tendency to pursue challenges with a ‘Full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes!’ attitude; and an understanding that he didn’t have the luxury of gradual acclimatization. The world’s politicians made that apparent over the last few days.

So with his usual bullheaded nature spurring him forward he tackled the job as he did any other problem: personally, with a slow burning fury that the dilemma existed at all.

‘Your proposal is not entirely unacceptable, Liaison, but it is nearly so. That you appeared one week ago with a fleet of merchant vessels loaded to the gills with weapons and equipment is one thing. I don’t like it, but I accept it if for no other reason than I have no choice. Our own examination of Chem and Galactic ethernet traffic, with equipment supplied by you, has led us to the same conclusions concerning Chem intentions.’

‘What is the problem then, Admiral, if you have independently reached the same conclusions as the Scythian leadership?’

‘Simply this: the Scythian situation and the Terra situation are not comparable. Chem has threatened to attack and subjugate the Scythian Empire in retaliation for an assumed Scythia-Terran alliance …’

‘An alliance of Chem imagination, Admiral,’ the Liaison reminded him. ‘The Scythians are perhaps guilty of threatening to appeal for Terran aid, as we are now, but the Chem ultimatum is in the end economic in its origin. It is an attempt by the Chem to isolate and then destroy the peaceful Scythian Empire by using Terra as a target of convenience. As you now know, we’ve been watching your race primarily because of the Terran propensity for violence at the slightest prodding. Galactic legend has it that your warrior king, Alexander the Great, looked to the stars and saw there more worlds to conquer; and the sole objective of your people since that time has been the fulfillment of Alexander’s dream. This is the thinking the galaxy has of Terrans, despite what Scythian report has indicated.

‘We have watched you benignly for many millennia, and though our opinion of Terrans is far less paranoid than that of our neighbor’s even Scythia began to fear the development of Terra. The explosion of your technology in this last century is without equal in this galaxy, as is the destructiveness of your nature. The Chem have long seen Terrans as a menace to their sovereignty. Their intent is to stop you before you acquire the technological capacity to leave your system. As Scythia has stood against the Chem in the Galactic Forum, often alone, we gain her enmity. The tie between us is Chem propaganda, justifying their desire to accomplish two differing goals simultaneously.

‘As intelligent and benevolent people we cannot condone genocide. We have, however, no military means with which to deter the Chem, or defend ourselves for that matter. That is the crux of our offer. We can help you defend yourselves from almost certain extermination. In return we ask for enough Terran troops to serve as a deterrent to Chem aggression. The Chem are a warrior race who prefer planet bound contests, and not ship based stratagems. The presence of a large number of well armed Terran troops should ensure our safety, and your own.’

‘I will not contest the truth of what you say, Liaison,’ Augesburcke replied evenly, holding his doubts silently. ‘Nonetheless, though Scythian sovereignty is threatened its civilization is not. There are ample havens for a Scythian government in exile in the ten other galactic civilizations. You may become wandering gypsies, but your heritage will be preserved. Terra, on the other hand, faces extinction, and in that light the strategy you propose is pure suicide.’

‘On the contrary,’ the Scythian objected, but Augesburcke cut him off.

‘Liaison, you are a political being. I am a military man. Your request for several million Terran troops is reasonable, and will provide reasonable deterrence in concert with Scythian defenses. A passive system of defense for Scythia is logical, but the same defense is completely inappropriate to Terran needs. Despite your protestations of Chem honor, no race, honorable or not, will submit themselves to a pitched battle in a war of genocide when there is an alternative which is easy and painless.’

The Liaison was emphatic in its opinion to the contrary, its voice box emulating an irritatingly high pitched whine. ‘I assure you, Admiral, the Chem prize glory in battle above all. Their entire existence is based on honor, and it would be unthinkable for them to act in any manner of infamy.’

‘Again I remind you, by your own admission, that you are not a people experienced with military matters. We Terrans, unfortunately, have dealt on a small scale with the concept of genocide. It is, under the most lenient of descriptions, not an action within the capability of a folk entirely given to honor. There is no honor in genocide; there is no glory. The Chem may sing songs of their past conquests and their many wars. They will not sing of their destruction of Terra. If they are intelligent and practical, which I conclude they are after having watched their broadcasts on the ethernet, then I can come to only one conclusion: they will stand off Terra and pound us to dust. The planetary projector batteries you promised us will buy time, but not enough of it. In a matter of days if not hours it will rain bombs, and we will cease to exist.’

‘You forget the population on our home planets,’ the Scythian protested.

‘Liaison,’ Augesburcke barked, his anger rising to the Scythians’ cold hearted ignorance, ‘I’m not willing to allow almost five billion beings to vanish. Do you understand? Let me be perfectly clear. Before you see a single Terran warrior embark on one of your ships I want to see more. You’ve offered much and brought much, but your supplies are based on an ineffective defense. To protect Terra we must meet the threat. We need our own fleet.’

‘Impossible!’ the Scythian started. ‘Even if we gave you Scythian vessels they are wholly unsuited for combat. Their design is based on the most efficient means of transporting large masses extreme distances at great speeds. Even if you mounted weapons on them they would be ineffective platforms. Their surface area alone would mark them as extraordinarily vulnerable.’

‘I do not speak of using Scythian vessels,’ the Admiral told him.

‘Then where will you get the ships?’ the Liaison asked triumphantly. Knowing the impossibility of answer it added, so as to underscore the benevolence and cooperation of its people, ‘Certainly if some avenue of mounting a fleet were possible we would be only too happy to lend any and all aid. You asked for a complete inventory of Scythian equipment, and we graciously acceded to your request thinking that the Terran propensity for ingenuity might in some cases lead to some practical use of a portion of the equipment. Indeed, had we the proper ships to offer you we might outfit the Chem fleet twice over! Unfortunately, such a scenario is impossible. We have, as you initially requested, sounded out some of your neighbors concerning the possibility of ‘leasing’ suitable warships. Those requests were summarily denied. Therefore, we must logically return to the strategy of planetary defense. It is the only rational recourse.’

Augesburcke spun through the inventory files of space borne equipment on his computer. The main viewer in the room repeated the Admiral’s screen. ‘It is a considerable hoard of fleet equipment,’ he ventured. ‘How did you accumulate it, if I may ask? It seems an impractical inventory for a merchant race in a galaxy at peace.’

‘It was not always so, Admiral,’ The Scythian told him. ‘Our military inventory is not in so much demand as once it was, but there is no reason to discard it. We built our current military stores during the Chem wars of expansion, thirteen millennia past. That may seem a long time to you, Admiral, but I assure you the equipment is not only serviceable, but also up to date. There is little or no difference between equipment now in use, much of which dates to that very same period, and our inventory. What we have is a combination of spare parts meant for the fleets and armadas of the wars, and equipment salvaged from the wrecks. Unfortunately, there are few surviving parent vessels for this equipment; otherwise, we would have many more options to offer. We can provide you with perhaps half a dozen vessels for reference, but that is not the basis for a fleet.’

‘If we find the vessels would the equipment be of any use? By this I mean are the same principles of modularization applicable, or is this naval equipment unique to its purpose and platform.’

‘Not at all, it is simply equipment intended for warships, Admiral,’ answered the Scythian Liaison, somewhat phased by the inconsequential nature of the Admiral’s question. Thinking that the Terran could not yet understand the basic theory behind Galactic technology it pointed out, ‘The principles are the same regardless of the purpose of the technology or piece of equipment. Please understand that this technology is extraordinarily old by your standards, and quite well developed, by our standards. It follows the same form and function used one thousand millennia past. Galactic technology breaks down into modular segments of power, control, transfer and usage. When we deliver a planetary projector, a surface to orbit energy weapon of great magnitude, its complexity is in the advancement of its simplicity, not in its function. There is a self contained power generator, the gun and a control board which governs both. After delivery the equipment takes little time to set up, using anti-graviton lifters and very little time to learn to use.’

The Admiral looked doubtful. ‘Even to aim it? We’ve studied your proposal, Liaison; for clarification please reiterate the concept of tying such a weapon into a planetary surveillance system.’

With expressive patience the Liaison told Augesburcke, ‘The concept of each discipline is universal. All Galactic equipment is able to interpret information from other Galactic equipment. The elegant practicality of the technology is in the generic coding of the signal. At this moment you already have a system wide surveillance system. That system automatically transmits information, which is pre-encoded to describe its source. When you receive your planetary projectors they will recognize this code and display the information automatically and appropriately.’

‘The same is true for fleet type technology?’ Augesburcke asked. ‘In other words if we had an air tight ship that could host equipment we could plug and play: add engines, power generators, atmospheric generators, blaster batteries, and the works.’

‘Admiral, if you wished to we could attach all of this equipment to a steel sphere, and transform it into a superluminal capable steel sphere armed with blaster batteries. While it meets theoretical rigors it lacks practicality.’

Augesburcke smiled, ‘Practicality be damned! Liaison you get on the comm to your superiors. I want every piece of equipment which was ever intended for a warship, and I want it yesterday! You do that and I’ll get you double the number of troops you’re asking for!’

‘But Admiral, this is ridiculous! Without a specifically identified use for this equipment we are wasting valuable cargo space, and time. If your concern is the survival of your race we can evacuate enough Terrans from Terra to ensure your species survives. It is a difficult concept to accept I know, but it is all that is possible!’

‘The evacuation will be necessary, I agree, but Terra’s not giving up without a fight. You worry about that equipment, Liaison; I’ll worry about the fleet to put it in!’

‘Very well, Admiral, I foresee no difficulties in supplying you with the equipment at the cost of Terran troops. You will find, however, that it will be a waste of time and effort; of which you have little enough as it is. Think of it: to build a fleet capable of withstanding the Chem Armada in the space of a few of your solar months? Impossible!’

‘That’s what Terrans are best at, Liaison,’ Augesburcke grinned.

CHAPTER 14: Shifting Perceptions

‘You shot him!’ Nazar said, bursting onto the deck of the pirate ship. The pirates ignored him.

Nazeera stared down at the enormous heap of Alexander with a grimace on her face. ‘I only stunned him, Nazar,’ she said, and she stopped the hologram. They ship disappeared and they were back in the nondescript metal interrogation chamber.

‘Why?’

Nazeera walked over to Alexander and kicked him in the ribs.

He didn’t move.

She took out her scanner and pointed it at him. He was alive. Nazeera was more relieved than she should be. She kicked him again.

Nazar sighed, and said, ‘Either you really detest him, or you’re beginning to like him.’

Nazeera ignored her brother and called for the automaton. ‘Take him back to his cell. Inject him with an appropriate sustenance booster, and see that he gets some nourishment when he wakes up.’

‘Yes Lady Nazeera,’ the automaton said. It illuminated Alexander with a blue beam of light and the Terran rose off the floor a half meter. It then towed him through the corridor and back to his cell.

‘What was that all about?’ Nazar asked.

How could Nazeera tell him the truth? Alexander somehow made her care about his fate, the bastard. That was enough. Instead, she said, ‘He was growing impudentacting like an equal. It was time to put him in his place.’

‘Well, he is the Warlord of Terra, and quite possibly the heir to Alexander. Maybe he was just being polite, speaking to you as an equal.’

Nazeera simply growled at him.

Alexander awoke with every nerve in his body buzzing. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it wasn’t very uncomfortable. He rolled onto his side, and grumbled, ‘If that’s how Chem women say no, then it’s a wonder they can procreate at all!’

‘You must have made an impression on Lady Nazeera,’ said a voice.

Alexander looked up to see the black automaton floating next to him.

‘I made an impression all right, are you here to finish me off?’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ it said. ‘On Lady Nazeera’s instruction I’m here to supply you with nourishment.’ The automaton floated over to the wall. Two metal plates parallel to the floor slid out. One was the height of a table; the other could be a chair. A panel over the taller one opened and a tray slid out. On it there was a drink of blue liquid, a joint of meat, and what might have been an ear of cornexcept that it was orange.

‘Probably poison,’ he growled, but he sat down and took the drink anyway. He was famished, and he downed it in one gulp. It didn’t taste all that bad, and it filled the void in his belly better than he expected. He consumed the meat and corn in short order.

Alexander felt much better now, except for a small patch on his left breast that was tender to the touch.

‘I’m glad the Chem have a stun setting.’

‘Alexander, I’m waiting for you,’ said Nazeera’s voice.

‘Then you’ll have to wait a bit longer,’ he said irritably, and he stepped into the lavatory.

‘I’m not accustomed to waiting for anyone.’

‘So I gather,’ Alexander said, as he went about his business. ‘I’m not trying to be difficult, Nazeera but do you mind a moment of privacy? If you want to press the issue you can shoot me when I’m done.’

‘Hopefully that won’t necessary.’

She left him alone.

Alexander showered, but there was no comb, no mirror and no razor. ‘I don’t know why I should care considering she shot me,’ he thought, rubbing the whiskers on his face. It had to be at least three days of growth. ‘Is that all it’s been since my abduction? That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Nazeera, you wouldn’t mind giving me a razor would you?’

‘I would rather you make your tone less familiar, Alexander.’

‘I’m not going to grovel for you, if that’s what you want.’

‘Use a bit less cheek in your tone then.’

‘Very well, may I please have a razor, a comb and a toothbrush? I want to be presentable for you; that is, unless you’re going to resort to torturethen it’s rather moot.’

There was a long pause.

‘Hello?’

‘I’m here, Alexander. I was accessing your memories on torture, specifically, your life as a pirate. No, I can allay your fears on that account. We don’t use such primitive means of extracting information.’

‘You don’t need to. I’m willing to talk, so long as it’s with you.’

‘Why with me?’ she asked, and her voice sounded curious.

‘Look in the mirror.’

‘And what am I suppose to gain by that?’

‘You’re easy on the eyes.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You’re quite beautiful, Nazeera, and I enjoy looking at youthere, does that translate acceptably?’

‘You’re getting cheeky again, Alexander.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You’d get along well with my brother.’ A small panel slid open revealing the toiletries Alexander requested. ‘Come back into the interrogation chamber when you’re done. Be swift.’

Alexander finished and joined her. Nazeera was seated behind the table viewing the screen. He couldn’t see what was on it, but she didn’t appear to even glance up at him.

‘Good morning.’

‘Sit down.’

He sat down and waited.

Eventually Nazeera looked at him. ‘I trust you rested well? I gave no orders to provide you with furniture. I ascertain that such luxuries would be considered a sign of weakness, and beneath you. I hope I did not err?’

‘We do not, as a matter of course, allow such slight matters to sway our opinions one way or another. It is of no consequence, Nazeera, though I thank you for the thought. That is of more importance to me than luxuries.’

Nazeera refused the bait of conversation, and betrayed no sign of interest in Alexander’s comment. Stonily, she said, ‘We talked in the Assemblage of Alexander, and the Legend of Alexander. Tell me your own thoughts on your namesake.’

‘I have very few thoughts on the subject,’ Alexander replied truthfully. ‘Certainly I know of Alexander the Great, and I will readily admit to admiring his accomplishments. Beyond that I have not pursued the subject in any vein but that of historical interest. I’m regrettably not an expert on the subject.’

‘Elucidate your desire to be the next Alexander, as you so eloquently put it to me previously,’ Nazeera asked.

‘I don’t think those were my exact words, and certainly my meaning was not in a military context, which I believe I also stated.’

‘Alexander was a conqueror. That was his place in Terran history. That’s how he won his notoriety. There’s no other context within which to subscribe imitation. Now, please Alexander, explain to me your meaning.’

Alexander sighed. The remainder of the session’s questioning was similar. Nazeera’s interrogation continued along parallel lines to the day prior, but never quite the same. It didn’t take long for Alexander to realize that Nazeera was looking for any inconsistency with their prior interview.

Although disappointed, he didn’t know why, Alexander could not help but smile inwardly; having told what he thought was the truth before he had no trouble maintaining the consistency of his answers.

Nazeera failed to shed her impassive coat of armor. It made the session tedious and frustrating as she refused even to acknowledge his sidelong comments and attempts to fence with her. After several hours, made longer by his own curiosity, she left him to his meal-she refused to eat with him-only to return a short time later.

Lunch, as he called it, allowed Alexander to consider Nazeera and her new line of questioning. She was all business today, and though their previous session was not a social occasion by any stretch of the imagination it struck him as much more informal than this morning’s session. This morning she probed and prodded with words, just as the Scythians did with their instruments. It was altogether a more comfortable form of experimentation, but Alexander felt his gorge rise at the thought of playing the docile guinea pig. Pantrixnia was one thing, being a cooperative and talkative prisoner was quite another.

Alexander was not unwilling to commit to a dialogue, but it would have to be on more equitable terms. She’d won the morning round, but if she were still curious about him the rest of the session would have to be on more equitable terms. He, despite their intentions, was just a curious about them. The more he understood them the easier it would be to dissuade them from their present course against Terra.

When Nazeera returned she asked politely if he’d enjoyed his meal. Alexander waved his hand, absently. ‘It was tolerable. It would have been better if you had joined me. If that were unacceptable in the Chem code of etiquette, I would have settled for eating outside, or at least with a view. Metal walls are somewhat lacking in ambiance.’

‘I thought Terran warriors relished solitude. The lack of distraction is perfect for contemplation.’

‘We are not quite as single minded as you may think, Nazeera.’

‘Then what are you?’

‘We are explorers, by nature, and not simply warriors. Is it then so surprising that I would like to see some of your world? Terrans are a planet bound people. Now here I am, on a strange world with a new race of people. I want to explore it. And while I can’t complain of the company, I would like very much to see some of your world.’

‘I will allow you no such convenience. Although you will never be able to pass on what you learn I see no advantage to Chem in furthering your freedom.’

‘You say that with great finality, Nazeera. You almost make me regret my compliment.’

‘Your regrets are beyond me, Alexander, but you do open an interesting subject. Tell me, if you were allowed more freedom of movement what would you observe on Chem?’

‘It’s a fair question. I’ll answer, on a condition.’

‘Alexander, you are in no position to name conditions.’

‘Of course I am, Nazeera. I’m in an extremely powerful bargaining position. I have something you want: information.’ He smiled, and crossed his arms over his breast. ‘Now, the Chem are too noble to stoop to acts of torture.’

‘You infer the more basic forms of torture, such as you endured in your lifeline as a pirate?’

‘I am unfamiliar with the occasion,’ he frowned.

Nazeera smiled, and consulted her view plate. ‘You are consistent with your story, at least, Alexander. I’ll grant you that.’ She punched a button and the chamber became a dungeon.

Torches illuminated the dark confines of a steaming dungeon. The sounds of whips, screams, the hiss of irons and the squealing of wheels echoed off the dank stone walls. It was dark, and full of smoke, but Alexander recognized the place.

They strapped him naked onto a table. It was already wet with blood, sweat, and the filth of the prisoner before him. Hunkering over him were two gnarled torturers with glowing irons. Perched by his contorted face, like a carrion creature, was a pale caricature of a man swathed in vibrant red. The scene moved at a dreamlike pace, and the colors, sounds, and even smells were so distinct that Alexander reacted physically to them. Still, the scene was somehow unreal.

Nazeera stood between the man in red and a torturer, and she told him, ‘This is from your memory, Alexander. It is the root, shall we say, of your adventures as a brigand. Your career began with your capture and torment by a religious sect called the ‘Inquisition.’ This moment, of course, is prior to your escape. I think, by your reaction, that it is safe to say you remember this now?’

An iron burned into the flesh of his stomach. The pain was sharp, but almost as bad was the smell of his seared flesh. Alexander tensed against the straps, and the memories of the entire horrifying experience engulfed him, complete with the attached emotions: despair, fear and above all hatred. He gripped the edges of the table to keep from trembling before Nazeera. The veins in his arms throbbed, standing out over his forearms, biceps, neck and temple.

The torturer burned him again, while his partner flogged his loins with a short whip made of leather straps.

Against the pain, he growled, ‘Aye, it be real enough! I remember the heat of the irons now, as I can feel them! I remember you too, Guiseppe de Gaude, you dog!’

The man swathed in red only smiled at him and read blasphemously from the bible. ‘I’ll return your treats in my own way when the time comes you bastard!’

Alexander started, almost forgetting the pain and the fury, for the words pouring from his mouth were thick with a Scottish brogue. More of his memory returned with a rush, and he realized everything that happened in that dungeon and everything that would happen. This was a different experience from the holograms Nazeera took him through before. Then the heat of the irons and the sting of the lash brought him out of his reverie.

‘Damn it, you don’t need to resort to this type of torturenot if a man’s got it in his past!’ Alexander growled, staring furiously at Nazeera. ‘What’s the matter, you don’t want to get your hands dirty?’

The hologram ended, and Alexander found himself panting in his chair, sweating profusely. He straightened up, and said, ‘I congratulate you on the realism of your holograms.’

‘I’m sorry, Alexander,’ Nazeera said quickly. Did she actually mean it? ‘I had no idea you would experience the torture as reality. I apologize. For most beings it is more of a detached experience, but for you …’

‘I was back there, in that dungeon, it was visceral. Why didn’t the other holograms of my past have the same effect? I remembered things, but this was so much more, I don’t know, complete.’ He cradled his temple, and said in his own voice, half to himself, ‘All of it just came back, suddenly, like a bludgeon. What just happened? You showed me images before, but those were movies; they weren’t quite real. This was, I don’t know how to describe it, deeper. But it was too real in some ways. The sounds were too sharp, the pain too poignant. Was this manufactured to illicit an emotional response? What did you do, Nazeera?’

Nazeera seemed almost as surprised as Alexander at his spontaneous and violent reaction. Her expression was sympathetic; at least that’s what he thought. Her words supported his observation.

‘Alexander, I did nothing to you,’ she told him. ‘What you did was to yourself. Your reaction is to a completely suppressed memory. If it causes you discomfort you have my apology. That was not my intention.’

In a calmer manner he asked, ‘Why wasn’t I affected this way when you showed me images of my previous lives before?’

‘I don’t know, but I expect it’s the level of reality of the image,’ Nazeera told him. ‘This is a core image. The other samples were summary versions, edited if you will, of superfluous data. The hologram I just accessed is as close to that of your actual memory as we can come. You will notice that it is still somewhat artificial. The colors, sounds, sensations etc. are all somewhat out of balance. This is due to the source, and not the technology. That is, the information source, you in this case.

‘You’re biased, Alexander, whether you know it or not, and therefore the information you record as memories is biased. This particular event, for instance, has certain points about it which are more important than others. The sounds are skewed. There are many loud sounds we can identify in the background, yet above all, far above the expected auditory level a machine would record, are the whispered words of this Guiseppe de Gaude. Those words were more striking to you than any other sound, and therefore your memory amplifies them. At least that is what we surmise. I cannot be precise as this is a Scythian data tape. You correctly and wisely speculate that the Chem do not use this type of methodology for interrogation, but we do use it for psychotherapy. It is common knowledge amongst all galactic cultures that most if not all psychological abnormalities which are not physical in nature are due to repressed trauma. The memory scan is an essential instrument in discovering trauma inducing events and ensuing therapy.’

‘What did your psychologists discover in reviewing my tapes?’

‘Many interesting, but contrasting things, Alexander,’ she told him, a slight feline smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘I shall not enlighten you, however. I would much rather find out or myself. Let us then return to our questioning.’

‘I’m willing to bargain.’

‘We’re back to that are we? I don’t think your bargaining position has improved, Alexander. You would do best to simply answer my questions. There are not many pleasant alternatives.’

‘There certainly are, in my mind at least,’ Alexander told her, settling back comfortably, now more sure of himself than ever. He was right. An interesting thing happened when Nazeera showed him the hologram of his torment in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Not only did the memories of the torture return, but so did the memories of an entire lifetime. The trials and tribulations of one Colin MacAndrews, a Scottish noble turned pirate, were now a sentient reality and not a history. He knew that life, but moreover he experienced it as his own memory. It provided a much wider view of life and experience than the narrow confines of Alexander Thorson’s interesting but plain world.

He continued to press his point, now having an idea in mind for his own advantage. If the sudden revelation of the memories of one lifetime could be this enlightening what could he gain from his other lives? To this end he pointed out, ‘No doubt you realize that you can’t coerce me into cooperation simply through threats, Nazeera, as what can you use against me that I will not endure beyond your prison planet? You will not stoop to Scythian subterfuge or Terran torture. What can you sway me with? I’m going to Pantrixnia, and whether it’s now or several days from now it makes no difference. If I can fight for my existence there then it is a far cry more than the Inquisition ever intended for poor MacAndrews. You want to find out more about me, and in a certain sense I want you to know more as well, but not without a price.’

Nazeera crossed her lithe arms and sighed, ‘You seem to have this all worked out, Alexander. I find myself in an unaccustomed position, but not an unenviable one. True, I could pack you off to Pantrixnia this moment, but it would gain me nothing to do so. I’m willing to be reasonable, and even magnanimous. What is it you desire?’

Alexander chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to give Nazeera the impression that he coveted the memories or experiences of his past lives, though in reality he did. Nor did he want her to know that he wanted to find out just how much the Chem had learned about Terra. His core purpose still remained to manipulate the Chem’s opinion of Terra and the possible dangers of conflict. If they had access to his past lives it was imperative that he put as much positive spin on those tapes as possible. He felt that he now had an opportunity to do just that. There must be a great many holes in the Scythian data, or at least memories vague enough to demand interpretation. If his memory tapes were as all encompassing as one might first assume then there would be no need for Nazeera’s interrogation. They needed corroboration. If that was so, then Alexander wanted to be the one who gave it to them, with his own spin on it.

‘These are my terms: I will not give you any information regarding current Terran military capability, nor what Terrans might do to defend themselves and their world against Chem attack. That goes without saying. However, I am willing to discuss Terra and Terran culture in detail if you so desire. I have no qualms about you getting to know us, so to speak. Ignorance of other people has always been the easiest path to war and hatred. I will even go so far as to give you my opinion on my own memory tapes. If you or your psychologists have any questions to ask concerning my past I will do my best to answer them. In return, for every hour we spend in here I would like an hour outside my prison. I would like to see Chem, and I would like you to answer any questions I have concerning the Chem. Non-military questions, of course’

‘Of course,’ Nazeera smiled.

‘You may continue your interrogation during these times, if you so wish, so that you may lose as little time as possible. That’s only fair.’

‘Is there anything else?’ Nazeera asked, looking more inquisitive than perturbed.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact there is,’ Alexander answered, a rare smile washing his face of all tension and care. ‘The most important condition is that all such forays will be in your company. I will not answer to any other interrogator but yourself.’

Nazeera laughed, and shook her head, ‘You are a consummate schemer, Alexander but I can’t see any reason to dissuade you. I’ll accept your proposal, but we must limit your forays to one per decurn, that is your day, and that being three of your hours in length. You will have a limited experience of Chem, but enough, I hope to satisfy your curiosity. More I cannot do. Time limits me, not my patience or ambivalence.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Very well, may we continue? How much do you remember of this previous life now that your memory has been awakened?’

Alexander shrugged. It was a difficult question, for he didn’t want to shock her into reneging on their agreement. On the other hand he would be asked his perceptions on other experiences, and he knew or guessed too much about Nazeera to think he could get away with lying.

‘It’s difficult to gauge how many experiences I should recall about a lifetime,’ he told her, truthfully. ‘Certain things come readily to mind, and other experiences may be recalled when I see them. It is much as my present life. I remember what I was, what I did, places, people, great events. Some of it’s distinct, but most is still buried I think, waiting for a question or a picture to dredge it up.’

‘What is foremost in your mind in connection with that life?’

Alexander smiled, ‘I think of that life and I see the wide swells of the ocean. I smell the salt, the powder, the blood. I feel the long crush of boredom, both at sea and in retirement. I see my children, kin, my friends and especially my wife. Countess Eliza Orionez! I can see her eyes, feel her hair and hear her words. She was striking!’

He looked hard at Nazeera, cocking his head unconsciously to the side. The expressions on Eliza’s face were strikingly similar to those of Nazeera. Alexander smiled thoughtfully, and said, ‘Eliza was strong and fiery; she was absolutely indomitable. You remind me a great deal of her, Nazeera. There are the mannerisms, yes, and your carriage, but most of all I think it’s something in the eyes.’ He looked at her closely, now conscious of a growing blush under her tawny skin. ‘Yes, it is in the eyes. You share something of the same soul, I think.’

CHAPTER 15: The Council of Fear

The mood in the Senate chamber on Roma was somber. It was not a large gathering. There were only ten representatives, one for each of the civilized cultures outside of Scythia and Chem. There were no aides, no reporters, not even a recorder automaton. The Chamber was sealed and shielded. Even the Hrang would have been unable to gain any data on what went on inside if their ambassador chose to be silent. At this moment She-Rok, the Hrang representative, simply listened alongside his counterpart Kvel Mavec to Grand Admiral Guenuel Koor of Golkos. The Golkos as a rule were not affable, but today the Grand Admiral was positively offensive.

‘The situation is intolerable,’ she told he assembled ambassadors. ‘The Golkos went along with your game, putting off Scythian requests for a deployment of warships to their space, and what do we get? The Scythians have cut off all traffic with the Golkos Empire. Within a decand the Golkos markets are in a panic, there are runs on foodstuffs, power cells, emergency supplies and armaments. There have been riots in the capitol. We have lost total communication with two of our frontier worlds, and five others have been forced to declare martial law. The Empire is in chaos. What happened to the slow calculated response of the Scythians? We underestimated their resolve, and it resulted in disaster. Even were they to reinstate trade the recovery period will be measured in periums!’

‘What of it,’ hissed the Seer’koh ambassador, Sheer’nhak, twitching his serpentine tail irritably. Only half as large as the gaunt two meter Golkos the saurian nevertheless accosted the Golkos’ view of the situation. ‘Are the Golkos alone in their quandary? No. We’re all part of this. Rather than whining at the loss of our precious luxuries we should revel in newfound freedom. How many millennia did the Golkos stand alone before the sniveling Scythians sapped your will? The very trade you speak of was once Golkos strength.’

Sheer’nhak’s head bobbed up and down, a sign of his agitation. His sharp claws drummed on the hard surface of the table, clacking in a fusillade of irritating staccato shots.

‘It is the same with all of us. Little by little we’ve sold bits and pieces of our empires to the Scythians and they’ve always called us to task for it. Were it not for our very rational fear of the Chem we’d have repeated our past cowardice and caved in again. I celebrate the Chem’s stubbornness. The balance has been out of joint for too long in the galaxy. Now, painful though it may be, we have a chance to right it. Our civilizations have weathered worse in our history, and I daresay we will again. There’s no point in complaining about it, so we might as well stick together and see it through.’

‘See what through, Sheer’nhak?’ Koor asked. ‘It is all well enough to take the bitter pill of self sufficiency and swallow it, but is that all we face? Our empires are in crisis and we face the possibility of a Chem coming out, or worse the explosion of Terra into our galaxy? That’s what this means. The Chem are pushing the Scythians to the brink, and don’t think the Scythians will ignore the fact that not one of our fleets is deployed to Scythian space to protect them. Are we about to face Terran legions landing on our Homeworlds during this vulnerable period of chaos?’

‘All the more reason to get our houses in order, and that quickly,’ Sheer’nhak said forcefully, his artificially altered voice rattling insistently.

‘It would take even the Scythians time to deploy Terran legions,’ She-Rok said, breaking into the debate. ‘At this time we’ve intercepted a great deal of coded traffic on the Scythian net. They are deploying their merchant fleets throughout their empire, and it seems apparent that they are indeed arming Terra. The Scythian habit of efficiency and documentation is noteworthy, and consistent. Despite the possible misuse of data the Scythians continue to catalogue and schedule their convoys to the minutest detail. To be certain they do encode their ethernet traffic, but we broke that code long ago. The Hrang can provide a detailed accounting of which ships have entered the Terran system and what their cargo is. A comprehensive list would be exhaustive, and beyond necessity. Suffice it to say that Terra is arming for war, but there is at this point no indication of Terran troops leaving the Terran Homeworld.’

‘That will change,’ Koor told him.

‘No doubt it will,’ the Hrang agreed, ‘but at this time the ethernet traffic only addresses plans for a Terran defense force to be moved to the Scythian Homeworlds, not beyond them. That is the Scythian plan. There are some interesting indications that the Terrans may have ideas of their own, ideas which may have implications for us all.’

‘How so,’ Koor inquired.

‘From the ship’s manifests we have discovered that the Scythians are supplying Terra with equipment for planetary defenses and troop deploymentsthat’s to be expectedbut that’s not all. The Terrans demanded the Scythians supply them with their entire inventory of fleet spare parts and weaponry. The Scythians are cooperating in a most vigorous manner. We’re not certain how, as of yet, but there can be no doubt about it: the Terrans have a fleet of warships and they are busy modernizing it.’

‘Impossible!’ Koor exclaimed.

‘You are quite correct, Grand Admiral, but I’m afraid it is true nonetheless.’

The Council table erupted in pandemonium. Apparently, the news was too much for members of the Council. The prospect of Terran legions transported by their own fleets was worse than any Scythian threat.

Admiral Koor couldn’t get the Councilors to come to order. It wasn’t until she pulled out her gun and shot the communicator out of the hand of the Syraptose Ambassador that the Councilors emerged from their panic. The Syraptose turned his pudgy face to her in shock, unable to utter a single word of protest. The rest of the table turned to her.

Admiral Koor holstered her gun, and said, ‘That’s better. We’ll get nothing done with this yammering. It’s exactly what the next Alexander wants. He will play to our weakness; that is, he’ll divide us and pick us off one by one. Our only hope is to maintain a concerted front.’ She turned her hard eyes on She-Rok. ‘Ambassador, would you please elaborate. We’re acting as if Alexander himself is on our doorstep. Is he?’

‘No, Admiral, he is not. Before we get too caught up in this hysteria let me ease your minds somewhat. We know Terra has indeed been in the first stages of exploring their solar system. Our conjecture is that this effort is a desperate attempt to modify their primitive intra-system vessels into defensive systems. They have correctly surmised that if the Chem come they will not land on Terra and engage in a terrestrial war, which would be much to Terra’s advantage. Rather Chem warships will stand off the planet and bombard it to dust. All the planetary projectors in the galaxy would not change the outcome of that engagement. Therefore, they are doing anything and everything they can to make the Chem pay dearly before they come into bombardment range. In our considered opinion there is nothing in this to be overly concerned of. Any Terran fleet which results from this enormous expenditure of energy will be wholly defensive in capability, and just as tied to the Terran system as their exploratory ventures. They simply do not have the time to build a fleet capable of threatening us.’

There was a murmur of approval and relief at She-Rok’s conclusions, and the Hrang continued.

‘There are other developments which will be of interest to all of us. We have been keeping track of the Chem build up as well, and in doing so we have discovered that the Chem attacked and destroyed a Scythian vessel. In the process they captured a Terran from the vessel. We don’t know why the Terran was on board, but it’s very probable that he was a military liaison of some kind. Whatever his previous role he is now under the scrutiny of the Chem. Their obvious intent is to study their foes and so have a better understanding of what they will face when they attack Terra. In fact, the Chem consider this Terran to be so important that Nazeera of Chem herself took charge of the interrogation on her return to Chem from Rome.’

‘How do you know all of this?’ Sheer’nhak asked. ‘The Chem are usually quite secretive about matters such as these.’

‘We had a bit of fortune,’ the Hrang answered, ‘and it turns out that won’t be secret for long. We gained access to a tape which was meant for broadcast sometime in the future. The Chem sentenced the Terran to Pantrixnia, their prison planet. As all of you know it is not so much a prison as a place of execution. We’ve all seen the broadcasts. They are a Chem version of the Terran gladiatorial games.’

‘Yes, yes, what of the tape? How does it explain Terran intentions?’ Koor asked impatiently.

‘I will play the tape presently, and you may see for yourselves. Please excuse the poor quality. It is a hurried copy of a copy provided by the Chem Assemblage to one of their ethernet broadcast companies.’

In the center of the table a holographic projection began to play. It was a copy of Alexander’s trial before the Chem Assemblage. She-Rok allowed it to run its full length, and a nervous silence followed every word. When the tape finished the ambassadors glanced at one another, dread in their expressions. She-Rok addressed the obvious question, telling them, ‘It is a strange coincidence that the Scythians had on board their ship a Terran claiming to be none other than Alexander, or more properly his heir. It may also be coincidence that the Chem seem to accept him as such.

She-Rok consulted a handheld screen for a moment, then added, ‘We can’t know for certain, but it’s obvious that during the questioning the Terran is bothered by the distinction. He attempts to dissuade Nazeera of Chem that he is the representative of Terra, and even goes so far as to plead ignorance for his people. When these attempts fail to move Nazeera he shows his true self. Let me repeat the latter section for you all.’ She-Rok pressed a lighted switch on his console and the projection zoomed in to show Alexander pointing a threatening finger at the Chem. In a commanding voice he said,

‘Do what you will with me, if you can. I defy you to the end. Gauge well what you see in me; for it will return to you five billion fold! It will come to you with fire and fury, and it shall never stop until the thirst for vengeance is forever sated!’

‘Thus did Alexander of Terra show his true self,’ She-Rok continued, ‘and in doing so reveal what his intentions are. The Terrans know of Chem’s plans, obviously through our friends the Scythians. Alexander’s plan may have been to strike at the Chem Empire. Fortunately, the Chem interrupted his preparations, striking when the Terran Overlord was off-world negotiating with his Scythian allies. The Chem now have Alexander, and they shall take care of him before he could lead his people to the stars.’

She-Rok looked around the room for confirmation of his conclusion, but all he saw was nervous skepticism.

‘I sense you are unconvinced with the evidence. It is sketchy, I admit, as we have no concrete data concerning the current Terran political situation. There is some history on this particular Terran, he was a famous gladiator but there are no records of his political career. The last power struggle of note on Terra was fifty periums ago between the warlords Kennedy and Khrushchev but that resulted in a stalemate. According to Scythian report, conflict on Terra has been continuous since that time, but without resultant unification. It is probable that the Scythians mislead us as far as the rise to power of the Terran formerly known as Thorsson, now Alexander Thorsson.’

‘Probable? She-Rok it is not a probability but a certainty!’ Koor swore. ‘I will hazard to say that none of us doubt that he is none other than Alexander, the heir of Alexander the Great. Terra has been unified beneath our very eyes and we knew nothing about it until it was almost too late!’

‘The Chem are to be congratulated for their watchfulness, even as the Scythians are to be damned for their treachery!’ Sheer’nhak spat, beside himself in indignation. ‘To be so duped by the Scythians that they conspired with the Terran Overlord without our suspecting is detestable. My only joy is that the Scythians will more than likely pay for their double-dealing with their civilization. If the Chem leave any of them un-skinned the Seer’koh will make it our duty to finish the job!’

‘If they have the chance,’ Koor reminded her comrade. ‘The Chem will have to triumph over the Terrans first.’

‘But the Terrans will be without their Overlord,’ She-Rok reminded them. The rest of the table looked to the Hrang, and the reptile smiled. ‘My friends it took the chaotic Terrans two millennia to find their Overlord, and the heir to Alexander’s legend. Now he is in the safe keeping of the Chem, and soon he will be nothing but a short lived spectacle on the Galactic ethernet. Alexander shall die on Pantrixnia for all to see. With him will die Terra. Without Alexander there is no cohesive Terran threat and the Chem will do what the Chem do best: conquer and destroy their enemies. Terra will cease to be a civilized world, unless the Chem seek to settle it. Chem ardor will be spent on Terra and Scythia, saving us from them and extinguishing forevermore the Legend of Alexander.’

CHAPTER 16: A Walk in the Park

Alexander peered down the dark undulating tunnel. The comparison to being inside someone’s intestine couldn’t be more uncomfortable, or more appropriate.

A short way ahead the passage widened somewhat, but in the midst of that larger space the warm sour air sparkled with flashes of lightlike blinking Christmas lights. They didn’t cast any illumination on the passage, and he knew that he didn’t want to touch them. He approached them carefully, meaning to slide to the side of the passage and pass them by. There was plenty of room to get through them, but as he approached the lights Alexander heard a multitude of chimes. The sparkling lights moved toward him.

He froze.

The lights stopped, but one stopped so close that he could feel it’s brilliance on his skin. It was still inches away, but it roasted him as if the light were a small inferno.

Alexander stepped slowly, carefully back.

‘You’re sure this is how I get my memories back?’ Alexander asked Nazeera. She stood behind him at a safe distance.

‘You should be cognizant of the concept of association, Alexander.’

‘Yes, like I associate Nazeera with peril,’ he growled. He stooped low, being careful to make no sudden movement. He took a round rock and rolled it along the rough floor ahead of him. The sparkles flurried around it, emitting a plethora of pops and zaps. When the rock stopped they took up their positions in the middle of the passage again.

Alexander took another rock and eased towards the sparkles. When he was within a meter of the dangerous cloud he tossed the rock back whence he cametoward Nazeera. The sparkles took off after the rock, and Alexander moved forward, taking care not to walk faster than the rock rolled. After moving beyond the spot guarded by the sparkles Alexander stopped and glanced back.

The rock stopped at Nazeera’s feet, but she stood there unconcerned as the sparkles attacked it. When they were finished they began to float back to their station. Nazeera stepped smoothly up to them.

Alexander grinned as the sparkles moved toward her.

Nazeera simply smiled and raised her hands. She moved them outward and then back in as if weaving on an unseen loom. Half the sparkles followed one hand and half the other. They went out and rushed back in, out then in. Each time they rushed in the sparkles crossed paths and some collided. When they ran into each other the emitted a flurry of angry sparks and went out. After doing it a half dozen times only a single sparkle remained. Nazeera drew her hands apart and it split in two. When it crashed back together it snuffed itself out with a plaintiff sizzle.

‘That was a much more elegant solution than mine, I’ll admit, but how does it get my memory back?’

Nazeera touched her sleeve.

Alexander was in the cockpit of his purple fabric covered Fokker Triplane. Ahead of him was a Bristol Fightera two seat Tommy scout with a dangerous rear facing gun. Without thinking Alexander jinked to the left, but stopped the plane before it traveled more than a few meters.

The rear gunner tried to lead his target and shot a burst wide.

Alexander jinked to the right and down.

The gunner missed again.

Alexander jinked up and to the right, then down and to the left.

The gunner shot a steady stream around the sky in his frustration. His gun jammed.

Alexander was in range. As the gunner pounded on the breech of his gun, Alexander sent two short bursts into the Bristol’s engine. Smoke poured out of the Brit plane. Alexander smelled the unmistakable odor of burning oiland the sickly terrifying stench of gasoline.

He was back in the tunnel, and a profusion of Prussian memories flooded his mind. He shook his head, and muttered, ‘So this is what passes for therapy on Chem.’

The rest of the morning was similar. For Alexander, it was like an Indiana Jones obstacle course with short breaks for movies. It was hard work, and more dangerous than he’d have liked. It wouldn’t look good if he got himself killed before they sent him to Pantrixnia.

At last they exited the tunnel onto a path which led through a dense jungle. Nazeera had to tell him the session was over, and this was Chem proper.

‘So Alexander, what do you think of my world?’

‘It reminds me of the tropics of the Spanish Main,’ he said, as a thousand bits of memory and experience whirled around in his head. Four hundred years past he attacked ships and towns on the steaming coast of South America, and the Chem woods carried the same heaviness in the moist air, the same all pervading heat, and the same buzz of insects in his ears. Alexander found a multitude of memories awakening at every turn. They demanded his attention. He was finding the reality of his past lives wasn’t as advantageous as he anticipated.

‘Are you finding the memory recall protocol helpful in identifying your past lives?’

‘It’s hard to say, at the moment,’ he answered truthfully, stooping to dip his hand in the cool water of a small stream that cut across their path. The jungle brought a score of episodes too interesting for his twentieth-century mind to ignore. At the moment they were not experiences he could draw on, but experiences which intruded upon him nonetheless. The act of conversation became a management struggle, and he had to push the intriguing memories aside so as to dwell on the present. Maybe Nazeera knew this, if past life memories were so accessible in her world, and maybe that was why she didn’t balk at giving Alexander such access.

He didn’t regret his strategy, but like many things that look good on the surface he had to have patience with his newfound awareness. The old adage of taking one step back for every two steps forward applied perfectly here, but at the time he could ill afford going back at all.

‘I see you spent much of your adult life in this same climate when you were a pirate,’ Nazeera mused, reviewing an electronic notepad built into the sleeve of her coatshe wore it regardless of the heat because, as she told Alexander, it was an environmental garment that kept her warm or cool at need.

‘I find it strangely coincidental that your career as a pirate catapulted you into the echelons of nobility; it’s rather like your advancement from gladiator to warlord.’

‘You have an active imagination, Nazeera.’

She made a note with the tip of her finger.

‘So what did you think of our session this morning?’

Alexander rubbed his shoulder, which was still sore. ‘I didn’t think memory recall would be soso painful. Do all the Chem go through such trials?’

‘No, trials such as those are reserved for a select few.’

‘You’ve been through them then.’

‘I have.’

Alexander nodded, ‘I thought so, but I still think you did a masterful job. I was thoroughly impressed.’

‘May I remind you that you’re the one being evaluated,’ Nazeera told him.

‘You just keep thinking that,’ Alexander smiled.

Nazeera allowed Alexander to eat in a clearing with tables. His lunch waited for him. She did not share his meal.

‘You’re going to waste away if you don’t eat something,’ Alexander complained. Nothing he could say changed her mind.

After lunch they continued to walk down the path. Here and there the forest thinned and Alexander saw Chem buildings soaring out of the jungle like enormous metallic trees. Canopy-like platforms sprouted from branch-like arms, arches and trunks. The buildings were purple, jade, rust, and crimsonsall the colors of the vibrant Chem landscape.

‘It’s amazing and beautifulmuch like you.’

Nazeera glanced away, and then she laughed, and said, ‘That’s an ancient interrogation technique, Alexander, but thank you for the compliment anyway. Do you have the same opinion of Terran cities; do they reflect their inhabitants?’

‘Too much so, I’m afraid,’ he said, telling her of the sprawling, teeming, concrete canyons. He followed her up a rope ladder and into the lower branches of a tree. A narrow, swaying, seemingly flimsy bridge of rope and branches swung from the tree into space. Nazeera started onto the span. Alexander swallowed hard and struck out after her, trying to appear calm. He stole a look down. The green carpet of the forest was at least thirty meters down.

‘You were saying?’ Nazeera prompted him.

‘What?’

‘You were describing Terran cities, Alexander. What’s the matter is your memory that short or are you agitated over something?’

‘What in the world would I have to be agitated over?’ Alexander growled to himself. A hundred meters in front of them was a sheer gorge wall. A hundred meters below a boiling brown river flowed through the jungle. Alexander clenched his jaws. He hated heights.

‘Are you alright, Alexander?’

‘Of course, I’m invigorated is all. I’ve been cooped up in cells and ships for who knows how long!’ he lied. Then before she could prompt him again, he forced himself to talk about the mundane. ‘Terra as a whole views cities as a triumph over nature, not a complement. We build them as our monument to progress, in a way, but it’s a haphazard exercise. There’s no true order to the founding or creation of such a thing. It rises, lives, and falls as an entity within itself.’

‘Do Terrans pride themselves on competition with nature?’

‘I would say Terrans pride themselves not in competition, but in mastery of nature. It is altogether a fleeting and false pride.’

‘That’s surprising, especially considering Terra has no weather control, no geophysical stabilization system and no planetary protection screens. You are subject to the whims of nature, yet you build monuments to false beliefs. They are monuments destined to perish.’

‘Perhaps we simply want the comfort of the moment. Terra is a dynamic world, and thousands upon thousands come to grief because of it every year. We fear nature, and with good reason: we can’t control it. That in itself isn’t new. We’ve invented a host of Gods and Goddesses to explain the mysteries of nature, but in the end we fear it because of our own physical inadequacy. Of all the creatures of Terra, we are least physically able to cope. Without our minds we would not exist.’ They were halfway across and Alexander began searching for the stairs at the other end. There didn’t appear to be any. Surely she didn’t expect him to climb that sheer face?

‘You can’t understand the irony of your statement, Alexander,’ Nazeera smiled. ‘Among sentient beings none are more physically evolved than Terrans. You are stronger, faster and hardier than any other sentient. You are also the most barbaric. That piques our curiosity, but it’s the brilliance with which you make technology serve your destructive nature that shakes us to our very cores.’

Alexander sighed, and said, ‘You’re not alone. We fear ourselves more than any other danger, even a hypothetical alien invasion. We’ve lived with the very real possibility of self destruction for almost fifty years. I thought we’d won over it, but I suppose in the end it will be our fault after all,’ Alexander said. ‘We are not completely hopeless, though. We learn and grow in maturity, and as we do our benevolent side becomes more dominant. I can’t compare Terrans to other cultures, but I know of no other creature which can be so self sacrificing. There is nobility in us that I think must carry on. I would hope, after all is said and done between us that Terra has nothing to fear of Chem. Yet if I fail, and if Terra falls it will be our own undoing. It has long been said amongst us that we are our own worst enemies.’

‘What a tragic philosophy.’

‘Not nearly as tragic as this ending when I fall from that cliff!’ Alexander mused, and so engrossed was he in the possibility of climbing that cliff he didn’t mind where he set his foot. His boot slipped on the side of the rope bridge where the spray from the river made it slick. His left foot plunged into space and he straddled the narrow catwalk. A sharp stinging blow hit his groin. His hands slipped on the rope. Alexander fell.

CHAPTER 17: Evolution

In the backwater Terran system, the sensational phenomenon of contact with the Scythians erupted into a chaotic profusion of activity. The arrival of the Scythians caused a sensation to be sure, but it was news of the imminent Chem invasion that set off a near panic. When the Scythians offered to arm Terrans, however, the ancient Terran ability to adapt to change asserted itself, and panic gave way to single minded effort.

That effort was evident everywhere, except in the small ante-chamber adjoining the CODOTS council room. Admiral Augesburcke sat quietly, listening to the discussion of his four department heads. Faizah Sadat was a beautifully aristocratic politician from Egypt, and headed the state department of CODOTS. She was never at a loss for opinion, and never fearful of voicing it.

‘We must, I think, continue to try and discover the motive behind the arrival of the Scythians. Their dubious desire to arm us as their protector is suspicious at best. I abhor the thought of Terra entering the company of galactic civilizations as a mercenary state; especially in concert with the Scythians. Despite their apparent concern, I don’t think they’re being honest about the situation. If there’s a possibility of a diplomatic avenue out of this we must investigate it. Perhaps we can still contact the Chem through diplomatic channels.’

General Sampson, formerly of the US Army, agreed. ‘The explanation of Scythian benevolence as a driver for their actions is completely transparent. They’re hiding something. No doubt, it would help us to know exactly what and why they’re here. However, there is also no denying the fact that the Chem are coming. It’s all over the ethernet, and it’s not just Chem broadcasts.’

Sampson punched up a display on his laptop and transferred it to the main screen. A half dozen different feeds with different alien broadcasters popped up. They all spoke in translated English, and the agitation in their voices was obvious. He turned the sound down. ‘As you can see we’ve intercepted broadcasts from all twelve identified cultures outside our system. To our distinct disadvantage there is one common link: the Galactics, all of them, look upon us as the aggressors. I must admit I was surprised.

‘Somehow I expected we’d come on the scene as unknowns. The opposite seems to be the case. Everyone from the military controlled Chem to the obscure Hederans think they know everything about us and our aspirations. Every other broadcast on the ethernet is about the ‘Legend of Alexander,’ and the violent ascension of the Terran species into the galaxy. It’s incredible!’

‘It’s insane, this Alexander the Great business,’ Sadat nodded. ‘Who could imagine such an idea capturing the populace of a civilized galaxy?’

‘It’s certainly unfortunate, but itnforrs not an irrational conclusion based on their limited knowledge of us,’ Doctor Juhma Koto, a Psychologist from Zambia interjected. ‘Much of what I can conclude is based only on conjecture, of course. Building psychological profiles for the Galactics cannot be done without some comparison to our own Terran psyche, which we understand imperfectly at best. Still, according to our observations, given the information supplied to the Galactics by the Scythians, and according to what the Galactics have broadcast compared with what the Scythians have admitted to us, it is quite possible, even probable, that the Galactics could paint just such a picture of us. Think of the data we made available to a race of beings desiring to portray us exactly as the Galactics now see us. You don’t need to sift through Terran history very carefully to amass evidence which would be patently insurmountable.’

‘By which you mean to say that you consider diplomatic channels as impossible at this time?’ Sadat asked.

‘You ask for a sure answer where there is insufficient data, Ms. Sadat,’ Doctor Koto said.

‘I have come to regard your opinions as rational, Doctor, despite my own desires. I would accept your guesses at face value.’

‘Then I’m afraid I would agree with your assessment, but for more than one reason. You see, the Galactics view us as barbarians. They justly fear us even as Rome feared the barbarians of Europe despite the disparity in technology and civilization. More than that, however, they fear Alexander. I use the name because to the Galactics it’s more than a name. However it may have occurred, the Galactics have turned Alexander the Great into a half mythical, half real hero who will one day lead Terra to the stars. That journey will have one easily defined purpose: a continuation of Alexander’s conquests. To the Galactics the natural aspiration of all Terrans is the continuation of Alexander the Great’s conquests, and in their opinion, he is what we accept as the ultimate pinnacle of the Terran condition.

‘We all strive to be like Alexander, but even if we cannot be Alexander we can still take part in attaining his goals. It’s a form of bonding and identification that all civilizations must have in one shape or form if they are to advance. It’s tragic that this mechanism is so damning; still, it’s understandable considering the data available. The Galactics formed their opinion of us from a limited and focused source of data supplied exclusively by the Scythians. Although the Galactic opinion is without foundation that fact is, unfortunately for us, irrelevant. Nothing we can do or say will easily change it Ms. Sadat.’

‘Why is that? Propaganda is a well documented tactic both politically and militarily. Why can’t we put our own spin on thiswe’ve an army of political advisors and handlers who live for this sort of thing?’

‘Two reasons,’ Doctor Koto replied. ‘First, the accumulated evidence is already out there and second because it’s factual. Propaganda based on falsehood is difficult enough to combat, but propaganda based on facts, even incomplete facts, is entirely different. We’d have an extraordinarily difficult time refuting it. We’re not just another galactic civilization; we’re outside their norm. They are bound to have a significant level of paranoia about useven under the best conditions. Remember wea isre dealing with a galaxy that’s been at peace for almost thirteen thousand of our years. They’re not used to war, and even if they were to recall their past wars they would remember that those wars were intercultural.’

Koto accessed a file on his laptop and sent the information to the room’s viewer. The numbers caused an audible gasp in the audience. ‘The last civil wars on record, the last inter cultural wars that we have been able to access I should say, were the Chem civil wars which led to the Chem Wars of Expansion. Even those conflicts were tame in comparison to our own, however. Galactic warfare evolved long ago into a conflict which excluded the civilian population. A warrior caste is responsible for military operations, and has been for the entirety of recorded history as far as we can tell. Casualties were therefore limited to combatants. Let me put this in perspective; the casualties suffered in the three days of the Battle of the Somme, in World War One, are roughly equivalent to the total casualties suffered by the Galactics in the entire millennia of the Chem wars. Terran casualties for this century are greater than the casualties of all the Galactic wars on record for the last one million years combined.’

‘Are we really that brutal a people?’ Sadat exclaimed.

Koto sighed, and said, ‘War is very civilized in the present day galaxy, though it appears to have been otherwise at some time in the distant past. From what we can tell several of the civilizations in the known galaxy are close to ten million or so years old. It’s difficult to say without full access to the Galactic’s records. The Chem are one of the oldest cultures but also one of the most warlike.’

Ms. Sadat asked the obvious question, ‘Doctor Koto, what would it take to change the opinion of the Galactics, or modify it into a less harmful image of ourselves?’

‘That addresses perhaps the most difficult aspect of the Galactic paranoia,’ Doctor Koto admitted. ‘This is because the portrayal of Terra in this aggressive manner persists for generation after generation. Literally since the time of Alexander the Great, the Galactics have expected this terrible invasion from Terra. It’s now a palpable part of their psyche. The Legend of Alexander transcends our definition of legend and enters into what we would call psychosis. This is as absolute and real to the Galactics as their morning meal. It’s ingrained into their military, their political debate, and even into the education of their children. It’s impossible to combat a base of knowledge so thoroughly entrenched with a propaganda campaign.’

‘How do we combat it?’

‘Somehow, we must mollify the Galactics. Perhaps, if we can gain time by bluff, using the Legend of Alexander to our advantage, we can gain enough respite to allow the Galactics to realize we’re not the threat they think we are.’

‘That would be difficult, at best,’ Ms. Sadat conceded. ‘Considering the numbers of our own people slaughtered, enslaved, and impoverished by our own hand how can they expect rational behavior from us? Damn, my own people from the Middle East are still stoning womenthe backwards, ignorant bastards. If we’re so capable of heinous acts how can they even expect mercy? I don’t see the prospect of diplomacy bearing any substantial fruit at the time being. It seems I am superfluous.’

‘You are many things, Ms. Sadat, but never superfluous,’ Admiral Augesburcke chortled, entering the discussion. ‘However, Doctor Koto makes his point poignantly. We are reviled throughout the galaxy, and whatever the Scythians’ motives we can expect no help from any other quarter. If there were a way to show the Galactics our Humanity, for lack of a better term, I would welcome it and put Ms. Sadat on the ethernet. As things are, however, the less said the better. We are unacceptably vulnerable, but we carry the brand of a bully amongst the Galactics. I agree with Doctor Koto’s assessment. If we can put any semblance of a facade together to go with the fear the Galactics have of us we may be able to bluff our way out of this. It’s a small chance, but it’s better than coming to blows.’

‘To that end you are correct, Admiral,’ Doctor Koto agreed. ‘Our primary weapon is the psychosis of the Galactics. Fear is an age old weapon. The idea of the ‘paper tiger’ has merit.’

‘To that end we need a ‘paper fleet.’ How is that part of our effort coming along?’ Augesburcke asked, addressing General Sampson.

Sampson shrugged, ‘we’ve just started to tear into the Iowa, but beyond that I’m afraid this is Doctor Hashimoto’s territory.’

Hashimoto cleared his throat uncomfortably. He was the obvious choice as head of the science department, but as a native of Japan, there was an unspoken schism between him and the Admiral. Augesburcke’s father fought in the war against Japan, and scant months prior to ‘VE’ day he’d been captured and executed in a prison camp.

‘Well?’ Augesburcke demanded.

‘Thus far, I think we’ve done well,’ the scientist told Augesburcke, bringing up a hologram of the Iowa in the center of the conference table. It was a piece of technology only days old to the Terrans at the table, but they already took it as a matter of course.

Harsh white lights illuminated the battleship against the black night; a bulbous Scythian tender floated overhead. Hashimoto continued, illuminating features of interest with a laser pointer as he talked. ‘Ingenuity has made a seemingly mad scheme, excuse me Admiral, annoyingly practical. While it is true the requisitioned hulls are not space faring ships but naval warships there is surprisingly little difficulty in adapting them for space flight using Galactic technology. In fact, the vessels of Terra’s blue water navies, which are of course ridiculously antiquated by Galactic standards, are strangely well suited to the task, with some slight modifications. In some instances our lack of advancement has actually proven to be an advantage. Galactic warships depend a great deal on structural integrity fields for their structural strength. Our navies, bereft of this advancement, are naturally designed to endure a constant and significant pounding at sea. They’re far superior in structural strength to any galactic space vessel.’

As they watched, a Scythian tender tried in vain to raise the Iowa with its blue antigravitational beam. The bow of the great ship began to rise, but the stern stayed firmly planted on the dry-dock. The Scythian ship started to wobble under the strain, and the Iowa started to shudder. Klaxons sounded all over the shipyard, and workers scurried away from the leviathan. The Iowa began to list to port and fall out of the air.

Augesburcke shot out of his chair. ‘Bloody Hell, we’re going to lose her!’

CHAPTER 18: The Trouble with Memories

Instinctively Alexander wrapped his legs around the rope bridge. His body swung wildly beneath the span and all he could see was the brown water below pocked with innumerable slimy boulders.

‘Blast!’ he cursed, trying to stem a rising tide of panic.

‘Alexander are you trying to escape?’ Nazeera asked, seemingly unconcerned. ‘I should tell you, I can shoot you just as easily in the river as from here.’

Alexander cursed again, crunching to get a grip on the rail rope. With a Herculean effort he pulled himself back onto the bridge and stood up, sweating and clutching the ropes.

‘If that was an escape attempt it was clumsy.’

Alexander bit back an angry reply, and said, ‘Clumsy is the word for it, all right!’ He stifled his racing heart, but he couldn’t do anything about the sweat streaming from his foreheadhe could feel the beads of perspiration literally popping from his pores.

Nazeera turned around and danced the rest of the way to the cliff. She stepped light as a feather, unconcerned with the rickety bridge, the precipitous heights or the possible enemy at her back.

Alexander couldn’t have caught her if he wanted to. He labored the rest of the way, clutching tightly every step of the way. When he reached the cliff his worst fears were realized. There was no door. There was no stair. There was only a hundred meters of cracked, wet, vine-clad, black rock.

‘I do hope you’ve no more displays of clumsiness, Alexander,’ Nazeera smiled. ‘A fall from here would be truly damagingeven to a Terran’s physique. We might not be able to repair you, or think you worthy of the effort!’

She leapt up the cliff like a spider. She stopped ten meters above him and looked down at him. With a ferocious smile, Nazeera drew her gun. ‘Just in case you get any ideas, there’s no going back Alexander.’

Whoomph! Whoomph!

Each shot parted one of the cables that formed the hand rails. Alexander scrambled onto the cliff face before he fell again. He looked up to see Nazeera laughing.

She holstered her gun, and said, ‘You Terrans don’t scurry very well despite your brawn. I wonder if you can climb at all.’ Without waiting for an answer she flew up the cliff as if it were a ladder.

Alexander glowered at her. At this moment, he truly hated her.

Alexander followed in a more sedate manner, but he kept climbing and he didn’t look down. He took some comfort in his Viking ancestry. Often as a child he climbed the cliffs of his family’s fjord. That is, he belatedly remembered, until he fell and broke his legs on the rocks below.

Perhaps that’s why he was afraid of heights. Yet in his last incarnations he’d attacked that fear by flying. He shook his head and grumbled, ‘How are the Chem supposed to understand me; I don’t understand me!’

By the time he’d finished his short psychoanalysis Alexander was at the top. He stepped onto a flat verdant mesa, trying to hide his immense relief of being on level ground again. To do this he turned and looked around at the vistas. What he saw caused his breath to stop in his lungs.

The rolling plains and ancient mountains of Chem stretched out to a distant line of green capped peaks. It was a dryad carpet of emerald forests and misty rivers under a pale blue sky. From every pocket Chem skyscrapers lunged for the sky like living things. It was awe inspiring and breathtakingly beautiful.

‘Well, that was a proper work out! I’ve not climbed like that in years. We Terrans aren’t spiders you know!’

Nazeera looked at him with a strange expression, as if she knew his thoughts were along a different line, but she couldn’t guess what. At length she beckoned him, and he followed her into what appeared to be a park.

Alexander was about to question her about this newer and safer turn of events when they happened upon a Chem mother walking with a small boy and pushing the Chem version of a stroller.

Alexander stopped suddenly, no less surprised than the Chem woman. That Chem security should allow such an unwarranted meeting was unthinkable, but the expression on the woman’s face was unmistakable. At first all she saw was an alien, and the unusual occurrence registered only slightly. Then the process of identification went further, and in a moment there was no mistaking just what alien was on the path with her and her children. She reacted with shock and dismay, pulling the interested young boy next to her and standing between the hulking Terran and her infant.

Her expression struck Alexander forcibly. He remembered coming home a fugitive in his life as a pirate. Unannounced, dressed in his barbaric garb, he snuck onto the grounds of his house and surprised his sister as she took a walk with her childrenin almost exactly the same circumstances. She didn’t recognize him at first and was equally as concerned over her children’s safety.

Alexander raised a hand up, palm outward, instinctively. Giving the woman a sheepish smile he assured her of his harmlessness. The woman was unconvinced, and Alexander turned to Nazeera and said, ‘This is the real tragedy in of all this. On Terra, at this moment, are millions of children just like these. They are as ignorant of evil and prejudice as is this little boy. They don’t care about the political boundaries of Terra, or the presumptuous military conquests of Alexander. They are innocent.

‘It may be fitting for adults to reap what they sow, but that our children should suffer for it is perhaps the greatest crime in all our history. If we could learn to see our actions in that light maybe Terra could overcome her adolescence and make a positive contribution to the galaxy. Certainly we have that potential. Beyond all the glory and horror of our past we always had the choice of which way to go. I want to think that somehow Terra’s children will still have that choice.’

Nazeera touched the screen at her wrist.

A silver automaton appeared out of the sky and shrouded Alexander in a blue beam. It sped back over the river, dragging a helpless Alexander away.

A day later Nazeera was in her holographic lounge. A holographic data tape was playing, but Nazeera wasn’t watching it. She was in the middle of it.

She was dressed as Alexander was in a purple uniform with a pair of horns painted on the purple helm, and she mimicked his actions. Standing stolidly, hands on hips, her breath steamed from her lips as the line of white-clad warriors with the hated star on their silver helms approached. Alexander lowered himself into a three point stance, and Nazeera did likewise.

The warrior in front of Nazeera launched the dark spheroid to the Captain behind him and Alexander rushed forward like a charging bull. Nazeera launched herself into the melee. Instantly she was in the midst of thrashing, crushing, whirling behemoths. She fought, writhed, wriggled and thrust but she was crushed under the mountainous men.

Then it was over. The warriors stopped suddenly and left for their own sides of the field; they prepared to start it all over again. A programmed Alexander helped her up.

‘Don’t think about the man in front of you,’ he said, voicing a relevant point gleaned from the data tapes. ‘You goal is to get the ball carriernot beat your opponent.’

Nazeera shook her head in frustration. ‘Computer, lower the size and mass of the players another ten percent.’

The door to the lounge slid open and Nazar sauntered in. His usual bright smile gleamed as he said hello to his sister and surveyed the scene.

‘Playing with the gladiators are we?’ he said, cocking his head to the side with interest. ‘I can’t say whether I enjoy their modern games more than the more fatal games of the last periums, but they are definitely entertaining. What are we doing, trying to delve deeper into our inimitable Alexander? I can’t say you’ll get much out of this. Terrans enjoy violence for violence’s sake. There’s not much mystery in that.’

‘Actually, this is from a special program on Alexander. He was a football gladiator, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t, but I’m not surprised. What else is he suitable for? He’s a warrior and intelligent. He may even be the Alexander we’ve all been anticipating, or dreading, depending on your point of view. I’ve already conceded my admiration for him.’

‘Yes, he is admirable as a warrior,’ Nazeera agreed, taking off her helmet and walking toward Nazar.

‘Nazeera!’ Alexander called, ‘Are you in or what?’

‘Go on without me for a few plays, Alexander,’ Nazeera told him.

‘I’m already double teamed!’ Alexander complained with a huff, but it didn’t stop him. It seemed to motivate him even further.

Nazeera punched up a regenerative drink from the server. She sipped it, and said, ‘I don’t really need to watch the games to know that, but this was in the Scythian data files we captured. It is a summary of his short, but noteworthy career. Alexander was in the arena for five periums before becoming a military officer. Injury may have played a part in his transition as much as reward for his performance. I’ve asked Alexander his version of his career. It is fairly consistent with what I’ve seen here.’

‘He’s forthcoming then in your interrogations?’

‘He is.’

‘Yes, but?’

‘Things have grown interesting in the last few days.’

‘Do tell!’

‘Don’t get your hopes up, Nazar! I mean something entirely differentI’ve been running Alexander through the trials.’

‘At what level?’ Nazar asked, obviously surprised.

‘My ownthe levels required for the Triumvirate and the seat of the Elder.’

‘That’s classifiedhow has he performed?’

‘He’s done well, Nazar, he’s done very well,’ she said. She stretched her arms as if they pained her. ‘It’s been all I could do to endure the same trialsI spent all of last night in a recuperation chamber. Alexander was no worse for wear this morning.’

‘What about the mental aspects?’

‘Impressive.’

Nazar whistled.

‘And the time spent outside the compound is, well, unexpectedly intriguing.’

‘Indeed and where did you go today?’

‘I took him to the historic district of the city,’ she said, and she ordered the hologram to show the recording of their visit. It showed Alexander and Nazeera walking the streets. The throngs parted as they noticed him, but then they grew curious and approached him.

‘That created a stir.’

‘Yes, it did. The people were almost as interested in Alexander as he was in them. I could read the surprise in their faces when they spoke to him, finding out he wasn’t just a mindless barbarian. You know some people even remembered him from his career in the games.’

Nazar gasped in surprise. ‘Good grief, they’re having their holograms taken with him! He seems quite gracious in answering their questions and granting their requests. He’s working the crowds. That sounds dangerous.’

‘Alexander is not a politician, but he is genuine. The people see that, and are surprised by it.’

‘Are you? That seems to me to be the primary question. Alexander may be admirable to the people, but how does he seem to you? You’ve had three decurns of interrogation with him, and I note that these last sessions were of a more personable manner than I would expect. What is your opinion of him? Do you believe his story?’

‘I have come to think of Alexander as a genuine being,’ Nazeera said carefully.

‘Really, Nazeera,’ Nazar said, and his smile grew conspiratorial. He nudged her in the ribs. ‘That is as guarded an opinion as I’ve ever heard from you.’

‘I’ve grown to respect him, Nazar,’ she said, and then she hesitated, adding somewhat thoughtfully, ‘I must admit, though, that I look forward to our sessions.’

Nazar’s eyes brightened with interest, but he avoided the obvious question. Instead, he announced, ‘Alexander is on one hand a stereotypical Terran: strong, fast, large, and as the files show, ferocious. On the other hand he’s a disturbingly charming individual. Alexander is more of a paradox than ever. We need to be very careful how we use him, or abuse him.’

Nazeera switched off the tape and left the room, Nazar in tow. She went into her private office and poured drinks. Handing one to Nazar, she said, ‘I spoke with the Elder this evening. He wants you to command the cruiser which will take Alexander to Pantrixnia. Congratulations.’

‘That will be a dubious honor,’ Nazar replied, raising his glass to hers. ‘Whatever his position with the Terrans I cannot bring myself to dislike this fellow. If Alexander is truly representative of his race it seems to me that we should take a less fatal tact. Duty is binding, however. When am I to leave?’

‘Tomorrow evening.’

‘Indeed, he’s going that quickly. Does Alexander know?’

‘Not yet. I shall tell him tomorrow.’

‘You are comfortable with the Pantrixnia decision?’

‘The decision is final, Nazar. Watching Terran games is satisfying, but it is a field of play which we cannot compare ourselves. Pantrixnia has had many Chem combatants, now it shall have a Terran combatant. We will compare the data.’

‘You are trying to justify your decision, Nazeera.’

‘There is nothing I could do about it even if I would.’

‘Would you, though, if you could?’

Nazeera opened her mouth as if to answer, but stopped. Without a word she got up and left the room.

CHAPTER 19: Paper Tigers

A Scythian voice came over the feed, saying excitedly, ‘We have to cut the antigravitational beam or we’ll risk losing the ship.’

‘Belay that!’ roared an obviously Terran voice. ‘Scythian tender two and three get your asses over to the Iowa now and put your anit-grav beams on the Iowa. Stabilize the ship if you can’t hold her aloft. Do it now!’

Two Scythian tenders turned towards the Iowa and in a few seconds they surrounded the huge battleship. They added their antigravitational beams to the Iowa and the battleship stabilized. Slowly it floated into the air.

Augesburcke, who’d been holding his breath, let out a whistle. ‘It looks as though our ships are a helluva lot heavier than Galactic vesselsthat was a close one.’

The Terran yard foreman agreed, and over the airwaves he was yelling, ‘Who do you people have doing your calculations? I thought you were advanced; that was just plain stupid! Don’t you ever put one of my ships at risk like that again!’

The Scythian’s reply was terse, which only prompted more yelling.

‘At least our people aren’t intimidated by the Scythians or their technology,’ Augesburcke smiled. ‘Go on Doctor.’

‘Another advantage we have is our naval vessels were built to be sealed against the elements, specifically water. Their compartmentalized layout and limited necessity for having any crew topside makes the modifications relatively simple given the Scythian resources. The process has not been as labor intensive as might have been thought at first glance, but it is extensive, and time consuming.

‘The old American battleship Iowa is the initial test project. What we see here is a ‘tritanium bath;’ i.e. a Scythian tender irradiates the warship with an energy bath infused with tritanium. This changes the molecular structure of the ship’s steel hulls into a tritanium alloy, making the ship even stronger than it was to begin with. We’ve already gutted the engine room, the equipment there being, of course, quite useless. The enormous size of the compartment works greatly to our advantage and we’ve used it for every type and description of Galactic equipment. The equipment comes in largely self contained units and takes up much less space than the ships original machines, while doing far more for us.’

Hashimoto clicked the display to one of the engine room. In the abandoned space were ten rows of fifteen minivan sized units. ‘Here are the graviton generators; they generate the necessary gravitational fields which enable the ship to maneuver in an atmosphere, create artificial gravity and dampen the enormous accelerations associated with space flight. You’ll notice they look almost exactly like all the other units, which though ridiculously small, are actually life support units, fire control units, and replication/regeneration units. Even the heart of the ship, the superluminal matter-anti-matter core, looks like anything but what it is. That’s it in the center of the bay, looking somewhat like two garage sized cathode ray tubes placed vertically and back to back.

‘Fortunately, all the units are designed to be completely self contained, and little more is necessary than attaching the equipment to bulkheads and control boards. Power is supplied through from the engines through conduits, but that was not a serious engineering problem, and the enormous volume of the engine room made this relatively simple. The translight engines are mounted externally. We did this consistent with the Galactic technique, and frankly it makes our job easier. Despite their internal complexity they come intact, no assembly required so to speak, and all we needed to do was to weld them at the aft of the ship, one on either side, and attach them through energy conduits to the core.’

‘What about control for the equipment?’ Augesburcke asked.

‘We’ve kept with tradition and practicality by keeping the nerve center of the ship on the bridge. The entire ship can be controlled from the bridge, but manual overrides and redundant controls will be available on location as well as on the battle bridge, which is deep in the hull of the ship. The new consoles, as well as every other station on the ship, will use the ship’s hull to transmit orders. The technique is elegantly simple. Each control board sends out pulses of code attuned to the molecular tritanium structure of the ship. The pulses actually make their way naturally through the metal lattice of the hull on the sub-atomic level. An engine command from the bridge will leave a coded transceiver as an energy pulse and travel by shortest pathway to a similarly coded transceiver. Should battle damage occur the signals will automatically travel to the receiver via the path of least resistance, so long as a path remains. It’s ingenious, and frankly it’s all that allows us to tackle this problem at all. There’s no need for the miles of slow electronic wiring, and the millions of connections and switches that conventional controls would require.’

‘I’m impressed, Doctor, I am genuinely impressed,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘How soon can we make her fly?’

‘Fly? That’s not such a problem; two days. However,’

‘There’s always a ‘but’ with you people,’ Augesburcke sighed.

‘I’m sorry Admiral, she’ll fly but she’ll be a true ‘paper tiger,’ at least for the moment. We have a problem with the armament.’

‘I thought the Scythians had more than they thought we could ever use?’

‘They do. It’s all stockpiled in the navy yards; everything from small caliber weapons to battleship rated blaster projectors. We’ve got the weapons. We even have a practical method of mounting the projectors: our rifled turret guns are perfect mounts for them. The rotation and elevation of the guns in turrets is something we take for granted terrestrially, but it’s not found on Galactic guns. All Galactic projectors are stationary. Therefore, if we ever get them working it will put us in a situation similar to the United States Civil War clash between the ‘Monitor’ and the ‘Merrimac.’ Only this time the ‘Monitor’ will have the same number of guns as its adversary.’

‘What’s the problem then?’

‘Energy transfer, Admiral,’ Hashimoto said. ‘Galactic design uses the energy conduits to transfer the energy of the engines directly to the weapons. These conduits are laid down as the structural backbone of the ship due to the sheer size and mass of the conduits. It would take weeks to cut out enough of the Iowa to put in the framework of the conduits and then we’d have a mess putting her back together. There’s got to be a better way. We’re working on it, but the Scythians are no help. They know one way to do things, and if it doesn’t work it’s considered impossible.’

‘I doubt if they really want us to arm these babies all that badly,’ Augesburcke admitted, warming somewhat to the Doctors efforts. ‘Well done, well done, I may have spawned the idea, but if you pull it off I’ll make sure you’re known as the Physicist who taught a battleship to fly!’

‘Thank you, Admiral but we’ve got a long way to go,’ Hashimoto told him.

‘How long until she’s ready for trials,’ Augesburcke asked.

‘We’re about halfway complete at this stage, so another week at least. With what we’ve learned, however, I think we can eventually hone the process down to six or seven days.’

‘A week to a space ship, not bad, but a warship is what I could really use,’ Augesburcke said.

‘If we can figure out the energy problem, Admiral, you’ll have more than a warship. I’m not a military man, but when we’re done the Iowa will outclass any Galactic battleship in space.’

Augesburcke’s brows rose and Sampson chimed in. ‘The good Doctor is right. One of the advantages we have, Admiral is the homogeneity of the Galactics technology. This includes military technology as well. A Chem battleship and a Syraptose battleship are virtually interchangeable. Although Galactic technology is many years ahead of us it has remained at the same level for hundreds of thousands of years. The result is there are no secrets left. Everyone out there knows exactly what to expect from everyone else.’

‘And here we come with something based on our warfare, but with their experience; something completely new. That will be quite unsettling to their military commanders,’ Augesburcke mentioned, thinking hard on the matter.

‘We’ll have quite a different fleet of ships than the Galactics,’ the General continued. ‘We’ve over built our ships because we meant them for the rigors of sea duty, and the pounding of combat. The Galactic ships are like eggs, held together with energy fields. With a tritanium steel hull one hundred times thicker than any Galactic hull underneath her shields the Iowa could theoretically take punishment the Galactic battlewagons could only dream of. In addition, if we get the blaster problem worked out the Iowa will carry nine level thirty-seven blaster projectors, the largest ever designed. A standard Galactic battleship carries fourteen, but because they’re in fixed batteries the most they can ever concentrate on a target is five, only half our broadside.’

‘The rifled turrets will also gain us a measure of efficiency over the Galactic projectors,’ Dr. Hashimoto added, laying a square metal case on the table. Opening the top, he took out a basketball sized sphere that looked like a huge translucent ruby. A metal flange fitted around the bottom of the sphere with a square cutout in the center roughly six inches to a side. Hashimoto explained, ‘This is a level seven blaster projector, roughly what you would find on a tank, or a tertiary battleship projector. The way the projector works is elegantly simple. Energy enters through a conduit connected to the metal flange and is focused by the projectorwhich is essentially an artificial lattice. Through manipulation of an electromagnetic field, the blaster beam can emanate from any portion of the projector along a path perpendicular to the surface. In other words, the beam has a range of travel of about fifteen degrees from the center axis. This gives the Galactic blasters enough versatility to be operated from fixed mounts, but there is a price. The ‘sweet spot’ of the projector, that is where it emits its most powerful beam, is directly along the axis from the energy conduit. A radial interference pattern is set up in the projector which focuses the beam and the wider that pattern the more coherent and powerful the beam. As you focus the beam further from the center this pattern becomes asymmetrical. The Galactics have alleviated this problem to some extent by enlarging the projector to as near spherical as they can manage, but the fact of the matter is that the power of the blaster degrades along a curve as you progress from a firing angle of zero degrees to the maximum of fifteen degrees. Hopefully, we won’t have that problem. Our projectors can remain fixed, firing from the ‘sweet spot’ at one hundred percent efficiency at all times while the rifled turret aims at the target. While it sounds good theoretically this concept also adds another technical problem.’

‘And what is that?’ Augesburcke sighed.

‘It’s the energy conduit tie in, Admiral. The Galactics gave up on the problem. That’s probably one of the reasons they opted for a fixed projector. Their energy conduits are fixed paths from the engines to the blasters. That’s a fairly simple concept which we can probably emulate fairly soon. Somewhere along the line we’re going to have to get that energy from a fixed conduit to a projector that is moving around on the back end of a rifled gun barrel. We can’t just strap on an accordion frame and the mathematics involved in creating a moving magnetic bottle is frankly beyond our capability. At the moment we’re stuck.’

Augesburcke sighed and shrugged. ‘I have every confidence you can solve the problem, Dr. Hashimoto. Do you have any other good news for me?’

‘There are the engines,’ Sampson chimed in. ‘We got fleet salvage and surplus for all the rest of the gear, but the superluminal and sublight engines are state of the art spares for the Scythian merchant fleet. They’re pretty much brand new, and there’s nothing faster. This is especially good because our ships are so much more massive than the Galactic warships. If we had equivalent sublight engines we’d be a great disadvantage in maneuverability, but with these we’ll at least be able to keep up with them.’

‘Well that is better news,’ Augesburcke grinned. ‘It’s a pity we’ve so few of them though, battleships, that is. The American Navy is the only one that kept any around. There’s only eight out there as either reserves or museum pieces. Now the Galactics built them in a ratio of five to a hundred. That would give the Chem Armada about thirty-seven or thereabouts to our eight.’

‘Forty-two actually, discounting the Homeworld Guardian Armada,’ General Sampson chimed in. ‘But things aren’t quite that gloomy, Admiral.’

‘Forty-two to eight, I would like to know why not?’

‘We’ve found out quite a bit of unexpected information on our own stockpiles since this Chem threat emerged,’ Sampson smiled, and he changed the holographic display to a satellite view of remote northern Canada. As he zoomed in on Hudson Bay, he explained, ‘Immediately following the Second World War there was a strong public outcry for disarmament. The powers at hand realized a need to address the public desires, but at the same time the realities of the Cold War meant that we couldn’t afford to get rid of our hard to replace assets. To address this paradox the powers that be fell back on a tried and true method: they lied. We ended up putting our high visibility assets on the chopping block. On paper, that is.’

The hologram centered on an orderly group of dark specks against the blue water. As the camera zoomed in the specks grew into ships. ‘In reality, all the old battlewagons, heavy cruisers, carriers and the like went into mothballs in the fjords of Norway, the bays of Canada, the inlets of Western Australia, etc. They’ve been sitting there just waiting for a day like this.’

‘Why those sneaky bastards, I didn’t even know about that. How many does that give us?’

‘We can give you thirty-nine battlewagons for modification, Admiral. That should give the Chem something to look at!’

‘Hot damn, we’ll build a real damn fleet out of this yet!’

‘May I interject a point?’ Sadat asked.

‘By all means,’ Augesburcke told her.

‘I share your enthusiasm for an aggressive deterrent, Admiral, but I feel I must point out that any deterrent, no matter how fearsome, must also be creditable. We may be able to build the ships, and even outfit them with armament, but how are we going to actually use them? The Galactics fear us for what we might become, and though we would have gone a long way towards realizing that fear we’ve still never fought a space battle. I don’t pretend to know the business of the military, but do we think we could win such an engagement against a warrior race to which space is second nature?’

‘Ms. Sadat makes an excellent, if sobering point,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘Could we win such a battledoubtful? The learning curve in war is very steep very quickly, but the cost of experience is always casualties. I don’t think we have that luxury.’

‘Maybe, but we do have the ‘Legend of Alexander,’ Doctor Koto reminded them. ‘ Faced with a Terran fleet led by the heir to Alexander’s throne who knows what the reaction of the Galactics would be?’

‘We’d need an heir to that throne, Doctor. What do we do, hire an actor? Still, it’s a course of action, and I think we’re at a point where things could go either way,’ Augesburcke said. ‘That is a far cry from a few days ago, ladies and gentlemen. I commend you on a job well along the way. I think we can agree that bluff and bluster are our best options and we should pursue that route, maintaining our military battle option as a fall back plan. I think, Doctor Koto that Ms. Sadat and you had best brainstorm with me on that very issue. As for Doctor Hashimoto and General Sampson, well gentlemen, you’ve got a fleet to build.’

The meeting began to break up when an aide entered the room. ‘I’m sorry for the interruption, Admiral, but we thought you better see this.’ A feed appeared on the hologram. It was a dark amphitheater within which a single naked Terran male stood illuminated in a pillar of light. ‘We just picked this up off the ethernet. It’s apparently a rebroadcast. The Chem have captured a Terran and are putting him on trial.’

‘Well, well, this gets more interesting every day. Roll the tape!’ Augesburcke ordered, and the five most powerful people on Terra watched the trial of Alexander.

CHAPTER 20: Contention

Nazeera ushered Alexander into the small interrogation room for one last time. She informed him right off about his impending departure, but Alexander simply smiled at the information, and repeated the old adage of all good things coming to an end. Nazeera simply shook her head and pressed on ahead with business.

Their sessions could not truly be called interrogations, as Alexander was never asked to reveal information he wasn’t already willing to give. The two shared a mutual respect and after the ground rules were worked out they could even admit to enjoying each other’s company. There was a clear gulf between them created wholly by their particular duties and the conflicts therein, but it did not make them openly regret the opportunity before them. The conflict of their interests was an unpleasant reality to deal with, and it might have been made easier if not for a burgeoning electricity which slowly crossed all cultural, rational and practical divisions.

To make Nazeera’s job more difficult, or at least more uncomfortable, the Elder tasked her with certain questions to ask the prisoner. They were subjects which tread on the line Nazeera and Alexander had established, and on the level of trust in their rapport. Nazeera was proud, and quite conscious of the agreement she made with Alexander, but she could not persuade the Elder that an agreement with a prisoner was one which should be honored. Alexander was Nazeera’s charge in so much as the Elder was satisfied with her progress. Nazeera was more concerned with understanding Alexander and his people than discovering the nuts and bolts of their status. The Elder, however, had a more practical view of the situation. In truth, if Nazeera had disagreed strongly enough the Elder would probably have relented, but secretly the questions to be asked dogged her as well. It was a short and unsatisfactory debate within herself, but there was really nothing for it. Still, when Nazeera brought an image up on the hologram it was the special of Alexander she studied the night previously, and nothing particularly momentous.

Alexander was used to Nazeera producing tapes of his memories, mostly of past lives, and having him explain the circumstances, emotions and motivations behind what he saw and what he remembered. It was surprising how quickly he’d been able to adapt to the flow of all the new memories. In the first day he doubted he would ever get a handle on it, but by the second the new memory files were no longer haphazardly forcing themselves upon him at the slightest prompting. Now they took their place amongst his established memories, waiting until they might prove useful. What Nazeera showed him now was completely different, however. It was an interview, the only interview he’d done after announcing his retirement from the NFL. He thought it irrelevant, but even more he wondered just how Nazeera had gotten a hold of it.

Nazeera brushed off the question, saying instead, ‘Let’s talk about this, Alexander. We’ve discussed your career briefly, but now I would like to revisit it in more detail.’

‘Very well, it is your dime. What do you want to know?’

‘I’m intrigued by your transition from a gladiator to a military officer,’ she told him, and as she spoke the metal interrogation room transformed. They were on a mountaintop. It was as if the Chem sheared off the last few meter of the peak to leave just enough room for their table and chairs.

Alexander glanced down from the dizzying height. He stomach tightened. He guessed that Nazeera’s medical equipment was registering his responses, and his focus.

‘Such rewards must be rare on Terra,’ she continued. ‘I would like to know how you managed it. Did you have a political sponsor?’

‘No, I was never politically adept,’ Alexander said, trying to ignore their nest in the clouds. ‘That failure in my character was the primary reason I eventually left the military.’

‘We’ll get to that,’ Nazeera said. The wind blew and it grew uncomfortably cold. She didn’t seem to notice. ‘I want your comment on this portion of the file. The interviewer prods you about what could have been a ‘Hall of Fame’ career, and presses you as to whether you are frustrated that injuries prevented consideration for such an honor. You’re most combative.’

The hologram centered on a younger version of Alexander. His hair was longer and not yet streaked with gray. The eyes were the same shade of volcanic green, though, and this younger Alexander flashed them with clear impatience. His bassoon voice barked at the interviewer, leaving no room for argument, ‘Am I frustrated to have to leave the game?’ he asked, and then he threw his brawny arms in the air. ‘I suppose I have a right to be, but I can’t really say that I am. I was an undersized nose tackle who lasted a good deal longer than anyone could have anticipated, but less than I could have hoped.’ Alexander clenched his teeth, but the cold bit him with a sharp stabbing pain. He began to shiver. ‘I had a good run, even if it was only for five years. You can’t mention my name in the same breath as Page, Marshal or Eller; but I think my peers can appreciate my play one way or another. That lessens the impact a bit.’

The interviewer leaned forward, saying, ‘Certainly playing for a smaller market team like the Vikings didn’t help your notoriety, Alexander, but I think it only fair to remind you, and our viewers, that in five short seasons you accomplished a great deal. It was enough to earn you the title, ‘Alexander the Great.’ That’s not a moniker lightly bestowed. Let me run down a list: five straight Pro Bowls; Rookie of the Year honors; led the Vikings in sacks and tackles behind the line of scrimmage five straight years; and most sacks in a five year period in NFL history. Some of the words that your adversaries used to describe you: ‘ferocious,’ ‘relentless,’ ‘the perfect predator,’ and ‘the most terrifying presence since Butkus.’ Not too bad. Doesn’t that accomplishment count for something?’

Nazeera smiled and asked, ‘Why do you refute your accolades, Alexander? From where in that ambitious breast does your humility spring?’

‘There’s always someone bigger, faster and stronger,’ he said gruffly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

‘That’s a strange answer coming from Alexander’s heir,’ Nazeera replied, and touched her wrist. The mountaintop scene changed to them sitting on a wide plain. It was night. Lightning flashed all around them.

Alexander relaxed. Lightning didn’t bother him; even when, as now, it hit scant feet from him.

‘Before you answer, Alexander, let’s watch your file,’ Nazeera said, her eyes on the screen at her wrist.

A purple garbed Alexander battled through the snow, the mud and the rain. The record was brutal, even for those accustomed to the sport, and Alexander watched Nazeera unconsciously wince at each concussion. The effect of the programming was so calculated, and in that manner both the interviewer and Nazeera hit their mark. Alexander pummeled his opponents. He threw them aside like rag dolls or simply ran over them, treading on their chests with his cleated feet. Then he crushed his enemies mercilessly. They were images of primitive destruction, and Alexander dominated the scene, his grim visage setting fire to the torn field before him, inviting the carnage.

Still, it appeared that Nazeera wasn’t seeing what she wanted in him. From a lightning storm the scene shifted underwater; Alexander sat in chains on a sandy bottom. The surface was tantalizingly closeonly ten feet away. Shafts of sunlight glinted on him and Nazeera, and the water was pleasantly warm, but it was water and Alexander instinctively held his breath.

‘So Alexander, you were the dominant male in your sport,’ Nazeera said in a normal voice. ‘Is a military commission the common reward for such accomplishments, or was there something else behind this?’

Alexander fought the urge to breath. Logic told him this was a hologram, Nazeera was breathing and he needn’t worry. But instinct was a powerful controller, and he couldn’t make himself ignore the water.

‘Well Alexander?’

Alexander’s lungs burned. He was blacking out. With every ounce of willpower he had he opened his mouth and breathed. Heavy, warm, viscous water flowed into his lungs. He immediately coughed and choked, but with each cough he inhaled more water. The feeling was dreadful, painful and frightening, but his mind cleared as Oxygen once again flowed to his brain. The choking subsided, and he growled, ‘There was nothing of the sort, Nazeera. There is no such tie between the games and the military.’

He settled down, slowly getting used to the sensation. The panic stricken fear of drowning dissipated. Then he saw the sharks behind Nazeera, dozens of them.

They were small four and five footersreef sharks. Alone they weren’t anything to be afraid of, but in a pack they were as deadly as a Great White. They ignored Nazeera and swam around him, bumping, nipping and rubbing.

It irritated him. ‘The game’s not working Nazeera.’

‘Let’s try a different sort of stimulus then, shall we?’ she smiled.

Alexander was in a cabin, sitting on a fur rug in front of a fire. Nazeera approached him, a glass of wine in each hand, wearing nothing but a purple silk teddy. She bent over to hand him his wine. Her breasts strained at the teddy. Only her erect nipples kept them from bobbing out.

Alexander took the glass dumbly, knowing that the instruments the Chem had monitoring him were going wild. She curled up next to him.

‘Let’s watch your TV, shall we?’ she asked, sipping her wine.

The screen above the mantle went on, and the Terran interviewer said, ‘I don’t believe I can name anyone since Butkus who instilled such respect or fear amongst his peers. There wasn’t much question as to why your nickname became ‘Alexander the Great’ was there? You played the game with a certain ferocious élan, uncompromising to the ideal of the game. You were so infatuated with what was right, and how the game should be played, that you threatened to leave if the roof to the Metrodome wasn’t torn off and the field be returned to grass. You were prepared to sacrifice your career in Minnesota for the betterment of the game. There was more, though. You were the real leader of the team, and the elected Captain in four of your five years. That’s not a position that falls to someone in the trenches all that often. To me that says a great deal about the player and the man.’

‘I appreciate the compliment,’ the younger Alexander said, ‘but it stops there. I gave it a go, and maybe a few quarterbacks will breathe a little easier, but really that’s all there is. Next year someone else will be stronger and faster, with better media presence. By the end of next season no one will remember the name Alexander.’

Nazeera stopped the tape, her voice deep with gravity. ‘An interesting statement, don’t you think? No one will remember the name Alexander!’ There is the crux of your desires, Alexander.’

‘What?’

‘Alexander are you paying attention?’

‘Alright, you win; you’ve discovered how to break my focus Nazeera. Can you blame me? You look enchanting in that negligee!’ He reached for her.

They were back in the interrogation room. It felt especially cold and bleak now.

‘Damn!’ Alexander cursed. ‘That’s bloody low, Nazeera!’

‘Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘I meant it as such,’ Alexander growled, but he grinned wolfishly. ‘Whatever you do to me you can’t take away the image of you by the firesideI’ll keep that one locked away!’

Nazeera shook her head and leaned back in her chair. ‘Back to your desires, Alexander; you’ve exposed yourself. Modesty does not become Alexander the Great, past or present, and yet you downplayed yourself as the warrior. Why? What was your real reason for leaving the games Alexander? From all indications you were having an extraordinary career, but that wasn’t enough was it? It was not enough for you to be a star in the spectacle, and you were too rare a prize to leave lying on the shelf. You left, or were pulled from the games for a career in the military. I can only conclude the decision was dictated by others, but what others? Someone very important must have had their eye on you Alexander.’

‘You’re reading far too much into this, Nazeera. I was on my third knee operation in two years, my fourth overall. It was time to leave. I didn’t want to end up a cripple. I barely passed my flight physical as it was. In the end all I got out of it was some money, some fond memories and an artificial knee.’

‘Really, Alexander, I’m not naive. This interview is intriguing, and telling. I’ve used the same methods myself. Nothing is as newsworthy as the thought of a leader turning down the laurels of victory. Caesar of Roma Terra did it. I expect you, as did he, got exactly what you were looking for at the time: increased responsibility, and your name in the hall of heroes.’

‘Caesar, if I remember correctly, did not live to reap the rewards of his ambition,’ Alexander chimed in. ‘Remember also, Nazeera, that when I went into the military I was only a lieutenant. I advanced only to Captain. That’s not very successful in the grand scheme of things, especially when you’re trying to work out an intergalactic conspiracy. Even if the opportunity existed, Nazeera, I was entirely too inconsequential to take advantage of it. Face it. As difficult as it is for me to admit, I was no-one.’

‘That is the crux of my argument, Alexander,’ she smiled. ‘I can see and understand your frustration, Alexander. Your transition into the military is predictable and transparent, Alexander, especially in as the Terran system, as we understand it, is designed to find and develop leaders. A warrior-caste society has no room for individual concerns. You were identified as a potential leader, but of course you entered a military system as just one of many such officers. Still, there was something about you which set you apart. You were marked for great things.’

‘That’s not how it turned out,’ Alexander said, and he was immediately sorry he did so. Nazeera was ahead of him nowshe was dictating the interview. The fireplace seduction was genius; he’d lost track of his necessity.

‘The Scythians followed your career very closely, and you advanced initially as expected, but when you should have made the leap into the upper echelons of the command caste something happened. What happened to your patronage? Can you illuminate me?’

‘Again you’re reading too much into my career, and into the Terran political system.’ Alexander was in a difficult spot. He either marginalized himself to the point of being inconsequential, or he entered a lie. He couldn’t do either. Growling, he said, ‘I had no sponsor; I played no political games. That’s your answer; I wasn’t willing to be an ass kisser. The next step was inevitable. That’s all there is to it.’

‘Is it? I cannot quite believe that you are as insignificant as you claim to be, Alexander.’

Nazeera pressed the screen at her sleeve, and Alexander tensed, ready for another change. It came, and it was absolutely contrary to the fireside with Nazeera.

The first thing that hit Alexander was the smell: sickly sweet blood, rank unwashed leather, rotting fish and slimy stone. He knew exactly where and when he wasbound to the block awaiting the headsman.

He opened his eyes. Nazeera stood over him dressed in black holding a huge axe. Behind her was a retinue of men in sober robes.

‘Your retirement interview was an obvious stage, Alexander, but it tells me about the political strength behind you at that time.’

‘I liked you in the negligee better.’

Nazeera ignored his remark, and knelt next to him. Her face was almost touching his. It was a strange mixture of emotion, the visceral horror of impending death and the growing desire for this woman.

‘I understand your politics and their intrigues perhaps better than you can imagine,’ Nazeera said, unaware of the conflict within Alexanderintent only on emotionally prying out the information she needed. ‘Though you may not know it-or would not admit it-Terran politics grew from the roots of the Galactics Rome. The Galactics, with very little Chem input, founded your own Rome, providing Terrans with the Galactic model of government, law and society.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Alexander told her, testing the bonds on his wrists and finding them just as tight as they were five centuries earlier.

‘Maybe not,’ Nazeera smiled, ‘I wouldn’t to expect you to admit it if you did. Terrans have, of course, altered the Galactic model to accomplish the realization of Alexander’s dream. The Galactics abandoned their attempts to control Roma Terra long ago, but what remains is still recognizable. I can read it, Alexander, and despite the gaps and your own vague references your career is something I can read as well.’

‘Then maybe you can explain it to me,’ Alexander told her with a wry grin.

Nazeera laid a hand on his shoulder, and he trebled at her touch. ‘I’ve seen your kind before, Alexander. The brevity of your career is not so strange. The Scythians were right to recognize you as Alexander’s heir. I saw it in your trial. You are strong willed, aggressive, and intelligent. That was undoubtedly what your superiors noted in your gladiatorial career. It is no surprise to me that they drafted you into the military for the purpose of developing you for their regime. That is the common way of political ascension, Alexander. I’ve recruited many of my supporters in a similar manner. Like your superiors, though, I would have eventually realized that I had recruited not a supporter, but a usurper. You’re dangerous, Alexander, too dangerous and too ambitious to be trusted as an underling. There was nothing else to be done. You couldn’t be controlled, so you were surreptitiously cut loose before you could be a threat to your sponsor.’

‘Nazeera, you are again reading too much into this.’

Nazeera grabbed Alexander’s long locks, pulled his head up, and said, ‘Then there is the Scythian connection.’

‘You’ve lost me, Nazeera,’ he said, grimacing at the discomfort of the position.

‘Why were the Scythians still interested in you if your career was over?’ She tightened her grip.

‘Ask the Scythians.’

‘Perhaps your career was not as dead as you would have me believe.’ Nazeera set down the axe and took out a pair of long iron shears. She sliced his hair off at the nape of his neck and let his head fall to the block.

‘It was dead, Nazeera. You can abandon that train of thought,’ Alexander insisted, turning his head to the left so that he could see her.

Nazeera picked up the axe again.

‘The Scythians offered you a way to bypass the Terran political hierarchy.’ She laid the edge of the axe on the bare skin of his neck. It felt cold, and to his disgust it felt dull, as if it hadn’t been sharpened in countless strokesjust like the last time. His gut twisted into knots. It took all of Alexander’s self control not to lose his composure at that moment.

‘They knew your aspirations, Alexander, and I understand them. You desire something more, some higher pinnacle to achieve. I agree with you. You are meant for more than a gladiator, or a minor officer. When denied by the jealousy of your superiors, the Scythians offered you their throne.’

She withdrew the axe, allowing the edge to grate against his flesh, just as before, and bent down to whisper at last word in his ear. ‘Scythian control would be temporary, of course, and you’d soon have your dreams of ultimate command realized. You would then, in truth, be able to bear the name of your predecessor, Alexander the Great.’

‘That scenario does not even bear comment, Nazeera.’

‘Why were you in the company of the Scythians when our raiders boarded the scout ship?’ Her voice was insistent. Her eyes reddened.

Alexander was silent.

‘You were found with the Scythians prostrated before you, begging for your mercy and protection, Alexander! Obviously you were communing with the Scythian Council, but apparently their offer was not satisfactory to you. You broke the telepathic connection and assumed control of their ship. I can only conjecture that Scythian control of you was very brief indeed.’

‘I did not negotiate with the Scythians! I have nothing but contempt for them. I would get my revenge if I could, but as it seems I will not have that opportunity. My only comfort is that the wrath of Chem will fall upon them, if the revenge of Alexander does not.’

‘There you speak as Alexander of Terra!’ she said triumphantly. She stood tall and placed the dull, cold, hard edge of the axe against his neck. ‘Once and for all, are you the Alexander of legend?’

Alexander glowered at herhe couldn’t refuse without groveling and he couldn’t say yes without admitting the complicity of Terra. He clenched his teeth, and said, ‘Do what you have to do Nazeera.’

‘Very well, Alexander of Terra!’ She raised the axe. Her mouth opened wide, showing her sharp gleaming platinum teeth as she started the heavy blade on its fatal plunge. Alexander heard her cry of effort as if from a great distance, but the whoosh of the blade sounded as if it were inside his head it was so close.

He tensed. The edge of the blade filled his sight. The metal creased his skin.

CHAPTER 21: Political and Personal Intrigue

They were back in the interrogation room.

Alexander stood abruptly, and Nazeera stepped away from him. Her involuntary reaction to his fury had the opposite effectit drained him of all anger.

He turned away from her, trembling at the re-enactment of his execution, and at his rage of her using it against him. Yet he knew why she used that moment and his other livesin her position he’d have done the same.

‘I’m not the Alexander you think I am,’ he said softly. He glanced back at her, and his eyes lost their hard edge. ‘I’ve a great deal of respect for you, Nazeerayou’re an extraordinary woman. What you just did took guts. Therefore, I’ll tell you this: whoever I am, whoever you think I am, I have no malicious intent for you or for Chem.’

It a true statement and Alexander wanted to say it, but he also had an ulterior motive. It wasn’t what Nazeera expected. Her shocked expression told him he once again had the initiative. He was out of the emotional trap Nazeera put him in, and once again he could take an exterior view of his situation, analyzing it almost as if it were one of his past-life memories.

Nazeera could obviously see that he was no longer controlled by his emotions, and she sighed.

‘Come on, Alexander, I think we both need a walk in the park after that.’

Alexander had a multitude of questions spinning in his head, but conflicting motivations stilled his tongue. As they flew in her aerocar to the park, sitting next to each other in uncomfortable silence, the calculating side to him weighed what he needed to know with what Nazeera’s impressions might be. The Terran side felt an inner need to part with Nazeera on amicable terms. It was one of those ironic quandaries. Alexander would much rather debate the Chem Assemblage than fence with this extraordinary and enthralling woman.

It was a misty afternoon in the park. The air was heavy with the scent of rain and wet earth. The fern shaped leaves dripped on the sodden path, but the rains were gone and the Chem sun sent golden shafts of light through rents in the clouds. Alexander and Nazeera walked in silence for a time. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but he was wondering how to say goodbye. Despite the difficulty of the circumstances he held no animosity for her. He was cognizant of the uneasy closeness in their brief relationship; something more than mutual respect and different than friendship.

Nazeera broke the silence.

‘Alexander, I realize today was difficult. I want you to know that despite my misgivings I would rather have spent it in a more sociable manner. I have, I admit, enjoyed my time with you. I know I’ve told you this already, but it bears repeating. Pantrixnia and all it entails is not a personal vendetta of any kind. It was a purely practical decision when I first made it, and even then-when I knew nothing of you-it was not made with animosity. These are extraordinary times. The tempest brewing in the galaxy is many millennia in the making. We would keep the status quo, if we could, but those days are past. Much of what we knew, and much of what we care about will be swept away.

‘You lament that your life has no purpose. Well, Alexander, be comfortedyou’ve changed the course of galactic history. If it is any consolation, you’ve already made your mark.’

‘It is not enough, I’m afraid, just to be a footnote in history,’ Alexander told her, happy to hear a more personable tone in her voice. For some reason it mattered to him. ‘I’ve been that footnote often enough, Nazeera. Looking back on it doesn’t satisfy me in the least. I’m not quite done yet, you know.’

He stopped and picked a flower. It was similar in shape to an orchid. The petals were purple with streaks of what looked like flakes of gold. He sniffed it, finding the scent pleasant but not overpowering.

‘I suppose I should’ve asked if it was poisonous or sacred first.’

Nazeera laughed, sounding sincerely amused. ‘It’s Vatalya, the Shield maiden’s Flower. Legend has it that Vatalya decides a warrior’s fate and guides the chosen spirits to their rest.’

‘Like the Valkries,’ Alexander smiled. ‘On Terra, it’s customary for a man to present a woman with a flower, usually a rose, as a token of affection and esteem. I can’t imagine a more suitable flower for the woman who will decide my fate.’

‘Alexander, I don’t know whether you’re being cruel or charming,’ she said, taking the flower.

‘Take it in the spirit of our fireside rendezvouswhich I’d like to revisit someday.’

‘Alexander,’ she began, sounding half scolding and half intrigued. She never finished. Quick as a snake Alexander’s hand shot out, grabbed her jacket where it plunged between her breasts, and thrust her down to the ground.

As Nazeera took the flower Alexander saw a dark shape dressed like a Ninja swoop out from behind the foliage directly at her back. The Ninja rode a small oval platform, like a flying surfboard. He aimed a blow with his armored fist at the back of Nazeera’s skull.

Alexander had no time to warn her. He pulled her down with his left hand and punched at the assailant with his right. His fist connected with the center of the Ninja’s masked face, and there was a frightful crunching sound as bone snapped. Blood spattered Alexander. The Ninja flew off his board and rolled in the wet earth. He came to a stop down the traila motionless heap.

Two other Ninjas flew out of the forest. One carried a sword in one hand and a knife in the other. The other carried a long forked spear and whirled a set of bolo balls. Before Alexander could react the bolo spun through the air and the balls whipped around his legs. The balls thumped painfully on his thighs, binding his legs. Fortunately, Alexander stood ready for conflict after the first attack, and his legs were planted firm and widehe didn’t fall. The Ninja charged with his fork.

Alexander ducked beneath the spear, but just barely. The fork missed his head but creased his shoulder. Alexander thrust forward with his legs, throwing a shoulder block into the Ninja’s knees as he flew by.

The Ninja cried out as Alexander cut his legs out from under him. He tumbled over his shoulder and the board went flying off into the trees. The Ninja landed a meter behind Alexander, and he whirled and dove on the injured attacker. The Ninja tried to draw his knife, but Alexander pinned that arm to the ground and struck him once, twice, three times on the jaw. The Ninja went limp.

Alexander snatched up the knife. There was a whoosh behind him. Without looking he dove aside, but he felt the cut of a blade on his back even so. Ignoring the burning pain he cut the cords of the bolo. He got out of it just as the third Ninja turned backed toward him.

He snatched the spear and held out the forked tines as the Ninja charged. The Ninja thought better of the attack and pulled up and over Alexander, but not quite out of reach. Alexander jabbed upwards, catching the Ninja between his legs. He missed piercing the Ninja’s flesh, but the fork got caught in between the Ninja’s legs and sent him flying off the board. He tumbled into a tree, and struggled groggily to his feet.

Alexander pounced on him like a lion, lifting the Ninja off the ground. Viciously he tore the mask off, leaving a bloody weal across the dark flesh. His hand went to the throat, and then he stopped, frozen. The Ninja was a woman.

Her face transformed from surprise to fury, and she cried out. Her knife flashed. Alexander saw that it was going to penetrate his stomachthere was nothing he could do.

Something hot swept past Alexander’s ear and forehead. Then he heard the ‘Whoomph!’ A deluge of hot charred flesh rained on Alexander’s face. He looked up to see half the Ninja’s head blown clean off. The knife fell from her twitching hand.

He let her go. She fell with a rumpled clatter.

Alexander turned to Nazeera, a stern gleam in his eyes. ‘Well, did I pass that test too?’

Nazeera holstered her gun, but shook her head. She touched the screen on her sleeve, and said, ‘I’m sorry Alexander that wasn’t my doing. I told you things have changed; this is part of what I spoke of. There are elements of Chem society that don’t want this to go any further.’

Alexander sighed, and winced at his cutsthey burned. ‘Your world is beautiful, Nazeera, but dangerous. I hope the next time I come back here it’s as a tourist, not a brigand.’

Nazeera laughed, as a trio of aerocars descended on them. There were military people and a medical team. They saw to Alexander’s wounds. He endured the attention stoically; more interested in what Nazeera was doing with the single surviving Ninja. Nazeera killed the one, and Alexander’s blow to the face killed the other. As it was, the medical team had to give a shot to the last Ninja to revive him.

When he came to he simply glared at Nazeera and refused to answer any questions.

‘Very well, it’s Pantrixnia for you. Take him away!’

She came over to Alexander and got the report from the doctor.

‘I’m phasing the dorsal wound now; it won’t be but a moment,’ the doctor said. ‘He’s not seriously damaged; he’ll be fine for Pantrixnia.’

‘Silence!’ Nazeera roared, catching Alexander and the doctor off guard. The doctor actually dropped his instrument in his surprise. Before he could retrieve it Nazeera clutched him by the collar, and said in a venomous voice, ‘You are speaking of the Warlord of Terrayou will display the proper reverence! If you utter another word beyond the duty of your office you’ll join that other vermin on Pantrixnia, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Lady Nazeera,’ the doctor said in a shaky voice. He knelt before Alexander. ‘Accept my apology, Dread Lord, I mistook myself. May I finish my duties?’

‘Get on with it,’ Alexander frowned.

The doctor picked up his instrument and finished his work.

Nazeera ushered Alexander into her aerocar and they left the park with an escort.

‘Thank you for saving my life, Alexander,’ she said when they were alone again.

‘You can thank me by having dinner with me this evening. Consider it a farewell gesture of respect to a formidable adversary, if there is no other proper way of accounting for it.’

Nazeera smiled, but told him, ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t consider it in any such way. You can be far too charming for your own good, Alexander. I can’t say more, except that as I’m married it would be socially unacceptable for my station. I’ll leave it at that. It was a good barb, though, Alexander, and well aimed. I’m justly chastised for my verbal dissections. Is that a product of your awakened memory, or did you always have that skill?’

‘I don’t know that my past-lives have so beneficial an effect, Nazeera. I have a few pirates leering at you, a statesman admonishing them, a king too gloomy with guilt to care, and a Prussian too noble to whisper anything but attention to duty in my ear.’

‘You have your own Assemblage trapped in your skull, I pity you, Alexander.’

‘Don’t pity me, Nazeera. It’s been an extraordinary adventure. I count myself fortunate, not only for the opportunity history offers me, but for meeting you. You’ve made a grim adventure a wonderful experience.’

Nazeera smiled, but turned her eyes from Alexander, a deep blush flushing her features. ‘Alexander,’ she said finally, ‘you are no doubt the strangest man I’ve ever met. You speak as though you’re looking back, with the full knowledge that somehow you’ll prevail in the terrible trials to come. I can’t fathom what’s going on in that Terran head of yours, but whatever it is, I’m one step behind. It’s my task, I remind you, to probe and interpret your reactions, not the other way around.’

‘Don’t worry, Nazeera, if you knew everything about me you’d probably be even more confounded!’

Nazeera dropped Alexander off at his cell and left abruptly. It was a thoroughly unsatisfactory goodbye.

Alexander lay down on the simple bed drained and dejected. He regretted that his time on Chem was now at an end. What troubled him was that it was a personal regret, not a regret that he’d failed in his self appointed task. Beyond his limited ambition there was the hauntingly fascinating persona of Nazeera. The desire to know her better preoccupied him, making Alexander angry with himself for wasting what little time he had to mentally prepare for his coming ordeal.

He fell into a restless slumber.

Alexander snapped awake. Something or someone was in the darkness of the cell with him.

CHAPTER 22: Conspiracy

The Chem clock told him he slept for only a few minutes.

He didn’t move or alter his breathing. His senses told him what he needed to know without the requisite civilized responses, and rather than give his awareness away Alexander stayed still and listened to his senses.

A foreign scent drifted in the air from behind. A soft footfall scuffed the metal floor, experienced rather than heard. His senses told him the position and the movement of the threat, and when it passed a certain point he acted. Alexander’s actions were half planned, half instinctive. He lay on his side with someone advancing behind his back. In one spasmodic thrashing he twisted and turned, lashing out with his leg in a wide sweeping slash. His sweep caught hold of someone’s legs, taking them out from under them.

Alexander leapt up, eyes wide and seething, even as a dark shape crashed to the metal floor. He lunged towards the figure to tackle and hold, but the figure was swifter than he. It recovered, scrambling to the side with a roll and a lithe leap. The shadow of a gun stopped Alexander from further advancement.

‘Good evening, Alexander,’ exclaimed a voice, at once Chem and male. The lights snapped on to reveal a Chem, as tall as Alexander, handsome and lean, perhaps three-fifths his weight.

The Chem smiled and applauded him, ‘Well done!’

Alexander relaxed, crossing his arms over his breast. ‘I’m so pleased I passed your little test. Is there anything else, or are you disturbing my slumber for sport alone?’

‘Not at all, not at all my worthy charge,’ the Chem laughed. ‘I’m here for a reason. Let me introduce myself, I am Nazar, and I’ll command the ship which takes you to Pantrixnia. I understand you’re prepared?’

‘As well as I shall ever be.’

‘Really, have you no unfinished business on Chem then?’

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, wondering whether the question was a trap.

‘Indeed, Alexander of Terra, you spoke better before the Assemblage,’ Nazar told him. ‘In that hall you proclaimed how honorable your folk were, and how steadfastly you met peril. I even recall anger when you thought yourself insulted. Are your words simply words, or is there resolve behind them?’

‘I do not hide behind my words, Commander Nazar,’ Alexander told him. ‘Have a care lest I make you put that gun to use. What’s your game?’

‘I merely question the temerity of your word,’ Nazar told him.

‘That is enough to tempt me,’ Alexander told him, moving forward.

Nazar held the gun up and said, ‘It’s your own silence, Alexander of Terra, which incriminates you.’

‘How so, what are you talking about?’

‘Why Bureel’s challenge to you, of course,’ Nazar told him.

‘Who is Bureel, and what is this of a challenge?’ Alexander asked viciously. There was something smelling of intrigue to Nazar’s game, something which must have advantage to both Alexander and the Chem, so he played along. It wasn’t so difficult to act enraged at the thought of insult, as it was essential to Alexander’s present character. What made it unconsciously easier to react, as opposed to act, were the personas of days past which every hour became more and more a part of the instinctive Alexander.

‘Hasn’t Nazeera told you?’ Nazar asked him. Alexander’s response was exactly what Nazar apparently expected, and desired, as he continued in a more pleasant manner. ‘Well, then, my sister is at times more concerned with affairs of state than minor items such as points of honor. Yes, Nazeera is my sister, and the head of our house. Bureel, by the way, is her husband, though not of her own choosing. That is another story, however. It occurs to me, if you’re truly ignorant of Bureel’s challenge, that I have wronged you; if I wrove done so you have my sincere apologies.’

Nazar was circumnavigating a point he wanted to get across, and Alexander was beginning to see that there was more to his position than that of a gladiator awaiting execution. Nazar obviously had no love for his brother in law, and Alexander was not above helping Nazeera out of such a situation, especially if it furthered his cause.

‘I have immense respect for Nazeera, and I wouldn’t consciously take any action to cause sorrow to her or her house. Yet I cannot overlook a point of honor, especially if I’m slighted behind my back. What of this Bureel’s challenge to me?’

‘Bureel is an interesting sort of fellow in the most despicable sense,’ Nazar told him, adding, ‘That is a personal opinion of my own. My sister and I, however, agree on many things, the soul of honor being one of them. To make a challenge is a serious act, don’t you think?’

‘None more serious.’

‘Perhaps I exaggerate my brother-in-laws measure, but where the honor of one’s family is concerned I must be exacting, and stringent in my regard.’

‘A despicable act brings shame on not only the offender, but the whole house. In my view, it is often better that the offending member settle the matter honorably than to blight the family with shame. Sometimes, however, there are practicalities which prevent even these things from happening. A House will hide its embarrassments for the greater good.’

‘At times, however, such attention to detail can be to the benefit of a house. At other times such self reflection can benefit both houses of the conflict, and their empires.’

‘Say on.’

‘Allow me to show you something, Alexander of Terra, which you may find interesting.’ Nazar played a tape of the Assemblage. The camera zoomed in to display the discussion of Nazeera, Nazar and a Chem identified as Bureel. Nazar watched, needing to add no narrative to the scene. As the Chem warrior and statesman expected Alexander said nothing. He simply glowered, his scowl deepening with every word from Bureel.

CHAPTER 23: A Family Squabble

The setting sun suffocated all levity in Nazeera’s great hall. The thought of the meal made her think of Alexander. She cursed herself. Despite her best efforts at distancing herself from the man, he’d become more than a nameless being to her. Alexander was an extraordinary man with personality and ambitionsambitions she dashed.

The thought of his inevitable death dampened her spirits. She would like see him again, and ignore the impending destruction of his Homeworld, but he was teaching her too many things she did not want to know about himself, his people and Nazeera the woman.

The meal looked even more distasteful than usual. She would just as soon forget this day. She’d definitely tried already. After her meeting with Alexander she delivered her final report to the Elder and thought her part done. Later, somehow, she found herself locked away, again reviewing the data tapes captured from the Scythians. In Alexander’s memories she found all the facets he had shown her; the curiosity, courage, honor, humor, and even the taciturn stubbornness that could engulf his personality when pushed.

His lives were violent but without the malignant tendencies she associated with criminals. He was a merciful victor even against enemies who personally wronged him. His actions lacked the wanton cruelty, and the joy of cruelty, she’d expected. There were many more memories of a more compassionate nature than there were of glories won, or violence accomplished. This no longer surprised her, and it lent credence to the strength of his character. As she watched the tapes again she felt all the pieces of her suspicions, especially the ones concerning her personal opinions, neatly falling into a very restless picture.

Alexander grew and matured into a being at once vibrant and wise, as their elders. Watching him was almost as if recalling memories of someone she knew, or should know. She did not find that feeling comfortable at all, but at the same time it stirred a great regret towards her actions. In an attempt to purge herself of unwelcome feelings she drank more wine than usual; she’d lost an opportunity to explore a man who might mean a great deal to her empire, and possibly, just possibly, to her as well.

‘Nazar, would it be too much to ask for you to find a house of your own,’ the smooth voice of Bureel whined, waking her from her thoughts. ‘Really, welching off your sister and I is beneath someone of you stature, not to mention your age. Might I advise you to take a wife and make a life of your own?’

‘What and miss time with my melancholy sibling, as well as your inestimable charm?’ Nazar entered the dining room with a flourish, kissed his sister on the forehead and seated himself. ‘What’s for supper, I am understandably famished? I’ve just finished arranging transport for Alexander to Pantrixnia. As you know I shall have the honor of accompanying him to that planet of endless pleasures!’

‘Oh, please Nazar, don’t joke of it,’ Nazeera asked limply, pouring another glass of wine. It was bold and heady, dulling the growing pain in her consciousness.

‘If only I’d been there to watch him plead for his life,’ Bureel grinned in between his more measured sips of wine.

‘Now there’s a being who wouldn’t stoop to pleading. I would stake my life on it!’ Nazar retorted.

‘That would be an interesting wager,’ Bureel mused. Then he smiled his best snake’s grin and added, ‘He doesn’t deserve a warrior’s death. Slit his throat and be done with it.’

‘And who will take the knife to him, Bureel, you?’ Nazeera asked, her voice taking on a dangerous tone. When he didn’t answer she laughed. ‘I thought as much!’ Nazeera filled her glass and Nazar’s as well. She did not fill Bureel’s. ‘You know, in one life Alexander held an army at bay on a bridge alone and armed with only an axe. He kept them from crossing that bridge for a full quarter decurn, suffering wound upon wound, but he would not fall and he would not yield. Finally an enemy ignobly stabbed him from beneath and he was overwhelmed, but the mounds of dead were a testament to his courage.’

‘What’s an axe, some form of primitive energy weapon?’ Bureel asked.

Nazeera leaned forward with a sneer, ‘No Bureel, it is a semi-circular metal blade mounted on a wooden handle. It’s used in hand-to-hand combat. It shears off limbs, and heads, quite effectively.’

‘Distasteful,’ Bureel said.

‘Barbaric! What a splendid way to die!’ Nazar exclaimed with a smile, fully versed in the story but well prepared to delve into Alexander at Bureel’s expense. ‘I do think I’m beginning to like this fellow more and more all the time. He’s certainly more of a model male than many a pretender I know. Though I know much about him from your interrogations, my dear sister, I can’t pretend the intimacy to which you’ve studied his lives. What else has he done?’

Bureel complained, ‘Oh please, do we need to talk of the Terran during dinner. The mere thought of his pallid skin and lizard’s eyes takes away my appetite.’

Nazeera ignored him, ‘He was a king, but he didn’t fare so well in that role; too young in experience I think, or maybe the realm was too small for his aspirations. Thereafter, he was a statesman, a pirate, and in one of his more interesting lives a general. It was in a cold land where snow, such as we have on our outer worlds, laid on the ground throughout much of the perium. He commanded a primitive civilized army, one in which they used single shot projectile weapons and beasts of burden for transportation. A great conqueror at the head of a vast army invaded his land. Overmatched, he decided not meet the invader in open battle. He stood when he could inflict damage, and then withdrew. He burned as he fell back, sacrificing even his cities.’

‘Coward,’ Bureel spat.

‘It’s a general’s task to seek victory, not just a glorious death Bureel,’ Nazar said. ‘I suspect that’s what occurs, as otherwise the story would lack relevance. It’s difficult to accomplish a more admirable death than you’ve already described. Anything else would be redundant.’

‘Truly, Nazar, you have the makings of a general yourself,’ Nazeera told him. ‘He fell back repeatedly, burning his own cities until the snows came. When the winter sapped the strength of the enemy he attacked and destroyed them. The great conqueror never again led his army abroad. The victory changed the course of history on his planet.’

‘You see, sometimes, Bureel, it is better to be a living hero than a dead martyr,’ Nazar said, sipping his wine and pointing a long finger at his despised brother-in-law. ‘The fellow has pluck, and guile. We could use a friend like that on Terra, as opposed to sending him to Pantrixnia.’

‘We’ve covered this territory before, Nazar. I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to.’

‘Which means you’ve thought about it already,’ Nazar replied, and he glanced at Bureel. ‘Too bad, really, he’s not bad looking, for an alien. He’s got enough bravado to stand up to you, Nazeera. He’d make you a good husband, if you were free.’

Nazeera stifled an exclamationtoo surprised to respond.

‘You have the gall to insinuate such a thing!’ Bureel scowled.

‘Pure practicality,’ Nazar smiled. ‘Think of it, a union between Terra and the Chem; the debate about this Terran threat would finally end!’

‘Really, Nazar, that’s just about enough,’ Nazeera said, but without any real enthusiasm. With the wine in her head Nazar’s idea almost sounded logical, if not desirable. She couldn’t actually marry Alexander, of course, could she?

Nazar ignored her and addressed his plan to Bureel, ‘Consider it Bureel, you could repeat your challenge to the Terran, he’d kill you and marry Nazeera. The threat to Chem would be over. You’d be a hero, well; actually, you’d be a martyr. Think of it! You’d have done the state a great service and died a good death! What more can one ask for?’

Bureel stomped away from the table enraged. He stopped, however, at the entrance to the dining room. A figure blocked his way; a very large muscular figure. It was a figure that could only belong to a Terran.

CHAPTER 24: Dinner, a Glass of Wine, and Moonlight

‘Good evening,’ Alexander smiled evilly, his voice hardly above a growl. ‘May I assume that I’m addressing Bureel?’

‘Terran dog, what are you doing here?’ Bureel exclaimed, his light flesh turning dark red.

‘Don’t worry, Bureel, I’m in the company of an automaton. I am, of course, unarmed. That’s indeed a fortuitous precaution for one of us.’

Bureel interrupted, and motioned to the automaton floating behind Alexander. ‘Take this carcass away! Bring him back to his cell to await transport. Then report to me, I want to know under what authority this dog was allowed to leave his cell!’

‘Under my authority, Bureel,’ Nazar chimed in. ‘At sunset the charge of the prisoner, Alexander of Terra, was transferred to me. Alexander is on his way to my ship, but we have unfinished business here, don’t we Alexander?’

‘We do indeed,’ Alexander smiled, then he turned to Bureel and his voice grew grave, but he didn’t display any emotion. ‘Your challenge to me, Bureel of the Assemblage, is accepted. It will be answered at what time you wish, at what place you name and with what weapons you may choose so long as I’m provided the opportunity to familiarize myself with them. I charge you to uphold your challenge before the noble Nazeera of the Triumvirate, Nazar of the Upper House of the Assemblage, and these excellent witnesses. How do you answer?’

Bureel emitted a guttural cry of rage and attempted to force his way past the Terran. When Alexander did not budge he turned on his heel and left the room in another direction.

‘May I take that for a yes?’ Alexander called after him.

‘Come in, come in Alexander,’ Nazar told him. He got up and went forward to meet the man.

‘You’re just in time for dinner. Now that nasty business is over please do come and sit down,’ Nazar ushered Alexander to a chair next to Nazeera and then sat down.

Nazeera attempted to hide her surprise, with limited success. She didn’t need ask the obvious question, however, as Nazar explained presently. ‘I paid Alexander a visit, in preparation for our little excursion. He informed me that on Terra it’s the custom for a condemned prisoner to be granted a final wish: a ‘last request,’ that’s what you call it isn’t it?’ After an assenting nod the Chem continued, ‘The request seemed reasonable, especially for one going to Pantrixnia, and so upon hearing it I took it upon myself to grant it.’

‘And this request was for me?’ Nazeera exclaimed.

‘Dear me no, my sister, would I sell you so cheaply?’ ‘I’m beginning to wonder.’

‘It was for dinner, and specifically, dinner with you, Nazeera. The request seemed reasonable.’

‘Oh, did it?’

‘Yes, after all when will we get another opportunity to have such an interesting dinner guest?’ Nazar said, and then he addressed himself to Alexander. ‘You may try anything you like; I don’t think there is anything harmful to your physiology. I welcome you to our table, and I’m certain Nazeera is glad to see you as well. She is really quite extraordinary, and normally open minded. I have quite a high opinion of her, notwithstanding that she is my sister. Tell me, as guest to host, what opinion have you formulated over the last decurns? Do not feign ignorance or courtesy Alexander, I warn you. You’ve spent too much time in each other’s company not to form at least a professional opinion of her.’

Alexander smiled at the flush in Nazeera’s cheeks, but he answered diplomatically, ‘I find her remarkably suited to the responsibility of her position. She is highly intelligent, insightful, and can even be understanding, when she desires. I would not wish to number her amongst my adversaries.’

‘A fair assessment, considering the politics of the situation,’ Nazar said, filling Alexander’s metal goblet with a fragrant red fluid. ‘Now, you don’t have to answer this, it’s a dangerous question, Alexander, and I shall know a lie when I hear it. Still, I’m curious. As a male, and male-to-male, tell me what you think of my sister.’

Nazeera didn’t protest, but Alexander saw that she was holding her breath. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his hand lightly cradling his wine, and smiled. ‘When the beauty and power of a woman carve her image forever in the mind of a man, then she is nothing less than an enchantment. If this be the price for your prison planet then I am well paid.’

He raised his glass and drank to her.

Nazeera’s jaw dropped in surprise.

Alexander smiled at her.

Nazar laughed and exclaimed, ‘Marvelous, how paradoxical, a warrior-poet! That was well-answered, don’t you think, Nazeera?’

Nazar’s pleasure was interrupted by a low gong. A message addressed to him instructed him to take command of the cruiser ‘Shen Fuur’ immediately. The Chem sighed, and told Alexander, ‘Your transportation to Pantrixnia, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, at least I will not be bereft of civilized company,’ Alexander answered, ‘Unless, of course, I’m to be put in isolation.’

‘There is no requirement for it,’ Nazar said. ‘You have only a short time, Alexander; enjoy it, but not too much. My dear sister I shall see you upon my return.’ He kissed Nazeera’s cheek with a wide grin, and happily left the two alone.

Nazeera cradled her brow in her hands, massaging her temples.

‘Does Nazar do this to you often?’ Alexander asked.

‘No, you’re the first Terran that he’s brought home to dinner,’ she laughed nervously.

‘Good, I then stand in unique company,’ he laughed in reply. ‘Seriously, though, I must apologize to you Nazeera.’

‘Apologize, for what?’ Nazeera glanced up at him.

Alexander smiled sheepishly and sipped his drink. Tasting it produced a gratifying expression, and a comment on its excellence, but it only served to lengthen the uncomfortable moment. How much to admit? He asked himself. Then he reminded himself that he’d never see this beautiful, amazing, intriguing, powerful woman again.

‘I find myself in perhaps too many unique positions at the moment, Nazeera. I didn’t want our relationship to endat least not on so formal a note. You have your duty and I have mine, but there is a personal side to this adventure.

‘I realize it may be against your customs, and your station, but I think I have the right to be a little selfish. The Pantrixnia nights will be somewhat shorter with the memory of my time with you. Despise me if you like, but I wanted my dinner date. Whatever roles reality may assign us to play, Nazeera, my imagination tells me things could have been much different if we met under different circumstances. Don’t worry, though, my intentions this evening are honorable and quite easy to fulfill. A quiet dinner with you is all I ask for. Besides they’ve given me an implant. One wrong move and the automaton gives me some ungodly number of volts through my brain.’

Nazeera started to smile, and even reached out to touch his hand, but suddenly, vehemently, she regained her perspective. ‘Alexander, I will not have this!’ she told him, cradling her temples. ‘It was irresponsible for Nazar to bring you here tonight, as if it was some form of social event, and you’re not making this any easier. When will you realize just what a sentence to Pantrixnia means? It’s a death sentence, Alexander. It will be a violent and painful death without even the possibility of a decent burial. How can you sit here and want to have dinner with the woman who is sending you to this fate?’

Alexander smiled, ‘You are intent on spoiling my evening.’

‘Alexander!’ she almost screamed his name at him. Then, as if all the energy drained from her she closed her eyes and said, ‘You’re making this extraordinarily difficult. Is this your revenge? You make me actually care about your fate, knowing I have to watch your destruction and then live with the weight of it for the rest of my life?’

Alexander laughed, and said, ‘Nothing so devious, Nazeera. We all die, but how many of us get the chance to do something with our lives? I don’t see the point in worrying about it. I’ll deal with Pantrixnia when I need to. At the moment, however, I’m not on Pantrixnia. I am, amazingly enough, having dinner with the powerful, exotic, and beautiful Nazeera of Chem. The very reality of it makes my future adventures more than bearable. It’s a bit of magic I could never have dreamed up, and one that no one would ever believe. Now come, you can treat it as a tęte-ŕ-tęte between dignitaries if you like. I’m perfectly willing to be the captured Warlord of Terra if that’s what the noble Nazeera of the Triumvirate of Chem requires to be sociable. Trust me. I promise I’ll behave.’

‘In what way I wonder?’ Nazeera smiled, and she finally allowed a trickle of laughter to overwhelm her. ‘Alexander, Alexander, how can I defy you? Your request is eloquent if not realistic, and I suppose you did save my life. If apologies are in order I must add my own. I enjoyed these last decurns no less and no more than you. If things are not as they could be, between yourself and Chem, I can only plead that I was doing my duty as best I could to my empire, and myself.’

‘We each have our duty, Nazeera; don’t beat yourself up over it.’

‘I’m not certain what you mean, Alexander, but you’ve cajoled me into this little dinner of yours. Tell me, what can I expect? From your colorful past I should perhaps be prepared for some trickery or deceit. Is this how you drew in your cousin the King?’

‘You cut me to the quick. That’s not one of my shining moments. I was a noble lord and man succumbing to greedy opportunity, persuaded I might add by the wiles of my wife. She knew just what switches to throw to spur the dark side of my ambition! Ah, but I was much younger then, and she was not like you at allit was an arranged marriage, rather like yours. I hope I’ve improved with age.’

‘I think you have, but I can’t decide with whom I’d rather share this dinner.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, your Viking was somewhat too barbaric, though interesting. To sit at the same table as your King would not give me a moment’s comfort, and to dine with Alexander the Chancellor would be tedious. The pirate Alexander is quite a close match to you at the moment, forgetting the fact that he was a scoundrel.’

‘An honorable scoundrel,’ Alexander corrected her. ‘As a pirate he didn’t believe in some of the more heinous crimes of his peers; i.e. rape and the romantic practice of ‘walking the plank.’ To women he behaved with chivalry, and to his captured adversaries there was something positively Chem-like in him. He never could stomach the execution of a helpless being, so instead of feeding them to the sharks he had the habit of dropping them off in the wilderness. Not a charitable solution, but honorable, I think.’

‘So you’ve lived my side of this drama yourself have you?’

‘Distantly, I don’t recall marooning anyone I ever really esteemed.’

‘Then you haven’t lived what I’m going through, Alexander.’

‘I’m sorry about that; it wasn’t my intention. If it makes you feel any better I’m in the same boat; I wish there were more of me for you to dig up. I never thought I’d miss being interrogated, although to tell you the truth I won’t miss your testing my fear of heights!’

Nazeera laughed, and patted his hand.

‘Is there anything I should know about how Chem males socialize with femaleswithin the bounds of decorum of course.’

‘By which you mean how do Chem men seduce women?’

‘My goodness no, Nazeera, but now that you mention it …’

‘You’re doing quite well, Alexander,’ she whispered, almost to herself. She actually let her hand linger on his and squeeze it. Her eyes turned a warm shade of violet.

CHAPTER 25: Complications

Nazeera abruptly pulled her hand away. Immediately she straightened in her chair and coughed, as if she caught herself doing something wrong. It was the most human and telling act Alexander had yet seen from her.

‘Come, the dinners getting cold,’ she said, and attended to her plate.

Alexander fought himself during the entirety of the dinner, attempting to contemplate conversation, any conversation, which would not further his growing attraction to this woman. He laughed at himself and his own discomfiture. Should he live to old age he’d remember nothing of the dinner, but every detail of her form and figure, the scent of perfume, every different shade of her eyes would be indelibly etched in his mind.

Finally the silence became ironically unbearable, and Alexander knew his time was drawing to a close. Draining his goblet he refilled it, and then Nazeera’s. Rising from his seat he approached her, and without asking or making any pretense that it was other than a normal act, he took the hand of the alien woman. ‘My time here is almost over. You know me, Nazeera, almost as well as any. If you would understand me, even a slight amount, then come with me.’

Nazeera assented, a suspicious shade of violet in her eyesor was it a blush of emotion? He led her to the end of the dining room where the doors opened onto a balcony. It overlooked the dryad jungle that was the Chem Homeworld. He opened the doors and went outside. Letting go of her hand he moved to the rail. Gesturing to the jungle beyond, he said, ‘Look about you, Nazeera, what do you see? Beyond your door is a jungle you’ve looked at a thousand times before. Look at yourself and what do you see? In the glass is the image of a being you’ve watched grow from a child to a beautiful and powerful woman. Look above you, and you see the stars which have watched you from the same constellations your entire life. What’s more, there’s life out there, and you have names for it all, images and memories which make the universe real for you.

‘All of this is old and natural to you, but it’s completely new to me. The wonders of my dreams now confront me as reality. It’s marvelous and magnificent beyond my capability to ignore. Yet you ask me to push all of this aside and worry about a future which I cannot control? Impossible, I must live moment to moment, and look for enjoyment where I can. Certainly these few hours with you were more pleasurable than fretting my time alone in that cell, worrying over how I’m to die. If we were to say nothing at all from this moment, and I died a slow painful death the instant I set foot on that prison planet of yours, I’d still count myself fortunate. At least I’ve built some memories worth dying for. I haven’t humiliated myself. I have, I think, reached a form of understanding with you. If all that remains for me are an honorable death, then I’m content.’

‘So you are content to die, Alexander?’ she asked with a strange timber in her voice.

‘By which you mean am I willing to die? No! I’m not willing or ready to die. You’ll see just how hard a Terran can struggle for life, Nazeera. I promise you that. I have much to live for, but there are no ghosts in my conscience. In essence, I’ve already won my battle. Horace once wrote, ‘Happy is the man who seizes the day, who is content with what is within himself. Let tomorrow do its worst, for I have lived today.’

‘Who is this Horace, another of Terra’s great warrior heroes?’

Alexander laughed, ‘Indeed not, though he belonged to one of the mightiest empires Terra has ever known. Horace was a poet, and a terrible soldier. You might have called him a coward if your sight was blind to the meanest interpretations of honor. Horace feared the din of battle, but he braved the baring of his soul in his poetry. It’s easy to die in battle, Nazeera, but difficult to live in the face of ridicule. Horace and his words, even as he predicted, lasted long after the names of many a noble warrior were forgotten.’

She moved over to him, standing so closely that they touched. Cradling her drink she looked up at him. ‘You’ve won, Alexander,’ she said finally. ‘You have, by your actions made the trial of Pantrixnia superfluous, but unfortunately that is only my opinion. Nazeera the woman believes Alexander the man, and she has no desire for conflict. Yet, Nazeera the woman is not Nazeera of Chem, of the Triumvirate; and Alexander the man may also be Alexander the legend. Nazeera of Chem cannot accept such a risk when the empire is at stake. How can one man wipe out the aspirations of generations? By my own estimation, Alexander, you’ve built your life for a grasp at immortality. How well that sits within the construction of Alexander’s dreams! Who better to lead the race of Alexander to the stars, and to conquest than you?

‘Yet when you speak to me as a man to a woman I don’t see the general plotting over my empire or the pirate greedy for my wealth. I see in those saurian eyes sincerity, courage, desire and honor. How am I supposed to read this riddle? Does the culmination of the ‘Legend of Alexander’ stand before me, daring me to disbelieve, or is Alexander simply an extraordinary man plucked from his world; bravely trying to make his way in the strangeness of an unknown universe? Nazeera of Chem still doubts that you may be anything but a marvelous actor, and a very dangerous adversary. Of only one thing am I certain: you are no mercenary of Scythia! No Scythian ever bred could heel you to their side. Oh, how you’ve addled my wits, I who abhor self doubt!’

He took her by the shoulders and turned her gently to him. ‘There are times, Nazeera, when all the pieces of the game are in motion and we must allow them to play their parts. Something tells me you and I are not finished with this drama. If by chance we meet again it will be on different terms, and who knows what may happen? For now let’s leave the weight of the world on someone else’s shoulders, and enjoy a drink on the edge of your wondrous planet.’

‘There is only one other certainty in this: Terrans are poets,’ she smiled. ‘Warriors, philosophers, and poets; what a fascinating combination, I should find it very difficult to be bored with you, Alexander.’

‘Well that is certainly an improvement,’ he said. ‘By night’s end I hope to maybe we can strike a happy medium between the mercenary dog and the aspiring galactic despot. Neither is very probable. The truth, as usual, is somewhere in the middle.’

She laughed, ‘Alexander, you speak as suitor would, with charm and wit. I wish I were indifferent to your fate. I admit that a further exploration of you would be stimulating. It’s too bad you weren’t born of Chem.’

‘You cut me to the quick yet again,’ he told her in mock lamentation. ‘Do you find my alien looks so ugly?’

‘Oh no, not that at all,’ Nazeera told him. ‘My brother thinks you are quite acceptable, for a male. I must admit that I agree. While you’re strange, with your saurian eyes and bulky musculature, I don’t find you unattractive. Now if you were born of Chem, who knows? I might never have married Bureel.’

‘Ah, so I would have had to have been born of Chem!’

‘Alexander, don’t be so childish! Interspecies marriages are not so unusual amongst the Galactics, and there is no stigma attached socially or politically.’ Nazeera smiled, giving him a good natured prod in the ribs. ‘You infer my words in too personal a manner. I can’t blame you, however, as Nazar isn’t very careful about such things. I spoke only for the purpose of giving you an example. I didn’t intend on personalizing our situation.’

‘I think you spoke to the point, to the moment, and to the crux of our situation,’ Alexander said. He lifted a hand to her cheek and gently stroked it. Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t stop him. Alexander could feel the battle, and the uncertainty within her. She trembled ever so slightly. ‘I very much wonder what it would be like to kiss you, Nazeera.’

‘Alexander, I cannot and will not!’ Her words were sharp, and their meaning was apparent, but they were hushed, as if spoken half against her will. She took his hand in her own, removing it from her cheek, but she didn’t let it go.

Alexander grasped her hip with his free hand and pulled her to him. In that short second their bodies embraced; the suppleness of her form unleashed a rush of warmth through his body, and he kissed her. The kiss was fleeting, warm, effervescent, and for a brief instant returned with wonderment and interest. Then she pushed him away.

‘No, Alexander, I cannot,’ she said, breathing heavily. ‘This is not acceptable, for me, or for my position.’

‘Indeed it is not,’ agreed the smooth voice of Bureel. ‘It is touching, but I wonder, if the Assemblage would see it so?’

‘Bureel!’ Nazeera gasped, angry that he should invade her privacy, and catch her in such a compromising position.

‘Well, Bureel have you found the guts to return and fulfill your cowardly challenge to me?’ Alexander growled, turning upon the smaller male with ferocity born of embarrassment. ‘If so you find me ready to wait upon your treachery!’

‘How quaint, my barbaric friend, but I can’t help but thank you. How else could I have revealed my wife’s treasonous behavior?’

‘Treason, how dare you to insinuate,’ Nazeera protested.

‘In the arms of an enemy of Chem, my dear wife,’ Bureel interrupted, but the wolf-like leap of the Terran cut him off.

Alexander launched himself at the Chem male, hands grasping for his throat. Bureel gasped, but at the same moment he pressed a button on his belt. In mid leap, Alexander felt a terrible burning in his brain.

Alexander convulsed in mid leap. His momentum carried him into Bureel anyway, knocking the lesser male sprawling. Alexander hit the floor as a lifeless mass and did not move.

Nazeera rushed to him, but there was no sign of life. ‘You fool, Bureel, he’s dead!’

Bureel rose with a snarling laugh. ‘He’s not dead, my dear wife. No, he’s tied too closely to my plans. He must die on Pantrixnia, as you so wisely decided before your emotions overwhelmed your reason. Then, we shall launch our invasion of Terra, Scythia and the galaxy. You will now become my greatest ally, Nazeera. Even I couldn’t have foreseen such good fortune! You will now use your influence at my bidding, at least until the point where you vacate your seat in favor of your husband, so that you may properly tutor my heir!’

‘Never Bureel,’ Nazeera spat in furious disgust. ‘Never shall you see your heir spring from my loins, and you shall never have my seat!’

‘Think again my lovely,’ he advised her. ‘Should I inform the Assemblage of your treason you’d be fortunate to join your Terran on Pantrixnia. It might be more difficult at this point for me to make such a leap of power. With Nazar out of the way, however, the task is much simpler!’

‘Nazar,’ she breathed.

‘Of course, being the loyal brother, and honorable son, he would have no recourse but to address his shame with suicide,’ Bureel grinned with nefarious pleasure. ‘That is how I would explain his untimely death.’

‘So you’re behind the assassination attempt! Bureel you are a shameless cur with no sense of honor or loyalty,’ Nazeera told him.

‘I wasn’t found in the Terran’s embrace. If that delicious tidbit is to remain a secret I will have your obedience, Nazeera.’

Bureel grinned and rang for his henchman, who summarily removed Alexander. Then he poured himself some wine. Turning to Nazeera he said, ‘This is an exceedingly eventful night, don’t you think? I can think of no better way to consummate it than for us to address the issue of an heir!’

CHAPTER 26: Pantrixnia

Alexander’s head throbbed with a sharp electric burn. He marveled that Bureel hadn’t fried his brain completely. The familiar sensation of a cold metal floor brought his senses back into focus. He opened his eyes to the dull gray light of another dungeon, but one slightly different from his other cell.

On the wall was a flat gray screen, and beneath it was a series of icons. He got up to investigate. He was stiff, and the nerves of his hands and feet like live wires. The physical pain only served to heighten his own criticism of his behavior.

He was mad to compromise Nazeera as he did.

‘Funny way to show her I care,’ Alexander scolded himself, looking around at his new prison. ‘This is Bureel’s work. I guess he’s calling the shots now, and I’m on my way to Pantrixnia. If I ever get out of this I’ll finish the strangling of him!’

There was a thump, and he almost fell to the floor. A loud noise grew outside his cell. The screen illuminated and a female Chem appeared. It wasn’t Nazeera. ‘Terran, we’ve entered the atmosphere of Pantrixnia! We’ll be landing shortly. You may select whatever weapons you choose, and whatever clothing, but we will not wait for you. As we touchdown you will be discharged. That is all. Remember all the Chem Empire is watching you, may you die well!’

The picture changed. It now presented a table of weapons ranging from energy guns to edged blades. He chose what appeared to be an energy rifle, a pair of hand held energy guns, a long knife and a sword. He expected to be on the planet longer than the Chem did, so he didn’t want to be entirely dependent on energy weapons.

A second screen showed a similar table of garments. These included all encompassing suits of armor, light clothing and combinations in between. He chose a suit of mixed protection and weight. The weapons were behind an automatic sliding hatch, as was the suit. Alexander gathered everything about his person and hurriedly dressed himself. He was none too quick. He’d hoped to go back and review the choices at a more leisurely pace, but just as he shrugged the sword belt over his shoulder the ship bumped to a landing.

He looked around for a door, but he saw none. Then the floor slid away beneath his feet. Alexander fell heavily to the ground. A hurricane of wind and debris surrounded him. Wet leaves slapped against his face and a rush of hot air pummeled him. Then, just a suddenly, the world quieted down and the sound of the jungle overcame the receding engines of the Chem ship.

He was alone in the misty daylight of the Chem prison planet Pantrixnia.

It was a jungle planet; that much was apparent. They set him in a small clearing. It had a dirt floor and was perfectly circularobviously artificial. All around was a dense jungle, hot, moist and full of sounds. He wasn’t alone. Already, eyes were upon him.

Alexander took out his pistol. With a cursory glance he guessed at its operation. There was a contact where the trigger should be. Aiming at a tree he pressed it.

Nothing.

Another glance and he found a latch that looked as though it moved. He slid it back and a red light illuminated on top of the gun. A small green light bar also illuminated in the handle. He aimed and pressed the contact again. A blast of blue energy erupted from the focus and the tree splintered and burned at the point of contact. The light bar in the handle shrank by a small amount, and gauging it he guessed there were fifteen to twenty shots left. Holstering the gun he drew the sword.

The blade was lighter than a steel sword, and roughly a meter long by three inches wide. It had a comfortable feel in his hand, and he had no doubt that he could use it with great effect despite the lives that lay between the present Alexander and the swashbuckler. He kept the sword out as he turned to the jungle.

Water must be his first order of business, and then shelter for the nighthe needed to see the lay of the land. Through a gap in the canopy he spied a high crag roughly a kilometer distant. It was the obvious choice for a lookout, and might provide a defensible camp.

Paths left the clearing in three directions. Alexander turned towards the crag; he loosened the gun in its holster, and held the sword before him. His plan of action, such as he had, was to use the guns as a last recourse, relying heavily on the sword.

From what little the Chem told him of this place it was a twisted form of galactic coliseum intended for dispatch of criminals in an honorable way. If stocked only with animals, and no intelligent life, he hoped that sheer bluster would carry him through as much as his sword and gun. Animals on the whole, at least those of Earth, usually tried to avoid conflicts that would get them injured. Injury in the wilderness was a death sentence. Perhaps, he thought, bluff could go as far as combat. He hoped so. Considering the possible length of his stay the gun and the rifle would have frighteningly short lives, and swordplay would have limited affect on large carnivores.

He stepped onto the trail, instantly aware of two things. There was a piece of armor or clothing lying partially on the beaten path. It was ragged on the edges and stained. The other object of note was the wall of impenetrable foliage on either side of the track. It was the perfect place for an ambush. He crouched, waiting and listening. For the moment he was at a loss as to how to proceed. A barely audible whirring caught his attention and he whipped around to face it, backhanding his sword in a whistling arc.

A sharp metallic ‘thunk!’ announced the collision between the sword and a floating metal automaton. His expectation of danger turned to surprise as the automaton, jumped upwards several meters at the impact. Shortly, however, it steadied and floated back down to him. It stopped slightly out of range of his sword and hung in mid air.

‘Edgy already, eh Terran,’ said the automaton in a high pitched sing-song voice. ‘Welcome to Pantrixnia! I’ll be following your progress for our intergalactic ethernet broadcast, so no need to be alarmed at my presence. I see you’ve found our last participant, or what they left of him. He didn’t get very far. It was a very disappointing performance.’

Alexander tried to hear over the artificial buzz of the automaton, but it was difficult, and that was making him nervous. ‘I’ll try to improve on that, now if you don’t mind,’

‘Let’s hope so,’ the voice cut in. ‘After all we’ve a vast audience. Over fifty billion people of eleven different species are tuning into to watch you this instant. The level of interest is quite high. The Elder himself, and the entire Assemblage, is now watching you live on the Chem Homeworld!’

‘They honor me,’ he said sarcastically.

‘By the way, that’s an interesting choice of weapons you have,’ the automaton said. ‘Would you mind explaining your rational. We’ve never had a Terran participant before.’

‘Maybe later, if you don’t mind, I’m busy,’ Alexander told it with finality. He’d finally made up his mind as to how he would progress. He made his way alertly over to the tree he’d blasted. As he crossed the clearing there was a slight tremor in the muddy earth, followed quickly by the heavy breathing of some cavernous breast and the sound of undergrowth being trampled. It reminded him vaguely of a dog trotting through tall grass, a very large dog.

‘We have our first guest of the day,’ exclaimed the automaton. ‘You guessed it, the Banthror! As always he’s attracted by the sound of our drop ship. He knows what that means!’

Alexander cursed, but he held his ground next to the charred tree. The sound grew louder, and suddenly a bright orange and purple striped head burst out of the jungle wall. It was conical, as if shaped for penetrating the dense jungle, and contained the requisite maw filled with tusk-like teeth. The head joined a muscular body, tall in front and low in the back like a hyena, but more the size of a large rhino with eight legs.

The Banthror stopped suddenly and leapt sideways. The move startled Alexander until he realized the creature had done this before. It expected to get shot at. In mid leap it sighted him. The Banthror landed on all eight feet at once. Immediately it sprang for the spot where Alexander stood, mouth agape and the four front feet splayed, claws springing to ready.

Alexander expected as much, or rather his instincts expected it. The Banthror was too fast to think of a plan of action. He leapt to the side, swinging the sword in a wide defensive arc as he did so. The blade caught one of the paws flush at the ankle, and with a ‘chunk!’ the member flew off. The Banthror scrambled to a stop just to the side of Alexander, one claw catching the shoulder of his armor. The claws skidded off the plate without penetrating the armor, but it spun Alexander about. Alexander didn’t try and resist the force of the Banthror’s blow, but used the impetus to turn and strike at the same time. As the Banthror snapped at him with a mouth large enough to bite the man in two, Alexander’s backhanded slash cut deeply across the creature’s snout. Blood spurted as the blade parted the sensitive flesh and raked across its skull. The Banthror snapped its head back with a yelp.

Alexander ducked behind the tree, but the Banthror moved swifter, despite its wounds, and cut him off. The leering bloody face loomed directly in front of him. The mouth opened, and the four hind legs gathered themselves in the soft soil to leap. Alexander drew his pistol and shot straight into the slavering maw. Burned flesh and blood showered him in a crimson haze. The Banthror dropped like a stone.

‘Well done, well done!’ the automaton exclaimed. ‘What an exciting way to begin! Tell us, how does it feel to defeat one of the lesser scavengers of Pantrixnia?’

Alexander ignored the remark, but he did reflect momentarily on how well his past-life experiences served him in the combat. His fight with the Banthror could have been choreographed with pistol and cutlass, or knife and sword. Alexander didn’t think; he simply acted. The reality of his theory was comforting, but the sounds of the jungle reminded him that there was much still to do.

He turned his attention to the fallen Banthror. The carcass would soon attract other predators. Cutting a long swath of hide, about six feet wide and six feet long, he folded it in two and draped it over his shoulder, tucking either end into his belt. His idea was to carry the scent of the Banthror with him. The creature may be in the lower echelons of the food chain on Pantrixnia, but it was still a step up. Hastily cutting a few strips of meat and securing these to his belt Alexander left the clearing.

‘Ugh! You’re not planning on eating those are you?’ the automaton asked. ‘I doubt if it will harm you, but Banthror is at best unpalatable.’

‘I like my Beef Wellington medium rare with a flaky crust if you care to send down something a bit more civilized!’ Alexander snapped, as he worked his way through the hole the Banthror made in the jungle and on to the round bole of a tree.

‘That wouldn’t be fair. This is, after all, a party of your own making, Terran. We must all lie in the bed we make.’

Alexander reached the tree and grappled one of the thick vines that grew up the trunk. The trees grew to over forty meters, with the top half being composed of a matte of thick branches. The canopy of trees looked to be interwoven, and might provide him with a quicker, and safer, route than along the jungle floor. It was a long climb, but the bark was rough and gave his boots good purchase. In a few moments he was twenty meters above the jungle floor, and none too soon.

Several other carnivores already gathered to feast on the Banthror’s carcass. Some were larger, and some smaller, but they were all strange to his eyes. He sat in a crotch of the tree, watching. Half dozen animals were pulling and tugging at the Banthror when a large black and green lion creature made its appearance. It was half again as large as the Banthror, and its presence made the other beasts shrink back snarling to the edge of the clearing. The monster deposited itself over its meal and soon the sound of crunching bones and ripping flesh drifted up to him. Alexander thought he’d seen enough, but then something caught his attention.

Not one hundred meters from him, just at the edge of his sight, a huge saurian shape stalked silently through the jungle. It led with its enormous head, parting the foliage and carefully placing each of its taloned feet into the damp earth. Its tail moved in concert, floating far behind as a counterbalance to that two meter set of jaws.

The sight of this ancient Earth creature on this alien world stunned Alexander with delight. The automaton floated next to him, and whispered, ‘You have the rare privilege of watching the greatest carnivore of our galaxy on the hunt. He comes from your planet, Terran. We theorize that some ancient race transplanted them here, and on other worlds. That was many lost civilizations ago when the galaxy was adolescent. We found them here on Pantrixnia, and that gave us the impetus to build this world as you now see it. In all the galaxy, though, there is nothing like this creature!’

‘It’s a Tyrannosaurus,’ Alexander breathed, ‘an honest to God real Tyrannosaurus!’

‘What did you call it, Terran?’ the automaton asked.

‘Tyrannosaurus Rex: King of the Tyrant Lizards.’

‘An admirable name.’

The Tyrannosaurus wormed its way to the edge of the clearing with no one the wiser. It chose just the right vantage point, whether by instinct or cunning, at the hindquarters of the lion creature. The lion creature munched contentedly, unaware that the Tyrannosaurus was gathering itself for a leap. Alexander held his breath, but when the leap came he was altogether unprepared for the suddenness of it. The Tyrannosaurus covered twenty meters with two strides and a lunge. Despite its bulk it was almost graceful, but the violence of the charge destroyed whatever beauty it had. The enormous head stretched out to bite and hold, but so quick was the lion creature that it escaped the six inch teeth. Unfortunately for the lion, the direction of the Tyrannosaur’s attack propelled its panic stricken escape straight into the tree.

Frantically, it scrambled to get up, but the jaws of the Tyrannosaurs shot down at the exposed spine. The huge teeth found purchase in the soft flesh; the grip of the terrible vise drove the moist air from the creature’s lungs with a terrible fatal gasp. Lifting the enormous mammal like a doll the Tyrannosaurus shook it, showering the glade with blood and fur. A rending snap signaled the parting of bone, and the Tyrannosaurus threw the carcass to the ground, bellowing a challenge through the jungle. Then, with what could only be a growl of satisfaction, it settled down its feast.

‘Amazing,’ Alexander breathed.

‘Yes, indeed, but the wonderful thing about Pantrixnia is not the sheer power of death, but the subtlety of it.’

A thrill of fear shot through him, and Alexander turned just in time to see the blur of the snake as it struck. It aimed for his neck, but his sudden movement caused it to strike his back. The force of the blow nearly catapulted him off the tree, but his left hand blindly clutched for, and desperately held on to a thick vine. He swung into space, hanging there twenty meters above the forest floor.

CHAPTER 27: Survival

Alexander clung desperately to the vine with one hand while clawing for a hold with his other hand. His momentum carried him out and around the tree, twisting and turning. He smacked against the trunk or a thick branch, he couldn’t tell which, and the stiff vine propelled him back whence he came. Back he swung, the jungle whizzing by below in a green blur. He turned half around when he landed back in the crotch in the midst of the snake. Coils as thick as his waist looped over him.

The snake’s head, nearly half a meter wide, separated itself from the snarl and lifted above him. It struck for his face, but Alexander let go of the vine and blocked it with his armored left arm. The armor saved his life. The fangs failed to penetrate smearing venom on the hard surface. The snake didn’t let go, and tried to inject its venom into the captured member. It champed, but to no effect. The Chem armor was simply too tough to pierce.

Alexander’s right arm was free, and as the snake sought to deliver a mortal bite he clutched for a weapon. The first thing his groping fingers found was the haft of his knife. He drew it, slicing a wide gash in the snake’s body. Red blood oozed out of the deep wound, but the snake didn’t let go.

With its head locked on his arm Alexander set the point in the beaded scales of the lower jaw and shoved. The eighteen inch blade plunged through the jaws until the point sprang from the top of the skull smeared with gore. The jaws opened, releasing his arm, but the crotch of the tree became a writhing mass of muscle and scale.

The death throes of the snake pummeled Alexander mercilessly. The knife was torn from his grasp, still transfixing the skull. With a final spasmodic jerk the snake shuddered and slowly slid out of the tree. The snake was still looped around Alexander. As if to gain a final measure of revenge the heavy carcass began to pull Alexander out of the tree. Alexander clutched the closest vine and wrapped his arm. The snake slid out of the tree, coil by coil, stretching him like a rack. Finally, the last coil slipped off and the carcass thumped to the forest floor.

Alexander watched it fall, and so did the Tyrannosaurus. The snake dropped not five meters away.

‘You’ll have to be more careful in the future,’ the automaton advised him. ‘We wouldn’t want to waste such a promising start! A pity about your knife though, I’ve a feeling you’ll be missing it!’

Alexander settled himself back in the crotch of the tree and caught his breath. He cast a sour glance at the floating silver ball.

‘Just how many people have you talked to death down here?’

The Tyrannosaurus looked up at him and snarled. Then it returned to its business, ripping huge chunks of flesh and bone from the rapidly disappearing lion creature. Alexander surveyed the scene. All the other carrion creatures scattered during the attack, and none had returned. His knife was still lodged in the snake’s head, tantalizingly close, and yet impossibly far away.

If he waited for the Tyrannosaurus to finish and leave, the scavengers would be on the snake in no time. They would dissect the carcass and carry the head away to some dark den, and the knife with it. At the moment the Tyrannosaurus seemed unconcerned with anything or anyone. There was nothing for it. Alexander took a deep breath, questioned his own sanity and began to climb down the vine.

‘What are you doing?’

‘No one takes what’s mine,’ Alexander said gruffly.

‘You can’t be serious. A knife can’t be that valuable. Think about this. You’ve already made a wonderful beginning, don’t spoil it now.’

Alexander ignored the rest of it. Cautiously he made his way down, keeping an eye on the Tyrannosaurus. He didn’t want to surprise it, so he climbed down in full view of the leviathan, not trying to hide or do anything else which would arouse its suspicions. It watched him for a short time. Then apparently deciding he was too small to be of concern, it turned back to its meal. It continued to feed as he passed the ten meter point. Now it could pluck him from the tree if it so desired. His heart beat palpably in his breast as he reached the ground.

There was no use of stealth now. If the Tyrannosaurus wanted him he’d have to shoot it and hope for the best, there was no way he could climb the tree faster than the dinosaur could move. Alexander stepped boldly to the body of the snake, going straight to the head.

‘Excuse me Rex, I’ll just get my knife and be on my way. There’s a good boy,’ Alexander said, trying to bolster his own courage. As he stooped to pull out the knife the Tyrannosaurus raised its dripping head from its meal and snorted. The fetid breath, heavy with the smell of fresh blood, rolled over him. He ignored it and went about his business of pulling out the knife. The Tyrannosaurus snorted again, but then returned to its meal.

Alexander took the opportunity to cut snake’s tail off, it was right there within arm’s reach, giving him a meter long piece of meatjust in case the Banthror was as bad as the automaton said. Without further notice from the Tyrannosaurus, he climbed back into his perch in the tree. The automaton was waiting for him.

‘In all my decurns on Pantrixnia that’s definitely a first. Terran, either you are the most foolish form of intelligent life ever spawned in this galaxy, or, well, I can’t actually think of another option.’

Alexander caught his breath, and let his heart rate settle to an acceptable level, but while he rested he scanned the trees. He wouldn’t be caught by surprise a second time. Alexander didn’t hurry, but was content to recover from his exertion and watch the Tyrannosaurus. After fifteen minutes the Tyrannosaurus gave a bellow, picked up the remains of the carcass and stalked into the jungle. Alexander got up and climbed higher into the canopy. The automaton followed him, floating annoyingly close to his head.

‘What now Terran?’

He stopped, glancing at the metal ball with blatant irritation. ‘If you’re going to tag along you might as well start calling me Alexander. ‘Terran’ is growing tedious.’

‘Unfortunately, Terran, we do not typically allow our participants the honor of being named until they’ve distinguished themselves in death.’

‘Very well, have it your way then.’ He pulled out his gun and shot the automaton. The ball burned and fell from the air, careening off a number of branches and scattering the scavengers that were already gathering at the carcasses.

‘Waste of a round,’ Alexander observed, and he continued to climb. His goal was a level of matted growth thirty meters above the forest floor. Years of undisturbed growth allowed the branches from different trees to intertwine. Vines and creepers made the matte impenetrable in places. Old leaves and other debris collected in the densest spots. In this decaying mass other plants took hold, adding their stems and roots to the weave. Another layer of the canopy spread overhead and another after that. A perpetual twilight hid these secondary worlds from the sky, and the darkness of the forest floor below, but they were far from empty.

Alexander gained the first level of the canopy and gingerly started in the direction of the crag, vague comparisons with Tarzan of the Apes flitting though his head. He hadn’t progressed more than fifty meters before he saw he was not alone in the trees. In the glooms were tall insect-like creatures shaped roughly like a praying mantis, but like everything else on this planet they were far larger. There were a number of them, and they seemed to be foraging along his trail. Carefully, Alexander stepped off the matted vegetation and onto one of the larger branches. Footing on the undulating canopy floor was treacherous. Hidden holes and snags forced him to use vines and branches for support and pay close attention to each step.

He took a direction leading led away from the creatures. He stayed low, almost moving on all fours, and crept along quietly, hoping they might just miss him. He’d only gone another twenty meters when one of them sprang suddenly upright, its antennae waving in the air.

The mantis emitted a loud staccato clicking that attracted the attention of the others. The mantis turned towards him. Alexander stood upright, facing them openly. He hoped his size might cause them to lose interest and seek easier prey. Their answer was one of great excitement and chatter. Like crabs they scuttled over the matt toward him, clacking as they came. As they approached the insects fanned out with the obvious intention of encircling him.

Alexander cursed. His sword would be next too useless against this many creatures. He took out his gun reluctantly. Perhaps if he killed one the rest would retreat. If they did not, however, he’d use up half his remaining charges defending himself. He hesitated.

‘Who makes an energy gun with so few shots!’ he cursed aloud. Then it occurred to him that no one would. Swiftly he scanned the device. There were no buttons or controls that he could see other than those he’d already found, but the muzzle had a notched projection on the ring immediately behind the focus. He’d have guessed it was a sight. At the moment, though, it set upon the side of the barrel. He turned it and the light on top of the gun dimmed. He turned it all the way around until the light went out, and then back up a few clicks. The light was dim but apparent. He shot the foremost mantis.

A thin beam scorched its abdomen, and it beat the air with its forelegs. Alexander turned the gun on the next, and the next, and so on until each mantis had a taste of it. The insects, with much clicking between them, beat a hasty retreat. They gathered at the edge of his visual range, and then disappeared.

Alexander didn’t like the look of the insects. They worked together and they were too numerous to beat back with a sword. With a greater sense of urgency he worked his way towards the crag. He’d not gone more than a hundred meters, however, when he caught sight of movement behind him. It was the mantises. This time they’d returned in greater numbers. Scores of the huge insects scuttled across the canopy at an alarmingly swift rate.

Alexander’s gun was useless against such a horde. He headed for the nearest hole in the canopy. The mantises were scarcely ten meters behind when he came to a spot where he could see the forest floor. He didn’t wait but jumped through and caught hanging vine. The vine hung in a great loop thirty meters above the forest floorhe swung to and fro. Alexander made his way handover-hand away from the hole as quickly as he could. A quick glance behind did nothing to ease his nerves. As he feared, the mantises were scrambling out of the hole after him. Their articulated appendages made maneuvering upside down on the canopy as easy as walking.

‘I see you’ve found the Remvalix,’ said a familiar voice, and another silver automaton floated by his right shoulder. ‘They are perhaps the most intelligent of the transplanted species of Pantrixnia, and they’ve claimed the canopy as their territory.’

‘Really,’ Alexander grunted. He was too busy to comment further. He wasn’t going to make it to the trunk of the tree before the mantises caught him. He switched tactics, wrapping his left arm around the vine and drawing his knife. As the first mantis closed in he slashed at the vine. The vine parted and he fell just beneath the cut of a mandible.

He fell ten meters before the vine jerked him up and swung him towards the tree, but not quite to it. Alexander swung back and forth in space, ten meters below the matte of the canopy and twenty meters above the forest floor.

‘You’re in a spot now,’ the automaton told him. ‘Your present predicament looks fairly bleak; any ideas?’

‘One,’ he gasped. He sheathed his knife and started to swing on the vine. He couldn’t reach the trunk of the tree, but five meters to the other side was another vine that hung straight down from the matte to just above the vegetation of the forest floor. The mantises were now gathering above his haven. One was quickly starting to come down the vine towards him.

He took a moment to shoot it. It squealed and fell by him, crashing into the undergrowth of the forest floor. He did the same to the next mantis that dared the vine. This one flailed as he fell, reaching for him with its hook-like hands. A mandible caught his shoulder and only the raised lip of his cuirass kept it from sliding into and slicing through his exposed neck.

Alexander holstered his gun. Fortunately the Remvalix were now wary of his gun. They skittered around the vine clacking excitedly; apparently, they didn’t want to give up on him, but they didn’t want to climb down the vine either.

While they hesitated Alexander swung himself on the vine and launched himself into space. He caught the other vine several meters lower than he started. It jarred him, but he hung on. The mantis scuttled over to his new hanging spot intent on repeating their strategy, but before they could get there a thin dark shape shot out and caught one of them.

It was a tongue.

The tongue belonged to a ten meter monstrosity that lurched out from behind the trunk of the nearest tree. It hung upside down from great hooks that plunged into the tangle of vines and branches. The tongue drew the struggling mantis into its long tubular mouth where its jaws ground the insect to a pulp. No sooner had the first mantis disappeared then the tongue shot out again. The procedure repeated many times as the creature ambled towards the hole. The mantises fled back into the canopy, but it followed them; it poked its head through the hole it, adding a few more to its colossal stomach.

Alexander made his way down the vine before the anteater, or whatever the thing was, decided to try him as well. He would take his chances in the jungle. There, at least, he could maneuver naturally.

It was a severe blow to his hopes. The trees on Earth were man’s ancestral haven, but he should have expected as much. The Chem were clever, and it wouldn’t surprise him if every nook and cranny of this world had its own unique representative among the galaxies most fantastic carnivores. He returned to the forest floor with the grim realization that he could still see the burned tree of the clearing. His afternoon thus far included three close brushes with death in a hundred meters of travel. He was growing thirsty and tired; he’d yet to find water or a place of relative safety to hide.

He was alive, though, and that alone made up for all his misfortunes.

The automaton bobbed up in front of him. ‘That was another narrow escape, Alexander of Terra. Nazeera of the Triumvirate authorized us to use your given name during your adventures. You’ve been remarkably lucky so far. Do you have anything you wish to pass on to the many who are watching you now?’

‘My thanks to Nazeera of the Triumvirate for her noble gesture,’ he said, moving on into the jungle. ‘I count myself fortunate to have had the honor to meet her. She is well worthy of your praise. I send her greetings, as I do all Chem but one.’

‘And who would that singular Chem you spurn be?’

‘To Bureel of Chem I send nothing but scorn and contempt for his cowardice,’ he said harshly. ‘When I leave here I will return to Chem, not for conquest, but for Bureel. I repeat my challenge to him: Bureel you are a cowardly cur! I will meet you at any place, any time, and in any honorable manner. Will you satisfy honor? Upon your answer does the honor of all Chem rest before the eyes of their brethren on Terra. Yet will you or nil you, Bureel, one day I shall have the satisfaction of strangling the miserable life out of your wretched carcass! Then I shall have rid an otherwise august body of a worm!’

Alexander stormed off into the jungle, leaving the automaton speechless before over fifty billion beings.

CHAPTER 28: The Paper Tiger Grows Teeth

It was three days travel from Chem to Pantrixnia, and during that time work on Terra progressed at a feverish and increasingly organized pace.

Everywhere there was preparation, but the greatest hive of activity centered in Terra’s port cities. Scythian tender ships floated over the dry-docks. Terrans teemed by the thousands over the beached hulls of ships. Terran engineers worked side by side with Scythian engineers. They were, to be certain, awed by the technology and the reality of what they were trying to accomplish at first. The Scythians placated their charges in their desperation, but never expected the hodgepodge navy they were building would ever do anything but orbit Terra harmlessly.

The Terran idea was surprisingly workable, but the reality of Terrans being able to adapt to the new environment of space was unthinkableto the Scythians. The Scythian attitude, so justified during the first few frantic days, endured something of a change as Terrans soon grew accustomed to the miracle they created. Terrans morphed from obedient drones to the imaginative power and energy behind the magic they made.

The turning point was the armament problem. For simplicity’s sake the Terran engineers had the Scythians mount the energy weapons in the ‘Iowa’s’ turrets, which they found surprisingly well suited for the task. The ability of the guns to maneuver gave the Terran Fleet an advantage over the fixed blaster projectors found in all other galactic fleets. The power required by the blasters, however, proved to be a problem.

The ship’s engines had more than enough energy for the purpose, but it required a daunting network of shielded conduits to transfer power to the respective weapons. The Scythians had no easy engineering solution, and suggested that the Terrans be satisfied with the appearance of a well armed fleet.

That response was wholly unacceptable, so the Terran engineers tackled the problem themselves.

The crux of the problem was size. The conduits were massive. Installing them required ripping the ship apart. There wasn’t enough time for that, so Terran engineers came up with a solution of their own. They mapped the nearest corridors from the weapons all the way back to the engine room. Then by sealing and strengthening them with another more concentrated tritanium bath they turned the corridors themselves into energy conduits. Conventional conduits connected the corridors to the engine junction boxes and the weapon transfer boxes, thereby getting the energy in the proximity of the projectors.

The second problem was that of transferring the energy to the blaster projectors. The solution was another example of absolute simplicity. The projector spheres focused energy in a coherent beam manipulated by electromagnetic fields. Blaster capacitors fed raw energy to the projector spheres after they were charged up with energy supplied by the energy conduits through junction boxes.

There was no way to maintain a connection between the blaster capacitor moving on the end of the projector sphere, the junction box, and the energy conduittherefore, the Terran engineers simply removed the junction boxes altogether. They sealed the turrets into three separate chambers, one for each gun. An electromagnetic valve opened between the chamber and the energy conduit, allowing energy to flood the chamber and charge the blaster capacitors. The valve closed and the gun was free to maneuver. When the electromagnetic field around the projector opened the high energy plasma flowed from the capacitor to the lowest energy point in space; i.e., the energy well of the projector spheres. The projectors promptly funneled the energy outboard in an appropriate and devastating manner.

The solution to the armament problem cost the engineers double the time they anticipated, but the Iowa experiment paid far more in dividends. By the time the Iowa was nearing completion a miraculous transformation occurred in the ship, and in the people who worked on herwhat Scythians began Terrans finished.

What Scythians considered impossible Terrans solved.

The Terrans quickly took the technology for granted and put it to work for them. By the time the Iowa was ready to cast off Terran engineers were in charge of every phase of construction. The grand old ship gleamed with new life under the floodlights; it was a portent for what was soon to be a fleet of well armed modern interstellar warships.

In the thirteen short days of the colossal Iowa experiment, Terra underwent a metamorphosis from a planet bound people into a race of fledgling galactic warriors. By midnight on the thirteenth day the Iowa would be in orbit. The construction of a Terran battle fleet was already underway, using the principles developed in the Iowa experiment. Engineers felt the next wave of ships could be completed in only nine to eleven days, and in a few weeks the process could be honed down to only a week.

By time Scythian intelligence estimated the Chem Armada could enter Scythian space, Terra could theoretically mass over seven hundred warships able to meet them. They would comprise a rag tag fleet to be certain, but each vessel would be capable of delivering the most prevalent weapons in the known galaxy. Even the Chem would view the Terran Fleet with respect.

In a gray office overlooking the dry-dock the Scythian Liaison watched the frantic work below, fully cognizant that in the space of two Terran weeks it had lost control of its charges. It was night, but floodlights illuminated the enormity of the Iowa and the army of dockyard workers swarming over her, getting her ready for her first flight.

As if to further the Scythians’ new found concern the indomitable lines of the Wisconsin rose in the dry-dock next door, and beyond that were the Missouri, and the New Jersey. As the Scythian watched it listened with intense concentration to a transmission from the Scythian Council. It was disturbed. By all accounts the arming went remarkably well, but even at this early stage the Scythians were becoming observers and advisors, not controllers.

The Terrans absorbed the data the Scythians presented them and disposed of the constant influx of supplies with a rapidity that confounded the Galactics. The Scythian theory of a ‘paper’ fleet was rapidly melting away; it disappeared along with the Scythian hope that Terrans simply could not handle the paradigm change inherent with this incredible leap in technology. Less than a week after first contact with the species Terra already sprouted planetary defenses and now it was plotting its strategy for using a translight capable fleet of warships.

The thoughts of the Council representative were upbeat, but still concerned. ‘We understand by your reports that the Terrans will be capable of a significantly greater response than originally anticipated. You have done well, Liaison, though, the numbers you quote have, I admit, alarmed some members of the Council. With seven hundred warships the Terrans could do quite more than just defend themselves.’

‘That is true, Council,’ the Liaison answered. ‘It is the crux of my complaint. Even with the primitive vessels they are using as hulls their fleet will have relatively modern engines and weapons. As you know there has been very little real advancement in warship technology in the last two thousand millennia. There is, therefore, little or no difference in the performance of the Terran equipment and the modern fleets of Chem, Golkos or Seer’koh. I have complained that the Terrans needed only a deterrent fleet, yet they will accept no argument.

‘They informed me that if we wanted Scythia protected we would have to supply them with anything and everything they need.’

‘Inform them we are short of the necessary materials,’ Council said.

‘Unfortunately our earlier negotiations gave the Terrans quite the opposite impression. We did not anticipate how quickly they could assimilate to their new circumstances,’ Liaison told them. ‘The Council made the decision to arm Terra shortly after the Chem boarded our science vessel and took the Terran subject prisoner. The Terrans responded with amazing promptness. We already have several hundred thousand Terran troops enroute to our Homeworlds, and Terra sprouts defenses, rivaling those of any Galactic Homeworld. In less than a decand the Terrans began construction of their first warship. It will be ready for trials in less than a decurn. We estimate, at this rate that the Terran Fleet will number between seven hundred and nineteen and seven hundred and thirty-one vessels of various armaments.’

‘That is roughly three quarters the size of the Chem Armada if it sailed in its entirety,’ Council mused. ‘How well are they armed?’

‘The vessel that will launch tonight will have a total of thirty-three blaster projectors ranging from level thirteen to level thirty-seven weapons. In addition there are provisions for two batteries of matter-anti-matter torpedoes.’

‘Incredible! That is in the same class as a Galactic battleship. How is this possible? Can we allow this to continue, even to buy the Terrans aid? Perhaps we can persuade the Terrans that a smaller fleet is practical. Can you slow them down?’

‘In their paranoid state it would only cause suspicion, which might have dangerous repercussions.’

‘Well, what about our request for Terran troops?’

‘The Terrans have already designated five million troops for transportation to Scythia, however, they demanded that the families be allowed to join them,’ the Liaison told them. ‘Their argument is that if the Chem destroy Terra their race would survive elsewhere. I saw no counter argument to their logic.’

‘Very well, we understand the situation,’ Council answered. ‘Continue as you are. Ingratiate yourself with our new Terran friends. Help them as much as you can. If we cannot keep them harmless we must direct their passions to the correct purpose. The Chem have sentenced the captured Terran to death on Pantrixnia. Make the broadcast available for distribution through Terran communication channels. Play this up as typical Chem justice. We shall make the Terrans hate the Chem.’

‘It is an apt suggestion. However, the Terrans have already accessed those Ethernet channels. They are fully aware of the Chem atrocity. In that respect, at least, we need not worry over Terran ingenuity. They are thalamus driven, as are the Chem, and shall easily be turned against them.’

‘Very well, we shall pursue that avenue. Our goal must now be to ensure that if Terra indeed builds a fleet that she uses it against the Chem. Our cursory estimate is that in the aftermath of such a titanic battle neither the Chem nor the Terrans will be in any position to threaten Scythia. In their weakened states we shall be in a prime position to reap the predictable rewards.’

CHAPTER 29: Another Fight for Survival

Nazeera closed her eyes and allowed the slight hum of the antigravity disk to wash away the memories of the day. She leaned forward ever so slightly and the disk rose and accelerated. Crouching increased her speed and stopped her climb. She leaned to the left, turning that direction in a long curve. It took her around the tree cloaked finger of a ridge and into a misty valley.

A gushing river churned beneath her, brown foam bubbling around the smooth chocolate backs of slick rockslike the humps and knobs of half-submerged monsters. Nazeera drew her gun.

She dialed the muzzle back so that the intensity indicator barely showed in the shadowy-misty light. The sound of a waterfall grew in her ears, and Nazeera followed the winding course of the river until she entered a circular amphitheater surrounded by thousand foot cliffs.

A white lace waterfall fell down the slick stone into a lake about two hundred meters wide. The river left the lake through a cleft in the rock. Nazeera scanned the air. She wasn’t alone. At least a dozen brightly feathered birds as large as her but with wingspans four times her height, cruised the lake. Their cries and squawks echoed along the cliffs, filling the amphitheater with a raucous deluge of noise that vied with the roar of the waterfall. They were hunting for fish, and they ignored Nazeera. She smiled and pressed a switch on her wrist.

Nazeera couldn’t hear anything, but she knew the transmitter was working, because the effect on the birds was immediate. The birds wheeled up and around, squawking angrily, and turning toward Nazeera. The cliff face erupted in a profusion of color as scores of other giant birds left their perches. They made for her, talons glinting in the fading light, half meter beaks snapping in fury.

Nazeera crouched and gained speed. She slalomed through the whirling flock, shooting as she skidded over the brown water. Her shots scorched the birds, but the beams only maddened the birdsthe setting wasn’t strong enough to drive them off.

A mass of seething, screeching, color enveloped Nazeera. She could only react, darting into patches of clear air, firing from pistols in both hands as she twisted and turned through the feather strewn air. It was wild and perilous. A hum whooshed by her, and she turned hard toward it, surprised by the unwelcome sound, but it was only Nazar.

‘By the Moons, Nazeera, are you trying to do Bureel’s job for him?’ He was riding a similar antigravity disk, and he was armed as she wasbut the beams from his guns were brighter. When he shot a bird it squawked and flew out of the fight. ‘Relax! He’s still alive, and quietly bedded down for the night in a niche in the cliffas you should be! This is insane!’

‘Then go home and go to bed, Nazar!’

Nazeera was just beginning to find release of the tension of watching the drama at the Assemblage. She’d convinced herself that she had no true feelings beyond respect for Alexander; the kiss they shared was a natural reaction to the time they’d spent togetheryet each new peril had her holding her breath. She watched his trials alongside her peers wearing a mask of cold interest, but beneath her armor her gut was churning with intimate disquiet. Bureel’s political and personal schemes did not help matters any. This perilous exercise was pure joy in comparison.

Nazar pulled up next to her, firing as he flew. ‘Alexander’s safe, Nazeera, and that’s where you should besafe and at home!’

‘He’s safe for the moment, but I’ve let an opportunity slip away. You were right, Nazar,’ she admitted, stealing a glance at him. ‘He’s a masterful being. We face the prospect that Alexander’s death will hurt the Empire in ways we can’t imagine, when his friendship might have ended an era of fear and anticipation.’

Nazeera shot at three birds closing in on Nazar. He ducked as the beams sizzled by his head.

‘It’s not the Empire I’m worried about, it’s these blasted cormantars you’ve enraged, and Bureel!’ Nazar said with a grimace. He slid behind Nazeera and shot a bird coming up from underneath her. ‘The birds are sneaky, like your current husband! Don’t worry; Alexander’s built himself for this moment, Nazeera. Destiny is on his side.’

Nazar pulled alongside Nazeera again, trying to keep his antigravity disk steady enough to talk to her while avoiding the cormantars and Nazeera’s shots. ‘I only hope we’re still alive when he returns!’

Nazeera grimaced, flipped upside-down and fired at the roiling flock below. One of the cormantars took advantage of her maneuver to dive on her. Nazar saw it before Nazeera did and shot the bird in the wing; its momentum carried it right into her. It hit Nazeera hard, knocking the wind out of her and sending her spinning into the humid air.

Nazeera was too low to retrieve her disk in time. She hit the emergency button on her belt and a microscopic antigravity generator sprang to life. It didn’t stop her fall, but it slowed her to a survivable speedthat is, if the cormantars left her alone.

They didn’t.

The giant birds must have sensed her helplessness, for they dove on her with renewed vigor. Nazeera increased the energy level of her gun, but she couldn’t maneuver herself to see all the cormantars.

A pair of claws ripped at her back, tearing through the thin armor and gashing her flesh. She dropped one of her guns as it sent her flying, but it was a strangely fortunate thinga huge cormantar sped byits beak snapped in the moist, empty air where her head used to be.

Nazeera steadied herself, swearing mightily, and shooting as fast as she could. It wasn’t enough. Another bird wheeled on herclaws outstretched. Thump! The breath left her lungs in a great rasping gasp, but it was Nazar. He wrapped his arms around her.

‘Hold on!’ he said, as he accelerated out of the angry flock. He had to make several hasty turns, all that more difficult with Nazeera’s extra weight, but momentarily they were out of danger.

Nazar flew to the top of the cliffs and set down on a rocky promontory next to the waterfall.

Nazeera stepped off, saying, ‘Thanks, Nazar, I owe you that one.’

He waved her thanks aside, getting the medical kit out of the disk. ‘I’d be happy if all we had to worry about was birds.’ He opened the kit and scanned her back. ‘There are no infectious bacteria, just some lacerations. The scanner can close them upjust stay still for half a moment, if that’s possible.’

‘I wonder, is there support in the Assemblage for the accomplishment of Bureel’s challenge?’ she mused, as if the fight never happenedcompletely oblivious to their perch overlooking a thousand foot waterfall in the emerald green Chem forests. ‘I’m beginning to think Bureel and his scheming are a greater threat to the Empire than Alexander.’

‘Finally coming to that conclusion, eh? Well, unfortunately that will take time,’ Nazar sighed, finishing the medical scan and fusing her clothing back together. ‘When Alexander challenged him over the ethernet Bureel had no choice but to reiterate his challenge in public. He could never have backed down in the open Assemblage. That you brilliantly made it a motion of Assemblage Procedure makes it official. A pity you wouldn’t support the idea when Alexander was on Chem. This would all be over by now. Bureel would be dead, and you would be happily married off and on vacation producing what can only be described as interesting heirs.’

‘Please Nazar; don’t twist the story into an undeserving and unrealistic drama.’

‘As you wish, Nazeera, but remember Alexander is on Pantrixnia fighting for his life while Bureel is after our heads. I don’t know what he has over you, but I can guess Alexander fits very neatly into that puzzle. For that I’m sorryit’s my fault for compromising you.’

He punched a code in his control pad. Nazeera’s antigravity disk obediently climbed up to them and landed next to Nazar’s. He punched another code, and they heard the whine of an aerocar approaching. ‘I put it to you, what better way to solve the collective problems of Bureel and the Terran threat? Bring back Alexander, have him kill Bureel, and marry him. I’ll pay for the honeymoon.’

‘I’m the one with the fortune, Nazar.’

‘A technicality,’ he shrugged, as his aerocar landed. He opened the trunk and took out a bottle of wine and a basket. ‘Looking after you is hungry work,’ he told her, and he poured them each a glass of wine. There was food as well. Nazar handed Nazeera a drumstick and then munched on his own.

‘You’ve got to stop being so blasted liberal, Nazeera. You know as well as I that cementing empires through marriage is a time honored tradition. Nor is this problematicwe both know Alexander has more than a passing interest in you.’

‘Which you know a good deal too much about,’ Nazeera interrupted.

‘If I hadn’t been distracted by duty I’d know even morewe wouldn’t be in this mess.’ The sun set over the verdant mountains, turning the sky red. Nazar elbowed his sister playfully, ‘I know enough be certain that Alexander would find the concept intriguing, and why not? He’s Alexander, and it’s the Chem who concern him above all other people. Without an armada of his own, however, Chem is unassailable. Let the other Galactics fear his legions. Chem doesn’t fear Alexander, but we can use him for the greater good of the Empire.

‘This is all moot with Alexander on Pantrixnia,’ Nazeera growled, looking up at the brightening stars. She found the slightly golden pinprick of light that was the Pantrixnian sun, and looked away, unable to contemplate the man as practically as her brother.

‘All is not lost,’ he said. ‘There’s a good chance that we can get him back, and that he would be willing to work with us. Many of the younger members who support Bureel are clamoring for a vote. They want Alexander returned to Chem to undergo the challenge, and for once I agree with them. Be patient.’

‘A few more decurns and he could be dead. Bureel and his cronies will have all the more reason for a war of aggression, and our position could well be untenable.’

‘Have some faith in Alexander. His survival this decurn was not entirely due to luck and that fact didn’t go unnoticed. Give Alexander a decand and he’ll have the Assemblage looking for a way out of this thing; they’ll be ready to go and get him just to avoid a war with Terra.’

‘Or they’ll vote for the immediate extermination of all life on Terra, as a precaution,’ Nazeera replied, finishing her wine and pouring herself another glass. She got up and paced the rock next to the roaring river. ‘As brave as Terrans may be they have no armada. Our ships would be able to stand off in orbit and bombard the planet into rubble.’

‘That’s a possibility, but don’t discount the media,’ Nazar told her, settling back on a moss covered bank. Something caught his attention and he glanced at the display on his sleeve. ‘Dear sister, would you mind coming my way about three metersbe quick but not too quick please.’

Nazeera knew her brother well enough not to argue. She did as he asked, making her movements as casual as she could muster. She watched Nazar, who seemed unperturbed by whatever his display told him; slide a half meter long black mechanism from the basket. He clipped this into a rod tucked in his boot, and pulled the telescoping tube out to a meter in length.

‘Right there is fine, Nazeera, now drink your wine and don’t move!’ Nazar checked his wrist again, and manipulated his remote, muttering. ‘There’s no courtesy amongst this new generationour generation. Here we are having a nice quiet picnic and they’re intent on spoiling it. Bloody bastardsthey’re good though!’

Nazeera wasn’t sure what Nazar was talking about, but she trusted his judgment.

His aerocar’s engine started, and it revved up.

‘I don’t think they’ll notice that, but I can’t take the risk,’ he said, again sounding as if he were talking to himself. He attached his remote to the top of the black mechanism and flipped the screen up. Then he withdrew another bottle of wine from the basketat least Nazeera thought it was a bottle but it was slightly flattened and concave at the broad end. Nazar shoved it into the back of the mechanism.

It wasn’t until he did that the Nazeera realized he’d put together a rifle. He smiled.

A shot split the air.

Nazeera flinched despite her monumental self control and dove for the ground. The air rang, and out of the corner of her eye she saw an angry splash of energy spread out in a golden blaze two meters behind her.

Nazar rolled himself prone, and raised the rifle to his cheek. He looked into the screen of the gun, and said, ‘The next one’s going for the carand that one, my friend, will fry you!’

Sure enough, another shot sounded, and Nazar’s car erupted in flames.

‘Got you!’ he said smoothly, and he shot once. ‘Oh my, that one hurtright down your sight! That won’t leave much to look at for the funeral. Oh, you have a partner, run rabbit run!’

He shot again.

‘Anyone else?’ he smiled, checking his screen. Nazar turned to Nazeera, and said, ‘That’s all of them.’ He got up and walked over to his smoldering car, shaking his head. ‘Damn! It’s brand new, and bought with your money, Nazeera. Too bad, but I needed the extra power for the defensive screens.’ Nazar picked up his wine and took a long swig. ‘The gunner used an express riflesame one Alexander picked for Pantrixnianasty weapon.’

‘How long did you know about them?’ Nazeera asked.

‘They followed you here,’ Nazar told her. ‘I thought they were after me initiallywhy take you out now Nazeera? Bureel wants an heir first doesn’t he?’

‘He has my eggs, Nazar,’ she growled. ‘As much as he might like to consummate the act physically he knows he has legal access to my eggs should I die.’

‘We need to get Alexander back here,’ Nazar said, and his expression was deadly serious.

‘Is that what is best for Chem, though?’

‘What? Do you really think that Terrans pose such a threat to Chem?’ Nazar asked, obviously startled by her response. He pulled up a tape of Terrans on the screen of his sleeve. It was footage intercepted by the Chem scout ship that kidnapped Alexander.

There were two Terransthey were painting the interior of a house. He grimaced. ‘Look at them. If they’re going to waste time and effort broadcasting programs on habitation remodeling I wouldn’t say they’re on a war footing! I may have a high opinion about Alexander, but I’m not so certain of his people. I think they’re ignorant, as Alexander said they are, to all that’s gone on. Oh they still have their aspirations, but that’s for the future. The Scythians, for all their treachery, have succeeded in keeping their word and bottling up the Terrans.’

‘That line of reasoning only works if the Terrans stay ignorant, Nazar. If you were a Scythian, with some semblance of common sense, what would you do? Consider your millennia long lie revealed, and the talk of alliance against the Chem is just that, talk.’

‘I would plead like the worm I was.’

Nazeera shook her head, ‘No Nazar, you would run helter skelter to Terra with stories of the evil Chem who are intent upon their destruction. You would arm Terra with your ample supply of weapons. You would, in essence, make your lies the truth. I raised my concerns with the Elder today. We’ve dispatched another spy ship to Terra, but it will take almost nine decurns to reach Terra.’

Nazar thought a moment, ‘Decurns are roughly one Terran day-night cycle. I assume that our Armada will be ready on time another one hundred and twenty decurns hence, and it takes twenty decurns at fleet speed to reach Terra. The Armada will enter the Terran system approximately one hundred and forty Terran cycles from today. What could the Terrans possibly hope to accomplish in that amount of time, even with Scythian help?’

‘It depends on how motivated they are,’ Nazeera replied.

‘Maybe, but the best thing we can do for ourselves, and Chem, is to wait. Let Alexander do our work for us. In the end we shall gain support for bringing Alexander back to Chem. He’ll kill Bureel and marry the honorable Nazeera of the Triumvirate. At one stroke we shall gain peace with Terra, and joy for ourselves. The disciplining of Scythia can then take place at our leisure, success assured. Remember, Alexander has no liking for them either.’

Nazeera smiled weakly, ‘Another arranged marriage, Nazar?’

‘Don’t worry, Nazeera, at the worst our Armada will arrive at Terra and find a planet-bound populace without enough defenses to be worthy of bombing. If there is no threat there is no reason to make war upon them. Given a thousand decurns, maybe, but one hundred, it’s not possible. What could they have to put against us at ten decands?’

Nazar smiled, scoffing at the idea, blissfully unaware that the Terran battleship Iowa was, at that very moment, lifting off out of Newport News. She was heading for orbit, and her guns were pointing into space.

CHAPTER 30: Wild Kingdom

Dawn found Alexander chilled and painfully stiff. The first day on Pantrixnia demanded more from his body than he’d thought possible, especially after so many years of relative inactivity. He didn’t hurry himself, therefore, as the morning brightened. He stretched leisurely and looked about.

The tiny cave, a crack really, offered just enough room for him to set his back against the wall and stay out of the rain. He stayed dry so long as the wind didn’t drive the rain into the cliff. The cliff itself was his primary protection. It was almost one hundred meters high and not quite vertical. The wall was cracked and pitted so climbing wasn’t difficult. The jungle improved matters even more. It grew back on a shelf behind the cliff’s edge. The trees leaned over it, sending vines and creepers down the steep slope. Alexander amused himself with the thought of his sleeping in this bird’s nest. A month ago he’d not have climbed such a rock face for any reason. Heights made him nervous if he didn’t have an airplane strapped to him. Events now made the aerie quite attractive, and he was quite pleased that he found a place at once so safe and accessible.

He looked out over his new world, sipping fresh water from a concave leaf that he left at his feet during the night to catch rainwater. The morning mists steamed from the jungle as the land fell away into a broad depression. The cliff was at the edge of a roughly circular depression. Mountains rose in the haze maybe sixty or seventy kilometers distant. The sun rose from that direction so he named it east.

The mountains swung north and south, disappearing into a jumble of rolling forest. To the North they left the jungle and made a chain of emerald clad islands in a sea glittering with the morning sun. There was no sign of any other landscape besides jungle. At its closest point he guessed the sea to be at least thirty or forty kilometers away. There was a white ribbon of mist, probably a river, which wound southwest towards his haven. It passed behind the ridge to his left, and it looked to be only a kilometer or so distant. He was just thinking he’d have a look at it today when a movement caught his eye.

He looked to the sky and saw a bird circling overhead. It seemed to be watching him, and trying to decide just how to go about plucking him from his perch. The animal was certainly large enough to carry him off, but Alexander was in a well protected position. The bird circled for a few more minutes and then descended. He drew his sword and backed into the crack. The light disappeared as the bird hovered just outside the crack, blindly grasping inside with its claws.

Alexander was not so much worried as irritated. The bird had an unenviable task, considering his position. He, on the other hand, just had to wait for an opening. When the bird drew close enough he lunged forward, plunging the blade into the feathered belly. He withdrew the weapon quickly to keep the crippled bird from wrenching the sword from his hands.

Squawking in pain the bird flapped wildly away. Laboriously it tried to gain altitude, but blood and entrails streamed from the wound. Slowly it sank to the trees below and finally crashed into the upper canopy.

It struggled feebly for half an hour before a disturbance in the trees caught Alexander’s attention. A flurry of mantises boiled up through the canopy and immediately attacked the wounded animal. The fight was brief and one sided. Razor sharp mandibles quickly cut up the corpse, and the insects took it, piece by piece, into their shadowy realm. The display was sobering, but also enlightening. It took the mantis some time to find the stricken bird. It was very possible that his encounter with them was bad luck, and not due to the canopy being infested with the creatures. It was a point he’d remember, but it didn’t make him any keener on returning to the trees.

The chore of self protection complete, Alexander turned to more mundane matters. He used the gun to start a fire and cook the snake meat. The automaton was right, the Banthror was unpalatable. He tossed the greasy strip of meat into the forest. The snake, on the other hand, was fine. The meat, once cooked, reminded him of something not quite like chicken. He washed it down with rainwater, and pondered his next move.

The cliff hole was fine for a night, or an emergency, but if he was going to spend and extended period of time on the planet he needed something more permanent. A cave or grotto that was defensible would be perfect. He expected to find such a place, if it existed, near the river. The river in its rush from the hills might very well have cut many such places. So, throwing the Banthror hide over his shoulder, the smell of which he was mercifully unaware, he quit his sanctuary.

Predictably, the automaton waited for him outside. He glanced at the metallic ball with ill concealed contempt. ‘Well, what clever remarks have you for me this morning? Will I have to put up with you every day from now to eternity?’

‘Eternity is a long time relatively speaking, though on Pantrixnia we measure it in decurns, at the most.’

‘We’ll see,’ Alexander replied. With a parting growl he grabbed a vine and climbed up to the top of the cliff. The cliff itself was a massive shelf of broken rock which ran towards the river. Behind was dense jungle leading into a craggy series of broken hills. He set off at a good pace across the edge of the cliff and headed toward the river. The cliff gradually sank towards the jungle floor but streams from the hills carved sheer chasms which lay directly across his path. His only choice was to climb down the cliff and back into the jungle. When he came to the first chasm, this time from below, he explored it. Unfortunately, there were no caves or cracks that would provide more suitable shelter than he already had.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘A hotel,’ was his terse reply.

He continued to work his way towards the river, poking into every chasm he came across. The small streams wound their way into the jungle, fed by the torrential runoff from the heights, but none of them provided suitable shelter, although one gave him his biggest surprise of the day.

It was a rather wide chasm, surrounded by sheer black cliffs thirty meters high. Vines and creepers gave it an ancient appearance. A clear stream bubbled out of the center from an oval pool at the end. The back of the canyon echoed with the rush of an energetic waterfall. It was a pleasant backdrop to the otherwise deserted place. There was unfortunately no cave behind the waterfall, only a shallow scoop in the cliff. It was a pleasant enough, though, and as it was empty of anything else he took it to be the perfect place to bath. The pool of water was only a couple of meters deep at most, and he could see the bottom. There was nothing lethal waiting for him in the water, at least nothing he could see, so he shrugged off his weapons and armor.

The armor was a one piece coverall that included boots and gloves as well as integrated armor plates, so it went on and off quickly. Underneath he wore only a light coverall. He took that off, washing it at the edge of the pool, and then laying it by his weapons to dry. Then he showered under the waterfall.

The automaton hovered nearby. ‘You wouldn’t have any soap would you?’

‘No, Alexander of Terra. We don’t provide our participants with anything other than what they carry with them. The vast majority have no need of such things.’

‘The vast majority, are you telling me that I may meet up with someone else in this place?’

‘Oh, don’t be foolish. The longest period of survival on record for Pantrixnia is six decurns. I understand the odds makers are giving you a fifty percent chance on making it three decurns, which is very respectable.’

‘Three days, that doesn’t sound very good to me.’

‘The odds would probably improve if you weren’t so reckless.’

‘You usually mean something gruesome when you make a comment like that,’ Alexander said, taking it seriously and ending his shower.

Hurriedly donning his wet armor and strapping on his weapons Alexander started back up the canyon. The place lost its innocence. Now it was a trap whose only escape was its entrance, and the precarious vines that hung over the edge of the cliff.

That thought, of course, triggered his fear into reality.

A tremor shook the ground, and a familiar snort rolled along the walls of the canyon. He cursed to himself. A quick glance revealed no reachable vines in this end of the canyon. The canyon itself made a dogleg to the north, so the entrance was hidden from him, and he from it. The closest vines were on the south wall, in full view of the entrance. Carefully, but quickly, he went to the curved edge and peered around the corner.

It was the Tyrannosaurus, of course. The huge carnivore stopped twenty meters into the canyon and sniffed at the ground. He cursed again. The vines were twenty meters from him, the Tyrannosaurus maybe forty. He’d never win that race.

Back up the canyon he went. There was no better place to hide than just behind the waterfall. It would obscure him from sight and hopefully cover his scent. There was nothing else he could do.

Alexander took out his rifle, set it on full power and stepped behind the waterfall. He stood stock still on the slick rock with his back to the slimy cliff wall. In the midst of the spray he waited. After what seemed an hour he saw movement through the cascade.

The Tyrannosaurus stalked heavily up the canyon. He could feel its progress as easily as he could see it. It stopped once, and again sniffed at the stones, but only for a moment. Then it growled irritably and walked straight towards the waterfall. It waded through the pool, seeming to be in no hurry. The creature’s entire demeanor indicated a complete lack of concern or interest in the strange scent it picked up; rather it just seemed to be weary after a long day and somehow pleased to be back in its private lair.

The Tyrannosaurus halted in the pool with the cool water rising to its belly, and Alexander watched with a curiosity mixed with awe as it dipped its enormous bulk into the water and bathed. The Tyrannosaurus was obviously enjoying itself. It snorted and sighed as it wormed its way around the pool, at one point scratching its back against a familiar and well-placed rock. For a while it just lay still, head resting on the cool rock of the bank, until Alexander thought it was asleep. He began to wonder about the possibility of escape when it raised its massive head and looked around.

Alexander stiffened. The Tyrannosaur’s head moved around as if watching something, but he couldn’t see from his vantage point what that might be. The Tyrannosaurus itself was large enough so that he could gauge its actions from behind the imperfect screen of water, but he saw little else. The head followed the hidden object to his right and growled. Anger made the cords stand out in Alexander’s neck when he caught a glimpse of the automaton whirring around the canyon. The automaton flew behind the waterfall, hovered for a moment above his contorted features and then flew off again.

The Tyrannosaurus got up. The head followed the automaton into the sky. It expressed its irritation with a raspy bark, and another discontented snort. Alexander watched in horror as the huge carnivore stalked through the pool and up to the waterfall. Without hesitation it put its two meter head into the cascade of water.

CHAPTER 31: Alexander, the Galactic Spectacle

The sharp intake of Nazeera’s breath was clearly audible in the Assemblage chamber. She glanced around to see if her colleagues noticed her attention. No, all eyes were on the huge screens that showed Alexander retreating back into the trap that was the Tyrannosaur’s canyon and attempting to hide under the waterfall. Only one set of eyes, bright with malignant intent, watched her; the sneering glance of her husband, Bureel.

‘It seems that my challenge may go unfulfilled after all,’ he leered smoothly.

‘You’d like that wouldn’t you, Bureel,’ she whispered. ‘It would be too dangerous for you to face him alone and on equal terms.’

‘Careful, my dear wife,’ he told her. ‘My patience is short. It would be a severe blow to my heart if I thought your interests in the Terran were greater than those of Chem. I would have no choice but commit the sad duty of exposing you before your peers.’

‘If I connect you to last night’s assassination attempt you’ll join Alexander on Pantrixnia; and woe to you if he finds you before the scavengers do!’

‘Hardly likely, seeing as I’m in charge of the investigation,’ Bureel smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Nazeera of the Triumvirate, I’ve already got some suspects in mindpeaceniks, desperately trying to halt your push to war and glory! Have no fear, even should they succeed I will carry your banner forward.’

‘You’re playing a dangerous game, Bureel.’

‘Any risk is worth the prize I’m after,’ he told her, and then his eyes turned to slits of displeasure as her brother approached them. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t Nazar. Your service in the government’s counter-terrorism corps apparently went unnoticed by the assassinshow fortunate for Chem.’

‘Meaning you didn’t expect me to interfere with your little scheme, Bureel?’ Nazar whispered, nodding to several of his peers.

‘It seems they, whoever they are, miscalculated,’ Bureel noted. ‘I’ll make sure they don’t do it againtry to deprive Chem of you or your inestimable sibling, that is.’

‘Bureel, you cold calculating worm I never thought even you were capable of such a despicable act!’ Nazeera trembled in cold rage.

‘Why Nazeera, I’m shocked insinuation. It is doubtless your concern for the Terran’s trials that has you upset. Things have grown rather stale for the moment on Pantrixnia, and there is an alarmingly small amount we can gleam from things. I shall leave you to calm yourself.’

Nazeera fumed and Bureel slunk away with an evil smile. Nazar put a finger to her lips, ‘Careful Nazeera, don’t worry yourself; I’ve put my people on his people. We should have ample warning the next time he tries something.’ Nazar turned to the screen to watch the Tyrannosaurus bathing in the pool. ‘How are things going? Is the day so uneventful that the Assemblage is watching a carnivore take a bath?’

‘He’s behind the waterfall, Nazar.’

‘Alexander? Oh my, how did he get there?’

Nazeera explained the sequence of events to Nazar, who could only shake his head. Suddenly a gasp and a rumbling murmur in the Assemblage caught their attention.

They turned back to the screen. The images came directly from the automaton, which was hovering overhead unobtrusively. Now it buzzed the resting Tyrannosaurus, flitting about its head. The carnivore blinked in irritation, and followed the path of the little metal ball. With a groan it rolled its heavy bulk out of the water and shook.

‘What’s going on?’ Nazeera wondered.

The ball’s commentary explained it. ‘Apparently the Assemblage is curious to see how the Terran is reacting to this stressful situation. By order of Nazeera of the Triumvirate we are going to get a look at the Terran as he attempts to elude the greatest carnivore the galaxy has ever known!’

‘What? Who dares usurp my name,’ Nazeera breathed, and all eyes of the Assemblage turned to her, including those of the Elder. She fought for self control, and just about lost, when the soothing voice of her husband announced his return.

‘Your pardon, my dear wife,’ he whispered venomously. ‘I felt it necessary to insulate you from your own emotions; you’ve been far too open with them thus far. Members were beginning to talk. Bringing our friend’s hiding place to the attention of the carnivore was genius. It should quell any rumors of a soft spot in your heart for this enemy of Chem. Don’t you agree?’

Nazeera shook with an absolute and helpless rage. Her nails dug into her own fists, and blood dripped to the floor. Bureel turned with an amused smile and left his wife with images of murder filling her beautiful head.

Nazar touched her and motioned to the screen. The automaton floated behind the waterfall for a moment, capturing the furious face of Alexander. His eyes burned like green witch fire. There was a palpable silence in the Assemblage. Then the automaton drew back through the water and rose into the air with the comment, ‘I don’t think the Terran appreciated our curiosity, and you can see why!’

As the automaton withdrew to its former position the Tyrannosaurus stalked to the waterfall and poked its head through. The Assemblage gasped, and again all eyes turned to Nazeera. She stood stone faced as the automaton said, ‘That looks like it will just about do it. A disappointing end to a noble effort, I must say.’

‘Why the cold blooded bastards,’ Admiral Augesburcke exclaimed. He was watching the pirated Chem broadcast in the CODOTS chambers at the United Nations building. ‘It wasn’t enough that they put him in that infernal place, but now to goad a Tyrannosaurus Rex after him. My god! Who is this Nazeera of the Triumvirate? I’ll remember her name to be sure!’

Augesburcke’s swarthy visage creased into furrows of disdain as he witnessed Alexander’s plight. He pulled at his thick mustache and directed his remarks at Doctor Hashimoto.

‘It is certainly not consistent with a ‘hands off’ approach to experimentation,’ Hashimoto said. ‘I don’t know how they expect to get accurate results if they’re manipulating things.’

‘They’re not looking for results,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘The damn thing’s a spectacle, it’s purely for entertainment. If this Alexander fellow does well enough they’ll probably want to use Terrans as gladiators down there!’

‘Many of us wouldn’t fare so well,’ Doctor Hashimoto said.

‘I can’t disagree with you there, Doctor.’ Augesburcke turned to his aid, and asked, ‘Colonel Sandberg, any luck on who this fellow is?’

The Colonel responded in the negative.

‘Keep them working on it,’ he said brusquely, and then he moved on to the next item on his mental agenda. ‘Have we gotten the hourly updates yet? Let me have them.’ The Admiral almost tore them out of the Colonel’s hands. He scanned the reports, muttering aloud, and turning through the pages with a vengeance.

‘Superluminal trials with the Missouri completed this morning, out to Alpha Centauri and back in a little over three days. What would Nimitz have thought? He took the Jap surrender on that deck, and now it goes out to Alpha Centauri and back!’

He looked up; belatedly realizing his comment attracted the attention of his colleague, Doctor Hashimoto. Two weeks past he might have made the same comment on purpose, but today he said, ‘My apologies, Doctor, the reference was uncalled for. I suppose we all have some growing up to do.’

‘No need, Admiral,’ Doctor Hashimoto replied, ‘I believe we all, as you say, have some growing up to do before we can properly be called ‘Terrans.’ Concerning the gunnery trials, everything checked out surprisingly well on the Iowa, engines, scanners, and weapon systems all performed up to or in excess of specifications.’

‘Excellent! I especially enjoyed the video feed of the blaster tests. Now that is what a broadside should look like!’

‘I’m afraid the astronomers won’t be very happy,’ Doctor Hashimoto said. ‘We left some good sized holes in Charon, Pluto’s moon. We got good pictures though.’

‘This makes all the difference in the world. I’d much rather defend Terra in open space than from the ground. It’s amazing that this crazy scheme of ours is actually working. Who would have ever thought a salt water navy could fly, not to mention go into space? Crazy idea,’ Augesburcke shook his hoary head in wonder, belying the fact that he’d originated the idea.

‘Still, it looks as though folks are getting the hang of this. We expect three more launchings today, five tomorrow, twelve the next, and so on. We’ve got enough equipment for three hundred ships, and if we can get the Scythians moving we could add another twelve hundred, if we had the ships.’

‘The Scythians assure us that another convoy is on the way,’ Doctor Hashimoto told him.

‘Yeah, like I really trust those bastards,’ Augesburcke mused, and then his aide handed him a file. ‘We have something? Is this our boy? Excellent, let’s see here, Alexander Thorsson. Here’s something you don’t see every day: he was an NFL nose-tackle, then an Air Force pilot, and now he’s an airline pilot. I should say he was an airline pilot. What do you call what he’s doing now? I suppose he’s the poor sidekick on some form of galactic ‘Wild Kingdom,’ but I’ll be damned if he can expect Marlin Perkins to lift him out of there! This would be a helluva thing to put on a resume. What else has he done?’

Augesburcke perused the record, and a frown spread across his face. Eventually he put the record down. ‘I can’t figure this, Colonel. This man had an outstanding record. Why did the American Air Force let him go?’

‘Didn’t make the next rank,’ the Colonel told him. ‘Though from what I saw there was nothing in his record to warrant that.’

‘No, looks like a damn fine record,’ Augesburcke said. ‘Typical military; kick out the good people to make room for the ass kissers. Well, what’s our boy up to now? Has the dinosaur eaten him yet? I haven’t been watching.’

The television showed nothing but the Tyrannosaurus standing under the waterfall. ‘No, as far as I can tell he’s still under there.’

‘What’s he doing, taking a shower with it?’ Augesburcke remarked as if there was nothing whatsoever which could surprise him.

CHAPTER 32: Playing Daniel Boone

Alexander watched the massive head thrust under the waterfall, scarcely a meter above him. The Tyrannosaurus turned its head this way and that, allowing the rushing water to douse its considerable skull. The huge mouth yawned open and the head tilted upwards. The Tyrannosaurus messily drank from the descending fountain. The backwash from its effort drenched a patient but disconcerted Alexander with the remains of its most recent meal. It drank and drank with the man standing directly beneath it. He was so close he could’ve touched the greenish-purple scales of the neck.

Alexander found it easy to resist the temptation to do so.

After what seemed an eternity the Tyrannosaurus, its thirst sated, simply stopped drinking and allowed the water to cleanse its mouth. The water gathered inside the Tyrannosaur’s maw before overflowing onto the stone and Alexander. This continued for quite some time, and the Tyrannosaurus appeared in no hurry to stop its hygienic exercise. Evidently this was a habitual routine for the dinosaur, and Alexander was in no mood to interrupt it.

He wasn’t certain whether it was sight, sound or a combination of both by which the Tyrannosaurus hunted. Earlier it discovered the tiny automaton, which was obviously the automaton’s intent. The automaton, he figured was quieter as well as smaller than he, so he doubted whether he could successfully skulk away, even with the Tyrannosaurus in its present relaxed state. He decided to continue to wait. It proved to be an excellent decision. A moment later the Tyrannosaurus backed out of the waterfall. It shook itself free of excess water and stepped gingerly to a smooth expanse of rock that was warming in the sun. After an enormous yawn it settled itself down on its bed. For an hour or so it basked, blinking its eyes every so often or swishing its tail. Finally the unmistakable sound of a snore rumbled through the canyon.

Alexander waited another half an hour before he ventured from behind the waterfall. The dinosaur’s snoring was comfortable and rhythmic, signaling a deep sleep, or so he hoped. Carefully he made his way along the opposite side of the canyon, a watchful eye on the Tyrannosaurus. It continued to sleep. Then a sudden growl startled Alexander. He froze, but the Tyrannosaurus didn’t rouse.

It continued to growl, and he could see spasms flexing the arms and legs. The tail swished back and forth in quick tense jerks. Alexander wondered what it was all about, thinking perhaps the Tyrannosaurus could sense him even in its sleep. Eventually he realized that it must be dreaming. He shook his head, thinking maybe now he’d truly seen everything.

Alexander worked his way to the canyon’s end and turned towards the river. A familiar whirring alerted him to the presence of the automaton.

He ignored it.

The terrain became more chaotic the closer to the river he got. The cliff walls grew more and more broken, and he was able to find some cracks and tracks by which he could make his way to the top of the cliff again without climbing. This gave him a better vantage point for the river and the lands below. The sun was at its zenith and burned off all the morning mists. Below he could see the river winding through the jungle, brown waters glittering in the sunlight. Five kilometers distant there was a vast flood plain, previously hidden in the morning fogs. Even at this distance he could see enormous herds of animals wandering across the green grasses.

Herd animals. Herbivores! Of course, the planet must operate on an ecological balance. That required a greater number of herbivores than carnivores, but his experiences hadn’t highlighted this. As if in answer there was a great thundering in the jungle behind him, and Alexander had just enough time to scramble behind some rocks. Peering through a gap in the stones he watched an enormous shape trot out of the trees. It looked vaguely like a long legged rhino, excepting that the bone upon its nose and brow was blunt and it stood a full six meters high at the shoulder. It crashed through the foliage; a pack of Banthror’s nipping at its heels, and looking incredibly small beside its bulk.

That question settled he turned back to the river. It wound down the uplands to the sea in long lazy loops, but not a kilometer away he heard the rush of a waterfall. That was his target.

It took two hours to get within fifty meters of a raging cataract. His languid pace was not due to distance, but rather to the ridge trail being a well used avenue to the water. Twice, curious carnivores forced him to seek cover in the rocks at the cliff base. On the second occasion one of the green-black lion creatures actually stopped and sniffed him out. It lost interest, however, when Alexander slashed it heavily across the nose. Coughing and sneezing it loped towards the river, shaking the sting off as it ran.

When he finally reached the water Alexander saw the cataract plunge from the mountains over a wide notch in the cliff. The river dropped twenty meters in a luminescent green curtain forming a small lake in its shadow. Below the lake the land fell away to the flood plain. The lake emptied through a notch in the shoreline and through a short stretch of rapids before becoming a wide meandering ribbon of brown water. The chute of these rapids sprouted innumerable sharp black teeth; numerous rocky projections and boulders interrupted the normal flow beneath the lake, sending frothing fountains of white water exploding over the landscape. Amidst the boulders shaggy bear-like shapes crouched on the rocks and snagged fish with their paws. Next to them, in the midst of the torrent, two reptiles that looked very much like plesiosaurs planted their round bodies in the waters as if they were huge stones. Their whip like necks propelled bullet heads to snatch fish out of the air. The carnivores seemed content to ignore each other so long as the fish were plentiful.

Making his way upstream Alexander explored the enormous waterfall. It was like a jade wall a hundred feet long. Perhaps, there was a cutout behind the water that would be dry enough to serve him as a shelter.

First he had to bypass a plethora of enormous herbivores, and some additional fish catching plesiosaurs. Alexander gave them a wide berth. It took some time to get around the lake and he had two encounters, neither of which he thought much of. One was a dinosaur, an ankylosaur that he surprised coming out of the tangle of foliage. It was a quadruped slightly shorter than he was at the shoulder, but very heavily armored with bone scales and spikes. It stumped around on short thick legs that despite their stoutness still looked too small to carry its weight. They looked at one another for a moment, and then in one motion the beast swung its tail around and bolted into the trees. Alexander ducked as a slab of bone and spikes whistled over his head. Then it was off, bowling over small trees and shrubs in its haste.

‘I must be gaining a reputation,’ Alexander said to himself. His second encounter was with a log; or rather, what he thought was a log. He’d set his foot on a fallen log when suddenly it took off under him. He never did find out whether it was a tail, torso, or neck he’d trodden on. Regardless, he made his way without further adventure to the falls.

After poking around for a while he found a small cleft that led beneath the falls. Behind the cataract was a grotto that wormed back into the rock at least thirty feet in placesenough to keep him dry. A verdant light filtered through the cascade giving the grotto an eerie look.

It was too much to ask that the cave be deserted, and indeed it wasn’t. Inside, Alexander found a fascinating species of spider. They were roughly the size of large dogs. The spiders were busy spinning nets and casting them into the falls. Dark shadows in the green wall betrayed the fish that, every few minutes, would mistakenly stumble into a net. The webs caught the fish, which the spiders withdrew, stung, and wrapped up for further disposal. It all seemed very innocent, except that some of the fish were as big as Alexander. Knowing the planet as he did he had no desire to cohabitate with anything.

He used the low setting on his gun to wound the spiders, and then he dispatched them with the sword. He discarded their bodies, and their prey, into the river. Then he gathered some dry wood and made torches by splitting and feathering the ends. Using his gun to light the torches, Alexander burned every inch of the cave. This got rid of the webs and hopefully any eggs the spiders might have lain.

He was just starting to feel content with himself when the automaton appeared from the shadows. He pretended to ignore it, but as soon as it was in range he lashed at it with his sword. There was a sharp clang as metal rang on metal and the ball spun back a few meters, momentarily wavering in the air.

‘I see you haven’t forgotten the Tyrannosaurus incident,’ it said.

‘It’s not bad enough I have to listen to your squawking or have you watching my every move, but now you’re aiding the beasts of this planet!’ He advanced on it. ‘What’s the matter, have I survived too long? It’s only the second day. I can’t be wounding your precious Chem pride yet!’

‘I had no choice,’ the automaton told him. ‘The order came to me directly from the Assemblage. I’m not told why these things are done. I only follow my programming.’

‘Who gave you this order?’

‘I’m told it came from Nazeera of the Triumvirate,’ the automaton answered.

Alexander didn’t answer, but his rage abated when he saw the automaton wobble. It was only a few centimeters at the most, but his senses began to attune to the needs of this world. Without thinking about it he ducked and rolled to his right, but as he hit the rock floor something grabbed him by his armor and started to pull him toward the cataract.

CHAPTER 33: Behind the Trappings of Rome

The known galaxy boiled with anticipation and fascination. The galaxy depended upon official Chem releases for Chem intentions, but like the Chem they watched the ethernet transmissions from Pantrixnia with a growing sense of admiration and trepidation. Alexander’s exploits were at once marvelous entertainment and a cold slap of reality. To watch Terran gladiatorial games was one thing; they were remote, even alien, quarantined from the known galaxy as they were. Now, however, they watched a man who journalistic rumor built into Alexander of Alexander’s lineage run amuck in their own Galactic forum. It was an ascendancy of Terrans to a level closer to the Galactic hearth, which was frightening, but it was also the first opportunity of the Galactics to watch an individual Terran with any sense of intimacy, which was enlightening.

Journalists, being who they were, took great leniency on filling the gaps in actual knowledge, and rumors flowered into accepted fact with great rapidity. The Chem were becoming remarkably tight lipped and grim concerning their intentions towards Terra, and that was a bad sign. Galactic journalists correctly interpreted this as a mood of extreme disquiet amongst the normally decisive Chem. To spice the drama were the reports of the Chem Armada massing for the first time in thirteen millennia, and Scythian hints that the Terrans were far more capable of defending themselves, and Scythia, than the Galactics believed.

Nothing like this had happened in the known galaxy since the last of the Chem Wars of Expansion. The populace of the known galaxy waited, not able to come to any conclusion on either the Chem threat of genocide or Alexander’s place in their universe.

During this agonizing time the ten civilized cultures outside Scythia, Chem and Terra met routinely on Rome. The gleaming marble of the city lost its luster in the gloom of the times, and the Galactic politicians lost their nobility to their fears. Still, there were some who were more confident about the coming war than others. The Golkos saw advantage in the clash of the titans. They bore little love and much jealousy for the Chem, their historic rivals. Now they faced the prospect of being bettered by the Terran mercenaries as well. Like the other Galactics, however, the Golkos were cautious. It was a far cry from their wilder days. The ancient reputation of the Golkos was as a warrior race, and they still bore the appellation with pride. But the Golkos were not as old as the Chem, and had expanded into empty space for several millennia before coming into contact with the Seer’koh, the Kempec and finally the rest of the civilized galaxy. Their immediate reactions were militaristic, at least until they met the Chem. The Chem were far older, more honorable and deadly. It was probably the best thing that could have happened to the Golkos, to be put in their place by their cousins, but not stripped of their empire.

The resultant peace, maintained by an ever watchful Chem, allowed the Golkos to mellow somewhat. They were still petty, ruthless and antagonistic, but they were a marked improvement over their ancestors. In their hearts, however, the lesser cousins of the Chem continued to dream of being the Galactics dominant warrior race, and with this in mind, they saw the coming war between Terra and Chem in a greedy light. To this end, Grand Admiral Koor accosted She-Rok after the Galactics daily conferences.

‘Tell me, She-Rok; is it difficult for the Hrang to be so wholly dependent upon Chem and Scythian information?’ She asked the Hrang, joining him as they walked a back corridor. It was gloomy and dark, meant to allow dignitaries to traverse back and forth between meetings without having to deal with the press. Her manner more leading than her words and she smoked a long black cigarette, punctuating her words with streams of green smoke. ‘The rumors of Terran preparedness are certainly revelations of the most trying sort. I do not doubt that had the Hrang known of them they would have reported the details to the Senate. I cannot help wondering why, however, we have so little information from your people in this crisis. It is in all of our best interests to pull together in whatever way we can. The times are too dangerous for selfish actions.’

‘I don’t understand your accusation, Grand Admiral,’ She-Rok answered, perturbed. ‘We have been most forthright in all of our intelligence gathering. Everything that is known about this crisis we volunteered to the Galactic Senate, and confirmed the veracity through Scythian and Chem channels. We cannot gather that which does not yet exist.’

‘Please don’t consider this an accusation, She-Rok,’ Koor assured her compatriot smoothly. ‘I am simply surprised at the passive manner in which the information is collected. After all, we can all listen to the ethernet. If the Hrang are more adept at breaking Chem and Scythian code, well that is to our advantage. Yet the Hrang are remarkably suited for more energetic methods of obtaining information as well. Your reputation is greater amongst the Golkos even than our cousins, as we have had the opportunity to use your special talents on more occasions.’

‘Such occasions as these are extraordinarily dangerous,’ She-Rok informed Koor.

‘And they deserve special reward,’ Koor assured him. ‘The price is yours to name.’

She-Rok’s brows knit with doubt, but he told her, ‘The price would depend on the specifics of your need.’

‘Our need,’ corrected Koor. ‘The Golkos are willing to be the leaders in this, and to pay the price for it. Our need is similar to that of Chem, but I think on an amplified scale. We do not necessarily need Terrans in the flesh, but Galactics among the Terrans to ascertain just what we face.’

‘It is possible, though difficult. The Scythians use a number of Galactic underlings on their freighters and in their depots for engineering functions; especially people from the wandering races. I might have trouble finding operatives with the required motivation, however. As Alexander wins galactic renown for his exploits on Pantrixnia there is as much admiration of Terrans as there is fear. My people are not in any way excited about the prospect of conflict with Terra.’

‘Do you propose to sit by-and-by and hope to win the conqueror’s friendship when he comes to your Homeworld, Master She-Rok?’

‘I stated that we’re not excited about the idea of conflict, Grand Admiral, I did not say passivity was a viable option. We are taking this development very seriously, and we shall proceed very carefully. That said your request is not the first time we’ve discussed the subject.’ She-Rok stopped and checked the security display on his sleeve. Someone was listening, or was trying to. He activated a security screen on his belt. A hum surrounded them, and Admiral Koor’s smoke drifted through the field with a slight crackle. ‘That’s just the screen re-phasing the molecules of the air and your smoke; otherwise audio sensors could decipher our conversation through the molecular vibrations. Now, Admiral, in our opinion, it’s possible to infiltrate Terra, but it will have to wait until the Chem-Terran conflict is decided. The Terrans are dangerous, and we’re willing to accept that risk, but that is all. I will not put my people on a planet that is about to be destroyed.’

‘Certainly not,’ Koor agreed. ‘Regardless, we will not need them until that time. If the Chem take care of the Terran problem then so much the better. Yet if the Terrans triumph, or if the Chem-Terran conflict becomes a stalemate then we must make it a priority to get a clear picture of events on Terra.’

‘It will still entail some expense to preposition operatives, in case the latter scenario becomes necessary.’

‘Of course,’ Koor smiled. ‘You will be reimbursed for your labors.’

‘Very well, we will make everything ready,’ She-Rok bowed stiffly in agreement and cut off the security screen. Admiral Koor left the hall, apparently satisfied with the arrangement.

She-Rok smiled, knowing full well that Hrang operatives were even now trickling into the Terran system despite the peril.

The Hrang turned back the way he came. He stopped abruptly. Perowsk, the Syraptose Ambassador, barred his path. He held a blaster in his pallid, soft, shaking hand.

CHAPTER 34: Getting Old

Alexander rolled onto his back and cut blindly with his sword. The blade skipped off the hard skull of one of the plesiosaurs. It bellowed and let him go. The head disappeared into the falls.

‘That was close,’ Alexander breathed, picking himself up and moving away from the falls. It was none too soon. Without warning, the head of the plesiosaur appeared in the grotto again, this time followed by the entire body.

‘Damn it Nessie!’ he exclaimed, skipping away from the plesiosaur, which did indeed look like something from Loch Ness. Fortunately, the animal was as ungainly on land as it was graceful in the waterits four large, flat flippers gave it a lurching awkward gait over the rock. Still, the plesiosaur’s head had quite a range on the end of its long neck, and it used this to great advantage, snapping at Alexander.

He bobbed and weaved, trying to swing at the head without losing his footing on the treacherously slick floor. He cut the plesiosaur a couple more times, but it was too fast to get a good hit on it. Alexander backed away from the falls, trying to get to the dry rock in hopes that the plesiosaur would give up the chase. In his retreat Alexander bumped his head against something metallic. It was the automaton.

‘Damn it, can’t you see I’m in the middle of something!’ he said angrily, taking a swipe at the ball. He struck it flush, sending the automaton careening toward the plesiosaur.

The automaton bumped it in the nose, and hung there.

The plesiosaur barked at the automaton, and then it snapped at it. The automaton disappeared into the plesiosaur’s mouth. The plesiosaur shook its head, and then, seemingly unable to bite down on the automaton, it tried to swallow the ball whole.

Alexander watched the plesiosaur try to force the ball down its throat, a noticeable lump appeared behind the jaw, but there it stopped. The plesiosaur’s neck undulated repeatedly as it tried and tried again to swallow the automaton. That didn’t work. The plesiosaur convulsed, obviously trying to spit it out, but again no matter how hard it tried it couldn’t dislodge the automaton. It was too big to go in and too big to get out.

The plesiosaur went into a panic, thrashing around madly, eyes staring wide as it desperately tried to get the automaton out of its throat. Alexander stepped away, not wanting to get beaten to death. He was safe now, and it was obvious that the plesiosaur was going to choke to death on the automatonbut he was struck with pity. It was a horrible thing to watch, and he completely forgot the plesiosaur was trying to eat him a moment prior.

The plesiosaur was weakening.

He should dispatch it, he thought, and put it out of its misery. The plesiosaur was nearly prone now, its thrashing growing weaker by the moment. The long neck lay on the grotto floor as if on the block. It would take just one stroke and he’d have meat for a year.

He approached the plesiosaur. The animal’s eye rolled back and looked at himit couldn’t have looked more like a seal’s expression of pleading. It didn’t make any move to defend itself, it just kept choking weakly.

‘Damn me for an idiot!’ Alexander cursed, and he sheathed his sword. Moving over the plesiosaur, he straddled the waist-thick neck. Reaching around he placed his arms below and behind the lump where the automaton lodged and heaved upward. The plesiosaur gave a strangled bark and the automaton bounded across the rock floor with a clang.

Alexander leapt away from the plesiosaur.

The automaton struggled back into the air, its red eye turning this way and that.

The plesiosaur lay there wheezing; but its eye remained fixed on Alexander. For a full minute it just lay there breathing. Finally, it raised its head and turned toward him, barking furiously.

‘Haven’t you had enough, Nessie?’ Alexander shouted, and he drew his sword.

The plesiosaur barked at him, turned around, waddled like a huge seal to the falls and dove into the water.

‘Are Terrans always this magnanimous?’

Alexander looked at the automaton. ‘What are you squawking about now?’

The automaton floated upwardAlexander interpreted it as the equivalent of a shrug.

‘You could have killed it easily enough; it was near death already.’

‘Why kill it; it was helpless at that point and no danger to me,’ Alexander said, taking advantage of the encounter to make a point. ‘Terrans don’t kill for the sake of killing, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘But it could have turned on you after it recovered.’

‘Plenty of time to kill it then,’ Alexander said, and he retrieved his torch and relit it. He went to the rear of the cave, getting back to the business of survival, wondering whether there was some defensible nook he could use for a bedroom.

‘If Nessie betrayed my magnanimity, as you put it,’ he said, turning the encounter into the galactic situation in microcosm, ‘I’d hunt her down and kill her. As it is, she hasn’t betrayed me, so I expect we’ll get along just fine.’

‘Nessie,’ the automaton mused. ‘Do Terrans always give personal names to their adversaries?’

‘This animal reminds me of a creature we have at home in Loch Ness, we call her Nessieit’s natural transference or something like that.’

‘And Terrans are familiar with this Nessie?’

‘Of course,’ Alexander smiled. ‘She’s something of a pet.’

‘Terrans keep fearsome pets.’

‘Remember that if you try and settle our planet,’ Alexander muttered, as if to himself, but so the probe could plainly hear him. Then he found what he wanted. It was a round niche about three meters in diameter hollowed out by the river. It was small enough so that he could build a barricade, but large enough that he wouldn’t suffocate in his sleep.

‘It’s going to get cold in here,’ he said aloud.

The cave explored, Alexander had some ideas. A first thing first, night was coming on and fire would give him some measure of comfort and protection. He collected wood from outside the cave. Getting it back in gave him another idea, as the longer branches kept getting wedged in the rocks. He collected enough wood for a fire, and then gathered together some long branches, small trees, and some vines.

As he was doing this he heard a commotion in the lake. He hopped up onto a rock, being careful to scan the area around and above him. A hundred meters away three of the plesiosaurs were fighting. It soon became apparent that two were attacking the thirdit was the wounded plesiosaur Alexander fought.

‘I’m not going to waste the energy of saving you just to let a couple of bullies kill you!’ He swung out his express rifle and set it as low as it would go. He took two quick shots. Crack! Crack! A blossom of dim flame impacted each of the offending plesiosaurs. They screeched and dove into the waters.

Nessie looked his way, and seemed about to swim away. He lowered his gun and waved. She swam off into the lake, glancing back at him now and again as if she wondered what in the world he was doing.

Alexander enjoyed the moment, if for no other reason that he hated bullies. He’d grown into his NFL frame late, and spent most of his school years as the smallest guy on every team; the little Napoleon with a chip on his shoulder. When he grew to manhood and came into the NFL he was playing against all the boys who’d beaten up on him in his youthfiguratively, at least. It was payback time. It was still part of his character.

‘So you enjoy interfering with the laws of nature; is that another Terran trait?’

‘I made an investment in Nessie,’ Alexander told the automaton. ‘We Terrans like to give other beings a second chance, and see if they’ve learned from it.’

‘Altruism seems out of character.’

‘Then you don’t understand us,’ Alexander said. The sun was setting, and the chorus of howls welcoming the coming night began. It was time to get indoors.

One of the bear creatures thought so too and apparently its cave was close to Alexander’s entrance. They approached the same area, and as they drew closer to each other the bear became increasingly agitated. Alexander didn’t bother with the sword. This animal was larger than a grizzly and with an extra set of claws. When it approached within twenty meters he yelled at it.

It stood and bellowed.

He approached it, trying to be the aggressor and scare it off.

It charged.

He shot it, but the shot didn’t stop it, it made it angrier.

‘Damn!’ Alexander cursed; he’d forgotten to reset the rifle! He shoved the intensity lever forward and shot again. Crack! The rifle discharged into the bear’s chest and it skidded to a stop a meter away. ‘Damn me for a fool! I’m too busy talking to a bloody piece of metal to pay attention to my business! Damn!’

‘I suppose I don’t warrant a name,’ the automaton said morosely.

Alexander glanced at it, and said, ‘What? You want a name?’

‘It’s not in my programming, not specifically, but I am programmed with certain emotions so that I may better communicate with the gladiators. I’m intrigued by the idea. What would you call me?’

‘Bob.’

‘Bob?’

‘Yes, Bob; you remind me of a game show hostin a good way.’

Alexander skinned the bear as quickly as he could, taking the head and cutting off the paws. He dragged the skin into the grotto and returned to the carcass for meat. Several scavengers were already at the carcass. He shot the first on low and they scatteredthis time he remembered to return it to high.

He didn’t waste time cutting steaks but lopped off one of the hind legs. It was getting dark. Alexander grabbed the lower end of the leg above the ankle joint and heaved the hundred pound leg over his shoulder. Then he heard a low growl. He looked up to see an enormous shadow not twenty meters away.

It was the Tyrannosaurus.

Alexander had the leg over one shoulder, and his express rifle, the only weapon that might harm the Tyrannosaurs, was slung over the other shoulder. He drew his blaster pistol with his free handthough he doubted it would do anything but irritate the Tyrannosaurus. Slowly he backed away.

The Tyrannosaurus stepped toward the carcass, or him, he couldn’t tell which.

Alexander shuffled backwards, but he couldn’t be sure exactly where the entrance to his grotto wasit was deep twilight and several of the deep shadows behind him could be the entrance.

The Tyrannosaurus reached the carcass and sniffed at it.

‘It’s all yours, big fella,’ Alexander said. ‘I’ll just take my little morsel and leave you aloneif that’s alright.’

The dinosaur growled at him, and then sniffed the air. He cocked his head, as if Alexander’s scent was familiar. Could it possibly remember him from the scent in the canyon? Alexander stole a glance back. The entrance was a black slash of shadow hidden amongst the spray. He saw it about five meters to his leftat least he thought that was it.

He wanted to dash for it, but running from a predator was a sure way to be chased. If he was wrong about the opening he’d be dead.

The Tyrannosaurus stepped over the carcass and took another step toward him.

‘Eat it, Rex; consider it a gift!’ Alexander said loudly.

The Tyrannosaurus took another step toward him, and then another. It was ten meters away.

‘This had better be the door,’ Alexander whispered as he reached the shadow.

CHAPTER 35: More Politics

‘Ambassador Perowsk what can I do for you?’ She-Rok asked soothingly. The Syraptose were not the most aggressive of species, and Perowsk was particularly squeamish. The gun shook violently in his hand, and She-Rok’s greatest concern was the Syraptose discharging it accidentally.

‘You were talking with Grand Admiral Koor; I saw you!’

‘Isn’t that what you want us to doto talk?’

‘It’s the plotting that has us worried. We know you’re up to something. Left to yourselves that’s not so bad, but the Golkos want hegemony. They want the Chem out of the way.’

‘That’s between the Golkos and the Chem; it’s certainly not in the interests of the Hrang.’

Perowsk wiped the sweat from his clammy forehead, waving the gun around erratically. ‘You don’t understand, She-Rok, they’re using you to get the Terrans to beat down the Chem.’

‘Your point?’

‘If the Chem are neutralized that leaves us alone in space against Alexander,’ he said firmly. ‘Terra lies between the Syraptose Empire and the rest of the Galactics. No one could come to our aid. You’d leave us to die!’

‘Calm yourself, Ambassador Perowsk,’ SheRok smiled. ‘Nothing could be farther from the truth. Besides, isn’t it the Syraptose philosophy that any issue can be resolved by dialogue regardless of the nature of the parties?’

‘That is true,’ Perosk admitted, lifting the gun. ‘Five hundred millennia past when the Golkos Armada swept into Syraptose space we sacrificed a dozen worlds before finally reaching a dialogue with them.’

‘As I recall, the Golkos ships could carry no more plunder and they’d expended all their fuel in destroying and plundering and entire sector. The Golkos Armada was stranded in space and lost. It was a testament to exhausting your enemies to deathif nothing else.’

‘There is a great deal of debate about that, but I happen to believe appeasement and dialogue were the correct strategy then, and now.’

‘Then why worry?’

‘Under the Golkos lead there will be no dialogue, and the Syraptose will be left hanging on the vine alone!’

‘My friend, I’ve already spoken to Kvel Mavec. The Kempec will be instrumental in our strategythey share your desire for dialogue, and the Golkos trust them.’

‘Then you aren’t trying to undermine our position?’

‘Quite the contrary, the Hrang are simply trying to gather as much information on Terra as we canwe can’t trust what the Scythians told us all these periums.’

Perowsk holstered his gun, and nodded. He disappeared without another word, hurrying down the corridor as if the Golkos were after him.

‘It’s a wonder that species still survives,’ She-Rok sighed.

The Elder drew a crystal decanter of wine from the cabinet in his office. He poured two glasses and handed one to Nazeera. Then he turned away, sipping at the wine. ‘I’m old Nazeera, not blind. Tell me what just happened in there.’

Nazeera took a deep breath. She’d composed her answer some time ago, and it came easily from her lips, ‘Unfortunately Bureel misconstrued a comment I made. He acted on his own, but with the belief that he was acting in my name. I’ve counseled him on it. It won’t happen again.’

‘I told you I was not blind!’ the Elder said vehemently. ‘What’s going on in your House Nazeera? I know you too well to think this is some sort of misunderstanding. You expect me to believe that Bureel would even consider using your name? It’s unthinkable, unless he has something over your head. He’s a conniving devil, that one. I was angry with your father when he sanctioned this marriage, and I’m still angry! I knew trouble would come of it.

‘Bureel’s influence grows daily. The populace enjoys talk of expanded horizons, and a return to Chem’s ancient glories. What he failed to mention in his speeches was the nature of the galaxy then, wild and uncivilized, with half a dozen new space faring races fighting for hegemony. The galaxy is a very different place now. War brings a greater price with it today, if only because we have so much more to lose. I won’t drag Chem down such a road without great need.

‘That is, however, Bureel’s purpose, as I read it. Dynamic times are ripe with the opportunity for meteoric gains in power. I know he has his eyes set on your seat, and I have a feeling he’s been eyeing my own. I expect you to one day assume the High Chair of the Elder, Nazeera. You are the best and brightest Chem can produce, but what goes on with you now?’

‘You ask a difficult question, Elder,’ she told him. ‘As you know I have dealt with the Terran almost exclusively.’

‘Yes, yes I’ve read your reports,’ he said impatiently. ‘They are at once most thorough, and completely devoid of information.’

‘In what way,’ Nazeera asked in surprise.

‘I asked you to interrogate the Terran because of your insight, your ability to see through the mask to the truth.’ He said. ‘I didn’t find that in any of your analysis. Your facts are most thorough. Your conclusions are most vague.’

‘That was my conclusion as well, Elder,’ she said. ‘My reports reflect my opinions. I am not certain what to make of this Terran, whether to believe him or not.’

‘Rubbish!’ the Elder snapped. ‘You have your mind made up. I can see it in your eyes. I won’t delve any further. I’m afraid of what I may find. This situation is growing far more complex and fraught with dangers than even I could foresee. The Chem Empire looks to your House to stabilize us in these times of upheaval. We can afford no more distress, and certainly no scandal, on the part of the House of Nazeera; is that understood? See to it, but be discrete, even beyond what is expected in politics!’

‘Might I suggest a course of action, Elder?’ Nazeera asked.

‘Go ahead,’ he said grimly.

‘Allow Bureel’s challenge to go forward,’ she said gravely, ‘What’s more make a point of parliamentary honor and hold no vote. Bring the Terran back from Pantrixnia and hold the challenge before the Assemblage.’

‘Absolutely not,’ the Elder thundered. ‘Have you forgotten Chem law? If a mortal challenge is undertaken by the male of a house, even if he is not considered master of the house, it can result in the complete loss of your lands, wealth and even your position. Your entire family would be destitute at a time when Chem needs the strength and wisdom of your House, Nazeera. I cannot allow such a possibility!’

‘There is another possibility, Elder, one which has interesting implications,’ Nazeera offered.

‘Maybe so, but I will consider no challenge, or any other course of action, until I know more,’ the Elder told her emphatically. ‘You stated so yourself in your final report. Although the Terran’s story is consistent with the current evidence we have there is nothing to disprove the notion that the Terrans and Scythians are in collusion. At the moment, we help ourselves with the pragmatic course you’ve chosen. The Armada will continue to mobilize and arm. In the mean time, we have a scout ship dispatched to Terra, on your advice. It should report within the decand. Then we’ll have the true status of Terran preparations for war. We can afford no guesswork in this.

‘If, as you suspect, the Scythians are arming a previously ignorant Terra then it may then be to our advantage to bypass the Terran system and strike directly at Scythia. I see no advantage in destroying a race seeking only to defend itself. If there is evidence of Terran preparations for aggression, meaning we’ve been right all along, we’ll have no choice but to destroy the Terran system while we can, and then move on to Scythia. Either way we shall teach the Scythians a painful lesson, and if necessary we will rid the galaxy of a dangerous tool by destroying Terra!’

‘How shall we know for certain if the Terran lied and a Scythian-Terran connection exists? If the Scythians plan was to use them as mercenary troops, and their link to Terra is as ancient as they say, what will we find on Terra that will illuminate us?’

‘Meaning an ignorant Terra may well appear similar to a guilty Terra,’ the Elder said. ‘Both versions would be planet bound, but arming, and likely shipping out troops to Scythia for Scythian defense. The motive on the guilty hand would be a long-standing agreement between Scythia and Terra. The motive on the ignorant hand would be that the Scythians would not agree to arm the Terrans without a price. It is an important distinction. The Scythians, worms that they are, are the finest liars in the galaxy. How do you tell when a liar is lying? In this case the fate of a race hangs in the balance. I can see no clear-cut answer, Nazeera, except to continue on our present course. We shall prepare for war. Hopefully, our scouts will be able to provide us with definitive evidence, one way or the other.’

‘So it is your opinion that the challenge of Bureel must wait,’ Nazeera asked.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ the Elder nodded. ‘If our reports indicate that Terra is no threat to us or the rest of the galaxy I will allow the challenge of Bureel, loath though I am to see your house ended. I don’t see Bureel as being successful in that suit.’

‘I will deal with that problem when it arises. Still, the delay will mean at least another ten decurns for the Terran on Pantrixnia,’ Nazeera noted.

‘A small matter considering the importance of everything else,’ the Elder told her. ‘I’m not blind to your regard for the Terran, Nazeera. You’ve had a great deal of contact with him and his conduct is admirable. It will be all the more painful, and dangerous, if we find that this admirable character is wrapped in a package of deceit.’

‘There is nothing in his memory patterns to indicate any such thing,’ Nazeera reminded him. ‘He has a rather vindictive attitude towards the Scythians, and his memory patterns give him good reason for this.’

The Elder looked troubled, saying, ‘Memory patterns are powerful drivers in emotional beings such as the Chem, or the Terrans. The Scythians admit being able to repress them, but are they capable of manipulating them?’

‘You think Alexander might be altered, and planted? That is giving the Scythians a great deal of credit for cunning.’ Nazeera replied.

‘How can we know? That is what we are faced with, Nazeera, uncertainty at every step. Alexander is making this a difficult and dangerous decision. It’s his potential I fear. From what he’s shown us he’d make a difficult adversary, just by his resourcefulness and prowess, but there’s more. You’ve already noticed in your personal contacts that he can be charming and persuasive. A formidable foe that is openly hostile, or at least predictable, is dangerous. A formidable foe that is neither is deadly. How do we answer this riddle? How do we read Terrans when by all the accounts of his own memories they cannot even read each other? They are to be feared.’

‘There is that in them, Elder,’ Nazeera said gravely, ‘but I trust my Chem instincts, at least as far as Alexander is concerned.’

‘Well, then you will be perfect to lead the Armada,’ the Elder told her. ‘If he is true then Terra will have nothing to fear from their cousins of Chem. If he is false then their many gods will not help them against your fury.’

‘We may never know the truth of Alexander,’ she reminded him. ‘A decand on Pantrixnia is a long time.’

‘I shouldn’t wonder that by that time he’ll have the entire populace won over and calling for his return.’ The Elder told her, and then he chuckled. ‘Don’t worry over the Terran, Nazeera. Give him a decand and he’ll make a pet out of the King of Carnivores!’

CHAPTER 36: The Frontier Life

The shadow turned out to be the entrance to the grotto. Once inside, Alexander sighed with genuine relief. He succeededhe thoughtin hiding his very real fears from Bob the automaton. To be honest, the encounter scared the crap out of him.

The Tyrannosaurus poked its nose into the entrance of the grotto, but that’s as far as it could go. Alexander slapped it on the nose with the flat of his blade. Rex retreated and feasted on the rest of the bear.

Alexander was too wound up to sleep for a long time. He built a fire and roasted some meat. The rest he cut into strips along with the snake meat and tried to smoke them.

When he was too weary to continue he dragged the bear rug into the bedroom. Then he put a pile of long branches and small trees in front of and over the opening. If anything came into his grotto it would wake him up as it made its way through the barrierso he hoped. Then he dozed off.

Alexander awoke to a dazzling green light.

His first thought was the Scythians or the Chem, but then he realized it was just the sunrise through the green curtain of water.

There was a present in his living room; a fifty pound fish laid on the wet rock of the grotto. It wasn’t there by accident. There was a large semi-circle of teeth marks on the flank of the silver fish.

‘I think I’ve made a friend,’ he said, and then he sighed. ‘It’s a shame I hate fish.’

Alexander’s ‘house’ was coming along nicely. It took many risky forays for him to get the wood and vines he required but when that chore was complete he started construction. He wanted to accomplish three things initially with his work: safety, comfort and food. The food was the easiest. There was plenty of game to hunt, but he didn’t need toevery morning he had fresh fish waiting for him in his living room.

For comfort he rigged a rude hammock, again out of small vines. He hung it in the rear of the grotto between two tripods of sturdy branches. He walled off his bedroom with sturdy branches. They wouldn’t keep a large carnivore out, but they’d slow it down enough so he could shoot it at his leisure.

His primary, and most challenging, problem was now that of safety. He needed something that would block entrance to the cave. Doors were the answer, but they were impossible to engineer, so he set about to build a barrier and gate. He cut logs thick as his leg with his sword and then lashed them together into a wall. He wedged one side of this wall into a crack at the entrance to the grotto. The other end was kept in place by braces wedged into the stone. He made the door of smaller branches lashed and woven together. When placed against the wall he braced it from the inside with logs. The first project took two days. The last took a good deal longer, but as Alexander soon learned he had plenty of time.

The grotto became the center of his new existence, and theoretically he’d never have to leave it. He had food, water, shelter and sometimes even company.

Nessie appeared every once and a while, poking her head through the curtain of water to see what he was doing. He threw her some bear meat and she seemed to like it. On his third morning in the grotto he woke up to find the plesiosaur snoring on his living room floor like an enormous seal. Thereafter, Nessie spent her nights sleeping in the safety of his grotto.

Still, as safe as his new residence might be compared to sleeping in the jungle it was as good as a prison. Therefore, even when he had projects unfinished, he left the confines of his haven and explored.

His explorations had their own rewards far beyond what he could have imagined in his former, duller life. The one adventure he recalled for the rest of his days happened on his sixth day on Pantrixnia.

Alexander now knew the land thereabout well. He returned to the Tyrannosaur’s canyon, arriving just in time to watch the Tyrannosaurus wake from its afternoon nap. He sat down with his constant companion, Bob the automaton, on the edge of the cliff and watched. From his vantage point at the bend he could see both the waterfall and the jungle below. It was an awe inspiring view. The Tyrannosaurus looked very different in the full sunlight of noon, when the rays penetrated the high walls of the canyon. Its coloration changed, reflecting the magnificence of evolutionary perfection. In the shadows its hide disappeared into mottling bands of dark shiny greens. Yet now, revealed by the sunlight, the hide glistened vibrantly with an overall winter sea green cut with swaths of bright purplish banding. Alexander was enthralled. From his perspective there could be no argument. The King of the Tyrant Lizards was indeed the pinnacle of galactic creation.

The Tyrannosaurus was just stirring. Lifting its muscled bulk from its sun baked rock it stalked over to the falls and stood under the shower of water for a half hour, drinking deeply. When it left the waterfall it shook. Thus far he’d seen nothing new, but he was simply enjoying watching the leviathan. Then the Tyrannosaurus did something extraordinary. It stretched, and then started to go through the motions of stalking, lowering its head and raising it feet in exaggerated steps. It went back and forth in the hidden end of the canyon, stalking and pouncing.

Then it made a mad dash down the canyon, but it stopped at the bend and ran right back, leaping feet first into the pool. There was an enormous splash, and when it settled the Tyrannosaurus sunk into the water, alligator-like, with only it’s the top of its skull showing. It lay there, breathing silently, for several minutes. Slowly the massive head rose out of the watera leering grin of teeth and scales.

It erupted from the pool and dashed back to the bend, only to again turn around and plunge madly back into the pool. Up to this point the entire performance was silent, except for the sounds of the enormous body bounding across the stone and into the water.

Alexander was mystified.

He watched the Tyrannosaurus repeat the same procedure in the pool, lifting its dripping head slowly out of the water like some ancient dragon about to pounce upon an unsuspecting knight. Again the Tyrannosaurus burst from the water and ran with incredible speed down the canyon. This time, however, it did not stop at the bend. It continued full force down the canyon and began to bellow. It leapt head first into the jungle roaring and bellowing.

The jungle exploded. Animals from kilometers around trumpeted and screamed in sheer unadulterated panic. Flocks of birds sprang from the canopy as far as the eye could see, their squawking adding to the already rising crescendo of the forest. The sound of trampled undergrowth, the shaking of the earth beaten under heavy feet, trumpets, honks, roars, and screams all preceded the bassoon bellows of the mighty lord. The Tyrannosaurus kept it up for a good five minutes. Alexander could occasionally catch glimpses of it in the forest, but it was primarily by following the aural catastrophe by which he kept track of the king of beasts.

The bellowing finally ceased and the Tyrannosaurus returned, leaving its kingdom in fear and confusion. Panting with obvious pleasure it stalked back up the canyon and placed itself under its waterfall. After another half an hour it shook, and went back to sleep, leaving Alexander in jaw hanging wonder.

Alexander finished the gates on his ninth day on Pantrixnia. His establishment in the grotto signaled the beginning of a relatively routine existence. Pantrixnia abounded with dangers, but Alexander was beginning to gauge the limit by which he could live. He could move about during the day with a reasonable amount of security, but venturing out at night was completely out of the question.

Alexander learned that the hard way after being careless enough to watch the Pantrixnia sunset from the ridge above the Tyrannosaur’s lair. It was a wondrous evening with the sky dying through crimson, purple, and finally a velvet black studded with jewels. There was no moon on Pantrixnia, and the heavy air allowed only the brightest stars to twinkle through; as soon as the sun slipped beneath the ocean, blackness overtook the world.

Alexander was only a half mile from his grotto, but it may as well have been the other side of the planet. He scrambled with difficulty over the ridge, which in places was dangerously narrow. During daylight hours the precipice was no great problem, but there was no darkness that equaled the night on Pantrixnia, unless it was the perpetual night in the deepest caves of the world. Alexander had been under the midnight of Mount St. Helen’s eruption and he remembered the eerie pitch of that world, but there the ash also absorbed all sound.

Pantrixnia at night was a symphony of a planet gone mad.

Alexander picked his way slowly over the slippery rock, ever mindful of the twenty to thirty meter fall on his right. He took enormous care, but was saved twice only by the clinging vines that hung from the slope to his left. The anxious moments occurred when he traversed two of the innumerable small waterfalls. Moss and slime coated the rock beneath his boots. The moss afforded him specious purchase at best, and on both occasions it gave way suddenly beneath him. In the first instance he suffered only from the face first fall to the stone, but the second time he lost all footing. He slid uncontrollably down the muddy rock until he caught blindly at a tangle of vines, his legs dangling into space.

‘Third time’s a charm, Alexander, this is a mess of your own making! It does no good to be complacent about this place. It’s unforgiving to the stupid!’ he said, berating himself after climbing back up to the trail. He persisted across the ridge. As he neared the ridge, sounds in front and behind brought him to a halt. In the gloom his inadequate eyes discerned shadows slightly darker than the shadow of the rock. They were roughly man size, and several were before and after him. Without waiting, he raised his gun, wrapping his left arm around a nearby vine. Blindly he fired a volley of shots ahead of him, being rewarded by the momentary sight of half a dozen wolf-like shapes barking and writhing under his fire.

He swung back to shoot those behind, feeling them nearing his unprotected flank, but too late. Just as he pressed the contact a heavy body slammed against him, tearing the vine out of his hand and crushing him against the rock. The creature was easily his own mass, and Alexander felt the breath forced out of his lungs as he crashed against the ridge. A slavering jaw closed about his armored arm, and he continued to fire blindly. There were grunts and growls, and the smell of burned flesh, but they dimmed as heavy talons raked his forehead. Then the ground beneath him moved.

He fought desperately and viciously, beating, firing, even feeling the heat of fur and blood between his teeth; then the ground gave way and they were in space, locked in a life and death struggle.

Alexander fell from the trail and into the inky darkness of the Pantrixnian night.

CHAPTER 37: Adventure to Exile

Somehow, fortune didn’t quite desert Alexander. The twenty meter plunge landed him on top of the beast, and its body provided a cushion for the impact. The splintering of bones beneath him and the popping of soft flesh signaled the end of the carnivore, and Alexander’s salvation. Dazed, but otherwise conscious and alive he staggered up, slipping on the mush that was now the carnivore’s corpse. As he reached his feet an assembly of howls broke all around him.

Blindly he fired in the most strident direction of the cacophony. Both blasters spat time and again, burning into the angry pack, but the beams began to dim almost immediately. In a moment’s time Alexander’s two blaster pistols were useless.

He drew his sword.

The carnivores were on him. He hacked and slashed at the shaggy shadows and gleaming eyes. Twice the beasts knocked him from his feet, but each time he forced his way up through the writhing tornado of blood, fur and teeth. Alexander instinctively returned to that inner world of red icy rage which served him through so many lives. It was rage at his stupidity, and an egotistical primal rage aimed at any creature that dared threaten his right to live.

Alexander’s strength burst forth like water through a dam and he shouldered his way through the lanky shapes, slashing limbs, and spraying the canyon with showers of blood from his sharp Chem sword. He didn’t think. Time was too precious for anything but instinct in the melee. The fight whirled around him like a fog, but he saw every beast, knew every intended move and acted instinctively before necessity made it too late. Alexander reached a rhythm in his slaughter, where the cold calculation of the mind becomes a detached master guiding the body’s future movements and leaving the present to the flesh.

Then, just as terribly as it began, it ended. Alexander was alone in the canyon, with only the fading yelps of the maimed and defeated. Shaking the blood from his eyes he slowly came down from his mountain of fury. As he did so his senses expanded their range of attention, heretofore shortened to the immediate necessity of the battle.

The forest was alive with his raucous activity, and by the sound of it carnivores were searching out the battlefield, intent on the spoils. Alexander growled to himself, still angry that his complacency had landed him in such a spot. He didn’t have much time for self reflection; however, as once again he’d forgotten his location. The fight was only two hundred meters from the Pantrixnian Lord’s lair, and the enormous shadow looming at the canyon entrance was as unmistakable as it was unwelcome.

‘Well, what do you want, Rex?’ Alexander demanded, and not at all pleasantly. He shook his sword. ‘Don’t even think about it, I’m not in the mood; if you need a snack take one of these curs! I’ll not sleep in your belly tonight!’

Alexander grappled and then heaved one of the wolves down the slope at Rex, who growled menacingly at his tone and action. Still, the dinosaur did not charge, rather its dark shape, stunningly huge in the glooms of the night, padded forward to the corpse. It snuffed at it and then snorted. Another low growl emanated from the cavernous throat and suddenly those two meter jaws plunged down and plucked the carnivore from the stones like a doll.

Alexander watched in awe as the Tyrannosaurus shook the corpse so violently that the body separated with a resounding snap, showering him with bloody chunks of flesh and innards. Then, as if in disgust the dinosaur tossed the remains high into the night air where it landed at Alexander’s feet.

Rex roared at him.

‘Very well, you’ve made your point,’ Alexander admitted. ‘You’re not a scavenger.’

Rex snorted so hard that Alexander caught the warm wind of its breath. Then it turned, bellowing, and plunged into the forest with the obvious intent on wreaking havoc.

‘Touchy!’ Alexander told himself, though, of course, he was not the only audience to his night’s adventures.

‘You seem rather certain of your superiority, Alexander,’ Bob noted. ‘This was quite an evening. You dare the Pantrixnian night, slaughter thirteen Kalvrones, and insult the galaxy’s greatest carnivore. Tell me, and the galaxy, Alexander, are you that arrogant or are you simply extraordinarily lucky?’

‘Sometimes I am simply extraordinarily stupid, Bob.’ He started carefully down the jumbled slope of the canyon.

‘That’s an interesting comment, considering it comes from the longest lived nonresident of Pantrixnia. Indeed, this night you add to your record by a full fifty percent, completely eclipsing the mark set by Zunthrug the Bold. That’s a significant accomplishment, Alexander of Terra, and one which has not gone without notice.’

‘What do you mean? Am I to be granted a reprieve? Better yet, has that sniveling worm Bureel finally remembered his noble heritage and agreed to my challenge?’

‘Nothing so staggering,’ Bob admitted. ‘I apologize for getting your hopes up. My intent was merely to inform you that you have ranked amongst the highest rated personalities on the ethernet, not just in Chem but throughout the galaxy! You are on everyone’s after dinner schedule.’

Alexander stopped suddenly, and turned to the automaton. ‘I had no idea,’ he mused. ‘I send greetings to all who watch, both from me and from Terra. Take from my trials what you will, but I will offer you an ancient Terran saying for your reflection, ‘Don’t tread on me.’

‘Treat us as your equals and we will enter the Galactic family peaceably and with reverence for your accomplishments. Threaten us, and we will respond in kind with ferocity you cannot imagine. Think carefully how you treat us. You do not understand your peril.’

‘That is a dire warning, Alexander, and I expect the majority of the warning is directed towards the people of Chem.’

‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ Alexander cautioned. ‘I have a great deal of respect for the people of Chem. Yet the course of an honorable people can often be twisted by ignorance and trepidation. If my sacrifice on Pantrixnia can ease the transition of Terra into the Galactic neighborhood, and do so in peace, then I shall die well.’

‘You speak with great finality, Alexander.’

‘I’m banished here,’ Alexander said in the darkness, making his way with difficulty through the jungle. ‘Unless I discover how to build a starship out of vines and logs this is the veritable definition of finality.’

‘Is that regret?’

‘Certainly,’ Alexander replied gruffly, striking a path toward the river. He was seemingly unconcerned about the noise he was making, and for good reason. In the not so distant jungle Rex was still raising Cain in its kingdom.

Alexander knew the way, but it still wasn’t easy. Mother Nature was especially stingy when she designed Terrans for coping at night. Compared to the denizens of the jungle he was stone blind. Night was where his grotto really made the difference between survival and death. He was sure that other beings, equally capable of surviving on this world as he, failed simply because of protracted exhaustion.

Bob stayed with him, finally asking Alexander to expand on his last comment. Alexander growled, ‘What do you think? A planet bound people are suddenly informed of the civilized galaxy through threat and intrigue? We have dreams and aspirations of the wonders which you take for granted. We are warriors, yes, I readily admit that. We have our faults, but we are not without virtue. I regret that the galaxy decided its opinion of us before we could debate it. I shall die with that thought on my head; I shall most probably die with the slight of that dog Bureel rattling in my ears, without any chance for satisfaction! Regrets? Yes, I am full of them, but there is also contentment. I got to know the noble Nazeera, and in her I saw understanding and wisdom; so I’m not without hope of justice for my people, even though I shall never see it.’

‘You wander with great facility between the brusque and the eloquent, Alexander.’ Bob answered, and then maintained its silence throughout the rest of Alexander’s trek through the jungle.

The way wasn’t easy, especially when he came to the river. Alexander had to shoot his way into the grotto. A dozen huge crocodiles smelt him out. They forced him into a tree, and it was there that he discovered the rifle had a night scope. It was possibly the only pleasant discovery of the evening, and it was the only reason he was able to get to the grotto at all. He picked off four of the massive creatures before the rest scattered into the water. Minutes later Alexander barred the entrance to the grotto, and heaved a sigh of relief.

Nessie barked her greeting and lay back down to sleep.

‘Congratulations, Alexander of Terra. The populace of Chem passes on their appreciation for an exciting evening. There is one other message I am to pass on. It is my honor to relay a message from Nazeera of the Triumvirate of Chem.

Alexander looked up with renewed vigor at her lovely face playing on small hologram transmitted by the automaton.

‘Greetings and congratulations Alexander of Terra, it has been some time since I enjoyed our meeting on the Chem Homeworld. I see now that the honor and resolve which you displayed before me and the entire Assemblage was genuine. Your exploits earn you renown amongst the most extraordinary figures of our time. We rejoice at your courage and prowess. You have our best wishes for continued success.’

Alexander read between the lines. Nazeera still believed in him. He knew that she hadn’t betrayed him at the Tyrannosaur’s canyon; it was simply another trick of Bureel’s. He didn’t wonder that they had spent so short a time together. The feeling was right, somehow. Marooned on this hellish planet he cherished that sentiment, as it was the only comfort he had.

Alexander awoke the next day with renewed spirits.

Nessie poked her head into the grotto and tossed him a fish.

He cleaned it, humming to himself, almost happy. He was putting the fish on the fire when he noticed something was different. Bob wasn’t there.

Alexander ate, and afterwards went outside. Perhaps the more mundane activities of his existence were wearing thin on the audience. The day wore on; Bob was nowhere to be found. The next day was the same, and the next. On the fourth day Alexander lost all hope of Bob returning or being replaced.

He was alone on Pantrixnia. Exiled. He’d spend the rest of his life on the hellish planet with no hope of ever seeing or talking to another sentient being again.

CHAPTER 38: The Armada Sails

The lights of Nazeera’s office were low. The ethernet was broadcasting a special on Alexander. It was a documentary with the title ‘Alexander of Terra, Conqueror or Friend?’ It was typical journalistic sensationalism. They sought to weave a connection between the ancient Alexander of galactic legend, and this new Alexander. There was little real information available on either Terran, so it was amusing in its conjecture.

She smiled. The ordeal was almost at an end. Once the scout ship sent its report Alexander would be retrieved. She’d command the ship herself. Within a decurn Bureel would be dead, and she would be …

There was a light knock on the door and Nazar poked his head in, telling her earnestly, ‘The Elder has called an emergency meeting of the Assemblage.’

They left immediately, arriving at the Assemblage hall in a few minutes. Nervous talk pervaded the chamber, but no one knew what it was about. When the Elder finally appeared everyone went dead silent.

‘Nine decurns past, I dispatched a scout ship to the Terran system. The purpose was to determine whether the Terrans were arming for war, or defense.’ His voice was heavy with gravity. ‘The scout ship entered the Terran system this evening. It sent a transmission that I will play in its entirety.’

The viewers brightened all around the room. A blue and white planet came into sight with a companion planet in near proximity. The image jumped in size to show a quarter of the planet. There were tiny bright lights orbiting against the velvet of space. The view magnified again and they lights turned into shipsships unlike anything they’d ever seen.

A voice joined the tape, and the Elder explained, ‘That is Captain Terval, commanding the twenty member crew.’

Terval said, ‘As we noted earlier there are a large number of scans taking place in this system, most emanating from the planet itself. Therefore, this is as close as we can get. The scan system indicates an advanced planetary defense, but what’s interesting is the presence of ships. We’ve identified one hundred and thirty-seven vessels thus far, of which the majority are Scythian cargo freighters. We must assume the rest are Terran, and are obviously warships. The particular vessel in our viewer is in the process of forming a squadron.’

The picture revealed a large vessel coming around the night side of the planet. Unlike the smooth shark-like shapes of galactic warships this ship brazenly sprouted sharp metallic superstructure and weaponry. It made no pretense at being anything other than a warship.

Two other ships of equal size and twenty smaller ships were all in formation. The ships moved slowly away from the planet and into space. Their course would take them past the scout ship, and quite close.

‘We have our screens up so they shouldn’t be able to detect us,’ the Captain said. ‘We should get a very good look at them.’

They did indeed. The battleships paraded majestically across the viewer as it closed in. They made an impression on the Captain.

‘Incredible! I’m reading a full array of weapon systems, defense screens, scanners and superluminal engines. The design is certainly not that of any galactic civilization we know of, so I must assume it’s Terran. I have no definitive analysis on the ship’s complement, the formation is loose and of strange configuration, but as to the ships themselves they are definitely comparable in weapons and defense. Wait a moment. We’ve been spotted!’

A transmission interrupted the picture. It was a large Terran in a black uniform with silver decorations.

‘Alien vessel, this is Captain Thomas of the Battleship Iowa. You’re in Terran space. Maintain your position and prepare for escort. Please acknowledge.’

The Chem Captain gave several curt orders to the crew, and the Assemblage heard the surge of the engines. The Terran squadron was breaking up. Initially, there seemed to be no method, but in a moment it became apparent that the Terrans were attempting to block the Chem escape. Another message came over the Chem’s video ordering the ship to halt or the Terran’s would open fire.

The Chem ship turned away from the squadron, though the viewer still showed the Terran ships. The battleships spread out with a halo of other ships around them.

‘Prepare to engage superluminal engines!’ Captain Terval ordered. The viewer showed the battleships close behind. Suddenly six enormous flashes of flame erupted from the lead ship. The screen went dead.

Silence filled the hall. At length the Elder said, ‘No further communications were received from the scout. None are necessary. Captain Terval and his crew did their duty honorably. His ship was well armed and fast but was nonetheless destroyed. Terran intentions and capabilities are, I think, self explanatory. We are now in a struggle for the very existence of our Empire. I ask for no debate. I put forth a motion of war against the Terran system, and the Scythian Empire. What says the Assemblage?

A chorus of ‘yea’ greeted the Elder. ‘The Armada will sail at the earliest opportunity. Nazeera of the Triumvirate will command the Armada. May fortune follow us,’ he said, and he left the chamber.

The hall burst into a cacophony of conversation, but Nazeera would have none of it. She stormed out of the building, Nazar at her heel, and Bureel watching in evil pleasure.

At home Nazeera raged, ‘How could I be so blind, Nazar? I shall take a ship to Pantrixnia and blast him myself before we destroy his precious planet!’

‘He may not have betrayed you, Nazeera,’ Nazar told her.

‘How can you say that? You saw the Terran Fleet. They’ve been mobilizing for years with the Scythians graciously providing cover!’

‘That may be so,’ Nazar replied, ‘I’m not speaking to that. I’m merely saying that Alexander may be telling the truth, at least as he knows it. His memory tapes give no indication of an advanced Terran space faring capability, or modern technological war fighting capability.’

‘Memory tapes can be altered.’

‘But why alter the tapes and not the memory? If he was so important that the Terrans purposefully put him in our hands then why leave his memory intact? Chances are we would discover the inconsistencies, and fairly soon after that, the truth. Alexander is a pawn in all this. He was truthful about everything to you; to the extent he was able.’

‘Let him live his life out on Pantrixnia then,’ she said bitterly. ‘He is a symbol of my shame and foolishness. I want nothing more to do with him!’ When Nazar attempted to protest she cut him off, ‘I mean it Nazar, nothing more! I could not live with such shame around me.’

‘I can understand your bitterness, dear wife,’ Bureel told her as he entered the room. ‘We must forget such petty thoughts, however, in view of our greater purpose. Once the Terran system and Scythian Empire are under our sway, then there will be time to turn our attentions to smaller matters.’

‘What is it you want Bureel?’ Nazeera asked dangerously.

‘What does every male Chem want, an heir. I’ve let the subject lie far too long. Before I allow you to go into battle I want an heir. It is a valid request, and a legal one.’

‘Leave it alone, Bureel,’ Nazar cautioned. ‘I’m in no mood to listen to your legalities today. The subject can wait until after the war. We are far too concerned with the survival of the Empire to deal with this.’

‘How patriotic of you Nazar,’ he said. ‘I am touched with your far sighted duty to the state. However, this is a personal matter between my wife and me. You would do well to leave it alone. The tribunal does not take kindly to interference in these matters.’

‘He’s right Nazar. You should go.’ Nazeera told him.

Nazar left, but not before he planted himself in Bureel’s face, ‘This will be settled between us one day.’ Then he stomped out.

‘Well, what of my request?’ Bureel asked. ‘I’ll take it to a tribunal the moment I leave this room, if you don’t agree. That would likely result in a rather compromising scandal.’

There was a long pause. Nazeera had no doubt that Bureel would do exactly as he threatened. It was the Empire that made the decision for her. ‘I have conditions, Bureel,’ she told him with finality. ‘You will leave Nazar alone. You will in all appearances, no matter how small, support and conform to the policies of the House of Nazeera. There will be no undermining of my position in the public eye, is that understood?’

‘Understood and accepted,’ Bureel smiled.

Nazeera never claimed any memory of the act, when Bureel finished she showeredshe tried over-rode the computer safety and tried to scald away the stainthen she returned to the Assemblage. She avoided Nazar that entire day, and their dinner was silent. The next day she went to the physician and had the fertilized egg removed. They put it in an incubation cell, and she forgot about it.

CHAPTER 39: Who Is To Be The Next Caesar?

Admiral Augesburcke turned off the tape of ‘Alexander of Terra, Conqueror or Friend?’ and addressed the assembled CODOTS team. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this broadcast aired within the Chem Empire two days before we blew their spy ship out of space. We seem to have answered their question, any thoughts?

‘It was an unfortunate incident, Admiral, but hardly uncalled for,’ Admiral Sampson replied.

‘Maybe, but the timing couldn’t have been worse,’ Doctor Koto said. ‘You see, Alexander single handedly built a bridge of communication between the Chem and Terra. Indeed, he’d been our representative to the galaxy, and we couldn’t have chosen a more effective one.

‘He won their respect, and even their admiration. I’m not blaming the military. Their actions were logical and well justified. The question we now face is, do we give in to the prospect of total war or is there a way to rebuild this bridge of communication?’

‘They’ve stopped transmissions from Pantrixnia,’ Faizah Sadat pointed out. ‘I can’t say that Alexander is portraying the best of Terra, but I must admit it fulfills the need of the situation admirably. If his actions are calculated then he’s an astute individual, if not then we’re very lucky indeed. Either way this is an unfortunate turn of events. We need him whoever he is. However, I don’t see how he can help us anymore.’

‘The Chem cut the transmissions after their formal declaration of war,’ the Admiral told the assembly. ‘They wouldn’t let the media build their adversary into a hero.’

‘But they’ve already done that to a certain extent,’ Doctor Koto said. ‘There is, perhaps, a way we can use that.’

Augesburcke spread his arms wide in resignation. ‘I’m not sure how we can, Doctor. The Chem’s association with Alexander was quite specific. I don’t think they’re going to transfer his qualities to our Fleet. Just because I’m a flag officer and I’ve driven a tank doesn’t make me Rommel. That is our biggest problem, as Ms. Sadat has previously pointed out: our complete lack of legitimacy. We’ll have the ships to face the Chem, but that’s not the point. The military might of Terra is a legend, and we’ve no way to flesh it out.’

‘You’ve hit upon a possible solution, though, Admiral,’ Koto told him. ‘We must associate ourselves with the legends of the galaxy. The Chem must believe that they face the Fleet of Alexander. If their psychology is anything like ours it would be an enormous advantage.’

‘Doctor I hear what you’re saying and I don’t disagree,’ Admiral Augesburcke told him. ‘We’ll put up a good fight, but we’ve got the most inexperienced military in the history of the galaxy. We may be all right in the planetary battles, but in space? I can’t promise any military genius there.’

‘Admiral, you miss my point entirely,’ Koto smiled. ‘We don’t have to do any such thing. The Chem have already done it for us.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We should use Alexander.’ The room went silent, and everybody wondered whether Koto had gone mad. The Doctor stood up and paced around the table. He was excited, as if he’d just discovered the answer to all things great and small. ‘The Chem have already drawn the parallels between our Alexander and Alexander the Great. Look at the past life memories they’ve shown. He’s a violent and powerful man. All of his history confirms this. The Galactic legends say that one day Alexander will return and Terra will conquer the stars. It’s grown into a phobia for them. They’re wondering whether this Alexander is the incarnation of Alexander the Great, and our Alexander has done nothing to make them doubt this.

‘On the contrary he has caused them great doubt and consternation, and at the same time he fascinates them. He’s become a counter culture hero to the galaxy because the establishment fears him. We need Alexander, here, and in command of the Fleet,’ Doctor Koto told them, and he pounded his fist on the table. ‘This one man can give us legitimacy. Even if he’s a figurehead, Alexander may be able to bluff the Chem out of battle. If we offer them an honorable way out they may very well forego a battle with Alexander, and who could blame them?’

‘And what would this honorable way out be?’

‘For that answer we must go to the expert,’ Doctor Koto said. ‘Alexander’s been dealing with the Chem from the beginning. Ms. Sadat is quite correct when she says Alexander is an astute individual, but she doesn’t realize how astute.’

‘In what way, Doctor,’ Sadat asked. ‘He’s the prototypical American ‘Rambo.’ No doubt he was impossible to be around on Terra, but now he’s found his niche and he fits in it quite well.’

‘You’re usually a better guesser, Ms. Sadat,’ Doctor Koto told her colleague, and then he took his seat and elaborated. ‘Alexander Thorsson on Terra is very similar to what we’ve seen, but much more subtle and well rounded.’

‘Explain,’ Augesburcke asked.

‘What we are seeing, ladies and gentleman, is not a new manit’s a makeover. Alexander is Scandinavian and Scottish by birth, areas with rich warrior traditions that Alexander was very proud of. He was also highly intelligent and widely talented. He participated in professional sports and the like, but he was also a painter, a pianist, an avid reader of the classics with a thirst for Shakespeare.’

‘Doesn’t sound like his cup of tea,’ Augesburcke barked.

‘No it doesn’t; does it? You don’t see those qualities in him now, except possibly for the Shakespeare which makes its appearance in his verbiage now and again. What does this mean? It’s actually quite simple. Alexander examined the need at hand and molded himself to meet it.

‘Remember his first experience in Chem hands, the trial, where the Chem proclaimed Alexander as the representative of all Terrans. He tried to argue his way out of it, but failing that he gave the Chem exactly what they were looking for.’

‘You mean he’s portraying a Terran as the Chem wish to see us, or think to see us?’ Sadat looked perturbed. ‘That is taking a huge gamble.’

‘You are not quite correct,’ Koto replied, bringing up two slides showing personality traits along the bottom and columns above them. The traits were common to both charts, but the columns varied in height. ‘This will explain, somewhat. On the left is a personality profile of Alexander before his capture by the Chem, built by myself from interviews from friends, colleagues, family, etc. On the right is Alexander’s personality profile now. All the traits are still there. It is only magnitudes which have changed. We see the character of Alexander change from a well balanced individual to a person with very singular purpose.’

‘He’s adapted to his environment,’ Sadat commented. ‘Impressive, and necessary, I would venture to say that’s what’s kept him alive.’

‘He’s done so very quickly,’ Augesburcke noted. ‘It takes a great deal to accept so radical a change, and then adapt to it. It’s a pity he’s out of reach.’

‘You still don’t quite see,’ Doctor Koto explained, jumping up again and striding round the conference table. ‘You don’t fully appreciate Alexander’s transformation, nor understand why he was able to accomplish it. Both are extraordinarily important points if you are to understand the man, and how he may still be of use to us. You see Alexander’s adaptation didn’t come through acclimatization. It was not, as is the classic scenario, the gradual emergence of survival instincts and traits over time. His change was sudden, indeed it was almost instantaneous. Let me show you the entirety of the Chem trial from the first moment of Alexander’s appearance.’ Koto showed the hologram beginning with a naked Alexander awakening in the Chem cell.

‘We see the humble beginnings of Alexander’s emergence with his realization that he’s not on Terra. He retains the memories of Scythian capture and swiftly ascertains his position. The trial begins and the new Alexander quickly emerges.

He’s built upon the old Alexander, but stressing a new set of needs: strength, courage, a demand for respect. There’s more. Alexander draws upon his ancestor’s warlike nature but he tempers it with honor, a quality the Chem so obviously revere. He builds this new character very quickly, and I’m certain his intention was to portray himself, and Terra, not as we are but as we ought to be.’

‘That is not exactly as I would have chosen,’ Sadat said.

‘Nor is it what any of us would have chosen,’ Koto told her, ‘but Alexander had only himself and a few precious seconds to work with. In this new world, with no rules of society or law, he recreated himself as he would like to be seen. He is warlike, but driven by honor and justice. Think of what he portrays: Terrans as supremely powerful enemies if crossed, but trusted friends if respected and left alone. Alexander’s purpose is completely transparent. He’s calculated his position, and the Chem intentions, and is doing everything in his power to convince them that Terra is not worth going to war with.’

‘At what price though,’ Sadat mentioned. ‘It seems that Alexander has compromised himself. He can’t beg for a reprieve without destroying the image he’s created. His only possible release from his death sentence is just that: death.’

Koto’s expression turned serious. ‘It’s obvious that Alexander considers himself expendable.’

Augesburcke nodded, and said, ‘He’s a military man, Ms. Sadat, and this is a one way missionno return. He knows that it’s not just his life that’s at stake it’s Terra. It’s a fair trade.’

‘Until we shot the Terran scout ship out of space he may well have been close to accomplishing his goal,’ Doctor Koto said, and then he sat down. ‘However, despite the obvious fact that Alexander was willing to trade himself for Terra there are certain indications of a subplot. Alexander has had some contact with Nazeera of the Triumvirate, a person of some importance on Chem.’

‘She’s leading the Chem Armada,’ Admiral Augesburcke told them. ‘We’ve built quite a profile on her through Scythian information and on the galactic ethernet. The Galactics don’t take many pains at secrecy, and they’re as ravenous about information as we are. Nazeera is certain to succeed as Chem’s Elder. Without going into all the details I would hazard to say we have a very potent adversary.’

‘Yes, and Alexander has gone out of his way to mention her by name,’ Doctor Koto told them. ‘Nazeera, on the other hand, made the primary interrogation of Alexander at his trial and is the author of his exile to Pantrixnia. She was also, as stated by the automaton on Pantrixnia, the one who tried to get Alexander eaten by the Tyrannosaurus.

‘However, her latest involvement was a personal message, delivered directly to Alexander by the automaton praising his bravery and wishing him success. It’s not entirely consistent with the Nazeera we’ve seen previously. There is a mystery there. Then there’s Bureel, with whom Alexander has an open challenge of honor. That may be his attempt to get off Pantrixnia.’

‘Possibly, but there’s another consideration,’ Sampson offered. ‘We found out this morning what now turns out to be an interesting point. We’ve been trying to identify all the players in this soap opera. Well, here’s one. Bureel is, as we knew, a relatively minor member of the Assemblage. What we didn’t know was how he got the position. He entered into a marriage arranged by his father who was owed a debt by the father of a current member of the Chem Triumvirate.’

‘Let me guess, our very own Nazeera,’ Augesburcke whistled.

‘You bet. We got it from the Golkos, who are not big fans of the Chem and only too willing to cause them scandal or embarrassment,’ Sampson noted.

‘This does paint an interesting picture,’ Sadat mused with a smile. ‘Did Alexander and Nazeera get to know each other somewhat better than we imagined?’

‘You’re late, Ms. Sadat,’ Sampson smiled, ‘the Golkos have already played up that line. Their conjecture is that Alexander is truly Alexander the Great’s namesake. He will kill Bureel in a duel and marry Nazeera, joining the Terrans and the Chem as one. Then he will launch a galactic war of conquest.’

‘I like everything but that last part,’ Sadat said.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter a wit,’ Augesburcke said gruffly. ‘Whatever personal schemes Alexander and Nazeera may have had are all a bunch of garbage now. We saw to it when we blasted the Chem ship out of space. If there was an understanding between them, which I hope to hell there wasn’t, things are worse now. Alexander always maintained we were ignorant and planet bound.

‘We’ve made a liar out of him, and I hate to sound sexist, but Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, or lied to. Nazeera’s either out to remove a threat to her people’s existence, or out for revenge, or both. From what we know, she’s not a character you want to have hating you. Suggestions?’

‘There’s only one person we should be asking, and I would say we ask him,’ Koto said.

‘I thought you would say something like that, Doctor,’ Augesburcke sighed. ‘Very well, I don’t disagree, but how do we get him?’

Koto smiled, and said, ‘For an Overlord go to a man with delusions of grandeur; for a kidnapping go to the Scythiansthey’ve been abducting Terrans for ten thousand years.’

CHAPTER 40: A New Arena

When Bob left Alexander felt extraordinarily isolated. The full realization of what it meant to be marooned leapt upon him. During the next days, he did little but sit in the grotto and sulk.

He forced himself to go out once a day to check on Rex. Watching the Tyrannosaurus never got dull, and he and Nessie were now Alexander’s only ties to Earth, and home. Now that his adventure was all but complete the idea of home grew important, more so than at any other time in his life. Time passed, but he was unaware of whether it was months or just days. On one of these days he was watching Rex’s ‘romp,’ as he called the dinosaur’s exercise of frightening the wits out of his jungle minions, when something finally occurred.

Above him there was a sound. It disturbed Rex as well. He jumped up in sudden hope that it would be Nazeera in a Chem ship. Disappointment hit him in the gut when he stared up at the brassy saucer shaped ship, knowing it for what it was, a Scythian scientific ship. Just such a ship plucked him from Terra three times before. This time, however, he remembered them. The horrible blue beam enveloped him, lifting him bodily into the center of the ship. He looked down to see Rex gazing up at him quizzically. Then Pantrixnia disappeared behind the sliding door of the hatch. The beam set him down in the middle of a hemispherical chamber. He wasn’t alone.

‘Welcome Alexander!’ a cheery faced man with large mustachios told him. The man wore a black and silver military uniform, spoke with an Australian accent and was definitely Terran.

Alexander shook hands, though somewhat suspiciously, and he said, ‘I wouldn’t have expected to find a Human out here, and in a Scythian ship no less.’

‘I imagine so. Let me introduce myself. I’m Admiral Augesburcke, Commander in Chief of the Council of Defense of the Terran System, CODOTS, for short.’

‘CODOTS, well you’re definitely from Earth, and definitely military if you can make sense out of that gibberish, but go on.’

The Admiral simply laughed and led him to a makeshift stateroom where there was a bunk, two chairs, and a table laden with Terran food and drink.

‘Beer and pizza, eh, excellent, I’ve had nothing but snake and fish since I left Chem,’ Alexander said, still not overcome with joy at his rescue, but somewhat placated.

‘I know,’ the Admiral told him, explaining, ‘I’ve seen most of the galactic broadcasts. Unfortunately I cannot say my sole purpose in coming here is to rescue you from exile. There’s more to it, and as busy as you’ve been, Alexander, Earth, or Terra as we now recognize it, has been just as busy. Let me tell you what we’re up against, and why we’re here.

‘It’s the Chem. They’re going to attack Terra. We’re in the dark about these people. You are going to have to tell me all about them, that’s one of the things that brought us out here, your knowledge of the Chem.’

He sat down in one chair, and Alexander took the other.

‘That’s somewhat amusing,’ he smiled, sipping some beer. ‘The Chem kidnapped me to find out more of Terrans, and now you kidnap me back to find out more of the Chem.’

‘I wouldn’t call our little foray out here a kidnapping,’ the Admiral told him. ‘Although, I mark that you don’t seem particularly overjoyed to see me. I would have thought the possibility of going back to Terra, especially after what you’ve gone through, would provoke a somewhat more enthusiastic response.’

‘I wasn’t really expecting Terran’s to pick me up,’ Alexander told him. ‘Now that you’re here I can’t say that the prospect of returning to my life on Terra excites me a great deal.’

The Admiral leaned forward in earnest, and said, ‘What would you think if I told you that you have been and you still are a central player in all this? Would you be game, or are you ready for a vacation?’

Alexander looked straight into the Admiral’s eyes. ‘Augesburcke, in the last months I’ve done more and seen more than I could ever have dreamed of. If you tell me I’ve nothing more to look forward to on Terra than flying for the airlines than you might as well put me back on Pantrixnia. If you’ve got something more to put on the table then all you have to do is tell me what you need.’

‘I expected, or hoped you would say as much. Well then, here it is,’ and he told him everything that happened in the last months since Alexander’s capture. It was a thorough brief, and it took several hours. It fascinated Alexander, and he felt a twinge of pride at the way Terrans dealt with the situation. Just as he had realized what needed to be done and rose to the occasion, so had Terra. What he accomplished in microcosm they accomplished on a planetary scale. They were becoming a power to be reckoned with. If war came the galaxy was in for Terra at its most creative, and at its worst. They would make a good showing for themselves.

Augesburcke told him, ‘There you have it, that’s pretty much what’s been going on. We’re not done with you. As I said before, you are a central character in all this. You have a unique understanding of the situation. The Chem, well let’s just say they have a unique understanding of you. We want to take advantage of both of those viewpoints as well as the Galactics interpretation of Terran history. We are offering you an equivalent to a five-star flag rank in command of the Terran Fleet. The position is a visible one, though not equivalent in power. We want the Chem to see Alexander at the head of his Fleet, but the actual command of the Fleet will be mine. Being a former military man yourself I expect you understand the limitations of such a position.’

‘I understand them all too well, Admiral,’ Alexander said gruffly.

‘I didn’t expect you to like it when I said it, Alexander but it had to be said,’ the Admiral told him. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of reading your record by the way, and I must say I was impressed. You had every right to think you would have a very promising career. I can’t change that. I hope you won’t bring that baggage along with you. We need your help.’

‘Consider the subject closed, Admiral,’ Alexander said, waving his arm as if to brush the past aside. ‘I was reacting more to the prospect of being a figurehead under the control of politically motivated military officers. You don’t strike me as that kind of man, so I hope you will understand. I don’t give my respect to brass insignia anymore. I give it to people. That’s one point this ordeal’s driven home. Don’t worry Admiral. I won’t let my pride get in the way of Terra’s future. I’m not that petty.’

‘I understand you, Alexander, believe me. For an Aussie like myself to be in charge of this thing, that didn’t happen easily. There are some fairly ruffled American and Brit feathers. I won’t even mention the French, but we’re doing fairly well at pulling together.

‘I’m willing to do more. You see the Chem are not the only ones who were watching you. The entire galaxy’s been your audience, including Terra. The whole planet’s been watching, and they’ve seen what you’ve done. They’ve also heard everything the Chem media’s said about you. The legend of Alexander the Great, as I’m sure you’ve heard, is now inextricably linked to you; and now the question is: are you the next Alexander? The Chem have shown the past life clips, and that’s gotten everyone wondering about ourselves, our place in the galaxy, and about you. My crews are starting to ask the same damn questions about you as the Chem are.

‘That’s a powerful tool for an old commander like me who has to motivate an entirely green fleet. We know next to nothing about space warfare, but suddenly we have a fleet and we must fight with it.’

‘You want me to try to talk the Chem out of the fight?’ Alexander mused, going further in thought along Augesburcke’s line of reasoning. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to do all along. It’s possible. They’re already halfway there, and I’ll wager the sight of the Terran Fleet surprised the hell out of them, but they’re proud. They’ll not back down just because it’s a tough fight.’

‘That’s your ballgame, Alexander,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘That’s the real power that comes from your position. You’ll be on the bridge of the Iowa parleying for the Terran race. You’ve done it once before. They broadcast your inquisition before their Assemblage, as an opening to their special. You put on quite a show then. We want you to repeat it, with free reign to do what you will, short of surrender. If it goes badly we’ll fight, but if we can we’d like to avoid showing just how green we are to all this.’

‘Understood,’ Alexander told him.

‘The other portion of your real influence is in the CODOTS working group. Twenty-two of us answer for and advise the entire council. You make twenty-three, with full voting rights and privileges. In one respect you may be a figurehead, but you are also one of the twenty-three most powerful people on the planet, more so in fact, because of all of us, only you have the power to think on your feet when dealing with the Chem. Well, what do you think?’

‘Agreed, Admiral,’ Alexander told him, and they shook hands on the bargain.

It took four days before they were out of Chem space. The Iowa with her full squadron met them on the border of Scythian space. Alexander transferred to the battleship, and the Captain met him at the airlock and had him piped aboard as a dignitary. As he walked down the corridor the crew lined up against the walls in salute. The reception surprised him.

‘You’ve given us a measure of credibility in the galaxy, Alexander, everyone knows that much,’ the Admiral told him.

Alexander must have looked the part, for though shaved and washed his still wore the purple-black Chem armor and weapons. He refused to part with them while on the Scythian ship. Indeed he’d had as little contact with the Scythians as possible. Alexander did not illuminate his motives, and Augesburcke didn’t ask.

The Admiral escorted him through the ‘Iowa’s’ labyrinths to the main conference room. Five members of the CODOTS group and the ship’s senior officers attended. The rest of CODOTS attended via Ethernet secure links. After the introductions Alexander asked, ‘Are there any Scythians on board the ship?’

When Captain Thomas shook his head he sighed with relief. ‘Ladies and gentlemen excuse me, for not being absolutely candid with you aboard the Scythian ship. I was afraid of Scythian surveillance, so I was not thorough in my story to you, Admiral, but if we have a moment let me fill in the gaps.’

‘By all means Alexander,’ the Admiral nodded. He referenced Alexander not by his familiar name, but by his new title. They’d debated whether some grandiose title such as Field Marshal or the like would be appropriate, but Koto advised the simple name association of ‘Alexander.’ That, more than any title, would convey the message they wanted to send.

‘Everything you’ve said to me about the Scythians makes me nervous,’ he told them. ‘From my personal experiences I think I’ve built a fairly good picture of their character, and I learned more from the Chem. The Scythians convinced me that benevolence is not an often used term word in their vocabulary. Let us take my experiences on the Scythian ship’s first.’

He went on to describe in detail everything he remembered about his abductions. Most of those present knew the general nature of Scythian incursions in Terra, but Alexander’s knowledge was firsthand and specific. He went into his account on Chem again, in full, including the Chem accusations of collusion with the Scythians, and especially the Scythian use of the Terrans and the ‘Legend of Alexander.’

‘We had our suspicions, but now the pieces are beginning to fall into place,’ the Admiral said soberly.

‘This is how things stand, as I see them,’ Alexander told them. ‘The Scythians have been amplifying the legend of Terran ferocity, using Alexander as a focus, throughout the galaxy for the last two thousand years. It worked until they used it on the Chem. They called the Scythian bluff and made a great deal of noise in stating their intentions to settle the ‘Legend of Alexander’ conclusively. I don’t believe it was their intention to exterminate us, unless we proved to be the mindless savages the Scythians portrayed us as. It was their intention, however, to ensure that we were not a threat to them. The Scythians would pay a very high price for their lies, though not as high as price as Terra. The Scythians didn’t take these threats seriously until the Chem attacked their science vessel and captured a living Terran. Then they panicked.

‘Their only recourse was to make the threat of Terran mercenaries into a reality. Even in that it seems they didn’t learn much from their experimentation. They grossly underestimated the Terran reaction. They could not very well tell us that they would only arm us to a certain extent, that would be too blatant a lie, and they needed our friendship, because they desperately needed Terran troops who would fight for them. Originally they’d thought of arming Terra as a deterrent, and importing enough Terran troops to make Scythia too difficult a target. Even the Chem in their anger would not wish to bombard Scythian cities to dust, and that meant a planetary engagement, and required an army of Terrans. The Scythian strategy of containing our expansion failed, so they’ve done the next best thing. They’ve fed it.’

‘Why would that gain them anything,’ Hashimoto asked.

‘You’ve estimated our Fleet at about seven hundred ships by the time we meet the Chem, who have around seven hundred and fifty by Scythian report, and another two hundred and fifty in reserve as Homeworld defense. The Scythians have been very careful to control the propaganda coming into the Terran system. They’ve tried their best to make us hate the Chem. They are counting on this upcoming battle.

‘This will be the largest space battle in this age, if it takes place, and the Scythian hope is that we will both emerge weakened and relatively helpless.’ Alexander paused to let this sink in. ‘Afterward they, with the help of their neighbors, will feast on the scraps. It rids the galaxy of potentially tyrannical Terrans. It rids Scythia of the Chem, the single race that doesn’t wear a set of Scythian made economic thumbscrews.’

‘What do you intend to do to stop the battle?’ Augesburcke asked.

‘Any sign of backing down, or weakness is out of the question,’ he told them. ‘Much will depend on the Chem Fleet commander. If it is indeed Nazeera, as I would expect, we will at least have a fair minded, but tough individual to deal with. Her level of trust in me may be small, especially after your encounter with the scout ship. It took some time convincing her that Terra was ignorant of all of this. However, no one expects a completely new fleet to be built in such a short time. I must assume that she thinks I lied to her, and I can’t tell her the truth of the matter. If any commander found out what these ships really are they’d attack without a second thought, no matter how effective they might be.

‘It’ll be difficult, but not impossible. Nazeera understands command. She’s astute, so I think I can tell you what her perception of me shall be when I appear on the bridge of the Iowa. Could the Chem have possibly been lucky enough to capture Alexander in the midst of his negotiations with the Scythians? No. The only logical conclusion would be that I intended myself to be captured for the express purpose of studying the Chem, my greatest possible adversaries, just as she stooped to kidnapping to study Terrans.

‘That, at least, will be a palatable reason for my perceived deception, and hopefully defuse her anger enough so that she will see reason. There’s another possibility. If Bureel is in control he will have no thoughts other than attacking us. If I can avert an attack in that instance it will be by pressing my challenge. I will decry his cowardice and challenge him to formal combat. If he is pushed into it by his officers, as very well might happen, then I’ll kill him and that will be that.’

The group pricked their brows at Alexander’s blatant manner. To threaten war and mean it was not an unnatural abstraction for them. The act of the duel, where one of the participants would surely die, that was a dim concept in the group’s minds. What was unthinkable for the group, though, was now very natural for Alexander. A paradigm shift, partially caused by events themselves and partially formed by his perceived needs, sent Alexander back into time.

His concerns were amazingly different now compared to just a few month’s past. Personal comfort, financial security and affability were all concepts that meant close to nothing to him now. His situations demanded that he thrust an image of courage and honor over any personal desires. In the social melting pot of invisibility Alexander was strikingly apparent. A fortress of self assurance, originally built by necessity but constantly added to by his successful adventures, cast a different light on events. Alexander’s perception of the world, and the universe, was much different perception than that of the group. His mortal challenge to Bureel caused an instant assessment of the possible repercussions amongst the group, and instant concern. In Alexander the same event caused no emotional response whatsoever. It was required. It would happen. That was enough.

‘Nazeera is married to Bureel we understand.’ Koto mentioned.

‘Yes, the intrigue of Chem is somewhat of a soap opera,’ Alexander replied. ‘But we have bargaining power with this fleet. It is impressive in size and capability. It is a ghost fleet in that it should not exist, but it does. In history disinformation or simple lack of knowledge has proven to be a decisive player. I expect it will be so again. Now there are some specific military options I would like to discuss, they may be useful bargaining chips.’

The discussion went on for some time, and many of the non-military members were obviously nervous, but Alexander was proving to be as dominant a figure in his people’s councils as he was in alien councils. Augesburcke agreed to back his proposals with military might if it came to that, and they all agreed on a set of parameters within which Alexander could operate freely.

When Alexander went to bed that night it was with a different kind of exhaustion than that he faced on Pantrixnia. The dangers of that world were less harrowing than the power struggles in this. Still, he was satisfied with the day’s progress. He’d time to think of the tactical situation ahead, and he brought facets of it to the CODOTS table that no one had considered. The options he presented were not easy ones for everyone to swallow, but in the end he was able to force them to accept their necessity. It was a hard won victory, but an important one to Alexander, and his future.

Alexander recognized he was at the crossroads of the future. The course of the galaxy was being decided here and now. He could remember his own past, where had once seen such opportunities, and where he had also missed them. The Alexander of by-gone days had just enough self doubt to have prevented his asserting himself. This new Alexander, borne of the trials of Pantrixnia and guided by the experience of centuries, cast aside all self doubt. Victory and defeat, errors of judgment and miscalculation were all a part of life. The real mistakes were in succumbing to such fears before they were manifested.

Alexander, for more than any other reason, saw himself with the opportunity to continue to affect and even direct the course of future events. To ignore such a chance would undo all he’d accomplished. He was determined not to let go the reins of life ever again. Alexander had a destiny to fulfill, and he forged ahead in this new arena with all the bravado and bluster he used on Pantrixnia to meet it. He had a clear vision of what was possible in the coming days, and he wanted to take full advantage of it. His motives were more than glory, or personal satisfaction, for this was the stuff of dreams, and such opportunities were extraordinarily rare. Having come so far he was not bashful about asserting his thoughts, and he used every inch the council gave him.

In Alexander’s mind he had a vague position of power, and an enormous opportunity for the betterment of the Terran position in the galaxy. His task was daunting, but it didn’t disturb him. The Chem didn’t disturb him. The galactic situation, he was certain, would work itself out as he foresaw. Yet even with this self assurance of a great threat overcome he could not work himself out of a deepening mood. It was not a question of power, or of destiny. It was Nazeera.

With all the momentous events surrounding him it was the Chem woman who held the thought’s of Alexander even after the head of the Terran Fleet drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER 41: The Pieces are Set

Two light years from the border of Chem-Scythian space the Iowa hung like an apparition with five hundred ships at her heel.

Admiral Augesburcke paced the bridge like a Tasmanian devil, ceasing his endless roving only when the long expected message arrived. He dove for the communications console and read the message over the operator’s shoulder, ‘Alexander, the latest intelligence reports show the Chem Fleet massing upon contact with our reconnaissance screen. That puts them roughly eight hours ahead of us, and seven days flight from Terra at flank.’

The Admiral straightened with a concerned shake of the head, thinking.

Alexander nodded. It was as he expected, and the reality that the most powerful military man on Terra was briefing the explanation to himwho two weeks ago was foraging for food and wearing animal skinsdidn’t affect Alexander in the slightest. That Augesburcke, of all people, accepted the change in stature was possibly the most amazing event in the entire unlikely adventure.

Alexander showed himself as a shrewd leader, and the Admiral’s equal in military strategy. To be certain Augesburcke molded the fleet, but the stratagem they took into this crisis was uniquely Alexander’s. It hadn’t begun that way, but over the last two weeks days the logic and ingenuity of Alexander completely transformed the Terran plans. As the Admiral’s respect for Alexander’s capacity to contribute in their present situation rose, so did his respect for Alexander’s position. Subconsciously, almost without his knowledge, the Admiral was viewing Alexander’s position as less and less that of a figurehead.

When he turned to Alexander, the latest data on the Chem flashing upon his console, he addressed man as his equal. Gravely he told Alexander, ‘There are one thousand Chem warships waiting for us. You were right: they’ve committed their Homeworld Fleet. Our sub screens have moved off to their flanks, and they’re maintaining their position outside weapons range. When we join them we’ll have five hundred odd ships arrayed against them. That’s not great odds, considering our experience in this arena. I wouldn’t mind having the hundred ships that have been built this last week, but not with enough time to make it here.’

‘One hundred ships,’ Alexander mused, ‘They’ll be all that stands between Terra and oblivion if we fail. I expect they know that, though, and if it comes down to it they’ll put up a fight worth remembering. At the very least we’ll whittle the Chem down so the odds aren’t so bad.’

‘That we will,’ Augesburcke said. ‘Besides the backbone of that force are the carriers. They’re loaded with all the nuclear warheads we could scrounge up. People have wanted them off Terra for a long time, and now they’ve gotten their wish. The carriers can launch hundreds of them in salvos. That’s the last ditch plan.’

‘We still have the Scythian gambit, Admiral, and that at the very least will bear some positive dividends. We’ve done what we can to prepare. It looks as though that’s about it then,’ Alexander sighed. ‘Shall we invite the Chem to the dance?’

‘The best of luck to us, then,’ Augesburcke said. They shook hands and the Admiral gave the order.

Captain Thomas of the Iowa stepped up to the operations console. It was a broad graphite and metal construction. Its curving board encompassed nearly three quarters of the circumference of the bridge, and had a dozen stations. Above the board there were six large displays. Currently they emulated windows looking out into space. The Fleet sailed with them in every direction.

Close by was the Wisconsin squadron of three battleships, seven cruisers, and fifteen destroyers. On the other side the Rodney and her squadron floated. The ships were close enough for every detail to stand out sharply in space. The metal gleamed silver-white and the shadows were a deep impenetrable black. It made the ships appear even more strange and menacing. Other squadrons stood further out, like distant constellations, over five hundred ships. A hum rumbled through the Iowa as the engines engaged. The ships of the squadron started to move back in the screens as Iowa took the lead.

‘Prepare for superluminal speed,’ the Captain ordered.

Alexander sat in his designated chair, a high backed seat behind and above the Captain’s chair. From there he had a perfect view over the bridge. It was an imposing position, especially considering he had no real decision making capability for the ship. His time would come, however, and unlike the crew he had nothing to do to take his mind off the waiting. It would take eight hours or so to intercept the Chem Fleet, and then what? There was no way he could prepare for the coming trial.

The words would either come, or they would not.

He would have to be as sharp as he was back on Chem, ready to react and interpret the Chem’s replies and demands. This would not be a game of diplomacy. It would be a game of nerve and patience. It was strange how little that bothered him. His greatest concern was of Nazeera, for Nazeera? In some ways she would be the most difficult of the Chem to face, especially if her opinion of him differed from before. She would be shocked to see him. No doubt this would be a difficult thing to explain. When she saw him on the bridge of the Iowa there could be only one answer in her mind: Alexander the Conqueror, himself journeyed to the Chem Empire to study his adversaries, and then submitted himself to their greatest tests.

That’s how the Chem would see it, that is how she would see it, and that had its advantages. It would also make it very clear that he had consciously betrayed her. He hoped she would understand the need as a commander in her own right. If she viewed him otherwise, however, his deception might drive her to fury. She would be more dangerous than ever. If roused, she was capable of cold, heartless and thorough actions.

He looked up, finally aware that the sounds of the ship were different. On the front screens, the stars coalesced into a dim blue tinted ball. Single stars separated from the center and slowly floated by the ship. The cruisers and destroyers sailed overhead, to the sides, and underneath. They advanced slightly staggered, above and to the left the Wisconsin and her screen, below and to the right the Rodney and hers. It was remarkably quiet and peaceful. The bridge was a wonderful place to be when sailing through space, he thought to himself, but it was lonely. He was as lonely now as he had ever been in that cell on the Chem Homeworld.

Nazeera was all but unapproachable. Even Nazar could scarcely communicate with her. Almost one thousand Chem warships spread out across space with deadly intent, every warship in the Chem Armada including the two hundred and fifty ships of the Guardian Armada. She’d taken them across the Scythian frontier with no more opposition than the crackling ethernet. The news spread swiftly across the galaxy. The time of rumor and innuendo was over. The Chem Fleet departed Chem space with hostile design for the first time in over thirteen millennia.

There was giddiness in the ranks that Nazeera found unpleasant. The ill fated scout ship reported a Terran Fleet of scarcely squadron strength. If logic followed, those ships sighted comprised a significant portion of the Terran fleet. Conservatively then the Chem should outnumber the Terrans at least ten-to-one. That numerical superiority, taken as truth, had the crews singing in the mess halls, and eager to be on the first watch that sighted the Terrans. That glut for battle did not affect the Armada Commander though, and the bridge of the battleship Kuntok was a somber place.

She accepted that the Scythians and the Terran’s altered Alexander’s memory, and he’d been left by his planet, as much as the Chem, on Pantrixnia as a sacrifice to strategic policy. She wondered if the loss of memories affected the man. Nazar didn’t seem to think so. He thought that only those memories recent enough to be of particular value to the Chem changed. To completely reprogram a being and expect them to be sane was beyond any race’s medical skill.

Nazeera confided to herself that once this distasteful business was over she’d take the Kuntok to Pantrixnia. If Alexander was still alive she’d bring him back to Chem, the last of his people. Bureel’s feelings about the matter never entered the picture for her. He would die soon after this was over, either by Alexander’s hand or hers. Perhaps she would leave him on Pantrixnia in Alexander’s place. The thought brought the only glimmer of joy to her this entire voyage.

Nazar approached her. He did not look pleased. It couldn’t be about Bureel. Nazeera had him confined to quarters as soon as he set foot on the ship, quietly, of course. Her brother stepped up to the command dais and whispered, ‘Armada Commander, we have just received scans of the main body the Terran Fleet.’

‘Very well, and how close were our estimates?’

‘Scans pick up over five hundred ships, Armada Commander!’ he said as if it caused him great pain, ‘Once again it appears we underestimated the Terrans.’

The news didn’t surprise Nazeera, and she sighed, ‘Certainly if the Terrans fight as did Alexander we have reason for concern. The Terrans are honed for war, Nazar. They toughen their brows by beating upon each other. Yet what of the Chem, does fortune desert us Nazar? Even now when we are at our zenith, something reaches out to strike the Chem. Why? Have we been too bold, or have we been soft for too long? We depend on ourselves to be the warriors our grandsires were, but we learn too late that we must fight with rusty swords and weakened thews.’

‘At their present course and speed we will engage them in slightly over one twelfth of a decurn,’ Nazar told her.

‘Very well, I shall inform the Armada. It’s better that they hear it from their commander than through rumor,’ she said. She flipped a switch on her panel, ‘To all warriors of Chem, this is the Armada Commander. Brave news of the Terran Fleet; they come to honor us with battle, instead of denying us glory. Our scans show five hundred of their number enroute to battle. We shall engage them shortly. This will be a glorious chapter in the history of Chem. Rejoice that you can now speak to your ancestors with pride of the coming day!’

She clicked off her mike and felt the mood of the Armada shift unmistakably into a grim pessimism. Turning to Nazar she patted his hand. ‘I am glad you are here with me brother.’

‘Glory has many faces, Armada Commander,’ he told her, his voice carrying an uncharacteristically serious timber. ‘So long as Nazar is considered worthy enough to be at your side he has gained glory for a lifetime. I am satisfied whatever the outcome.’

The members of the Scythian High Council met on their primary Homeworld. The five sat around a low table of gray metal. There was silence in the room, but not between the minds. Indeed, though these five beings sat alone in their chamber all Scythians were with them in thought. It was the way of their people that at momentous occasions such as this that all Scythians shared their thoughts simultaneously. So it was that when the Chem boarded the Scythian experimentation ship all of Scythia heard, felt, and saw the outrage. Now their revenge was at hand.

The first of the five to transmit a thought was the Council who dealt with the Terran Liaison. ‘Liaison has accomplished its task well. The two fleets shall meet with equivalent strength. Everything is proceeding according to plan. The results have a ninety-three percent chance of falling within the desired categories.’

‘The Chem disregard for our need of efficient trade routes should disappear along with their power and influence in this sector.’

‘I foresee even greater benefit; there are over four million Terran troops and ten million civilians on the four Homeworlds at this time. After the fall of their world to whom can they turn but us? With careful consideration and patience we may well be able to manipulate them into the mercenaries we have envisioned all alongobedient and self sacrificing to the greater good of Scythia.’

‘Indeed, whatever the outcome I see profit in this for us, and the triumph of the superior intellect over the violent savage.’

‘True, but I will allow myself the thalamic enjoyment of watching them destroy each other. Especially since the Terrans, conscious of their promise to protect us, have placed themselves only light hours from our systems. They mean to ensure that no Chem renegades engage us. They have as a result given us a wonderful seat from which to watch them.’

‘Long will this day be remembered by the Scythian Empire, and the galaxy. Let them tremble at the power which will awaken this day, renewed and terrible to behold! Then let the new age of the Galactics begin!’

CHAPTER 42: Titans Clash

The Terran Fleet slowed as they came into communications range. Alexander watched from the bridge as the sensors picked up the Armada. He wore a specially crafted uniform of purple, gold, and black made from the Chem cuirass and armor; it gave him a distant resemblance to his forefather, Alexander; which struck at the heart of their intent.

His Chem knife hung from his belt, blade naked for all to see, as a reminder that he still had an outstanding challenge with a member of the Assemblage. It was a point he would remind the Chem. He also had the Banthror pelt properly tanned. He wore this as a sash across his chest, as another reminder to the Chem of his exploits on Pantrixnia. It was the uniform of an Overlord, and he was prepared to play the part. When the two fleets stopped and arrayed in battle order, Alexander rose from his seat.

‘Wait for them to call us first,’ he said, and turned his back on the main viewers, expectant.

Captain Thomas announced, ‘Admiral, Alexander, a ship is detaching itself from the Chem Armada. Its course is directly towards us, and it is not slowing!’

‘Shields up,’ the Admiral ordered.

‘Hold position Captain, order the Fleet to hold their fire unless fired upon,’ Alexander said.

‘Sir,’ Thomas queried.

‘Follow his orders Captain,’ the Admiral said.

The Captain nodded as the smaller ship barreled in on the Iowa. Alexander didn’t look up. The bridge crew clung tensely to their seats until the Chem ship suddenly pulled up and around and headed back to its Fleet.

‘No Chem would commit suicide before battle.’

The Admiral leaned over to Captain Thomas, ‘It’s his show now. Unless the shooting starts, Alexander is in command of this whole damn Fleet.’

‘Aye, aye, Admiral,’ the Captain replied nervously.

‘Don’t worry, Captain,’ the Admiral smiled, ‘I’ve learned quite a bit about Alexander over the last few days. Besides, at one time or another in his past he’s commanded more men and ships than this. If nothing else he’s a ruthless bastard. I think we’re in pretty good hands.’

‘I hope you are right, sir,’ the Captain nodded.

‘Communications coming in, sir,’ a sailor informed them.

‘Put it on the screen,’ Alexander told her without turning around.

The picture of an aristocratic woman with shining blue eyes appeared on the main viewer. ‘This is Armada Commander Nazeera of Chem. I address whosoever commands the Terran Fleet before me to identify yourself, and prepare for subjugation!’

Alexander turned around, a grim smile upon his lips. ‘Hello Nazeera, it’s good to see you again.’

‘A-lex-ander!’ She breathed venomously, spitting out each syllable as if it were a delicious poison. Nazeera had no reason to be anything other than shocked at the sudden appearance of Alexander, but he was impressed with the speed at which she composed herself.

She put on a haughty mask of indifference, but her words carried more emotion and meaning to Alexander than any other being there could recognize. ‘I see Pantrixnia was no more a prison to you than Chem. This was a wonderful play, to be sure, Alexander. What part are you playing at now? Is this the real Alexander, the Overlord at the head of his Fleet, or have you another mask to wear before me? It’s a pity, in truth; for I came to respect the Alexander I met on Chem. I suppose I should have known, but my you are a good actor!’

‘Quite the contrary, Nazeera, I’m good only at playing myself,’ he told her. ‘Certainly you couldn’t expect to see me again, and my return can only pique your suspicions. Then again, why should I be anywhere else? I’m Alexander of Terra. Where should I be but in the center of the maelstrom? That’s where Overlords tread, Nazeera, you no less than I. Events cannot avoid us. You are as central to this, Nazeera, as I, and so here we are again, at a critical point and time in the histories of our two peoples. Two peoples who are very similar, almost kindred. Speaking of kindred, is Nazar with you?’

‘Of course, but do not try to twist this into a personal discussion, Alexander,’ she cautioned him, ‘Such tactics will not work again. We have business to attend to. Do you wish to hear my terms?’

‘Not in the least, but offer my greetings to Nazar anyway will you?’ He turned and paced, in this instance he was controlling the conversation and Nazeera was still trying to piece events together. It was a reverse of their last such encounter, but now they were both of equal strength.

‘To business then, I know why you’re here, Nazeera, and you know why I’m here. In space we sit, glaring across the battlefield; the two greatest fleets in the galaxy. Does honor dictate we fight, and if so, what are our reasons? Even honor must have an argument.

‘Is this war over territory? Terra does not wish territory from Chem, and what would Chem do with one star system? Do we then fight for glory alone, to beat each other to a pulp so that we may sing our own praises to our grandchildren, what of that? I’m not ignorant of the valor or prowess of the Chem, Nazeera and you should not doubt the resolve of the Terrans. What is there to be gained then from a pitched battle where the conclusion leaves us each the weaker?

‘Shall we fight for glory, only to diminish in stature and power, allowing the lesser cultures of the galaxy, such as the Golkos or the Scythians, to clean up the scraps? Ah, the Scythians, I had almost forgotten them.’

Alexander walked to the front of the bridge and looked into Nazeera’s eyes. He planted himself firmly on the tritanium alloy deck and clasped his hands behind his back. Cocking his head to the side as if he’d struck an interesting thought, he said, ‘Isn’t it interesting how the Scythians always find a way to bring us together?’

‘What is your point, Alexander?’ Nazeera asked.

‘I have a very simple point, one which you of all people should remember. I once told you I harbored no ill will towards Chem. I spoke the truth. I don’t see why we should be angry with each other. It’s the Scythians, who manipulated us both. I’m not overly fond of being used, Nazeera, and I’ve had my fill of it lately. I’m also not fond of destroying that which I respect and admire. I say again, I’m not angry with you, though from some viewpoints I should be.

‘If Pantrixnia was not a luxury hotel I’m willing to forgive that. If being pulled naked before your Assemblage and sentenced to exile and death was an injustice then I am prone to forgive that as well. I will not, however, forgive or forget my duty to defend my planet, and my people. I will forgive the threat made upon the belief of false accusations, but I will not forgive the cause. That cause was unique and well thought out, and greed was its fuel.

‘It should be as apparent to you as it is to me, Nazeera; this is a Scythian war: staged and promoted by the Scythians. We are here because the Scythians cause us to fear each other. This is not a war over the grievances of Chem and Terra. This is not our war. This is not necessary, Nazeera.’

‘Your words are hollow, Alexander,’ she said gravely. ‘You plead an eloquent case, but you are a conqueror. I can see it in your eyes. You will not add Chem to your list of glories.’

‘If I wanted Chem, it would be mine, Nazeera! You know this better than anyone. Chem would fall to me, not due to weakness or lack of honor, but to destiny. Whether it’s in this lifetime or the next, if I wanted the Chem Empire I could have it!’

Alexander paused, and there was not a sound on the bridge. He let the moment draw out and fade from the threat it was to a more subtle and diplomatic point in time. He spread his hands out wide. ‘The Chem are a people of honor whom I have come to respect and admire. A people whose dedication to honor can soothe the terrible wrath of my own unrequited people. I don’t wish the Chem Empire as conquered adversaries, but as allies, friends and teachers.’

‘I listened to your lies in the Assemblage, Alexander,’ Nazeera told him. ‘I have no need to listen to them now. You are bold, to allow yourself to endure capture and exile thus, but I finally see through you. You are here, even as the legends said you would be, but I will stop you if I can.’

Alexander walked to the rear of the bridge and sank into his seat, a grim look coming over his strong features. ‘Very well, I expected some stubbornness; let me give you some truths to consider. Listen to your communications channels. I would like to demonstrate something to you.’

He turned to Augesburcke, and said, ‘Admiral put me on all assigned Fleet frequencies.’

‘You’re hooked up Alexander,’ Augesburcke answered.

‘To all Terran ships and troops outside the Fleet of Alexander, you may proceed according to plan with the following restriction: no Terran warship shall violate Chem space except under my expressed orders. Proceed with operation ‘Overlord.’ You may commence to subjugate the Scythian Empire!’

‘You have no right to interfere with our quarrel with the Scythians!’ Nazeera protested.

‘I have every right!’ Alexander thundered, bolting upright and catching everyone off guard, including his own crew. ‘I have the right after two thousand years of having my name bandied about the galaxy as a murderer and a conqueror! I have the right after ten thousand years of experimentation on my people! I have the right after having my civilization constrained and manipulated!

‘I speak for Terra, Nazeera, because I am Terra, and I seethe with the dishonor heaped upon me! The Scythians wanted me as a conqueror and I’m giving them what they wished for! Yet I am no chattel to do their bidding. I am Terra, and equally as proud as Chem! Does your complaint for a single snub carry more dishonor than the millennia Terra endured under an unseen puppeteer? The Scythians hid in the shadows poking and prodding us, pruning the branches by which we might grow, and all the while sowing lies about us to our cousins in space. Do you have the right to interfere with our vengeance? Answer me honestly Nazeera!’

‘In that you have struck a chord of logic,’ she said, in a more diplomatic tone. Then her demeanor took on a renewed air of gravity and she asked, ‘But should I not now fear you more? Whether the Terrans attack from under the Scythians wing or on their own makes no difference to Chem, even if I do not fight for revenge upon Scythia my primary care is the protection of Chem.’

‘Well said, Nazeera, but there is a difference between Chem and Scythia. The Scythians wronged us. They wronged me. The Chem, thus far, have not. I’ve had the opportunity to learn of you, under dire circumstances, and still I came away with admiration, no, much more so than that. Earlier I said we were almost kindred, and I stand by that. We are so very much alike. We will go to enormous extremes and great personal risk to ensure the safety of our civilizations. If we insure that safety, you and I, then our people are capable of respect for each other and perhaps eventually trust.

‘The protection of Chem is your concern. The protection of Terra is mine. It seems to be my task also to dispel the rumors of two thousand years of Scythian treachery. The only way I can do that is to somehow prove to you that my Fleet is here in defense of Terra, and not in aggression towards Chem. That proof is now in the transmissions taking place throughout the Scythian Empire. I’m certain Nazar is keeping track, and even now has something to report to you.’

Alexander saw Nazar approach her, and he didn’t need to hear him to know what he said. The reports were coming in from all over the Scythian Empire. Over the few moments both fleets listened. He’d already heard the important news he wanted: the four Homeworlds of Scythia fell almost instantly to the four million Terran troops supposedly there to protect the Scythians from the Chem.

His second objective was the capture of the twelve habitable systems on the Scythian-Chem frontier. His remaining two hundred and fifty ships accomplished this by cutting the two major trade routes and advancing on the planets. The Scythians surrendered before the first warship fired a shot. A week before he’d convinced Admiral Augesburcke that a charitable action and a well-defined threat were essential elements in convincing the Chem he was sincere. To accomplish this dual objective Alexander sent elements of the Terran Second Fleet around in a sweeping right hook to land four days behind the Chem Armada. It hung in space between the Chem Homeworld and its Armada, but when Alexander’s order came the Second Fleet attacked the Scythian frontier instead of the advancing into Chem space from behind.

After the loss of the Homeworlds and the Chem frontier Scythian offers of surrender poured in from every corner of their Empire, even areas not attacked. A moment later a general offer of surrender communicated directly to Alexander on the Iowa arrived from the Scythian High Council. The Scythian Empire, which spanned two hundred and seventy-three habitable star systems and over two million years of history, fell in sixty-three Terran minutes.

Nazar confirmed everything with Nazeera, not bothering to conceal his communications. There was no need. The results in Scythia were too obvious to be denied.

‘Listen to him, Nazeera,’ Alexander told her, ‘You are flanked. If it was my intention to attack the Chem I could send two hundred and fifty ships to the Chem home world, but that is not, and never was my aim.’

Alexander went to the front of the bridge, and paced, as if lecturing. ‘You are an honorable people. We are an honorable people. We have no basis for disagreement; I will therefore build a basis for friendship and trust.’

He selected his mike switch again. ‘Alexander accepts the unconditional surrender of the Scythian Empire. From this day onward the Scythian Empire is dissolved. I claim this space in the name of the Terran Empire. To all ships in the Second Fleet on Scythian-Chem frontier, your commanders are to inform each populace of the twelve frontier planets that they are now part of the Chem Empire.’

He let the proclamation sink in, enjoying the expression of surprise on Nazeera’s increasingly beautiful face. ‘Occupants have one Galactic decand to decide to leave or to stay. Secure the frontier planets for our neighbors the Chem, and then withdraw to Terran space according to doctrine. Alexander to the Fifth Fleet, upon my order all squadrons are to withdraw to pre-designated stations except the Iowa. Secure our holdings in this space, including a star system wide buffer between the Terran Empire and the Chem Empire. Stand by.’

Alexander turned his attention back to Nazeera, and his eyes hardened. His voice was commanding again, as he told her, ‘It’s up to you, Nazeera. Upon your word this conflict shall either end amicably or begin in grim resolve. I shall give the order to my Fleets to secure their new holdings, yours included, upon your word.’

‘What act of assurance do you require, Alexander of Terra?’ Nazeera asked him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

‘The word of the Armada Commander of Chem is the only guarantee needed by Alexander of Terra.’

‘The Chem have no wish to fight another’s battle, especially those of Scythia!’ Nazeera told him. She leaned back in her command chair and for the first time since she saw him she relaxed, and that feral grin returned to her face.

‘I’m satisfied that the Scythians shall receive their just deserts from you Alexander, for I know too well the cruelty of your humor! Very well, then the situation is acceptable to the Chem. When your Fleet departs the Chem will not violate our agreement in the interests of galactic amity. The person of Alexander, your flagship and your space will be respected by your neighbors, the Chem.’

Inwardly Alexander smiled at the victory, but to his crew and the Chem he merely inclined his head to Admiral Augesburcke. The Admiral gave the order for the Fleet to deploy and secure its new won empire. Alexander watched his screens as the Fifth Fleet wheeled and broke up. Within moments the five hundred odd ships disappeared over the superluminal horizon, leaving the Iowa and her squadron alone against the Chem Fleet.

‘You are magnanimous in your victory, just as your own memories dictated, Alexander,’ Nazeera said. ‘I see no reason to pursue an unnecessary conflict, at this time. We will be watching you Terrans with excessive scrutiny, though. I, especially, shall be watching you.’

‘I desire more than that, Nazeera,’ Alexander told her.

Her expression turned noticeably grim again, ‘Are you baiting me, or do you really have the ignorance and impudence to demand terms for peace with the Chem? I can’t believe that you, who have dined at my table, could win such a victory over enemies and then squander it by insulting those who might one day be your friends! What is it you are up to now, Alexander?’

‘You’ve answered your own question, Nazeera,’ he smiled. ‘I have dined at your table, and I would do so again. It’s not my intention to allow our peoples to come to the brink of war, and then withdraw to become distrustful neighbors suspiciously eyeing each other over a fence. My desire is to establish a dialogue so that one day there is trust and friendship between us. It is my intention that one day the rights of Chem and Terra are mentioned in one breath throughout the galaxy.’

‘An interesting concept,’ Nazeera replied. ‘How do you propose to begin this dialogue?’

‘As a gesture of good faith I will agree to give myself as a hostage, under two conditions.’

Nazeera settled back again in her chair. The suspicion left her voice. She allowed a ghost of a smile to play upon her blue lips, as she said, ‘I think that the center of the Chem Empire may be the most dangerous place to put you. What are your conditions Alexander?’

‘First, on the threat of disgracing his people in front of the eyes of Terrans, Bureel must answer my challenge,’ he told her grimly.

‘An honorable request, Alexander of Terra,’ Nazeera smiled maliciously. ‘As the Armada Commander of Chem, and Nazeera of the Triumvirate, I vouch that Bureel of Chem will answer your challenge, or he shall forfeit his heritage. What is your second condition?’

Alexander almost allowed himself to grin, but with the strictest gravity, he said, ‘Dinner and I wish to finish it with you this time. These are my conditions. Are they agreeable to you?’

Nazeera leaned forward, a wicked grin lighting her face. ‘Agreed,’ she said pounding her fist on her console. ‘I expect your shuttle promptly. I shall see you shortly, Alexander, Nazeera out.’

The screen returned to stars, and the entire bridge crew breathed again. The realization that Terra escaped a deadly danger and that there was now a Terran Empire in space dawned on them all. There were cheers, back slapping, and an excited din of conversation. Alexander sighed and made his way to the bridge hatch, ignoring the hubbub. He was going to his stateroom to fetch his gear, but Augesburcke intercepted him, ‘Alexander! Well done! Well done man! But we’ve won, why sell yourself?’

Alexander smiled, crossing his arms contentedly, ‘This part of the mission is done, Admiral but we’ve both got more work to do. I’ve got the opportunity to cement our friendship with Chem, which we need to do while we get our space legs, so to speak. That’s your responsibility. If you want my advice I’d allow the Scythians their four Homeworlds. The rest of the habitable worlds, aside from the twelve along the Chem frontier should be used for immediate transplantation of Terrans from the Terran system. We must never again be caught on a single planet, Admiral.’

‘Sound advice,’ the Admiral replied. ‘But let me ask you, again, why are you doing this? It was a brilliant strategy, Alexander, and yet after the victory you are willing to disappear? Man, you have an entire planet ready to honor you. You are also a member of CODOTS, Alexander, and are now in a position to make your mark. I know of no one more capable. Think of it man! You are at the pinnacle of fame, why leave now when we can use you?’

‘Isn’t that the time for conqueror’s to disappear, Admiralwhile they’re still conquerors and not despots? I have no political agenda. I haven’t the patience for it, or the desire. I have some unfinished business with Nazeera and a worm. It is my business to finish, but if I remain in CODOTS and as Ambassador to Chem so much the better.’

‘I’ll guarantee it, Alexander, good luck!’ The Admiral said, extending his hand.

‘Providing I survive my challenge, that is. Still, space is a very large place and I daresay there’s room for Terrans to expand and explore. If you need me you know where I am, Admiral,’ Alexander shook his hand. ‘You have the bridge Captain, good luck!’

The adventures of Alexander continue in the next installment of Alexander Galaxus, Alexander, Overlord …

Alexander Galaxus: Book II

ALEXANDER, OVERLORD

by

Christopher L. Anderson

If the night sky wakes red and bright

I must to the caves take flight

There to hide til all is well

To wait and pray as the elders tell

I’ll thank my father and mother too,

And to my kin will be so true

My duty to defend our world

To its end our flag unfurled

Ready to leave this life so dear

When Alexander one day comes here

Galactic nursery rhyme

PROLOGUE

From the “History of Galactic Civilization’; University Galactica, Cambridge, Terra.

The ascension of the Human species into the mix of Galactic civilization in the thirteenth kicellia is a fascinating study in the possibilities of history. Relegated to an isolated existence in the backwaters of civilization the Human species seemed destined for no other fate than their own self destruction. Aggressive, inventive and curious to a fault the Terrans were understandably quarantined by their more “civilized” neighbors. This did not prevent the Scythians, within whose space the Terran system lay, from taking advantage of their ignorant tenants. The Scythians, an intelligent semi-telepathic species, owned a niche in Galactic commerce as notable as the military career of Alexander himself. In an effort to expand this niche and hold at bay her more aggressive neighbors Scythia mounted a propaganda effort that spanned a bicellium and won them untold riches and influence. The source of this propaganda campaign was the unsuspecting race of Humans inhabiting Terra. The Scythians reported Terran ferocity and aggressiveness diligently and to great effect. Humans were physically more powerful than any of the sentient species then known and enormously, if destructively, imaginative. Under any light the Human species was a formidable presence.

The crowning achievement of the Scythian propaganda was the ‘Legend of Alexander.’ Recognizing that their neighbors had fully adapted to a stagnant state of peaceful coexistence they took the career of Alexander the Great, reporting it and amplifying it before a concerned audience. At the last, before his death, the Scythians showed Alexander standing upon a mountaintop, (now known to be the mountain passes before India), but instead of reporting that Alexander’s troops rebelled and returned home the Scythian’s showed Alexander staring up into the night sky. There he saw not the solace of heaven or the beauty of the universe; but amongst the stars Alexander saw more worlds to conquer. Scholars have long argued over what exactly gave the Scythians the idea to use Alexander as a catalyst for their strategy of commercial conquest through intimidation. Some point to the actual verbiage Alexander used, which was recorded along with the image of Alexander at the very time and place where his Galactic legend begins. This direct source of knowledge is still a matter of fascination for Galactic archeologists, especially Terrans, and it is especially intriguing due to the irony of the words, and their timing. Alexander the Great is heard to say in a most sober and philosophical voice, ‘What lands (worlds?) lie behind matter not, it is the striving forward which matters. Ever forward must we move lest we stagnate and grow rank in spirit. That which lies beyond I shall seek, and I shall have. There is enough beyond to sate even my spirit, nay even the spirits of my descendants. I look afar and I see countless lands (worlds?) to conquer, even to the everlasting and innumerable stars.’ Though there is little doubt that Alexander was speaking of the seemingly endless expanse of Terra his words can easily be interpreted as having a far greater intent. The irony of the moment is that Alexander’s career as a general had already reached its zenith. He never advanced beyond India, instead electing to return to his captured empire to avoid mutiny by his troops. Yet even as Alexander’s Terran career ended his career as a Galactic legend began. The ‘Legend of Alexander” flourished in the imaginations of Galactics and every great Terran warlord who followed him was seen in the eyes of the Galactics as seeking to fulfill his dream of world, and stellar conquest. One day, it was feared, the terrible troubled masses of Terra would erupt from their tiny world and fulfill Alexander’s manifest destiny. Alexander was more than a legend to the Terrans, it was felt, he was their ideal, their beacon and their destiny. Who profited from this frightening legendthe Scythians, of course. The people of commerce held the key to the lock upon Terra. Should her neighbors push or threaten her Scythia could easily unleash the hordes of Alexander’s descendents upon the galaxy. For a civilization which had enjoyed over thirteen kicellia of peace and prosperity the galaxy would not, could not entertain this possibility. For the next kicellia Scythia kept the galaxy gleefully informed as to the goings on within Terra. Caesar, the Vikings, Genghis Khan, Attila, Napoleon, Hitler; all became known far beyond their Terran audience, and the galaxy feared. For the time being the Scythians prospered with their uneasy peace, but peace persevered.

Finally, two thousand three hundred Terran years after Alexander spoke those fateful words, after thirteen kicellia of Scythian intimidation, the Chem said “no more!’ The Chem were the oldest, most traditional, most honorable race of the known galaxy. It was the great wars of Chem expansion which finally ushered in a lasting Galactic peace. Refusing to give in to Scythian demands to open trading routes into their space, the last great commercial frontier to the Scythian juggernaut, the Chem determined to destroy once and for all this Terran threat and pay Scythia her due.

The Chem were not, however, without caution. They realized that their information concerning their prospective foe, Humanity, was limited to that information which the Scythians divulged. Therefore, a Human was captured from a Scythian experimentation ship, and brought back to their home world for closer examination. The Chem, unlike the Scythians, viewed vivisection and psychological experimentation with abhorrence. Their desire was rather to examine the warrior potential of their foe; most especially the character, bravery and fortitude of the Humans. Such were the qualities of life the Chem valued and understood, and so, in their own way, they put their captive to the test.

The Human, who coincidentally bore the name of Alexander, was put on trial before the Chem Assemblage. Information on Alexander’s motives and state of mind during his incarceration by the Chem are a matter of tremendous debate and are dealt with in greater detail elsewhere. Some scholars believe that Alexander was already sowing the seeds of his future dominion and orchestrated his own capture by the Chem to study them, as they intended to study him. Although this is the most widely held Galactic opinion it is hotly contested by, of all sources, Terran scholars. Alexander’s own people contend that Alexander was simply an extraordinary being caught in extraordinary circumstances, and that his sole motive at the time was to so impress the Chem with a single Human that they would not wish to come into conflict with four billion of his fellows. Whatever the reality of history, the truth of the matter is that Alexander earned the respect of the Chem. Nevertheless, he was sentenced to die upon the horrific prison planet of Pantrixnia. Before this sentence was carried out, however, Alexander was interrogated at length by the redoubtable Nazeera, herself of Galactic fame, though at that period of time fulfilling her duties as one of the Triumvirate who sat beneath the Elder of Chem. In the discourse of their relationship Alexander and Nazeera develop a love for each other beyond the boundaries of worlds and civilizations. Despite this Alexander is sent to Pantrixnia where the transplanted population of specifically selected predators is to cause his honorable execution before billions over the Galactic ethernet. However, to the amazement of all Alexander does not die in the Galactic version of Rome’s arena. Alexander survives and gains the grudging respect and admiration of the cultures of the galaxy. The efforts of Alexander almost, but do not quite sway the Chem from their course of action. A people driven by pride and commitment they are determined to carry out their original intent, though now with a greater fear for their own civilization than ever before. When Nazeera leads the Chem Armada into superluminal for their confrontation with Terra it is with a heavy heart, and an anxious galaxy as audience.

It is undeniable that the anxiety of Nazeera and the galaxy is founded on the legend of Alexander the Great, and brought from the psychosis of legend to the panic of reality by the adventures of Alexander of Terra. In both they perceive a formidable people, but neither provides the factual capability of Terrans when faced a Galactic adversary. Devoid of hard facts the Galactic ethernet is alive with talk and conjecture concerning Alexander and the Terrans, and not the least interested observers of the Chem intentions are the Terrans themselves. Since the abduction of Alexander by the Chem the Scythians have been busy. They correctly conclude that their fortunes were indelibly linked with the Terrans through their own propaganda. Their obvious course: to make their own propaganda into reality. The Scythians make first contact with Terra, informing them of the threat of Chem, if not the entire truth. With Scythian aid Terra arms for interstellar war at a frantic and unprecedented pace. The vast reservoirs of Human ingenuity and determination are called upon, and for the first time since Humankind first landed on their Moon, all the petty differences which divided the species disappeared. A fleet is hastily constructed to face the Chem Armada. It is as untested as its crews when it sets sail to meet the invaders, but at its helm is a small but frightening reminder of Terran legend. Alexander is spirited away from Pantrixnia-whether by his own design or fate we cannot discern-and returned to the Terran flagship Iowa as the Terran warlord, the dread conqueror of Galactic legend come to life. The galaxy knows the man, and links him physically to the ages old legend of Terran conquest. Therefore, his mere presence adds credibility to the Terran “ghost” fleet. As the two fleets face each other, a galaxy waiting upon their every move, a suspicious Nazeera ponders the reappearance of Alexander the Terran. Nazeera is widely, and correctly, renowned for her courage and generalship, and Alexander is faced with a seemingly impossible situation: a foe too proud to back down and too powerful to defeat. Alexander therefore strikes a balance. In a brilliant coup Alexander’s forces attack the Scythians, subduing the empire of two hundred systems before the startled eyes of the Chem. The attack serves two purposes: it establishes Terran military prowess, and because of Alexander’s positioning of his fleets it outflanks the Chem, placing a Terran fleet between Nazeera and her Homeworld. There is, in fact, very little debate as to the author of this strategy, though many military historians insist that the Chief of CODOTS, Admiral Augesburcke, had much to do with it. (The Admiral maintained throughout his life, and long after the death of Alexander required anything but the truth, that the strategies used throughout were in fact Alexander’s; and that Alexander’s grasp of military strategy and tactics far outstripped any in his day, Terran or otherwise). The end result, whomever we choose to believe, is beyond debate. Terra and Chem reach a peaceful agreement, and Terra is suddenly transformed from a solitary planet to a recognized Galactic empire.

CHAPTER 1

Alexander brooded.

Two Chem guards adorned in purple and green armor acted as if they weren’t watching the Overlord of the Terran Empire. They were bad actors.

Alexander sat in an uncomfortable chair still wearing his armored cuirass with the Banthror fur sash. The badge of Terra gleamed from his breast. Gazing through a small porthole, the former commander of the Terran fleet reflected not on the vision of the stars streaking by the sharp prow of the Chem battleship Kuntok but rather on his own glowering reflection in the transparent aluminumAlexander doubted. The expression that met his eyes was one of infinite resignation. Despite the glory he achieved, glory that could only be measured with the great generals of his planets turbulent past: Napoleon, Caesar and even Alexander the Great himselfstill, Alexander doubted.

A few hours past he orchestrated the defeat of the Scythian Empire and absorbed over two hundred star systems into the fledgling Galactic civilization that was Humankind. Now, a thousand things needed to be accomplished if Humans were to hold on to what they gained. A dangerous period of vulnerability needed to be overcome. Humankind needed to find their balance in space, they needed time. Alexander knew how it should be done, how it must be done, but in a moment of madness and selfishness he took himself out of the galactic chess match. An hour past he considered his part of the Galactic drama complete, and he left it to pursue his own personal venue. It was only now, after he’d watched the Terran flagship Iowa disappear amidst the stars, that he realized what he’d let go: power. As Alexander of Terra, the visual head of the Terran Empire he had the power to make things work, to ensure Human success amidst the cultures of the galaxy. He could build on what he started and make the initial Human gambit in space into an empire. Yet he let that go.

Alexander traded the bridge of the Iowa for the Spartan ante-chamber off of the Armada Commander’s office on the Chem battleship Kuntok. He was a hostage, albeit a willing one. However, he was no longer the general; he was Alexander the man again. True, he was Ambassador to Chem, and that position was not without influence, but it seemed a far cry from the moment when all of Humankind was behind him.

The door to the chamber slid open revealing the tall, gracefully dangerous, armored form of Nazeera. The Armada Commander’s pupil-less blue eyes glowed softly in the glooms of the room. ‘You may enter Alexander.’

He stood and walked to the door, but suddenly the guards barred his way. One of them said, simply, ‘Your weapons, Overlord.’

Nazeera’s eyes glowed with sudden vehemence, and she retorted, ‘As you were! Do you think the Armada Commander fears to be in his presence armed or not?’

The guards stepped back into their positions and stood at attention, accepting the reprimand silently, but Alexander stepped back and began to strip off his weapons. ‘No, this is my fault; I am your guest. As a sign of respect to the Chem and their Armada Commander, Alexander will disarm himself as he would for no other dignitary in the galaxy!’

Nazeera nodded, and Alexander read in the guards faces their pridethe encounter would make the rounds of the ship even as he intended. He deposited his blaster, wrist-blaster and his sword on the chair. Then Alexander followed Nazeera into her office. It was larger than he expected. The ceiling was open to the stars. There was even a small platform above her desk so that she might stand within the dome, looking over her ship as a captain of old might stand on deck. Her desk was in the center of the room, the girders of the ship vaulting across the breadth of the office. There was a large holographic projector in front of the desk and on either side were two metal chairs. Nazeera motioned Alexander to one of them.

She approached him, armor jangling slightly, her boots ringing on the Plasteel deckthe Chem were not a race for creature comforts on their warships. Stopping a few feet from him she looked down at him silently. After inspecting him she touched the compad built into her armored forearm. A holographic display brightened over the projector table. The image was of Alexander brooding over the stars in the ante-chamber.

‘You seem strangely withdrawn Alexander,’ she noted, moving behind him like a panther, laying her long nailed hands on his shoulders. Despite his respect for this woman, Alexander’s ‘shields’ went up. The doubt that crept into his thoughts and softened his eyes disappeared; replaced by a calm, detached self assurance that was stern but short of arrogance.

Alexander’s hardened stare focused on the beautiful face of the Chem Armada Commander. Her luminous blue eyes held a new tinge to them, brighter than her blue-purple suspicion and somewhat bluer than her wrath. Curiosity? Concern? He had not learned to read the Chem’s mood by her eyes, not yet. He laughed softly. ‘Delusions,’ he answered mysteriously, ‘the affairs of state, and the tendrils of power.’

‘You chose a confounding time to drop the reins of your power, Alexander,’ she said, guessing his line of thought. Obviously, it plagued her as well. She sighed, but to Alexander it sounded more heavily burdened with frustration than resignation. She pounded her fist on his armored shoulder. Alexander hardly felt it through the cuirass. The impact sounded hollow, making the nearly empty room feel even more empty.

Nazeera’s breath whistled through her sharp canines and her eyes glowed brighter, flushing just slightly with the purple Alexander knew to mean anger. ‘Here I have Alexander of Terra, presumptuously the greatest conqueror in Galactic history. To my amazement, you orchestrated your own capture by the Chem with the intention of studying your foes even as we studied you. Under the most difficult of circumstances, you won the admiration and respect of Chem, the Galacticsand me. Then, when you had your potential adversaries doubting their aggression towards Terra, you promptly had yourself rescued from the hellish prison planet of Pantrixnia just in time to lead your fleet against my armada. As a testament to your strength and brilliance, you subjugated the entirety of the Scythian Empire in a few short hours. Then, as a coup to your bewildering and complex strategy, you displayed the ultimate check in diplomacy: bargaining for peace from a tactically devastating military position. Everything you did made sense to me, even though I didn’t realize it until after the fact, until now.

‘Alexander, your mastery resulted in Terra throwing off the Scythian yoke and establishing itself as an empire in its own right. Now, however, at the height of your fame and success, you leave your position at the head of your mighty fleet and volunteered yourself as my hostage, far from the political arena of his new empire. Why?’ Her eyes glowed dangerously, and she leaned over him, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The question was repeated, and Alexander knew he had to answer.

‘History Nazeera, we Terrans are creatures of habit and history,’ he growled, trying to sound convincing for Nazeera and trying to convince himself.

‘I am a step behind you again,’ Nazeera growled back, turning toward the darkness of the room so that he could only see in profile the delicate chin set beneath a dangerous frown. ‘Your Alexandrian scheming has me surprised at every turn despite my innate suspicions and my own formidable skills in the craft of intrigue. I should be able to read you Alexander; it is a grudging admission that I cannot!’

Shaking her dusky leonine head, Nazeera retreated to the food dispenser. She muttered something and a bottle and two glasses appeared. Picking up the bottle, she poured herself some wine, turned to him as if about to speak, and then turned away and filled Alexander’s glass. Picking up the glasses, she approached him. He took the offered glass and lifted it as she lifted her own. ‘To our empires, my they grow and prosper in mutual respect and friendship!’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ he replied, sipping the wine. It was full bodied, flavorful but with hard obsidian edge just like Nazeera.

The Armada Commander frowned. ‘I am not complaining of your presence, mind you, but don’t you fear that your rivals will divide your gains in your absence? The Terran Empire is at this moment forming without your attention. Are you that confident in your lieutenants, Alexander, or am I simply falling behindagainin this game of yours.’

‘You give me too much credit, Nazeera,’ he told her. Purposefully he downplayed the role she saw him acting. He knew full well what she thought he was, what she thought he’d accomplished, and how. It would do no good to tell her that Alexander of Terra was created as a figurehead of power, nothing more. The fact that he made himself into something quite different was even now not so clear in his own head. Yet even as Nazeera pressed him for answers, he returned to his original opinion. His gut reaction, at the time of victory, was to leave, and not become embroiled in the political infighting that was certain to follow. He had no patience for such battles, and therefore he was better off distancing himself from them. That did not mean, however, that his assumption was entirely correct; i.e., that he forever separated himself from the power that was, for a short while, his and his alone. He might be able to affect the course of Human history, as he saw it ought to be, when the time was right again. For the moment, though, he felt again as if he instinctively made the right decision. He felt that old feeling again, as he had when first thrown before the alien Chem: he was still the central player in all this, and he was, in fact, playing at once a lesser and a greater role than either Nazeera, the Chem, or his Human companions knew. The power of this role was that it was uniquely his, and although the courses of Galactic empires might change to counter his actions, it was he, Alexander of Terra, who was constantly defining the rules of the game. He smiled for the beautiful woman, reflecting the focusing of his own thoughts and confidence. His words to her were, of course, almost the antithesis of his thoughts. He told her simply, ‘The universe is too large, my dear Nazeera, to be much concerned with a single being, even if that being is Alexander.’

‘You evade my question with modesty, as you usually do,’ Nazeera replied. ‘That is a Human trait; I am guessing, and a strange one considering your accomplishments. Certainly, it is no flaw a Chem would consider including in their character. It is ineffective Alexander. Once, maybe, I would believe we’d overestimated younever again. You are a grand conductor, and we are, all of us, Humans, Chem, Scythians, your instruments. What I don’t understand in this symphony of yours is why you are back with me. You’ve played the Chem, or tried to, but it seems to me to be the time and place to play to your Terran Empire. Empires are easily built. It is their maintaining that requires time, patience, and above all the presence of the empire builder.’

Alexander massaged his brow, wanting to explain his thoughts to her, but he held back. Nazeera held out the obvious answer for his situation. She was right in every logical argument, and the essence of his being desired nothing more than to second guess himself yet again, but at the same time that very correctness of the answer was a trap. While he feared losing the opportunity to effect the course of Terra, for which he needed power, Alexander was nonetheless a student of history. More so, he was a believer in history. History, listened to with unprejudiced ear, told the listener many things. Alexander had seen this trap before. It was the same trap which caught Napoleon, Attila, Caesar and Alexander the Great: power, and the inability to let it go. He felt what they must have felt at the pinnacle of their careers. An entirely new world lay at his feet, raw and ready to be formed by his hands. History told him, however, that however nobly intentioned it never turned out that way. Inevitably the creation twisted and turned the creator away from their original purpose, and in the end the creator destroyed all that one day they hoped to build. In his memory only Alexander the Great succeeded in creating a new world without being destroyed by it. He died to achieve this, and his world fell apart in the folly of his followers. All that survived was the idea of worldwide empire and its siren song.

‘What do I care for the administration of an empire?’ He told her the truth, at least as his instincts saw things. Hopefully, it answered Nazeera’s questions and his own second guessing. ‘I have no skills for politics, and certainly no patience for politicians. Think of it seriously, Nazeera. If politics were the centerpiece to my talents you and I would not be sitting here. That I am here is a testament that my talents lie in a different vein, far from that of a politician or administrator. Let us just say I have no wish to sit behind a desk to wrangle and haggle over the scraps of power. I am where I wish to be, and I must say that when the choice is between yourself and Admiral Augesburcke on the Iowa I cannot find any fault in my decision.’

‘Always the charmer, Alexander,’ she said shaking her head in resignation. ‘So you are now working on behalf of yourself and not your empire? You leave one of the most powerful seats in the galaxy, and to pursue what? Answer me that. A man such as yourself always has a goal in mind, or a new conquest. What is your new quest Alexander?’

‘I thought I’d made that quite clear in my demands. I expect to face the challenge of Bureel, your traitorous husband and my sworn enemy. I further expect that you shall then become a widow. What happens after that is entirely up to you, my dear.’ He told her, a sly smile creeping onto his visage.

‘You left your empire to pursue Nazeera of Chem,’ she asked flatly. ‘You flatter me, but forgive me if I don’t believe a word of it. It is far more likely that this is another of your cunning plans, and the end result will be another title: Alexander of Chem.’

‘I see no profit whatsoever in that,’ he told her seriously, adding, ‘I am satisfied to be Ambassador to Chem.’

Nazeera leaned forward, placing her full lips and sharp teeth within inches of his, ‘but what will you be satisfied with in the end Alexander? What title from my empire will sate that conqueror’s lust?’

‘Alexander, husband of Nazeera,’ he replied, that sly smile reappearing on his face.

She threw herself back into a chair with a laugh. ‘Alexander, Alexander! My dearest Alexander,’ she said clutching her temples and closing her eyes. She leaned on the arms of the chair, silent, head cradled in her hands until Alexander, thinking she was in some difficulty, gently touched her shoulder. She took his hand warmly. Her eyes opened and they looked directly into his. ‘I once said you knew the right thing to say at the right time. I am your instrument again. Alexander, how can I know whether you are the poet on my balcony or the conqueror from the stars?’

‘I am both,’ he told her. ‘I am everything you’ve seen Nazeera. I have never pretended to be anyone but Alexander with you.’

‘Then you will fulfill your challenge of Bureel,’ she said. It was not a question. It was a statement of fact.

‘I will,’ he answered.

‘Then upon Bureel’s death you will take possession of me, and therefore my house, and my position in the Triumvirate,’ she told him.

‘If I am successful and Bureel dies then I will marry you, Nazeera of Chem, if you will have me. I have no right to your title, your office, and your houseon Terra the husband does not usurp the wife, excepting some backward stone-age societies that have no bearing here or anywhere else for that matter.’ He hesitated and looked away, doubt creeping back into his belly. What of Terra? The danger was past and the planet was safe from conflict with extraterrestrials; but what of conflict between Terrans? Despite its newfound solidarity Alexander knew that those very societies he’d just mentioned were real, and they were more dangerous to Terra than any Chem armada.

He refocused, realizing that for better or worse that was no longer his problemat least for the time being. To Nazeera, he said, ‘I have no right and no desire to share in anything you have earned but as a husband supporting his wife in her endeavors. I desire you, not your rank or your wealth in the Chem Empire. To me, Nazeera the woman is a prize far beyond wealth and position.’

‘That is your prerogative as victor in a challenge,’ Nazeera told him. ‘However, you realize that should you fail the result will undoubtedly be war.’

‘Why should it come to that?’ Alexander asked, somewhat surprised.

‘The Terran’s would never let their Overlord be slain without revenge, not if I read your planet’s character correctly,’ Nazeera told him.

‘I have relinquished my position as Overlord,’ he told her. ‘This is a point of honor, not of state. There will be no retribution.’

‘Then what of ascendancy,’ she asked, getting up and pacing the room as he usually did when he was thinking aloud. ‘Surely there is a struggle for your seat. Who will sit in the Overlord’s throne now that he has abdicated; more to the point, who would dare sit in Alexander’s throne knowing when you returnand you shall assuredly returnyou will claim it once again.’ She turned toward him, her eyes narrowing to glowing blue slits. She pointed her nailed finger at him threateningly. ‘Don’t you try to make me believe that you’ve retired Alexander; there is no such thing for beings like us.’

Alexander shook his head and smiled at her mythical logic. ‘That is not the way of Terrans, at least not anymore. Our ways of succession have long since progressed beyond violence. There won’t be another Overlord, but there will be a political leader who rises about the debate and administers Terra. Though you may think it impossible of us, we are proud that power transfers through the process of law, not strength.’

‘Even if that is so, the other races of the galaxy would not ignore the event,’ Nazeera replied.

‘What do you mean, what do they have to do with this?’

Nazeera sighed. ‘A conqueror you are, Alexander, because your mind thinks only of attack and gain. You think none would dare attack the Empire of Alexander, and you may well be right while you livewhile you can return to Terra and seize the reins of power. You do not think of what may happen after you are gone, but there are others who do. They will wait for the chaos that follows your death. Your hard won empire will be split amongst the strongest. There will be civil war. It is during the turbulence following your death when the other races shall strike, before a new Overlord asserts himself.’

‘Terrans can take care of themselves.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Nazeera told him. ‘That is not what the galaxy expects of Humans. Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter what actually happens, Alexander. We still know nothing of Humans other than what the legends tell us. You, my dearest Alexander, have ensured that those legends were driven home as the truth. Word spreads quickly in the galaxy. I doubt that there is anything as much talked about in the Galactic council chambers as yourself. The galaxy is arming for fear of you. They may not attack your empire, not yet, because of you. Already, however, there will be those who foresee your death. When that occurs there will be a rush to the carcass.’ She turned away as if unable to face him. ‘If Bureel somehow wins the challenge that rush will happen immediately. In fact, and I am sorry I must say this; Chem may very well be one of the scavengers. Right now you are considered as dangerous as a hostage as you would be free, just because you are alive.’ Turning back to him, Alexander saw a new glow in her eyes, as if she was finally beginning to see through the murky fogs of Alexander’s strategy. He stifled a smile, because right now he was flying on blind instinct. He had nothing remotely resembling any strategy!

‘Somehow, my dear Alexander, you have manipulated events throughout this crisis, and there is no reason to say that you have stopped. If you die, however, the Terran Empire is weakened immeasurably. Dire times for Terra will follow.’

‘You are trying to advise me to recant my challenge to Bureel?’

‘I cannot do that, and I would not,’ Nazeera told him. ‘I say it only to remind you that there remains for you, Alexander of Terra, no personal trials. You have never been your own man, for as soon as you became Alexander of Terra you gave away all rights to be an individual. You are Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire. That you may refuse to be so means nothing. That even Terra turns away from you means nothing. The galaxy sees you as Alexander of Terra, Overlord of the Terran Empire. The galaxy sees you as the incarnation of a legend two kicellia old.’ She collected her thoughts and the blue glow of her eyes grew brighter when she said, ‘You were born on the day the Scythians told the Galactic council that a Terran warlord would lead their race of warriors to the stars bent on Galactic conquest. That is your destiny Alexander, to be a conqueror, like the Alexander of old. You belong to Terra, and to the galaxy. You have no personal life as a Human called Alexander, and as flattering as it is to Nazeera the woman, Alexander’s conquest of her cannot be his goal. Alexander cannot pursue trivial pleasures. Everything he does not only affects Terra, but Chem and every other civilization in this galaxy.

‘You are old in lives Alexander, but young in your knowledge of the galaxy. Human hearts may not tremble at the thought of war any more than Chem hearts. We are warrior races, unique and strong. Yet look at what the legend of Human ferocity drove us to do. We were set on a war of extermination. The honorable Chem, ready to commit genocide on rumor, with no prior wrong done to us! Our neighbors are not so hardened. Their reaction cannot be calculated. They have lived with the thought of Galactic war for an age, your Galactic war Alexander. Legends are fine when they are just legends, but when they come to life they push people into unnatural acts. Humans may well be as strong as the Chem, so long as they have Alexander; my concern is that they are not as strong as they need to be without Alexander. I’ve come to love the Human race through you. I see so much that is strong and noble in you, but still so very different; I cannot help but think the galaxy would be a poorer place without you. However I may feel, it is a vast galaxy out there, my love, even without the Chem, and I wonder if Humans are quite ready for it.’

Nazeera’s words sobered Alexander. The old mantle of responsibility once again settled on his shoulders. He felt anxious, and he wondered again if he was in the wrong place. Did he belong on the bridge of the Iowa? Perhaps, but not yet, something deep within his gut, something he’d come to trust, kept hammering away at him. Some form of Nazeera’s, and the galaxy’s, vision of Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire would be the correct answer eventually, but not yetno, not yet.

‘Time will tell, Nazeera,’ he sighed, and then he laughed. ‘You know, reality is a greatly overrated concept. It is what people perceive and not what is real that’s powerful. In that respect we create our own reality. I want you to know, Nazeera, that whatever happens, and wherever the paths lead Alexander of Terra, the way of Alexander the Man will always lead me here, to you. That is the reality I have created for myself.’

Nazeera smiled back, and laughed, ‘We still have to live with reality to a certain extentand decorum. You must therefore join me in the officer’s mess for a State dinner. You are, after all, an Ambassador, and I, unfortunately, am still married. Therefore, I cannot have dinner with you alone even though I am the Armada Commander.’

‘I have you alone now,’ he grinned wolfishly, and he moved toward her..

CHAPTER 2

Nazeera smiled just as ardently and corrected him, ‘We are indeed alone Alexander, but you do not have me yet.’ She pressed her compad and the doors slid open. Immediately the guards attended her. She nodded to them. ‘Escort the Ambassador to his quarters and wait upon him there. Ensure he is at the State dinner at 1800 hours!’

‘As you wish Armada Commander!’

Alexander bowed to Nazeera and left with his escort.

After dinner, an officer and two guards escorted Alexander to his quarters. The Chem regarded him as a head of state, and not as a hostage. His quarters were spacious and comfortable, much more so than the Spartan tritanium steel cave he called a stateroom on the Iowa Besides a bed and bathroom there was a small study with a food dispenser, a desk and a visiplate. His escort, a young officer who by his actions seemed to hold the man in some awe, politely told him the method of operation for the dispenser and the visiplate.

‘My lord, the dispenser is programmed to exclude anything harmful to your physiology. The visiplate controls allow access to the ship’s communication center. From there you can make a call to the Terran government, excuse me, to your Terran Steward or Regent. Pardon me, sir, what do you name your replacement while you are away. I am sorry; I did not mean “replacement,” as in,’

Alexander raised his hand to rescue the young Chem. ‘I simply call them officials,’ he said. Then he observed that, ‘These quarters are remarkably well arranged for foreign dignitaries. Is it your custom to transport all such officials on Chem warships?’

The Chem nodded, and said, ‘Yes, we allow no alien ships to cross over into Chem space, even for peaceful purposes. Normally, Ambassadors and their diplomatic entourage are transported on destroyer class vessels. Your rank, however, demands certain privileges.’

‘Of course,’ Alexander replied, ‘I must admit, though, that this is a significant change from the quarters I resided in the last time I came to Chem.’

‘I understand there were certain misconceptions, sir,’ the Chem said uncomfortably.

‘Yes, I think the Armada Commander chides me,’ Alexander smiled. ‘She must think I have grown old and soft to desire such’ he grimaced as if in pain when he pushed down on the cushion of the bed’such fluff.’ The officer looked even more uncomfortable.

‘Shall I address this with the Armada Commander my lord? She did instruct me to report to her personally concerning your wants and needs.’

‘No,’ Alexander said forcefully, playing the part of a barbaric Terran to the hilt. ‘As a supremely intelligent being, your Armada Commander possesses a commendable sense of humor. I’m certain this is her idea of a jest. I shall be fine. It will not be a problem to strip the bed of its mattress. Hopefully the frame is sufficiently hard. If it is not, I will call you and you may bring some rocks for me to sleep on.’

‘Rocks my lord?’

‘Yes, sharp ones,’ Alexander replied with a mask of severity. ‘Weakness must not be allowed to creep inside your bones lad, remember that.’

‘Yes my lord,’ the Chem officer swallowed.

‘Thank you; you have fulfilled your duty admirably.’

‘You are welcome, sir,’ the Chem bowed. As he left he said, ‘I was told to instruct you that you have direct access to the Armada Commander through the second channel on the visiplate. The channel will connect your terminal to the Armada Commander wherever she happens to be. If that will be all, sir, good night.’

‘Good night,’ Alexander said. After the officer left he sat down at the terminal. The visiplate was blank except for the lower portion of the screen. An amber box flashed on and off. There was no corresponding light on the console. After a moment he reached across and touched the screen where the box flashed. The screen brightened to show the image of a computer generated Chem officer. She said, ‘good evening Alexander of Terra, you have a message. Please stand by.’

The viewer’s image changed to that of Admiral Augesburcke. The Admiral was seated on the bridge of the Iowa

‘Augesburcke to Alexander,’ he began formally. It was quite naturally a clear channel and the Admiral obviously wanted any listeners to continue to believe in Alexander as the representative of the Terrans. There was something more in his mannerisms, however, which Alexander noted as he watched the transmission. The Admiral’s address was formal, as befitting a communication to a superior. Either Augesburcke was a fine actor or he was sincere. At this thought Alexander’s brow furrowed with a heavy weight. The Admiral’s message continued, ‘Alexander, word has reached Terra of our victory over the Scythians. The Terran Senate, formerly the United Nations, sends its congratulations and thanks. Might I add that the citizens of Terra also extend their appreciation for your skill and foresight,’ Augesburcke was interrupted by a tape of the assembly at the Terran Senate. A resolution was read before the entire body. It concerned the actions of Alexander and the Fleet, but in particular Alexander. He found it somewhat embarrassing. Then the scene shifted to Times Square, then London, Paris, Moscow, Peking, and a dozen other cities. Throngs gathered beneath his lighted name. The scenes went on for a minute or two, and he waited patiently for them to end. It was ironic, he thought, universal adulation was common dream amongst Terrans, and he was no exception. He’d fed off the roar of the crowd, thrilling over his exploits in the NFL. To this day he could feel the tremors running through the concrete, the brass of seventy-thousand voices raised to him. The rush was the same, even after a decade. Now those voices were multiplied a thousand-fold and he felt empty, drained. It was not that he did not appreciate the sincerity of emotion, but he wondered why it should be so exuberant. Certainly, any other Human would have done their utmost in his place. Alexander simply had the remarkable good fortune to carry it off. Finally the Admiral returned. ‘Alexander, pardon the inclusion but it is the right of the populace that you know their gratitude.

‘To business then, the Senate has, of course, approved you as the Ambassador to the Chem, as well as all other Galactic civilizations. As contacts are made with other civilizations we trust you would like to continue the policy of designating representative Ambassadors to each. The Senate will shortly be debating several paramount questions including the disposition of the former Scythian Empire, Terran expansion and colonization, and various security issues. Your thoughts on those subjects are, of course, required. We will endeavor to set up a secure communications link with you, with the Chem’s cooperation. In the mean time we shall provide couriers and ships to ensure active communications. A staff will also be provided for you at your leisure.

‘The Senate and the Fleet await the outcome of your continuing negotiations with the Chem Empire. The Terran Federation sends its regards to the Chem Empire and hopes that your negotiations will provide a foundation for a long friendship between our two peoples. This concludes my report. The best wishes of the Federation and the Fleet go with you. Hail Alexander!’

Alexander reclined with a heavy sigh as the screen went dark. ‘Hail Alexander,’ he echoed. ‘Ah, my beloved Rome, that protocol has been slandered and bastardized since Caesar’s time, are we quite ready for it again? Is it proper that it should be resurrected after our all too recent shame? Watch yourself Admiral. And you, Alexander, take care in your own desires. The worst democracy is far better than the best tyranny. If and when you seek power again, Alexander, be careful how you manage it!’

The message caused Alexander to reflect deeply on what the Admiral said, and what Nazeera told him. Humankind looked upon him as a conquering hero, but to the galaxy he was the military Overlord of a new and dangerous empire. In Nazeera’s mind, and the galaxy’s no doubt, Alexander’s previous successes came as a result of his manipulating his environment and the people around him. While this was true to some extent, their views were no doubt exaggerations of the truth. Alexander reacted to crisis after crisis in his rise to fame, and his success was largely due to astute assumptions on his part. There was a difference now, and he immediately understood the powerful implications inherent in his position. Before he was unknown, a surprise player in the galactic saga with no reputation; only the inferences of legendary Human prowess. Now after his victories, he had the benefit of all those terrible powers of legend, deserved or not. Whereas before he had no position; the galaxy now assumed that he was the Overlord of the Terran Empire. Finally, and most important to is mind, he was not reacting anymore. Whereas before Alexander reacted to every crisis; now he had instinctively put himself in the only position where he could be an outsider. He distanced himself from the details of empire building on Terra, and put himself in a position where he could observe Terra, the Chem, and the other Galactic cultures without distraction. This would give him a grand view of the cosmic chessboard, and was much more advantageous than being down in the trenches of Terra, wondering what his position and place in their future history would be.

Suddenly he felt very weary, though satisfied. He laid his head on the desk, and closed his eyes. His voice was a murmur, and he spoke to himself, and for himself, ‘Now my task is not simply to die well, but to learn and understand the cosmos around us. Opportunity shall not forget me I think, and I am somehow confident that when the reins to Terra’s chariot are once handed to me it will be under a more permanent contract. That is when I shall be in the most danger to myself, and from myself. There is so much we’ve dreamed of, and so much that is possible. All that can be ruined, however, by a leader corrupted by hunger and power. I, of all people cannot allow myself to be the destroyer of those dreams, even if they should turn in directions I do not choose. What was it the Roman’s did when their generals entered the city after a triumph? There was a great parade, and accolades showered down upon the victor as he was driven chariot through the streets; but all the while a lieutenant whispered humbling words into the conqueror’s ear. May I have the strength to be that voice in my own ear when I need it.’ With that last thought he slipped into a light slumber.

CHAPTER 3

A hundred meters away in the apartments of Bureel, the condemned member of the Chem Assemblage watched his Human adversary with distinct malice. He weathered the last ten decurns under virtual house arrest by his wife, but he was not idle. Bureel was scheming heartily. His political future and his very life depended on drastically changing the status quo, and quickly. To let events continue as they were was to invite certain death in a duel with Alexander. So during his incarceration he probed and prodded; thinking and searching for a way out of his predicament. There were ways of finding out things and spreading news, even in his confined position. Nazeera could not go so far as to completely isolate him, which was fortunate, as he had much to do and very little time to accomplish it. Ironically it was Nazeera who unknowingly offered Bureel the answers to his dilemma, and the treason he hatched within his suite suited the malice of his personality. Secretly, Bureel drew together all the webs of his influence throughout the Empire. With desperate promises of power and advancement he gained listeners, and in their ears he poured whisperings of fear and innuendo. The integrity of Nazeera was a high barrier to overcome, but ambition and pride sprinkled with the psychotic fear of Alexander gained Bureel many more audiences than his abilities could warrant. The poison of his tongue seeped amongst the Assemblage, and seeped effectively throughout the military. He raised the specter of revolution, and though the lack of commitment to his cause was frustrating he was still able to press home his points and his prophecy. His contacts listened to him grudgingly, but they listened.

The message of Bureel was not comforting, and it dwelt on Nazeera’s infatuation with Alexander of Terra. She would avoid combat with Alexander at whatever the cost, and when Nazeera one day ascended to the seat of the Elder it would be Alexander, and the Terran Empire, that were the true masters of Chem. Dishonor and betrayal were the rotten kernel of his fruit, and Bureel pandered it about freely. Those who listened did not do so lightly, and few did it with the earnest desire for advancement that was Bureel’s motive. Bureel knew this, and he also knew that to associate such treason with Nazeera was all but unthinkable. He admitted as much, but he reminded his audience that such considerations were small when the future of the Empire and the honor of Chem were at stake. Bureel’s contacts gave him no promises and much scorn, but in the end they agreed to wait upon his predictions. His plans came together to perfection when the Armada of Chem and Fleet of Terra met, and the glorious battle of the ages never occurred. With a malignant glee he watched as none other than Alexander himself parleyed with Nazeera. No scenario could better have acted out his vision. When the fleets drew apart and Alexander returned with Nazeera to Chem, Bureel found himself flooded with vows of allegiance and support. The reality of the peace disappeared in Bureel’s venom. The Chem Empire slipped into a sudden tense fit of waiting.

Nervously Bureel shifted the heavy ceremonial cloak about his shoulders. It accented his attire, which was more formal than his confinement warranted. He glanced over his shoulder to Gurthur and the three Chem warriors standing behind his lieutenant. ‘It is time,’ he snarled. ‘It is at last our moment and our duty to strike. We will act before the Conqueror arrives to surreptitiously govern our empire from our own capital, without a drop of Chem blood spilt in defiance! Our honor is at stake, as is that of the Chem Empire. Those who stand in our way are cowards and traitors to Chem and to the glory of our ancestors! Let us begin!’

There were assenting oaths from the attending Chem warriors. Gurthur perched over his master’s shoulder and said, ‘Victory my lord! All is prepared. I can guarantee you one hundredth of a decurn over the Chem communications grid. Your speech will be the warning signal which awakens our forces. All of Chem awaits your call!’

‘Excellent, Gurthur, we will not fail to fuel the anger of our deserving multitude.’ Bureel smiled. Then he turned to the other Chem, telling them, ‘To you, I give a tasking most honorable. You know what to do. All of Chem shall remember your deeds this night. May fortune go with you!’

‘You have our devotion, my lord,’ they said. Bureel dismissed them with a wave of the hand, and they left the chambers.

‘Now, to awaken the Empire,’ Bureel said with a smile.

Alexander’s dreams were troubled and confused. Perhaps it was the demon of responsibility; perhaps it was the uncertainty of the future. Whatever it was it prevented him from resting fitfully. He awoke to the ringing of an enormous gong. For a split second it enmeshed itself in his dream, and then everything dissolved into frightening actuality. The huge shark-shaped battleship shook from hammer-blows to the hull. It rang like some mournful bell from Hell’s own castle, tolling the arrival of doom. The room shook so violently that he could not focus. He was thrown this way and that, sprawling away from his bed and onto the hard surface of the deck. Suddenly the floor pulled away and he slammed into the ceiling. He spun through the air, cart wheeling across the room, but he failed to fall. The ship’s artificial gravity had failed. The lights dimmed and flickered.

A guttural shout attracted his attention. His flight took him away from the sound, but he twisted to see three Chem warriors entering his chambers. Two men and a women floated by the door, watching him with feral grins. The long knives in their hands made their intent obvious. The assassins were all too well prepared for the zero gravity. They approached him by fanning out, their control provided by small jets on their boots. A flash of panic hit Alexander. He was floating, helplessa sitting duck.

Luck didn’t wholly desert him though. The room wasn’t all that large and his momentum carried Alexander the wall. There wasn’t anything for him to grab onto or steady himself, but he wasn’t thinking of standing and fighting; the only possible solution was exactly the opposite, and he took it with the resolve of fatal determination and the one thing in his character he could always count onhis short temper.

Gathering himself up like a swimmer at a turn, Alexander did not wait steady himself, but exploded from the wall with every shred of force his powerful legs could muster. Although slightly off balance, he caught the Chem assassins completely off guard. He shot like a torpedo at one of them, intending to draw his own blade and strike, but Alexander’s trajectory was faster than even he expected and he had no time to draw his weapon. Instead he rammed the Chem with his shoulder. The assassin grunted in surprise and pain at the assault and even his lightning quick Chem reflexes were no match for the violence of Alexander’s attack. In zero-G it was velocity and mass that counted; Alexander had both.

Alexander hardly felt the collision. It barely slowed him down. The Chem assassin was not so lucky. The impact sent him flying into the wall, where he hit with an audible crunch of bone and broken armor. He floated away, dazed, trailing a string of blood and spittle from his broken mouth.

The opposite wall rushed up. Tucking into a ball, Alexander got his feet beneath him, hitting the smooth surface with his boots. He steadied himself with his left hand while drawing his wicked blade with his right. Although slightly askew, he kicked off, aiming for the adjoining wall instead of trying to aim himself perfectly. He had to keep moving, to stop was to die. Regardless of his physical powers, the Chem assassins had jet bootsthey had the advantageso move he did, trusting that in the confines of the small room opportunities to damage his assailants would come on their own.

They did. He bounded from one wall to another, to the ceiling, the floor and across open space with the Chem assassins becoming increasingly frustrated with try to get a bead on him. A Chem slashed clumsily at him, trying to turn in mid air as he changed directions. Alexander blocked the cut with his armored forearm and dragged the edge of his knife across the man’s groin and leg as he flew past. A howl of pain greeted his ears. The drag of the Chem on his blade caused his momentum to change, turning him in the air, but he was ready for it. He timed the turn with a tuck to land squarely on the wall, and just as quickly he shot off again. Another Chem flashed by and he slashed. A long arc of blood erupted through the dim light as the blade dragged across the soft flesh of the female’s throat. A horrible gurgling cough filled the chamber.

Alexander shot himself off the walls, ceiling and floor. He was as a ricocheting projectile amidst the slow controlled movements of the Chem. The Chem warriors, devoid of one of their number already, had no plan to combat Alexander’s desperate tactics. In the zero gravity they expected to have the advantage, but the speed at which he adapted to the environment surprised them. Their jet boots gave them some measure of control, but it was slow and clumsy compared to the spider like manner with which the Human propelled himself about the room. They shouted between each other, frantically trying to find a way to combat the Human. Unfortunately for them Alexander was quickly gaining a deadly proficiency in this manner of warfare. Both the remaining Chem were already wounded, and there was no relief for them in sight. Fortune finally looked their way, however, when the room became too crowded. Alexander blundered into the still twitching corpse of the female. The collision sent him whirling into one of his remaining antagonists and they locked, knife to knife, upside down to each other. Alexander and the Chem struggled ferociously, while the other assassin maneuvered carefully behind the Human. Sensing the danger the man frantically kicked and twisted, throwing himself and his immediate adversary tumbling about the room. The other Chem tried to gain a clear stroke at Alexander’s back, and he succeeded in slipping his blade beneath Alexander’s cuirass and gashing him low in the kidneys. Before the Chem could follow up his attack, however, the ship’s gravity suddenly returned.

The entire writhing mass of Chem and Human crashed to the floor, with Alexander on the bottom of the pile. He landed on his shoulders, but one of the Chem fell upon his legs, twisting his back up. He felt something pop, and the searing flash of pain in his spine caused him to cry out. Alexander threw his head back, an unconscious reaction to the pain, but it saved him. The knife meant to stab him in the hollow at the juncture of his spine and skull instead skipped off the crown of his head and sliced through his cheek. Alexander struck blindly with the back of his elbow, feeling it connect soundly with one of the assassins. The other leapt upon his back like a parasite; his dagger plunging again and again into Alexander’s back only to be blunted by the tough cuirass. Before he could alter his attach, Alexander heaved himself up, lifting the Chem off the ground. He flung himself back, landing with all of his weight on the assassinthe Chem let go with a spasmodic cry of anguish as all of Alexander’s weight squeezed the air out of his lungs.

Alexander rolled off the stunned Chem, bringing his blade down hard in a terrible overhand arc. The Chem saw death in that moment and his vivid blue eyes went stark white. The blade splashed through the Chem’s neck and spine, only stopping when it rang against the deck. The assassin’s head rolled drunkenly across the metal floor, stopping at the feet of the remaining assassin. The Chem looked down at his comrade with a stunned expression, but his eyes glowed red with fury as he watched Alexander lurch up knife in hand.

‘Now it’s just you and me,’ Alexander growled, but then he froze. The Chem laughed and pulled out a blaster. Alexander’s blasters hung next to his bed on the other side of the room.

‘Your death will have to be glory enough,’ the assassin laughed.

Whoomph! The blaster discharged, but it went awry and the bolt of seething energy lunged past him and burned into the wall.

Alexander cringed at the sound, wondering how the assassin could possibly miss at such close range. To his surprise, the assassin dropped his weapon and stood looking down at his chest. There were three long thin blades protruding from his breastplate. They were bathed in his own blood. Without another word he pitched forward on his facestone dead.

Alexander looked beyond the corpse. His door was open and several Chem warriors stood in the doorway, gore dripping from their swords. They looked down at the dead assassin and then up to Alexander. He waited, not knowing whether they sought the glory of his death for themselves or if they were from Nazeera.

Seven hundred thousand kilometers away, in his captured shuttle, Bureel watched the last of his assassins die. ‘So close to victory,’ he whispered to himself, knowing, fearing that with a few more seconds he would have been rid of Alexanderknowing those few seconds might seal his fate.

‘Well I have this to say for the brute, he has a flair for the dramatic!’ His bravado was intended for his crew of mutineers. They joined his laughter nervously, at once impressed at their lord’s calmness in the face of such an adversary, but also concerned that same adversary was now their enemy as well.

Bureel’s attempt to assassinate Alexander was but a part of an all encompassing act of rebellion. The entire Chem Empire was at this moment divided, and even now the first battles of the civil war were under way. Bureel’s timetable was exact. He’d escaped Nazeera’s flagship less than a Terran hour past, and was already pulling into the landing bay of his rebel flagship, which he had renamed Toa Riche: Honor and Glory Renewed. In a few moments, he was on the bridge. The main screens showed a mass of ships already tangled in battle. There was, at this moment, no sharply defined conflict. Bureel’s rebel armada came from defections within Nazeera’s own loyalist armada, and they sorted themselves out slowly. At the moment there was more posturing over the communication channels than there was fighting, but there was mounting evidence that would soon change.

‘Report Captain,’ Bureel commanded as he stepped out of the lift.

‘Our forces are roughly equal, my lord, as far as we can tell,’ the Chem reported. ‘The engagement has yet to take shape. Neither side has, as of yet, fully ascertained just who is who.’

‘Well then let us force this fray into a shape of our choosing,’ Bureel ordered. ‘Send an open signal for all ships loyal to me to concentrate their firepower on the Kuntok, the loyalist flagship.’

‘But my lord, your wife, Nazeera of the Triumvirate, is aboard her,’ the Captain protested.

‘I am aware of that, Captain. Carry out my orders. She must pay the price for her treason.’ Bureel said without a hint of regret. Then he turned to Gurthur. He asked irritably, ‘what news in the Empire?’

Gurthur smiled, ‘One member of the Triumvirate and thirty-seven seats of the Assemblage have rallied behind you my lord. That is approximately forty-two percent. Puriezia of the Triumvirate has sworn loyalty to you. What is more important we have won the allegiance of nearly sixty-five percent of the Armada, and even now we have control of the Guardian Armada. The Empire of Chem is at your feet my lord!’

‘Then let us take it by the throat, Gurthur!’ Bureel exclaimed. ‘Captain, broadcast my order throughout the Armada. To all of Chem loyal to our ancestor’s glory and to Bureel: no mercy for the traitors to Chem! Take hold your ancient honor and glory. Destroy those who would place the honor of Chem upon an alien doorstep. Take hold of your empire, and then we shall expand into the arenas of glory that beckon us!’

CHAPTER 4

The Kuntok shuddered again. A blinding sheet of pain struck Alexander in his spine and he sunk to his knees with a groan. Immediately his brain railed at him, ‘Get up, the Chem are watching!’ He tried, but nothing greeted his efforts except waves and waves of painhumiliating, humbling pain. His lower back was on fire, his legs shook; he simply could not get up. With the life and death crisis over, all the strength of the battle fled. It was as if his inner reserves decided they were no longer needed. They took away their extra strength and left him wracked with spasms. He knew the feeling all too well. Alexander left the NFL for just this reason. He might have gutted out another three years with his battered knees, but it was his back that finally humbled him.

The Chem rushed in. They grasped him by either arm and pulled him up to his feet. Alexander stifled a grunt of pain, but they held him steady. The pain was severe. It took his breath away. After a moment, it subsided to a manageable level and Alexander was able to stand. He nodded grimly, ‘Thank you for your rescue,’ he said, adding some false bravado, ‘I didn’t expect the curs to lower themselves to using blasters! Have they forgotten they are Chem warriors?’

‘The traitors!’ exclaimed one. ‘They dishonor the Chem with assassins! Alexander of Terra, are you much hurt?’

Alexander stifled a groan of pain. A sharp spasm coursed through his spine, but he forced his legs to bear his weight. It was uncomfortable at best but at least his legs worked. He freed himself from their grasp and growled in mock irritation, saying, ‘I am in tolerable condition, though I didn’t plan on an exercise session at this hour.’

‘You speak bravely Alexander of Terra, but you have a serious wound in your back!’ another Chem told him, concerned.

‘Not as serious as whatever is going on with this ship,’ Alexander replied. ‘Certainly the Terran Fleet has not dishonored me and engaged the Chem?’

‘No Alexander, they have not, but we are in the midst of a battle,’ said the second.

‘To our shame we are attacked by our own people,’ the other added. ‘The traitorous forces of Bureel have broken away from the Empire. They claim we abandoned the old ways when we made peace with the Terran Empire.’

‘Peace without the glory of victory takes a strong and confident heart to accept,’ Alexander said. ‘It is always easier to make war than peace.’

Another shock jarred the ship. It hurried the Chem. ‘We dally here beyond our right,’ the first Chem told him. ‘The Armada Commander sent us to escort you to the bridge. She wishes an audience with you, but circumstances prevent any other recourse.’

‘Obviously,’ Alexander agreed. ‘Lead me to her then.’

‘Are you well enough to travel?’

‘I shall have to be if the Armada Commander summons me,’ he replied, and he followed them out of the room. They made their way down the corridors to the lift. Alexander walked stiffly upright, but each new blow to the ship sent a thrill of pain through his spine. The wound in his back was a long slash several centimeters deep and reaching from his spine around to his flank. It oozed blood, and now it began to burn. He packed the tail of the Banthror cloak over it and cinched his belt tighter. It was a Spartan remedy, but at the moment there was little else he could do. It was not the slash, however, which bothered him. Alexander knew his physical limitations all too well. His comparatively prodigious strength amongst the Chem would avail him little with his back the way it was. His active life taught him to play through the pain of torn knees, broken bones and battered limbs, but Alexander knew the debilitation of a damaged spine. It was the core of the Human machine, and now, in the midst of battle, his body was failing him.

They reached a lift. It was a short agonizing flight to the bridge. The heavy doors slid open to reveal a surprisingly calm scene. The bridge was a dimly lit cavernous room. Banks of control boards curved along the bulkheads on either side. An enormous wrap-around visiplate dominated the far end of the bridge. It showed a star field dotted with innumerable ships. As dazzling as was the view from the screen most of the activity was centered around the raised dais for the commander. Nazeera was not in her seat, but rather paced a shallow path in front of and below her chair. At her feet and above her head were cylindrical constructions about a meter in depth that projected from the floor and ceiling plates. Within the five meters of air between the projectors was a spherical hologram of the immediate space around the Kuntok. The command ship was in the center of the hologram, and around it a myriad of ships swarmed. The Kuntok itself was highlighted purple, as were approximately half the ships around it. The opposing ships were highlighted yellow. The hologram was detailed enough to depict the plasma volleys between the combatants. Energy beams and torpedo salvoes crossed space, splashing on shields or ripping into hulls. It was a slow but deadly ballet, and all the more enthralling by the dazzling realism of the display.

Alexander’s escorts led him to Nazeera. Patiently they waited until she noted them, and Alexander. Her glance at him was not devoid of emotion, but the strain of this new turn of events was evident. Her countenance twisted with anger when his escorts swiftly informed her of the assault on Alexander. She dismissed them to their stations on the bridge. They saluted and returned to separate niches in the bridge bulkheads. Alexander observed that the bridge had many such niches between each one of the bridge stations, approximately twenty in all. They were large enough to accommodate a heavily armed Chem warrior, and each one was occupied. The Chem sat on angled projections so that they almost stood within the niche, as if quick exit were a requirement. The warriors were situated all around the bridge so that there was no avenue left uncovered.

Nazeera waved him over. She was speaking to a small visiplate, one of a dozen set in the base of the projector. When Alexander approached her she flashed a swift, strained smile. ‘Hello Alexander, I must say things have a habit of becoming quite interesting when you are around. I’ve sent for a surgeon, but I’d rather have you close to me, for a myriad of reasons, than in the infirmary. This is the most well protected section of the ship, and it was my intention to prevent an assault such as you’ve already overcome. Bureel, unfortunately, moved swifter than even I could have foreseen. We will at least prevent a re-occurrence.’

‘Don’t worry about me, Nazeera, you’ve got your hands full,’ Alexander told her. ‘I think I may have done enough already.’

Nazeera glanced at her displays for a moment, after seeing what she needed she gave several curt orders. Then she took a half step towards Alexander and grasped his hand with hers. ‘I am desperately busy, Alexander,’ she told him earnestly. ‘This is not the way I would have liked to spend this night. Know this, however, and remember it: this civil war, for it is nothing less, had its roots planted over a kicellia ago when my ancestors ceased their belligerent expansion into the space of other civilized cultures. At issue is a question that has divided the Chem, and stunted our growth as a people. Alexander was the catalyst, not the cause. You reminded us of who we were with your strength and pride. That caused jealousy and anger in the hearts of those who yearn for glory. That they have seized on this opportunity is not your fault, but ours. This is a deciding point in the future history of the Chem. It is my hope that the example of Alexander, so similar to the example of my ancestors a kicellia ago, will allow us to end this in a manner that will promote our continued growth, and our greater glory.’

She pushed him back towards the command chair and said, ‘Stay here while I work. The surgeon shall attend you shortly, but be prepared. We may very well be boarded. Are you armed?’

Alexander nodded, masking his concern by patting his long knife.

Nazeera smiled in response and returned to her station. Alexander leaned against the arm of the command chair. His admiration for the Chem woman mixed with his affection and provided a tonic that almost negated the pain of his injuries. He couldn’t ignore the sensation in his back, however. It was as if his bones were mechanized parts devoid of oil. They grated against each other, sending warning signals to his brain. Try as he might there was no comfortable position for him either standing or sitting down. His options were limited, regardless, as Nazeera’s chair, the only one in the vicinity, was not acceptable under any circumstances. He felt a very real need lie down and relieve all the pressure from his spine, but being who he was made that an impossibility.

The staccato report from an adjoining bridge station interrupted him. Glancing to the hologram he saw a salvo of torpedoes heading towards the Kuntok. Nazeera’s sharp voice echoed over the speakers just as the salvo struck the ship. A series of heavy concussions rang through the hull. The Chem were able to brace themselves for the impact, but Alexander felt the support of his legs just disappear from under him. He fell awkwardly to the decking, and the blinding pain returned. His breath left him, and he gasped without success. A face appeared amidst the flashing spots that popped before his eyes. It was Nazar.

‘Alexander, can you hear me?’

Alexander blinked until his sight cleared, but apparently it took some time. Unbeknownst to him the surgeon and her assistant were already working on him. He lay half on his side on the deck, and Nazar was now standing next to Nazeera, talking in hushed tones. He glanced around the bridge. There were some surprised expressions marking those Chem who met his eyes. He cursed himself. What had he done, blacked out? His back throbbed still, but there was no longer that ice pick of debilitating pain. He tried to get up, but several pairs of hands held him down. ‘Blast it, let me up, I cannot wallow on the deck like this!’ he growled ferociously.

‘Half a moment, Alexander of Terra,’ the surgeon told him, not phased in the least by his tone. ‘I don’t want you pulling the damaged sections of your muscle and hide apart before I finish phasing them. It will only take another moment. I cannot, unfortunately, do anything for your damaged vertebrae right now. The damage is somewhat serious. There is significant damage to the intermediate cushioning material, some misalignment and swelling. There appears to be some primitive repair work, Alexander, did you do that yourself? It certainly has done more harm than good. There, I have completed my phasing. Hold now, let us help you to your feet. I have realigned your vertebrae, put in a stabilizing splint and given you some medication. All in all you should be able to function. Later I will attempt a more permanent repair. How do you feel?’

‘Disconcerted,’ Alexander retorted. ‘I appreciate your attentions, but I am certain that there are Chem warriors more deserving of your skills.’

‘Do not worry, Alexander of Terra,’ the surgeon told him, reading his true concern. ‘The knife wound in your back left a sufficient amount of blood on the deck to vouch for your need of attention. I do not believe your reputation suffered from the incident. I would like to get you into quarters. What you need now is rest. When time is available I can see about reprogramming our regenerators for the damage to your back. Try to avoid any strenuous activity, if possible. I will now return to my duties.’

‘Thank you surgeon,’ Alexander replied. The surgeon nodded and left the bridge. Alexander inhaled deeply. The sharp pain failed to appear. He felt better, much better. Whatever it was she’d given him it was not the cortisone shots he used to get. He felt better than he had before the incident. Nazar left Nazeera’s side and came up to him. With sincere concern he inquired as to the doctor’s findings. Alexander waved his concern aside. ‘I feel nothing but some discomfort now, Nazar. You have good doctors. There is no need to be worried over me. How goes your engagement?’

Nazar shrugged. ‘It is difficult to draw any conclusions at the moment,’ he said. ‘We’ve not had a space battle of this magnitude in the known galaxy since the Chem-Golkos war over a kicellia past. The rebel forces are attempting to concentrate their firepower on the Kuntok and Nazeera, but thus far she has maneuvered our armada so as to keep them from gathering. The first stage, the sorting out of who is who is over. We are nearly equal in strength. The second stage, the engagement as a whole, is just beginning.

‘What worries me is the news from the Homeworld. A member of the Triumvirate has defected, though we still have a majority in the Assemblage. The majority of the Guardian Armada in our Home System, however, has thrown its support to Bureel. Though we may have the popular and political support, Bureel has essential control of Chem. If the contingent of the Guardian’s Armada that is allied with Bureel overcomes the loyal forces around the Chem Homeworld then there will be a successful coup no matter the outcome here.’

Alexander had nothing to offer. In the present engagement he was nothing but a bystander, which was perhaps best. His image had already been bandied about the empire by Bureel as the secret manipulator of Nazeera. The less he did, therefore, the better.

Nazar then asked him, ‘is there anything you require? Nazeera would like to have you remain on the bridge if possible, but if your injuries prevent it I can send an escort with you to your quarters.’

‘That will not be necessary Nazar,’ Alexander informed him. ‘Wherever Nazeera desires me that is where I shall be.’ Nazar returned to Nazeera’s side leaving Alexander to watch the progress of the battle. The two sides arranged themselves in scattered clumps of ships. They were not rightly called squadrons, because they formed out of proximity to each other and not to a grand scheme. Bureel’s preparations for the rebellion were as thorough as they could be for so short a time, but the loyalties of each ship were sometimes decided on her own decks, and there was no opportunity to place his trusted minions in position for a quick decisive blow on Nazeera and the Kuntok. The opposing groups, having sorted themselves out, now maneuvered with exquisite sloth into firing position. Alexander could not help but to compare it to the ancient battle of wooden sailing ships. He was surprised. In his initial encounter with the Chem they tried to goad him into fighting by sending a ship rushing headlong at his flagship. That was a bold tactic, and completely inconsistent with the careful positioning he now witnessed. What movement there was took place slowly. The ships engaged at slow speeds, allowing their firepower to dictate the outcome. Maneuvering meant drawing power from the weapons, which the tactics of the day deemed unwise. So the battle, though it drifted through thousands of miles of space in the blink of an eye, seemed rather to crawl along at the slow pace of the leviathans caught in its web. Flashes of light erupted on hulls. Torpedoes streaked through the blackness. Here and there a ship spewed gas and plasma from some death blow. It was all somehow more benign and placid than he would ever have imagined.

Alexander’s attention was drawn primarily to the converging squadrons around the Kuntok. As they closed volleys of torpedoes and energy weapons were exchanged. The ship shook anew with each hit. The Kuntok’s formation consisted of nearly one hundred vessels. Nazeera had the support of several hundred other ships, but these were scattered into five separate groups throughout the immediate region of space. Bureel’s forces were divided into seven distinct groups ranging from a few dozen ships to over a hundred ships in size. Three of those groups, nearly two hundred ships in all were slowly converging on the Kuntok formation. Nazeera had one other squadron in support, but it was only a dozen ships. The other squadrons were paired off, so despite her maneuvers Nazeera found herself at a distinct disadvantage. Over the next hour Bureel’s numerical superiority had a telling effect. The Kuntok rocked with torpedo and blaster fire. Damage reports came in from every part of the ship, but despite its fifteen kicellia of service to the empire the Kuntok fought on. Nazeera deployed her ships in a spherical screen with the larger ships spaced equidistantly in the formation. It was a defensive formation based on her smaller numbers. The advantage was that Bureel’s squadrons could not find a weak point. At every point of attack his own squadrons would face a withering fire from Nazeera’s battleships and cruisers. The Kuntok, a huge old battleship, could reach any point of the perimeter with long range blaster fire. In response Bureel’s squadrons formed into three cone shaped formations. The rebel cone formations penetrated Nazeera’s sphere, their common goal being to meet at the Kuntok. Initially the defensive perimeter of Nazeera had the better of the battle. For over an hour the slow moving attack formations took heavy losses. At length, though, the battered attack formations of Bureel penetrated deeply enough into the sphere of Nazeera. The remains of the foremost ranks entered a close range fight with the Kuntok itself, while the rear echelons began to form an umbrella around the flagship. The attack progressed at a slow but alarming rate over the next hour. The Kuntok’s huge blaster banks destroyed nearly twenty ships of Bureel’s advancing forces, but the ships which formed the base of the rebel cones now joined to create a sphere within a sphere. Nazeera’s perimeter was now outside the sphere of rebel ships, cutting her off from any support. The loyal ships in her own proximity were quickly destroyed, and a force of nearly twenty ships sped out of Bureel’s formation to attack the Kuntok. Nazeera sent full salvoes at the attackers. At such close range several ships disintegrated after absorbing hits from three and four blaster projectors at once. The immediate space around the Kuntok filled with plasma and debris, but the victory was short lived. The rebels forced their way into extremely close quarters with the Kuntok, but they held their fire, vexing Alexander. Bureel’s reasoning quickly became apparent. The warships launched hundreds of small spherical pods as they passed the Kuntok. The tiny ships were immediately met with a hail of blaster fire, but the majority of them made it through the weakened shields to the hull of the Kuntok.

‘Prepare for boarders!’ Nazeera’s warning rang through the ship. It was followed by several metallic concussions on the bridge ceiling. Rings of sparks showered the deck from a dozen different spots. Nazeera drew a narrow curved sword and a long knife. ‘Chem warriors prepare to defend your ship!’ she cried. A jubilant shout answered her, and the Chem in the bulkhead niches poured onto the deck. Even as the bridge crew prepared for the attack the laser cut disks of the hull fell clattering to the deck. Rebel Chem warriors, distinguished from the loyal Chem by a red scarf around their necks, leapt through the holes in the hull. Immediately there was a melee of whirling blades and grunting warriors. Alexander pulled out his great knife, almost half a meter of Chem steel. He moved towards Nazeera, intent on protecting the ship’s commander, but a contingent of rebels dropped between them. Nazeera and Nazar were already engaged with several rebel Chem, but the newcomers ignored their possible advantage when they spied Alexander.

‘Human, your name will add honor to my list of victories,’ cried the foremost Chem. There were other affronts and jibes from two of her companions, but the result was all three advancing on Alexander at once. They were armed with slender swords and knives, outreaching Alexander as well as outnumbering him. He did not bother to plan a response, but leapt forward to the flank of the three. He parried the down stroke of a sword with his knife and kicked hard at the Chem’s gut. Ribs cracked beneath his boot and the sheer force of the blow caused the Chem to lose his sword and knife. The rebel reeled back into a crowd of fighters, tripping several of them. Alexander swept up the sword and slashed across his body at the woman warrior. She attempted to parry with her knife, but he cut her across the belly anyway. The blade only slashed her armor, and she waded in angrily, deciding to come to grips with Alexander at close quarters. It was a mistake. She took away her advantage in speed and quickness, and the blow she landed on Alexander’s jaw with the pommel of her sword had no affect whatsoever on the Human. Her failed strategy left her flank open and Alexander ripped upwards with his knife. The air rushed from her lungs and she cried out as he lifted her a meter off the deck. Suddenly, a ringing shudder drowned out all sound, and the now familiar sensation of gravity disappearing announced itself. The Chem warrior tumbled upwards instead of back, her body freeing itself from his knife leaving a trail of congealing blood globules.

Alexander’s stroke drove him back into the floor plates, and he carefully absorbed the momentum. As he anticipated, the Chem reacted by controlling themselves with jet boots. The rebels around him grinned evilly when they realized he had none. Slowly they closed a ring around him.

Steadying himself on the arm of the command chair, Alexander swiftly surveyed the scene. There were sixty or seventy Chem floating around the bridge, including a dozen or so motionless corpses. His eyes caught Nazeera even as she spied him. Her expression showed her fear, not for herself, but for Alexander’s helplessness. He replied with a huge grin. Just as two rebels Chem jetted towards him he crouched and then shot away like a cannonball holding out a blade in each hand. The two rebels who sought to dispatch him instead felt the cut of his blades as he rocketed by them, leaving them howling.

The fight in his quarters was cramped compared to the cavernous volume of the bridge, and he found this fight much more to his liking. With room to work, Alexander went about making himself a deadly nuisance to the rebels. His first target was a Chem rebel threatening Nazeera. He approached from behind, slashing at the back of the warrior’s neck as he passed. The wound, though it drew a fountain of blood, was not immediately fatal. At least not until Nazeera took advantage of the warrior’s understandable distraction to plunge her blade into his breast.

In the Chem civil war’s greatest arena Alexander perfected his former desperate experiment. He used the huge space of the bridge to carefully plan his leaps and sight his targets. The thrust of his powerful legs far outdistanced the Chem jets. With each pass he slashed at rebels, and it was not long before they were all too aware of him. No rebel could engage one of the loyal Chem without hasty glances behind or to the side to ensure that they were not targeted by the devilish Human in purple and black. Several times during the melee he crashed into opponents, but his greater strength and prodigious mass always won out in those encounters. He would grapple with his opponent, not allowing them to use their jet boots at close quarters to maneuver. He discarded the sword because one free hand allowed him more control, adopting a method of attack that was at once swift, furious and brutal. He ignored any semblance of defense, trusting rather to the excellent Chem armor he wore on Pantrixnia. With his free hand he grappled his adversary by their own armor and plunged his knife into their body again and again until there was no more resistance. The huge blade created gaping debilitating wounds and it did not take long for the fight to end.

The tactic did have its drawbacks. His latest combat ended on such a note, and now he found himself devoid of momentum. In the center of the bridge’s cavernous volume he spun slowly through the clouds of blood droplets still locked with his latest victim. A rebel sought to take advantage of his motionless state and zipped behind him. Alexander grappled the corpse of his victim and flung it at his assailant. The disjointed corpse got tangled up with the rebel, slowing his advance, and imparted just enough time to Alexander for a loyalist to reach him. The helpful warrior steadied Alexander and jetted him towards a bulkhead. Alexander called out his thanks and the warrior returned to his business. Upon reaching the bulkhead Alexander did not forget his former assailant. He planted his boots firmly on the metal thrust back towards the rebel. The Chem was just disentangling himself from the corpse when Alexander caught him by surprise, dragging the edge of his knife across the exposed neck. The blade bit deeply, springing a fatal fountain of vibrant blue blood. The rebel clutched frantically at the wound, but to no avail. In a slow and agonizing moment he began a slow cartwheel across the bridge, still locked with the already cool form of his comrade.

The fighting was still heavy as more rebels docked with the Kuntok’s bridge, and loyal reinforcements arrived from other portions of the ship. He had no idea how the battle was progressing elsewhere; he couldn’t even claim to know how they fared on the bridge. He caught fleeting glimpses of Nazeera and Nazar, but that was all. Back and forth he flew in the deadly dance. After a short time, he felt so proficient was he that he no longer thought about the maneuvering; he just picked his targets and planned his attacks accordingly.

Alexander tuned out most of the melee around him, ignoring the shouts and screams of the combatants, but one sound caught his ear. It was the hissing of the laser torches as they cut their way through the Kuntok’s skin. He looked down, between his legs, just as he finished his rotation to land. It was something of a trick to time his landing so as to hit squarely on his feet, and he’d mastered the maneuver by necessity, but without jets it was impossible to alter his landing spot. Wherever he aimed was where he landed. Alexander’s widening eyes following the hiss of the docking torch to his inevitable landing. The curving bulkhead of smooth metal suddenly sprouted sparks. The circular patch of bulkhead spun free of the shuttle docking ring just in time for Alexander to float right through the hole. He plunged from the bright cavern of the bridge into the dim interior of a small metal capsule crammed with ten eager rebel warriors. They were equally as surprised as he was, but unlike Alexander they has no advanced warning of his arrival. Still, it didn’t take long for them to recognize the hulking figure. He didn’t wait to explain his mistake but slashed, kicked, punched, and bit blindly at every piece of Chem he saw. The boarders were, at best, unprepared for the appearance of this demon amongst them. Every violent movement caught a Chem warrior, and courageous though they were the Chem had no response. Those who were able vacated the capsule to the relative safety of the melee as quickly as they could, and so in the space of a moment Alexander found himself alone in the capsule with four Chem who were either dead or too badly wounded to care about escape. Alexander cleared the capsule of them, thrusting their bodies into the bridges swarming melee. The battle in the capsule suddenly over Alexander steadied himself and caught his breath. As he rested he watched the melee through the hole in the bulkhead. The rebel forces seemed to be taking the worst of things now. Apparently the boarders were unsuccessful on other parts of the ship, as fresh Chem were arriving to reinforce Nazeera’s bridge forces. Alexander watched, looking for a time and a place when he might be useful. He found Nazeera almost directly below him, fighting alongside Nazar. He continued to watch from overhead, a deadly guardian angel ready to shoot out of his lair upon any who dared threaten her. The fight flared to its original intensity briefly, as the forces of Bureel realized the hopelessness of their cause. Nazeera led the closing of the ring on the remainder of the rebels. There were no calls for quarter. Alexander watched anxiously as the desperate fury of the rebels took its toll on the loyal Chem. Nazeera became engaged by two rebels at once, and even though she quickly dispatched the first, the second took the opportunity to work to her rear. She could not turn quickly enough to meet the new attacker, and though Nazar called out a warning he could not reach her. It was just such an occurrence that Alexander waited for. He propelled himself with all of his strength at the attacker. He did not attempt a slash or stab this time, but instead tackled the Chem using the full force of his mass. His momentum carried them both crashing to the deck. The Chem grunted with pain as Alexander landed atop him, but the man was already plunging his knife into the vitals of the warrior. When he finally halted the Chem’s torso was in tatters. Blood floated all around him. Nazeera looked down at him, pride on her face. All of a sudden there was a heavy rumbling followed by a rush of air. Nazeera’s expression turned to one of horror. Some of the few remaining rebels made it back to their pod and its departure left a meter wide hole open to space. Air gushed out of the bridge. The Chem turned to point their jet boots against the current. Corpses thumped out of the hole with the torrent of air.

Alexander was swept off the floor and carried unerringly towards the open portal. There was nothing for him to grab and no way to stop himself. He spread his arms to try and catch the edges of the hole, but he knew that it was a futile act. Then Nazeera’s sharp nails dug into his armor at the shoulders. She threw her legs under his arms and he could see the jets pulsing with all their might. Slowly she brought Alexander to a halt. Nazar rushed to her aide and in a moment they had Alexander under control. They moved him slowly to a bridge rail allowing him to grab a hold of it.

‘Alright, I’ve got it,’ Alexander breathed in thanks. ‘I always knew I needed a strong woman. I obviously chose the right one.’

‘You had better say that,’ she said simply. The battle for the bridge of the Kuntok was over.

CHAPTER 5

‘It looks as though all hell had broken loose in the Chem Empire,’ Admiral Augesburcke said to the assembled members of CODOTS. Several of the group, Dr. Hashimoto and Dr. Koto among them, were with the Admiral in the Iowa’s conference room. The rest of the members were on Terra and their presence was transmitted over the conference room’s large visiplate. ‘Slightly more than twenty-four hours after our agreement with the Chem civil war broke out in the empire. At the moment, we have no way of knowing which way the battle is going, but it appears that Bureel, a member of the Assemblage, is using the peace initiative of Nazeera to justify a coup.’

‘Admiral, isn’t Bureel the Chem of the Assemblage with whom Alexander has had some friction?’

‘Yes, we’ve rather a thick dossier on him from Alexander,’ Augesburcke replied. ‘There is somewhat more to it, as Bureel is also the husband of Nazeera. She is not only the Armada Commander with whom Alexander dealt, but the most powerful member of the Triumvirate. She also happens to be the Chem with whom Alexander has had extensive dealings, both officially and unofficially on Chem prior to his exile to Pantrixnia. Bureel, by Alexander’s account, is an ambitious schemer. His marriage to Nazeera was arranged, against the consent of Nazeera. It paid her father’s debt to Bureel’s father, but otherwise she gains nothing from the relationship. Bureel, on the other hand, gained lands, wealth, a title and a seat in the Assemblage. Now he’s making a throw for something bigger, and he’s using the relationship that’s grown between Alexander and Nazeera as a tool. Alexander is right in the middle of all of this again. It makes for a dynamic situation to say the least.’

‘Where is Alexander now?’

Augesburcke shrugged and said, ‘We do not know. He transferred over to the Kuntok twenty-four hours ago. I sent a message to him since then, confirming his appointment as Ambassador to Chem. I am certain he did not expect anything of this nature occurring, especially so quickly. It was my impression when he left that he considered his mission almost complete. His intention was to pursue his duel with Bureel and pursue his relationship with Nazeera.’

A babble of discordant discussion emanated from the visiplate. Several members questioned the Admiral simultaneously, but nothing coherent reached the Iowa. Finally, a representative from Terra spoke for the council members. Faizah Sadat was an attractive and forceful woman. Her views were well known by all the members of CODOTS. This was due to her proclivity for self expression rather than any transparency of intention. She was, for all that, extraordinarily intelligent and capable. She projected the entire force of her personality across the visiplate to Admiral Augesburcke when she addressed him. ‘Admiral, it sounds to me as if Alexander has been rather rashly pursuing his own agenda on the side. Certainly his courting of this Nazeera can be seen as nothing short of provocative. As to his challenge, while it may be a point of honor to the Chem, it is nothing less than adolescent foolishness to me. It looks as though Alexander at the very least is partially to blame for pushing this Bureel into rebellion. Why was none of this brought before the council before now? We could have censured Alexander.’

Augesburcke chuckled. ‘You want to censure Alexander, that would be interesting. Ms. Sadat we brought Alexander on board as a figurehead with power to negotiate with the Chem. We had nothing to lose. The figurehead turned into a true commander. We all underestimated him, and I’ll remind you that ninety percent of the strategy which has gained us an empire was his. He’ll take counsel, and listen, but he made up his own mind on every point as far as this affair, pardon the expression, is concerned. I admit there’s more to this than just business, especially to Alexander, but put in his situation I’m not about to critique him for actions of his which occurred during his incarceration by the Chem.’

‘That does nothing to justify what I see as two irresponsible actions on Alexander’s part, Admiral,’ Sadat told him. ‘I can see no point in pursuing this challenge towards Bureel, even if nothing could be done about his compromising behavior previous to that. We should have prevented him from naming that as a precondition, and I daresay naming him as Ambassador to Chem aggravated matters.’

Augesburcke’s swarthy complexion turned bright red with obvious irritation and bit his tongue. Koto rescued him from a biting retort. The psychologist said, ‘Your interpretations are subject to a lack of understanding of the Chem, Ms. Sadat. The Chem are a people driven by a very strict code of honor. From our information the challenges were made publicly, whatever their original source and Alexander could do no less than address them so. To have ignored them would have invited doubt on the part of the Chem. That doubt could very possibly have negated the significant amount of respect the Chem formed for Alexander. Without that respect no negotiation would have been possible. You can call Alexander’s behavior under enormous stress irrational, boastful, whatever you want, but you have to recall his reasoning behind it all. Alexander realized amazingly quickly that he must portray Humans as they should be, not necessarily as they are. The Chem had to be made to respect Humankind as a possible adversary. Alexander wasn’t trying to get the Chem to like him. He wanted them to respect and, if possible, fear him to the extent that conflict was avoidable. He was remarkably successful at this, as the results indicate.’

‘Really Doctor Koto, I think you read too much into the man’s character,’ Sadat replied. ‘I see a very arrogant and extraordinarily lucky man. He may be good at explaining his intentions after the fact, but I doubt his prescience.’

‘You seem to know a great deal about this man without having actually met him, Ms. Sadat,’ Augesburcke said bitterly. ‘I don’t know that I can recall a greater lack of appreciation for so great a debt.’

‘I do not blind myself with thanks, Admiral, if that is what you mean.’ Sadat told him.

‘That is precisely not what I mean, Ms. Sadat,’ Augesburcke told her vehemently. ‘I see no more point in debating the merits and intentions of Alexander. He has been nothing less than open and self sacrificing with us. As far as his qualifications as Ambassador to Chem I can think of no one, even yourself Ms. Sadat, who is more qualified. I will stack his intuition up against anybody here, and I mean anybody. For the time being we will have to trust that intuition. We shall continue to try and contact Alexander and get a clearer picture of what is happening in the Chem Empire. I shall keep you all informed.’

‘What is our response to be to this new political upheaval in Chem?’ Sadat asked.

‘We’ll see what Alexander comes up with,’ Augesburcke replied. ‘I don’t know that we have enough information to do otherwise.’

‘You are going to leave a policy decision to this Alexander?’

‘Does that bother you Ms. Sadat?’ Augesburcke returned. ‘You did not seem so agitated when we gave him carte blanche against the Chem Armada.’

‘That was a military decision, of which I claim no expertise,’ she answered. ‘It was also, if I understand the situation correctly, a last desperate attempt to avoid a confrontation between our own hastily assembled fleet and the Chem Armada. The fact that our gambit worked is still amazement to me. I consider it due to luck, and the extreme bluster of Alexander. I consider neither quality sufficient for official negotiation, and I think my opinion is borne out by the events occurring in Chem at this time.’

‘So am I to understand that you hold Alexander accountable for the Chem civil war?’ Augesburcke smiled. ‘That is giving him even more credit than I believe he deserves. I think the Chem themselves would be more than willing to shoulder the majority of responsibility themselves, and from what I’ve seen of them they don’t take well to meddling. What do you say, Doctor Koto, you are our resident psychologist? Ms. Sadat and I have dominated the floor too much.’

‘From all indications our best course of action is a passive one,’ Koto replied. ‘Our initial reaction, however, should not be strict neutrality but rather support for the loyalist Chem under Nazeera. The reasoning is obviousBureel has called for a renewal of the war against Terra. Certainly it is to our advantage to support the people who are not calling for our annihilation! There is no chance of diplomacy with Bureel’s rebels. They base their entire platform on military expansion, and we are the first on their hit list. This situation doesn’t call for a psychologist Admiral.’

‘I think you are reading too much into Bureel’s posturing,’ Sadat retorted. ‘Certainly he’s going to try and distance himself from Nazeera and therefore distance himself from her policies. However, that’s a far cry from Bureel actually coming to blows with us.’

‘If we’re not to believe his public statements then what are we to base our policy on,’ Dr. Koto replied, obviously surprised.

‘Strict neutrality,’ she told them all. ‘This is a Chem matter; we should not interfere.’

Augesburcke pounded the table with his meaty fist, interjecting, ‘So we’re supposed to tell the people we just made peace with to go to Hell? That’s fine policy, I must say.’

‘You asked my diplomatic opinion,’ Sadat said, unphased at the Admiral’s disdain.

The Admiral shook his head and tugged at his mustache, a clear sign of his irritation. ‘Our peace initiative is based on Alexander’s negotiations with Nazeera, who has a more pragmatic approach to other civilizations than Bureelthat’s clear for anyone to see. Everything we’ve intercepted from Bureel and his followers indicates a very aggressive policy based upon expansion and conquest. We would be a vulnerable target to Chem aggression under Bureel. It is not only likely but certain that Terra would be their first area of interest. We were the catalyst for the civil war, and Bureel would very likely attempt to redress a point of his propaganda. The results of this civil war will have a direct affect on the new Terran Empire.’

Hashimoto then added, ‘If the rebel forces of Bureel do gain control of the Chem Empire and attack Terra we have a greater problem than our initial encounter. Initially we had the full support of the Scythian’s. That made an enormous logistic difference. I doubt that we shall have that capability this time. The Scythian’s are a conquered people, and I doubt whether they can be coerced into the same effort which they gave as a free empire.’

‘Was that Alexander’s brilliant strategy, to unnecessarily conquer the Scythian Empire?’ Sadat interrupted.

‘I was simply making a statement, Ms. Sadat, not a judgment,’ Hashimoto replied.

‘It was a brilliant strategy, in all actuality, Ms. Sadat, psychologically speaking,’ Koto told her. ‘You see it would have been impossible to placate the Chem. They would take that as a sign of weakness and attack as a matter of course. It would also be impossible to threaten the Chem into peace. Their own code of honor would prevent that. Reasoning with them could only have limited success, because the Chem prize actions above words. Alexander’s strategy, as he explained it to us beforehand, not after the fact as you insinuate, was a combination of reason and a show of strength. The tricky part was a show of strength without directly threatening the Chem. The Scythian’s, who had used us as their shield for centuries and were the direct cause of our precarious situation. They were the obvious tool.’

‘A tool which we can no longer use, absolutely brilliant,’ Sadat muttered.

‘Despite your obvious contempt for the way events have turned out, Ms. Sadat, we have expanded the Human condition into the cosmos, and we have done so without bloodshed. We are here to stay,’ Admiral Augesburcke said stonily. ‘If the Scythians do nothing else for us then they’ve served their purpose well. We’ll take it from here. That I think is enough for today, it is certainly enough for my patience. I hold this meeting adjourned. Good day.’

The members of the council on the Iowa were privileged to witness one of Admiral Augesburcke’s infamous explosions as the visiplates went dark. They knew the man, and this was not the first occurrence. After observing the Admiral for a few moments Doctor Hashimoto leaned over and whispered a single word to Doctor Koto.

‘Tempest.’

Doctor Koto nodded. ‘It is quite beyond a squall, the skin coloration and fist pounding bear that out. He is still intelligible though, so it is not quite a typhoon. Yes, definitely a tempest,’ announced the good doctor, referring to the informal system of ranking for the Admiral’s temper was used by the other members. It was fortunately unknown to the Admiral.

‘Good God in heaven that woman’s grown unpleasant! She used to be quite reasonable, but now she seems to take delight in vexing me. As if we don’t have enough trouble as it is. I am at a loss to understand these politicians,’ the Admiral thundered. At length he gained control of himself. Vehemently shoving himself out of his chair he straightened his uniform and stepped for the door. Without glancing their way he said, ‘Hashimoto, Koto, I’m off to the bridge. Why don’t you come with me. We need to talk.’

The two civilians followed the Admiral through the hatch. The ship’s hatches were still the small oval portals they were in the Iowa’s salt water lifetime, and they still served much the same purpose. The metal was lined with a molecular polymer acted like a silicon or rubber seal, so that the hatch was airtight. The hatches were routinely kept ajar so that a rush of air from a breach would close them by its own force. Though the hinges were lubricated so that they moved easily, the civilians on board, Hashimoto and Koto included, found the doors bulky and intractable and the portals half again too small. The military personnel could always recognize the civilians by the marks of a hatch on their forehead and their purple fingers. It would take them some time to get used to moving about the cramped quarters of the Iowa, and now the two PhD’s exerted themselves to follow the much older Admiral as he slipped through the ship like oil.

‘I am really beginning to worry about Sadat,’ the Admiral remarked, speeding up a ladder. The bridge was two decks above the conference room and there were several turns involved. The civilians doubled their effort. If they got left behind they’d most likely get lost, and that would only serve to raise the Admiral’s temper to the next level. ‘I wonder if the strain hasn’t gotten to her. She used to be quite reasonable.’

‘There may be more to it than that, Admiral,’ Koto told him. ‘She is one of the more prominent candidates for the newly formed Federation Presidency. Now that the Federation Senate has formed, the election of the President is the next order of business.’

‘So why has that got her all uptight all of a sudden?’ The Admiral asked. ‘What is this preoccupation with Alexander? Am I paranoid or is she going out of her way to chop his legs out from under him?’

‘You are not paranoid, Admiral, and indeed I’m also somewhat surprised that Ms. Sadat has taken such a blatantly open tack on the matter,’ Koto said. ‘The truth of the matter is that Alexander is now a rival to Ms. Sadat, and she wants the Presidency. He’s in her way.’

Augesburcke stopped dead in his tracks, making the two civilians shuffle to a sudden halt. ‘You mean to tell me this is all some political game of hers?’ He asked, incredulous at such a concept. ‘Is that what this is all about? We’re trying to build an empire, and I might add, ensure that some Humans are around to enjoy it for another generation; meanwhile she’s playing power games? I’d thought better of her than that.’

‘It’s the nature of the political animal, Admiral,’ Koto said.

‘Shoot them all,’ was the Admiral’s solution as they stepped onto the bridge. The bridge was a scene of quiet efficiency, but it swiftly came to attention when the Admiral stepped in. The Admiral acknowledged Captain Thomas, and the crew went back to their duties. It was a sign of swift adaptation to their environment that neither the newcomers to the bridge, or the crew on duty took any notice of the enormous beauty of the star spangled visiplate which wrapped itself around the forward portion of the bridge. The old bridge of the Iowa was, in fact, only a small part of the new structure. The new bridge absorbed the rooms behind as well as above the old space. It was now deeper and taller than before, and more accommodating to the increase in personnel required at the station. Augesburcke stalked to the chair set above the command chair of the Captain. He plopped down and glowered.

‘This, gentlemen, is the seat of Alexander,’ he said gruffly. ‘It is my intention to keep it open for Alexander if and when he should return. We are not out of the woods yet. This thing is far from over, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some stiff necked politician ruin it for us now that we’ve come so far.’

‘We are in another paradigm shift, Admiral,’ Koto told him.

‘I wish you wouldn’t use that psychobabble phraseology on me, Koto,’ Augesburcke said. ‘I’m a military man. I hear your words, but I don’t understand a damn thing about them.’

Koto smiled and explained, ‘It’s a change in the way we perceive things, basically. You see, we’ve already gone through several such instances very recently. The first was the introduction of the Scythian’s to our reality, as opposed to our conjecture. We faced the reality that we were not alone in the universe, and as if that were not enough of a psychological shock we learned that our very existence was threatened. Our reaction was typical, despite the uniqueness of the situation in Human existence. We drew together behind an authoritarian front to face the threat. Think of the amount of power you were given as head of CODOTS. Certainly no such power would be allocated to such a small group under normal political circumstances. Then again when we were short of any practical answers to the threat, short of a desperate war, CODOTS itself gave an enormous amount of power to Alexander. Such is our reaction to enormous levels of stress. As Human Beings we look to someone to take command when we ourselves don’t feel we have the solution. Under such conditions can an Alexander have the most influence, but when those conditions have passed, or are perceived to have passed we revert to the previous paradigm. The politicians perceive the threat to Terra is over. They are now, quite naturally, reverting to the habit patterns, protocols and ambitions which governed them previously. There will be a power void in the Terran Federation, as I would expect CODOTS to be dissolved, or at least severely curtailed shortly. Politicians in the Senate, the Presidency and the Judiciary of the new Federation government will fill that void. They are already jockeying for position.’

‘You are right,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘It looks as though we’ll be playing the same old games, only on a Galactic scale now.’

‘We will, and in that sense Alexander’s departure is to me another brilliant move by a very astute individual,’ Koto said.

‘How so?’ Augesburcke asked.

‘Think on it Admiral, he arrived on the scene as a figurehead but ended up in actual command of the fleet. Is that not so? Would not you or Captain Thomas have followed his lead after the successful conclusion with the Chem?’ Koto’s question was probing, and it caused the Admiral, and the Captain who had been listening in to ponder it seriously.

‘Come to think of it, my mindset by that time was that he was in command,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘It’s a strange thing, seeing as I am a commander myself and I grudgingly give up control. It is the truth, however. At the moment, I considered Alexander my superior. Captain, what were your thoughts.’

Captain Thomas’s dark face twisted in a kind of embarrassed smile, ‘To be perfectly honest, sir, I was awaiting his next orders. When he came onboard with Carte Blanche he was a stranger to me, and I’ll admit he was a threat. “Who does this guy think he is, and why the hell should I do as he says?’ Those were the words that first popped in my head. But you gave him the lead, sir, and damned if he didn’t take the reins. By the time he finished his negotiations he was in command. I was waiting for his orders, and I would have followed them at the moment.’

‘And now, what would you do now if Alexander were suddenly on the bridge?’ Koto asked. ‘What would you do now if he ordered you to attack the rebel Chem. Would you do it?’

‘No,’ Augesburcke said flatly, and Thomas agreed.

‘No you wouldn’t, and I would guess that Alexander realized it as well,’ Koto said. ‘He operated on our emotional subconscious at the time. When the crisis passed he realized his power also passed. Why stay and watch yourself diminish in others eyes? It was better for him to leave with his mystique at its pinnacle, than to stay and shrink in the withering light of political wars.’

‘Don’t tell me Alexander was playing political games, Koto,’ Augesburcke replied, rather disappointed.

‘That would crush the selfless image we all have of him, wouldn’t it?’ Koto observed. ‘However, I don’t honestly think he was being anything other than authentic. He realized the implications of the situation, I’m certain. What could the possible results of his remaining be? Would he become what we still hold him to be before the galaxy: the military dictator of the Terran Empire? That was improbable once the euphoria of the moment wore off, and knowing something of him I don’t truly believe that it is his ambition. Alexander has a strong sense of democracy and fair play, which are troublesome traits for a dictator. The other result of his remaining was to quickly shrink in importance and slowly fade from the scene. He could very possibly build a political career from his accomplishments, and might have done so, but it was not a process he had the patience for. He was not willing to play the game as it was supposed to be played. Alexander played by his own rules even before this happened to him, why would he change now?’

‘I see what you’re driving at Doctor, but what’s next for him?’ Augesburcke asked.

‘I told you he was astute,’ Koto replied. ‘You don’t know how astute. He’s chosen the one avenue which will keep his options open. He’s pursuing Nazeera, which is a personal desire, but he’s also secured, thanks to you Admiral, a real position of power as Ambassador to Chem and all other civilizations. Previously, Alexander’s power was illusionary. It was real so long as things worked out, but at the first hint of trouble you were there to take command. That is not how it ended, but that was the true constitutional source, if you will, of his power. Now he has a real position of power which will in no way diminish the stature that he’s built. He’s still in the midst of things. Our biggest task as a new Galactic empire is to form relations with other civilizations, and that puts Alexander squarely in the center of the picture.’

‘Is he trying to build a power base for the Presidency perhaps?’ The Admiral asked.

‘That’s what a politician would do,’ Koto replied. ‘Alexander, however, is no politician. He hated the politics of the military in his previous life, and that has carried forward. From my observations of him I think the answer is simple. He’s not finished making a contribution, and he wants to stay involved. He’s put himself in a position where he feels he will be useful. He’s not in the Senate building a political career; he’s out there dealing with the need at hand. Alexander’s instinctively put himself in the most volatile arena in this entire drama. He may very well have ambitions, but it is a different kind of ambition than that of a politician. A politician aspires to a position, and then seeks to do something with the power of that position. Alexander aspires to an idea, a goal, and takes those positions which allow him to accomplish those ideals. It is a subtle, but important difference in the man’s character. He’s sees great things for Humankind, not for himself.’

‘An altruistic man, that would not have been my description of him, he took too readily to command. He enjoyed it too much,’ the Captain observed.

‘Not an altruist,’ Koto told them. ‘He’s not even an idealist. Alexander is far to realistic to think that he can lead Humankind to some higher plane of government or existence. He is, if anything, a pragmatist; he thinks the situation is driven by common sense, but as a leader he has enough confidence in himself to want to lead us there. He realizes that he is one of those people who can rise above the moment and control events towards a certain destiny. He thinks he sees something out there for us, and he’ll do everything possible to move us in that direction.’

‘That can be a dangerous thing,’ Augesburcke said.

Koto shrugged, ‘It depends on the person and their views Admiral. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing as Chief of CODOTS? That is what every person in command does. Where Alexander becomes important, again, is in this: he’s thinking on a galactic scale. Ms. Sadat, for example, is thinking as a Terran. You, Admiral, are thinking within the new boundaries of the Federation. Alexander is thinking beyond the civilized portion of the galaxy. The fact that there are twelve other cultures besides Terra is nothing out of the ordinary to him. He accepts the fact as a matter of course and deals with it. In my opinion he is the only truly Galactic Human in any position of power right now. The rest of us have some catching up to do.’

‘Should we still use him, can we trust him?’

‘If you take my advice Admiral then use him for anything and everything you can,’ Koto said. ‘The man was perfectly willing to die on Pantrixnia for the simple purpose of putting forth the best possible face for Humankind. That’s not a conclusion most people can get themselves to act on. We are individuals first. Alexander has a martyr complex. He doesn’t want to die, but he’s more afraid of being forgotten, of not making his mark, than he is of dying. What’s more, he read the Chem perfectly from the very beginning, and that caused him to emphasize certain things in his persona. He didn’t change as much as he adapted. The qualities he emphasized, however, are vastly important to the scheme of things. He took to heart an ancient code of honor, stoicism, selflessness and strength. He had an opportunity to recreate Humankind for the Chem. The face he put before them was strictly Humankind as he thought we ought to be. That is one of the things that endeared him to all of us. We value those qualities, and he’s living them out. He will not easily abandon them Admiral.’

CHAPTER 6

As the loyalist flagship sped towards Chem, Nazeera and Alexander walked in the cavernous hanger of the Kuntok. Three planetary shuttles and Nazeera’s personal scout crowded the deck. There was no recreational area on the Kuntok. This was the only place on the ship where they could walk together and not be under the scrutiny of the crew.

‘How is your back?’ Nazeera asked. ‘The surgeon worked on you for quite some time, and she seems to think her surgery was rather ineffective, the damage was significant.’

‘It is much improved,’ Alexander answered. ‘There is some discomfort, however, I can walk. I will not complain. There are many who cannot say so much and yet they do not let it slow them down. This is a limitation at worst, nothing more. I may have to give up golf for a while.’

‘What is golf, one of your more violent recreations?’ Nazeera asked.

‘It’s not meant to be violent, though it can indeed turn out that way!’ Alexander laughed. ‘Actually, it is a deceptively simple game which tempts ones patience and skill. If I ever return to Terra I’ll take you out on a course and show you. Only by playing it can you appreciate it. It’s not something you can explain.’

‘Do you miss your planet much?’

Alexander sighed, a strange light coming into his eyes. ‘I hadn’t thought of it until you asked. I suppose every being misses their planet in some way. There are certain things I think of, such as my float house on Lake Pend Oreille. It’s colder there than on Chem, but it’s surrounded by the mountains. I could sit on the deck and let the waters rock me to sleep. I miss the solitude there. I don’t miss the life I led there, however.’

‘I would be interested to know more of your previous life,’ Nazeera told him. ‘I cannot quite imagine you as anything other than Alexander the Conqueror.’

‘What did you think of my speech?’ Alexander avoided the subject of conquest. He’d delivered a policy speech an hour ago, which the Chem recorded for broadcast. In it he broadcast his official position of Terran support for Nazeera and the loyalists, blasting the rebels, Bureel in particular, for their underhanded attacks on himself, and the Chem government which made the peace with him.

‘You stepped around that question skillfully enough. You have the makings of a politician. I told you that you were eloquent, my dear Alexander,’ she said. ‘I do not think that anyone will have any trouble whatsoever reading between the lines. For a diplomat you are rather blatant.’

‘Will it help though, that’s what I want to know,’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. ‘It’s hard to tell what will work at this point. The Guardian Armada went largely to Bureel, and so for the moment he controls the Chem Home System. He has almost two hundred ships awaiting him there, in addition to the two hundred which remain from our initial engagement. We emptied the empire to face you Alexander, excepting only the Guardian Armada. Therefore, I cannot count on any reserves but those I carry with me. There were perhaps a score of loyal ships in the Guardian Armada which escaped destruction, but whether they will still be in a position to join me in the four decurns it will take to get to Chem I do not know. I am pressing ahead as swift as I dare, but with only two hundred and fifty ships the coming battle looks grim. We beat them soundly at ‘Traitor’s Crossing,” but with the Guardian Armada in his camp Bureel will be difficult to dislodge.’

Alexander shook his head, ‘The Guardian Armada has gone Bureel’s way, but what of the Assemblage? What of the Elder?’

‘Bureel now has military control of the district, at least until I can get there and lift the siege,’ Nazeera said sadly. ‘He will not dare any act against the Elder until the control of Chem is settled. If I fail to lift the siege, however, he will address the Assemblage as the military overlord of Chem. I expect he will try to coerce the Elder into stepping down and naming himself as his successor.’

‘Could the Elder be cajoled into such an outrage?’

‘Certainly not,’ Nazeera replied. ‘Though I doubt Bureel will let such a minor inconvenience stop him. It is imperative that I find a way to defeat Bureel’s forces at Chem. Otherwise, I’m afraid the only way to win this war will be to topple Bureel before he ascends to the seat of the Elder. Once he has the legitimacy of that title, deserved or not, he has the advantage in his base of power, and superiority in the military.’

‘Maybe, but I have noticed, my dear, that the superiority in numbers does not make up for your superiority in command.’ Alexander told her. ‘For thirteen thousand years of inactivity you’ve learned quickly. Your victory over Bureel was an impressive piece of generalship. Caught by surprise and outnumbered you still put Bureel’s rebels to flight, and left over half his fleet wrecked. It was something we’ve both taken note of in our statements, and the fact was not lost on your adversaries. The rebels will need every bit of their advantage in numbers at Chem if Bureel hopes to escape a strangling!’

‘You flatter me, Alexander,’ she told him, pleased with his professional opinion. ‘Especially considering it was you who outmaneuvered me in our encounter. I would still like to know how you maneuvered over two hundred warships behind my back without my knowledge. Would you consider enlightening me?’

‘The Scythian’s, of course,’ Alexander smiled. ‘They were the key to everything. They were, in fact, my only real trump card. I used them to threaten Chem without really pushing you to the point of inevitable war, but they also solved certain positional problems. As you know they have innumerable regularly scheduled convoys through the Scythian-Chem frontier. It was a necessity even in those tense times because of the inordinate time lost in circumnavigating Chem space. You, of course, knew all about the convoys and you kept careful track of them with long range scans. You knew the numbers of each convoy, their course and their destination. All I did was beef up the convoys with five to ten of my ships apiece, and have the Scythians add ghost registries to their convoy manifests. When they reached their staging positions the ships dropped out and held positions in the blind spots of your scanners. It was not always easy, but they only needed to do it for a short time. The Scythian’s were all too eager to help me in any way they could. They didn’t realize my true intentions until my troops knocked on the door of their High Council.’

‘It was underhanded in the extreme, what you did to the Scythian’s,’ Nazeera told him. ‘I am almost surprised you could talk yourself into it. Didn’t it stretch your code of honor a bit?’

‘I never thought of dealing with the Scythians in any manner other than they have dealt with Terrans,’ he answered roughly. ‘I had twenty centuries of abuse to revenge. They have their lives. That is more than they deserve as far as I am concerned.’

‘You are a hard man when wronged, Alexander. What are you going to do with them? You now have ten billion Scythians under your control. Previous to Alexander those Scythians controlled the major percentage of Galactic trade which is vital to the other civilized cultures. You didn’t make many friends when you attacked them Alexander.’

‘I made the ones that mattered, my dear,’ Alexander told her.

Nazeera laughed bitterly and clutched his arm. Turning him towards her she draped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead on his. ‘I’m not certain your choice was wise, Alexander. One defrocked Chem for the animosity of ten cultures and one hundred billion beings? That doesn’t seem a fair trade.’

‘I call it a bargain,’ Alexander smiled as he kissed her.

‘Is it always going to be your manner to treat the important as mundane? I don’t think you are quite aware that Terra may be threatened anew by a powerful alliance. Those cultures, Alexander, initially feared you. Now you have given them cause to hate you. Doesn’t that worry you?’

‘Not in the least,’ he told her. ‘I am in fact, counting on it.’

‘You are scheming again, aren’t you?’

‘Nazeera, what a thing to say to the man who loves you!’ he replied in mock surprise. It was his normal way of stopping the conversation on a subject, and they both knew it. Nazeera was right. Alexander was now, for the first time, trying to anticipate events and force himself into a position where he could control them. He’d done that to a certain extent when the Terran-Chem fleets met, but even with all the plans and preparation involved he was reacting to events already under way. He had no thought at the time of anything but gaining the required outcome. Events controlled Alexander before. This time, he wanted to control events so that they would thrust him to the forefront. The bottom line was simple: Alexander had a taste for power and he wanted back in the game. It was not so much the self gratification of the power itself as it was what he could do with it. The last three days since the rebellion began gave him a remarkable chance to do nothing but observe and think. Questions came to his mind that he knew no other Human was considering: what was the Terran place in this galaxy of multiple civilizations? What would the response of these other civilizations be? What kind of empire could guarantee Terran security and growth in the galaxy? Where did the newly conquered Scythians fit in? The latter question surprisingly gave him the least trouble. Despite his vindictive talk Alexander considered his vendetta settled. The Scythians were a conquered people, but that, in his view, was no reason for them to be trodden upon. History took a dim view on those conquerors past who abused their former adversaries, and Alexander believed in history.

His conquest of Scythia was not accomplished by startling new tactics, nor was the coercion of Chem to peace. What was original was Alexander’s insight on what would give the Chem the ability to settle for peace, and the fact that he combined that requirement with a war of aggression on another race. Unfortunately, Alexander considered the strategy only partially successful. The Chem civil war was definitely an unforeseen result. He’d already used the civil war, though, as a pulpit to the rest of the galaxy. Alexander spoke to the galaxy for the Terran Empire. His message was designed to help Nazeera if it could, but it was also designed to show the galaxy who they faced in Terra. The Terran Empire was not a faceless conglomeration of star systems; it was indelibly linked to Alexander.

He had no doubts whatsoever that there would be some in the Terran government who would see it as a blatant throw for power. In a way, he admitted, they were correct. He thought he saw the direction Humans needed to take in space, and the pitfalls before them. He wanted to have a hand in guiding his people through this dangerous period. When Humankind was truly established in space, he told himself, and then he could let the course of events wander a bit, but not now. He knew that the recently created Terran Federation would shortly form a legislative body, slow moving and inefficient. He knew that an executive would be chosen. That executive, however well meaning, would be completely out of touch with what went on in the galaxy, and far too weak to deal with the Galactic crisis which was swiftly approaching. In his studies of Galactic communiqués of the last three days Alexander read a growing panic in the Galactic community. Though there was a great deal of consternation due to the loss of Scythian trading the real discomfiture was a result of Alexander’s peace with the Chem. The Galactics believed wholeheartedly in the ‘Legend of Alexander” and Terra’s innate desire for Galactic conquest. There was no doubt that Alexander himself was the conqueror they’d all feared for the last millennium. Despite the personal admiration Alexander won on Pantrixnia his fame was overshadowed by the fear of his intentions. Secretly the Galactics rooted for the Chem to destroy this dangerous race, while hoping that the Scythians, and their purse strings, could somehow be spared. To the dismay of the Galactics, however, the Chem made peace with Alexander, and now to make matters even worse they were embroiled in civil war. Watching with a sense of horror and disbelief the Galactics cringed as a third of the Chem Armada was wrecked upon itself. Aside from the political upheaval the Chem civil war rapidly left the Galactic’s most ardent warriors in a position too weak to shield their neighbors from the expected Terran onslaught. It was a scenario too disturbing for the Galactics not to react, and too advantageous to the Terran position not to have Alexander’s signature on it.

Alexander found the blunt truth of Galactic broadcasts very informative. The Galactics, despite their ages of bureaucratic and political intrigue, were too concerned over the present situation to conduct their affairs behind closed doors. All too obviously they considered the Terran position, that is to say Alexander’s position, unshakable. Therefore, they conducted their own frantic debates publicly with no regard to what information their potential adversaries might glean from them. The stereotypical rigidity of the Galactic viewpoint greatly simplified the scenario in Alexander’s mind.

By themselves the Galactics were doing everything in their power to raise Alexander to the position of Overlord of the Terran Empire. The Galactics dismissed out of hand reports that Terra was in the process of forming a Federation. Who were the Terrans kiddinga Federation? The Galactics viewed the word as a shallow attempt to remove the inherent threat of a space faring Terra. To the psychosis of the Galactic neighborhood the word “Federation” was nothing more than a slipcover over a sword, a tuxedo over the armor of a barbarian raider. That was their view of the Terran Empire and nothing anyone said could change their mind.

If the Galactics were steadfast in their views on the Terran Empire, they were as adamant as the core of a dead star who was at the head of that empire. It could be no one but Alexander. The speeches of the Senators and politicians that profligate through Terran broadcasts were entirely transparent. The Galactics knew better. They had already watched Alexander conquer the former Scythian Empire and make peace with the Chem. They knew him, and at once feared and admired him. The Human they had come to know through Galactic broadcasts, the Human at the helm of the mighty Terran fleet; certainly he could be no less than the Overlord of the Terran Empire. Any other conclusion was so at odds with their perceived reality that no attention was paid it. Although there was an immediate request for dialogue from the Terrans with their new neighbors, without the voice of Alexander behind the requests they were summarily ignored.

Alexander absorbed it all. The Terran situation became as interesting to observe as did the Chem or the Galactics. The Galactic game, as Alexander called it, was entering an extraordinarily volatile phase; and he could not help but smile to himself. Instinctively, and against his better judgment, Alexander placed himself in a unique position to affect it all. It worried him somewhat that he enjoyed the opportunity of the time, and he tried to convince himself that power and glory had nothing to do with the kernel of excitement that grew daily in his belly. Yet finally he was forced to admit that there was nothing for it; these opportunities did not come along but once in a thousand years. If Alexander did not take hold of events and guide them, someone else would. That, beyond any other reasoning convinced Alexander his time had come. He trusted his own motives far more than even Nazeera’s. Although Alexander was biased towards Humankind he also feared them equally as much as the Galactics. Their paranoia was, unfortunately, founded in fact. Therefore, Alexander’s view of the new Galactic neighborhood, with the addition of Humankind, was somewhat different than could be expected. He did not want Human domination, as the Galactics feared, and he realized the impossibility of the continuation of the status quo with volatile Humankind in the mix. A balance needed to be struck between Human exuberance and Galactic maturity. That promise, beyond the glory of battles won and star systems tallied, grew in Alexander’s mind. It became his central purpose in a slowly coalescing ideal for the future he saw nestled in his hands.

Nazeera’s warning of a Galactic “Alliance” induced a great deal of thought. What would the Galactics do? Alexander had no doubt that some form of military alliance would form but would it be defensive or aggressive in nature? The Galactics would react in fear because the terrible legend of Alexander would now be a reality. Considering the vaunted Chem were at first outmaneuvered and now diminished by civil war, the Galactics might consider offensive actions a necessityif they were smart. However, the process would accelerate dramatically because of the political wrangling now taking place on Terra; specifically, the Terran coup, shortly to be officially announced with the election of an executive. Alexander realized that events turned on what the observers perceived, and not on reality. To the civilized cultures of the galaxy Alexander was the military Overlord of the Terran Empire; the supreme monarch of an aggressive expansionist culture. The announcement of a legislative body in the Terran Federation would do no more than raise eyebrows. Of course a dictator like Alexander would create a body to rubber stamp his decisions, if only to please the masses! Even the announcement of a President or Prime Minister of the Terran Federation would cause no undue excitement, unless that chief executive was someone other than Alexander.

Every culture, he was certain, knew his whereabouts, and they asked the same question as Nazeera. Why was he absent from his empire? The true answer, that he had no empire, would never occur to them and they would never believe it. Nor would they believe that a conqueror would allow another person, even a figurehead, to be named above them in the empire they built. There would be only one logical conclusion in the galaxy, and it would be a sensation: a coup. Alexander would be deposed and a weak executive set up in his place. Instead of a dominating conqueror to fear the galaxy would have a placating bureaucrat. The fledgling Terran Empire would be ripe for the picking.

That would be his opportunity. The executive could not hope to deal with such a situation, but he could. He had a rapport with the military, and their respect. Let the Terran government call him back and give him the fleet and he’d bloody the Galactic’s nose! Then they’d let the Terrans into the fold of the Galactic neighborhood. Humankind could then grow without the need of an Alexander. His role would change from one of conqueror to explorer. With Humankind secure he could do what he’d always wanted, what he always felt Humankind should strive for: explore the galaxy. The surest way of growth as a species, he thought, was for Humankind to explore the cosmos. It kept them occupied with something constructive. Alexander saw his race as beings in adolescence. They were not yet old enough, or mature enough, as a species to avoid self destructive behavior. They needed room, new things to fill their fledgling minds, and new endeavors to absorb their unending supply of energy. Earth was a dangerous place for such a species, locked up on a small planet with only themselves for company. It was like isolating a group of teenagers in a room for a year. The end result would be obvious.

That was the need, as far as Alexander saw it. He wanted to get the Terran Empire settled and secure. When Terra was a respected member of the Galactic community Alexander could leave it be. He didn’t see himself as the dictator the galaxy perceived, at least not for any length of time. The masses should be the source of power, and one person could not speak for all in times of peace. At this particular moment, however, he saw the need for a single person to wield the sword for his species and then give them a shove in the right direction. Where the ship of Humankind drifted after that, he told himself, was not his concern.

Nazeera spent the next four decurns coordinating her plans for attacking Bureel’s rebel forces. That fully half of Bureel’s warships flew virtually side by side with her armada was a tempting irony. If only she could fight this force of rebels and defeat them she could then face the Guardian Armada already in the Chem system at even odds. The only way to accomplish this, however, would be to somehow force Bureel to drop his Armada out of superluminal and face her; a scenario her snake of a husband had no intention of satisfying her with. Galactic warships were unable to engage in combat at superluminal velocities. The superluminal fields which made interstellar flight possible were delicate beyond reckoning, and carefully balanced. If a ship were to fire any of its blaster projectors, even at the lowest of levels, the direct result would be an immediate superluminal field imbalance followed closely by the collapse of the field. Such a collapse invariably dropped the ship out of superluminal, often out of control. The violence of such an uncontrolled drop would overload the ships gravitic inertial dampeners and invariably cause severe damage. Despite the maturity of their technology the Galactics had no answer to his dilemma. Their modes of interstellar warfare were therefore predicated around this limitation, leaving it unsolved and unexplored. Rising out of the constriction were thousands of years of tradition and courtesy as to how these things ought to be done. The Chem, as did their neighbors in the Galactic community, thought nothing of altering these rules of engagement. The subject had been addressed by their ancestors, protocols were established and that was the end of it. Therefore, no battle occurred. Despite Nazeera’s challenges, despite her accusations of cowardice, Bureel stayed in superluminal; safe and confident of his cause. Nazeera could only wait with the knowledge that when she finally saw her Homeworld again she would be outnumbered two-to-one.

During one of their solitary walks on the hanger deck Alexander questioned Nazeera concerning the Chem perception of Bureel, and his constant refusal of battle. Alexander was in a quandary as to how her people, who kept the concept of honor so close to their breast, could tolerate such blatant disregard of a challenge.

Nazeera bit her lip, but her eyes brightened at Alexander’s inquiry. ‘You’re becoming quite the student of culture aren’t you?’ she stated. Then she answered his question, saying, ‘There is a fine line between a legal and acceptable challenge, and a challenge issued in desperation. Without that distinction the entire concept of honor would be transformed into an endless free-for-all for power. The military situation is correctly understood by both sides, and though my proposition is sincere, it alters the balance of things. As long as Bureel meets me in battle eventually he will bear no slight to his worm’s honor. That he refuses battle at this moment is pure practicality. Even the Chem sacrifice the timing of honor to the practicality of existence.’

‘What of my challenge to Bureel? Does the Chem civil war erase that?’

‘Absolutely not! You are a head of state, Alexander,’ Nazeera insisted vehemently, ‘and considering the circumstances your challenge must be answered by Bureel, lest all of Chem is answerable. The timing, however, again, is flexible. The battle for the Chem Homeworld will not be delayed for the answer of a challenge, even yours. Therefore, if I succeed and Bureel survives the battle your challenge shall be answered as a matter of course. If I fail, then your challenge is my final hope.’

CHAPTER 7

A tall spare being, lankily folded in a Spartan chair behind a smooth faced desk idly fingered a pen like instrument; tapping it thoughtfully on a small plastic tablet. The face reminded an observer of some distant cousin of the Chem, but the expressive countenance was troubled, as if it lacked the inner self confidence of that ancient race of warriors. The Golkos, as the beings were known, were more feared than loved by their neighbors, a fact they were aware of and relished. That their neighbors feared and respected the Chem to a greater degree was not lost on the Golkos. Where the Chem prized honor the Golkos loved victory. Where the Chem demanded fair play, the Golkos sought domination. It was not so much that the Golkos as a people were twisted into evil reflections of their distant cousins as much as it was that their harsh struggle for existence and their inability to cope with themselves left them wanting in resilience when the Golkos and Chem met in the Galactic arena. The Golkos were found wanting in that early rivalry, and they became the frustrated brothers to the ancient Chem; always curbed and never quite strong enough to have their own way. There was a jealousy between the two peoples, at least on the Golkos part, and this flaw was inflamed to action when the Chem Empire became embroiled in civil war. The Golkos saw their long awaited opportunity to take the Galactic lead against the upstart Humans and their Alexander and with characteristic efficiency they seized it. For the first time in thirteen Galactic kicellia the Golkos were truly free of the Chem. This in its own right was enough to cause concern amongst her neighbors. The Golkos were not popular amongst the Galactics; they were a source of unease. Until this time only the Chem possessed the ability to suppress the Golkos wilder urgings. The Scythians at one time played with even more power by controlling those material items which the more decadent Golkos tastes became dependent upon. Released from these bonds the Golkos pulsed like a raw nerve amongst the Galactics, and they talked war. This suited the Galactics who at once saw the advantage in releasing the temperamental Golkos hound onto the threat of Alexander instead of letting it loose amongst themselves. This they did with great rapidity, at once removing themselves as targets of long pent up Golkos frustrations, and putting forth a powerful piece against Alexander.

Rukaal, the Great Lady of Golkos, raised the haft of the pen to her sharp canines and gnawed. That she was the single most powerful Golkos in her Empire was not wasted upon her, but neither was it celebrated in her office. It was as spare as were the furniture, her clothes and her manner. Her brain, however, worked in sharp contrast to the dull and placid grey surroundings. The process of her mind were as sharp and harsh in their rationalizations as were the shadows of the ruddy crags of her Homeworld, gleaming outside her window in the final rays of the setting double star. The Lady’s grey pupil-less eyes were inextricably turned inward to her thoughts, so much so that an insistent buzzing sounded thrice, unanswered, before eventually eliciting a response. The eyes flushed with a bluish tinge, but otherwise Rukaal’s body failed to respond, until finally she said simply, ‘Enter!’

A panel in the wall slid up and in walked a being so starkly different that there was no hint at any relation, no matter how distant. The Hrang which entered was tail-less reptilian biped. Unlike the other sentient reptiles of the galaxy, most notably the Seer’koh, the Hrang were heavy, slow and more prone to cogitation than action.

‘Master She-Rok I have reflected upon your brief,’ Rukaal told the Hrang, again tapping the plastic tablet. ‘I must admit to a certain level of surprise. The skill of the Hrang at infiltration is fully as legendary as our adversary Alexander, but your agenda calls for Hrang operatives to replace specific individuals when able as opposed to a general observation of the Terran world. That is bold, Master She-Rok, even for a Golkos. I’ve no doubt that you can accomplish the latter and thereby gain a great deal of valuable information on the part of the Galactic Alliance. I must, however, express my pessimism at accomplishing the former, and with its failure negating all possibility of accomplishing even the limited objectives of the latter.’

She-Rok bowed stiffly, but said, ‘Your doubt is forgivable, as the disinformation presented you has its source in the Hrang themselves.’ She-Rok informed the Golkos. ‘May I say that we Hrang, although we generally shun excessively risky operations even when there is great profit to be had, do not enter this scenario blindly. The Hrang have ourselves been somewhat skeptical of the Scythian constabulary of Terra, especially over the last tenth of a kicellia. We have at times placed our operatives on Terra itself to estimate the credibility of Scythian report.’

‘Hrang operatives on Terra? Why was this never reported to the Galactic Counsels?’ Rukaal asked.

‘The Hrang are not in the habit of admitting to all of our information gathering efforts, Lady Rukaal. The Golkos know this full well, as do you. Certainly you have contracted the Hrang for business which is not well known to other Galactics, and for good reason.’

‘This is true, Master She-Rok,’ Rukaal admitted. ‘However, I cannot see what criticism information from Terra would expose you to.’

‘Scythian criticism of course, if they knew we were watching Terra. Seeing as the “Human Question” has been a lynchpin to Scythian policy for over a kicellia you can easily imagine they would not view any meddling in the matter with favor. At the time, approximately five percent of the present kicellia past, we did not turn up any information which would have been worthy of exposing our operations. These forays were limited in scope and objective, and indeed they did not turn up anything which would lead us to completely doubt the veracity of the Scythian claims.’

‘Very well, I will accept the logic of that position,’ Rukaal nodded.

‘Thank you,’ She-Rok bowed. ‘All this is to say, of course, that we have some experience in this particular scenario. Only experienced operatives are being used, Lady Rukaal, and each is being given very specific instructions. We have extensive dossiers on several thousand Human subjects, supplied to us by the now exiled Scythians. This information coupled with the chaotic state of affairs on Terra, and our own skill, should suffice to make the operation practical and rewarding while limiting our personal risk.’

‘Very well, I shall support the idea,’ Rukaal assured him. ‘What assistance do you need of Golkos?’

‘We have already proceeded with the initial stages of the operation, yet we have run into difficulty.’’ She-Rok admitted, to the consternation if not the surprise of the Golkos.

‘Apparently my approval was not necessary,’ Rukaal scowled. ‘No doubt I would not have heard of this operation at all had the Hrang not run into difficulty. What mess can the Golkos dig you out of Master Spy?’

She-Rok smiled, ‘One to your liking I would think. You see we have already placed two thousand of our operatives on Terra and they are carrying out their orders with efficiency. When our scout ships returned with the replaced Humans, however, we discovered that they were beyond our ability to interrogate with any rationality. Humans are highly resistive to the techniques of interrogation the Hrang are conversant with. We are information gatherers, but we are unable to interpret the data we have thus far gathered. Moreover, we are by choice a passive race. Though we interfere in others lives in these extraordinary times we are limited in our pursuance of the objective. Still, the Humans we have captured are deemed to have great value, and it is speculated that the Golkos could gain information through interrogation that the Hrang cannot.’

To this statement Rukaal could only smile.

CHAPTER 8

Bureel stared angrily at the helmsman and demanded, ‘What do you mean Nazeera’s ship are increasing speed?’

‘That is what my scanners indicate my lord,’ he replied somewhat nervously. ‘As ordered, I have set my helm for station keeping relative to the position of the Kuntok. However, the Kuntok has accelerated beyond cruise speed. Do you wish to match their speed and maintain our relative position?’

Bureel was confused which led him to angrily lash out, ‘Captain, double check your helmsman’s calculations!’

‘Yes my lord,’ the Captain of the Toa-Riche replied, knowing all too well Bureel’s short temper. He approached the helmsman, who moved out of the way so that he displays were clearly visible.

Turning to Bureel, the Captain nodded. ‘He is correct my lord. The Kuntok has accelerated to emergency flank. I cannot say why. The rest of Nazeera’s armada has matched her speed.’

‘There must be something wrong with the Kuntok,’ Bureel mumbled, scratching at his beard.

‘It is possible that she was damaged in the fight and has a runaway matter-anti-matter imbalance and that the rest of her armada is just following,’ the Captain said doubtfully. ‘Chem doctrine is very specific. Strategic cruise speeds are to be set between superluminal gates two and five. Nazeera’s velocity is now stabilized at superluminal gate six-three; that is emergency flank. It is definitely outside of doctrinal guidance.’

‘So she will arrive at Chem before us,’ Bureel asked.

The Captain nodded again and checked the helmsman’s calculations. ‘She should arrive at Chem approximately five hours before us, my lord.’

‘What are the repercussions of her actions,’ Bureel asked gravely.

The Captain straightened and replied, ‘The obvious problem is overstressing the engines. Standard cruise gates are based on the reliability curves of the engines. We are currently at gate five, which is the highest allowable gate that guarantees the maintainability of our engines.’

‘The Kuntok has accelerated to six-three you say; so what will happen?’

Accessing the helmsman’s displays, the Captain said, ‘The Kuntok and the rest of Nazeera’s armada will have an ever increasing potential of engine overheats and malfunctions. At their current speed, assuming they maintain it all the way to Chem, there is a twelve percent chance of engine malfunction.’

‘So her armada will be cut by that number. It seems to me too great a risk to violate doctrine; why violate set protocol when you are going to lose shipsit’s madness!’ Bureel sighed, and said, ‘The Guardian Armada shall have to take care of her then.’

‘You do not wish to match her speed my lord?’

‘And violate our own doctrine,’ Bureel exclaimed. ‘Those practices were set by our ancestor’s kicellia in our past. They are there for a reason. Let Nazeera do our job for us. Proceed as planned Captain!

Nazeera’s gambit was astutely based on her desperate strategic position, and displayed what the Galactic’s perceived as a radical departure from military decorum. That a Chem commander of Nazeera’s stature should purposefully change the Galactic order of battle as it was expected, especially at so late a point, raised a disquieting level of doubt in the minds of her adversaries. That so slight a tactic as advancing her arrival in Chem should have so momentous a meaning, and in its turn remain unanswered, caused a wave of consternation and surprise to sweep through the rebel ranks. The initial wave of exhilaration for returning to the old ways having worn off, Bureel’s officers could not help but find their lord fading in their estimation when placed next to the bright resolve of Nazeera.

All Galactic commanders accepted the premise that warfare was irrevocably based on firepower. Command skill could of course affect the outcome of space battles, but in realistic terms this still required a balance between antagonists. Beyond a factor of one hundred and fifty percent the larger force enjoyed an exponential advantage in firepower the longer the battle progressed. Warfare was to a large extent limited in its scope and originality by mathematical law. So it was that commanders of the day were governed by certain laws of combat as well as the reality of disuse. One of the undesirable side effects of prolonged peace, of which the known galaxy had enjoyed for thirteen thousand Terran years, was the fall of combat intuition into theory. Individuals could overcome this based on their own personal talents, and in this the rebels and loyalists each in their turn recognized Nazeera as the champion over Bureel or any other commander he might choose to use. This advantage, however, paled when the reality of the numbers was apparent, and this is what Nazeera attempted to redress by creating distance between herself and Bureel. This accomplished she needed a swift and decisive victory over the Guardian Armada.

Nazeera’s initial objective was the Khoor-Lhat the flagship of the Guardian Armada. Named for the first Chem Elder to expand the Chem Empire beyond their solar system the Khoor-Lhat was the key to a swift and decisive victory. If Nazeera could capture the flagship the Guardian Armada would swiftly follow. Loyalist forces could rally upon the surface with the full support of the Elder, the Assemblage and Nazeera’s victorious armada. Nazeera would have re-established loyalist control over Chem beyond Bureel’s ability to dislodge her. The problem with the scheme was time. Given sufficient time Nazeera, and indeed Alexander, had no doubt that the Guardian Armada could be defeated. Even if Nazeera suffered substantial casualties she would then have the option of forcing battle under cover of the Chem planetary projector batteries, again evening the odds. Time, however, was in short supply. From the Chem scans Nazeera knew she had only slightly over a sixth of a decurn, slightly over five hours, to accomplish the capture of the Guardian Armada flagship. Galactic pre-battle formations historically spent that much time trading insults. A swift victory seemed remote at best, but Nazeera was forced into taking the chance.

‘Armada Commander, the Khoor-Lhat is on our screens,’ Nazar informed his sister and superior. ‘All warships have the proper coordinates.’

‘Order an immediate attack centered on the “Khoor-Lhat! All ships are to board at the earliest opportunity! Do not await orders. Commanders are to take the initiative!’ Nazeera ordered.

The sublight engines of the Kuntok hummed to life, and Alexander steadied himself on the rail. Officially he was an observer, and Nazeera had gone so far as to forbid him to take part in any boarding. Alexander was not, however, about to await the outcome of the battle from the relative safety of a destroyer. He reminded Nazeera that she needed every ship, and if she left him to his own devices he would undoubtedly become involved in the fray “accidently.’

The beautiful Armada Commander simply sighed and crossed her lithe arms over her ample bosom. ‘I suppose the only place I can put you to keep you out of trouble is by my side. Very well, my warlord, but on the Kuntok shall you stay! No piracy! I know your past lives too well to think you do not still yearn to board a deck slick with blood! Let it rest Alexander. You are far too important to me to waste upon a lucky blaster shot!’

Alexander did as he was told, though he was fully armored and ready. He’d mastered the use of the Chem jet boots, though they did nothing to change his mode of fighting. He almost relished the opportunity to try them, but secretly he hoped the necessity would not come to pass. There were no circumstances where the boarding of the Kuntok was advantageous to either his or Nazeera’s cause. Therefore, Alexander settled himself to observe and learn more fully the nuances of Galactic warfare. He did not have to wait long. Nazeera’s advance was headlong into the slowly approaching Guardian Armada formation. The Guardian Armada was deployed in a standard Galactic cube formation and advanced at one tenth impulse power. As soon as Nazeera’s Armada was in range the rebels opened fire. Nazeera’s ships held their fire, transferring all their power to the shields, and they sailed right through the foremost ranks of the cube, embedding themselves in the rebel formation and making for the Khoor-Lhat. It did not take an expert to realize that the rebels were completely taken aback by Nazeera’s departure from doctrine. In a matter of half an hour Nazeera’s Armada was fully engaged with the Guardian Armada and her ships were pressing into the inner core where lay the rebel flagship.

The Kuntok rocked amidst the crossing blaster streams in the core of the battle. There was so much confusion in the rebel ranks, however, that the Kuntok was no more a target than any other loyalist battleship. The “Khoor-Lhat was an entirely different matter. Dozens of warships were firing on her at any one time. Her shields glowed first silver, then gold, then a ruddy red. As the color changed Nazeera did not need her scans to tell her the old battleship was faltering. ‘Move the Kuntok alongside her Nazar, and prepare to board!’ she ordered. Slowly the vast shark-like bulk of the Kuntok muscled its way through debris, rebel cruisers and destroyers, and the Khoor-Lhat’s own blaster fire to come side by side with the opposing flagship. They traded broadside after broadside, and though the Kuntok felt the burn of the rebel projectors it was soon apparent that the Khoor-Lhat was flailing away blindly. Turning to the Communications Officer Nazeera opened a channel and hailed the commander of the Guardian Armada.

‘Commander Beshlat of the Khoor-Lhat Nazeera of Chem, of the Triumvirate, addresses you!’ she told him flatly. ‘You have fought bravely, but for a flawed cause. The folly of you lord has brought you to destruction, but your bravery may win back your honor. Transfer your allegiance back to Nazeera and to the Elder of Chem and see your house restored to its former glory!’

A noble Chem appeared on her view screen. It was Commander Beshlat. ‘Faithless is he who abandons his flag for another in dark moments,’ he told her. ‘I will not have the children of my house look upon their ancestor as a man who blew with the winds. You lack the weakness for which you were portrayed, bold Nazeera, yet I shall stay my course and defy you!’

‘An error in judgment can be overlooked,’ Nazeera told him, ‘but the chance for such is fleeting. Take the correction I offer you not for your own gain but that of Chem, and the House of Beshlat.’

The threat to his house was understood, and Beshlat hesitated for a moment. He was tempted, but finally, firmly, he said, ‘I stand by my word.’

‘You defy my honorable offer then? It will not be renewed.’

‘I do,’ he returned with finality.

‘Then prepare to be boarded!’ Nazeera spat and cut the connection. Pressing her ships comm switch she repeated the order to board the ‘Khoor-Lhat Turning to Alexander she said, ‘I must lead the boarding party. I wish you to stay here, Alexander, unhappy though I know it makes you. Be content that your inactivity is for a greater good than this slight and redundant glory.’

Alexander took her hand and kissed it, ‘I am content with your direction, Nazeera. May you find glory and that swiftly!’

‘Brevity is the order of this attack!’ Nazeera smiled, knowing full well Alexander’s meaning. Without further word she and Nazar leapt into the bridge boarding pod and were gone.

Alexander watched and listened to the battle for the “Khoor-Lhat on the bridge monitors. The fighting was indescribably fierce on the battleship, but around it the space battle lulled into a standoff. The two armadas were of similar size and firepower, but Nazeera’s headlong attack gave her the edge. Now both sides bided their time until a final outcome on the flagship decided matters. It was not so much as the opportunity for battle was lost as it was interest. Nazeera’s competence in battle and her exuberant aggression against the Guardian Armada were doing much to denude the lies of Bureel. Bureel’s commanders had given their word and allegiance to a new master, and their sense of honor would not allow them to break their word, but their hearts were not in it. Nazeera displayed the ultimate in warrior spirit for all to see, and now the rebel commanders sensed their error. It was not enough to sway their allegiance, but it was enough for many of the warships of the Guardian Armada to tone down the aggression of their attacks. They fired and engaged to be sure, but they did not grapple with their enemies with the fierceness that victory demands. They saw a turning point, and so they, in turn, saw the fence and sat upon it; allowing Nazeera to dictate the outcome.

More and more boarders climbed aboard the wallowing carcass that was the proud “Khoor-Lhat until the mighty warship looked as though it were covered by ticks. On the Kuntok’s bridge Alexander watched testily as the battle raged hand to hand, helpless to affect events. The battle dragged on, and the pitch changed several times as rebel forces boarded the “Khoor-Lhat in support of their flag. The ebb and flow of the combat was exhausting, yet finally Nazeera came to grips with Commander Beshlat. A circle of whirling dervishes surrounded them, but they seemed strangely immune in their own trial. Beshlat had the strength over his adversary, but he lacked Nazeera’s lightning quickness and her invulnerable desire. He fell with her sword through his heart. At the conquest the battle stopped all about her. Nazeera placed her bloody heel on the still convulsing chest of her vanquished foe and let out a banshee howl, crying ‘I claim the “Khoor-Lhat by right of conquest! Long may Chem rule!”

A resounding roar surrounded her, and in that instant victory and Chem were Nazeera’s. Then a strident voice came over the board, from where could not be told, but it said, ‘Bureel’s Armada is dropping out of superluminal upon us!’

From grasped victory the loyalists faced an immediate fight for survival. Nazeera’s Armada, certain of her victory once she gained the “Khoor-Lhat lost their opportunity to defeat the remainder of the Guardian Armada or at least put it to flight. If the Guardian Armada stood to in observation during the bloody boarding of the rebel flagship Nazeera’s ships did no more. Now with their lord in system and their numerical advantage still intact the rebels attacked Nazeera’s Armada with renewed energy.

Bureel witnessed the fall of the “Khoor-Lhat over the ethernet, and its doom spurred him to take the risk of maintaining superluminal to the very last moment. More by luck than skill the rebel armada dropped out of superluminal almost in the midst of the fray. So close were they that the rebel forces turned Nazeera’s strategy against her. They made straight for the Kuntok and boarded her before Nazeera or her party could return.

From stoic observer Alexander turned into an overactive participant. The rebels suddenly appeared from everywhere, and with the forces of the Kuntok already depleted the fighting swiftly grew grim. The Terran used his sword and knife exclusively, hacking and slashing with such resolution that blood and gore from his enemies splattered the cavernous bridge. Still, as loyal Chem after loyal Chem fell to the onslaught Alexander was forced by the melee into the bows of the bridge. He could not have told how many he killed, but his mind hearkened back to Stamford Bridge. Strangely the prospect of heroic death gave him no comfort, rather it revolted him. He had finished that lifetime, but in this life he knew somehow that his task was not complete. The fatality of his ancestors failed to lend him any comfort, and instead a raw fury for somehow being cheated of his destiny fed his thews. He hacked and thrust, kicked and struck forth, utterly overcome with bestial rage. He saw nothing that was not through a haze of pounding blood, and he recognized nothing but the need to rend and to slay.

Time wore on in its slow but inexorable force, and though the Chem moved as cats in the night, they were clumsy and slow to his mind’s eye. He saw through their flesh to their souls, and he attacked them there as much as with his body. Only for an instant did his blood-rage give any inkling to a semblance of sanity. When the last loyal Chem had fallen and Alexander stood completely alone the rebels halted, hesitating. They licked their lips in desire for the glory of his death, but they feared to come within reach of his steel.

‘Who comes for the glory of the kill?’ Alexander demanded of them, a small inspiration of strategy instilling him with the slightest of hopes. He glared at them, his breath heaving, his mouth frothing blood. ‘Who will bear the glorious mantle as Alexander’s slayer for all eternity? Which one of you dares spill your guts under my feet in payment for such an honor?’

One Chem stepped forward to challenge Alexander for the sole right of claiming his name. Alexander leapt at him and his stroke went through the Chem’s parry to shear through shoulder and breast. Alexander stepped back and pulled his gory blade free. ‘Which of you wants my name? I shall not give it to you. You must earn it! Earn it so that you might hear it sung in your honor the ending of the world!’

Another stepped forward to be hewed down, then another, and another. Despite the beast that stood before them not one of the Chem could resist the temptation of that terrible risk. To be the slayer of Alexander was to be immortal. One after another they followed, until nine and ten crossed swords with him, and his adversaries themselves removed the bodies of their comrades so that they too could go to slaughter.

Alexander knew none of it. His rage enveloped him as closely as his flesh. When Nazeera finally regained the Kuntok and swept the bridge of the remaining rebels Alexander did not recognize her. She and all with her held their distance, allowing the beast that was Alexander to stand panting amidst the mounds of dead. It was only when the Kuntok was safely in the depths of space again, her Homeworld relinquished in eventual defeat, that Alexander came down from that high mountain of wrath he built for himself. When Nazeera told him of the outcome of battle, of the almost complete loss of her armada all strength drained from him. He said nothing as the surgeon stitched his innumerable wounds. Alexander felt the loss as heartily as Nazeera, but he’d not yet come to the realization that through the loss he still lived. As he fell asleep in her arms, still silent in defeat, his ears finally defined his lover’s voice. Into the despair that should have been her own Nazeera whispered, ‘There is life here still, and heart, so there is still hope. While there is hope there is reason to live, and reason to fight on.’

CHAPTER 9

Admiral Augesburcke could not say that his homecoming to Terra was a pleasant one. A military man through and through the Australian had little use for politics or politicians, and unfortunately for him his duties on Terra kept him in the constant company of each. He missed the Iowa and its disciplined no nonsense routine. He enjoyed space, and it was somewhat strange to so dislike being planet bound. A year ago he could not have imagined any of this, and now he could not imagine being without it.

Augesburcke was about to adjourn his daily CODOTS meeting when an aide handed him a message. The conference was uneventful, relatively speaking, as there was nothing they could do about the Chem situation but wait. The other matters of importance, the Scythian “rebellion” and the emigration fiasco were now in the Senate’s hands and out of CODOTS jurisdiction. The Scythian’s had not so much rebelled as withdrawn from the Galactic community. They ate and slept, but did little else. They certainly did not offer any assistance to their new masters, no matter the threats or offers. It was becoming a problem because of the sheer lack of understanding Terran’s had with their newfound technology. Reverse engineering took time when you didn’t understand the basic concepts upon which a machine was built. At the present there was no immediate threat on the horizon, but the newness of Terra in space made this event an important one.

The emigration problem was of Terran making in its entirety. There were suddenly two hundred plus habitable planets in the Terran Federation and now every nation, religion, and philosophy wanted a planet of their own to colonize. The response of the Senate was mixed, but CODOTS, under Augesburcke’s leadership, was steadfastly against the idea. He feared a partitioning of the species just at the time when they were realizing a Human dream of unity. As a result of the uproar CODOTS was removed from the decision making process. The Senate debated the policy, but several nations threatened to withdraw from the Senate and strike out on their own if they did not get their own planet. An ugly stalemate resulted, and as a result no planets other than those with troops on them were being colonized. It was a tense time, but as CODOTS influence waned Augesburcke saw only darker days ahead. His brow furrowed as he read the note handed him. After reading the message twice, he told the council, ‘Excuse me, but I have just been informed that CODOTS is dissolved. The military functions have been absorbed into the Department of Defense, of which I’ve been named Chief, and all other functions will be divided amongst the departments and agencies reporting to the newly formed Federation Senate. I am also informed that the Senate will be voting for a Federation President this afternoon.’ Augesburcke raised his brows and looked across at his colleagues. ‘Well, it appears we’ve become superfluous. I’ve a list of government assignments for all of you, if you’ll stand by, otherwise I will call our council adjourned, permanently. Thank you all for a job well done.’

Faizah Sadat waited for the Admiral to storm out of the room and then left the table somewhat placidly. Her colleagues noticed her to be more withdrawn over the last couple of weeks and they were surprised to see her become an ardent anti-Alexander force in CODOTS. Her usual nature was as a decisive and very intuitive statesman. If there was a question as to her recent manner it was forgotten in the all pervading crisis. She gathered her staff around her and headed towards her office. Once there she sat silently behind her desk while her staff briefed her on every nuance of the Terran situation. She’d always been a demanding taskmaster, but recently her staff noted that her desire for information, especially information concerning Alexander, was insatiable. The briefing lasted several hours, with very few questions from Sadat.

A merciful knock on the door brought the ceaseless droning to a halt. An aide got up and opened the door. It was one of Ms. Sadat’s colleagues from CODOTS. There was a broad smile on his face.

‘Congratulations Ms. Sadat, the Senate has just elected you the first President of the Terran Federation.’

Sadat’s answering smile was one of enormous satisfaction.

CHAPTER 10

The silence in the Chem Assemblage was stifling. Even the Elder sat still as stone on his black anthracite throne, unwilling, and unable to alter the atmosphere. A tense expectancy hung like a vapor in the chambers. Something was about to happen which had not occurred since the bad old days of the Chem Empire. When the empire was young tyrants strove for the mace of the Elder. They slew each other over the title and blood flowed freely over the anthracite seat. Members of the august body of the Assemblage not in step with the new ruler, or too slow to foresee the sudden changes of fortune were shipped wholesale to Pantrixnia, or slaughtered on the floor of the Assemblage. It was a bloody time of upheaval and passion. The only thing that prevented the Chem from ruling the galaxy was the Chem themselves. They were feared and respected, as much by their own people as the other cultures of the galaxy. Those turbulent times faded with the strong hand of Terumaz. When she took the seat of the Elder thirteen thousand Terran years past it was over the heads of six other rival clans. She put down all rivals and left one strong voice throughout the empire. Instead of expanding, though, Terumaz permeated the empire with a sense of order and tradition. She made the Assemblage a body of constancy, inertia to the volcanic passions of her people. The Triumvirate was her final legacy, for it was from the Triumvirate that the orderly succession to the Elder took place. The Assemblage was a mixture of elected and hereditary officials, but those of the Triumvirate was chosen by tests of courage and wisdom. It was from this select group that the Elder placed the hopes and trust of the people. In a locked seal about the Elder’s neck, to be opened only upon the Elder’s death, was the name of the member of the Triumvirate who would ascend to the anthracite seat.

The Elder fingered the seal sadly as he looked out over the diminished Assemblage. Many fled at the rumor of Bureel’s coming. He thought they were wise. Nazeera’s decimated armada, though it had inflicted horrific damage upon Bureel was no longer able to effect this particular session of the Assemblage. It was a somber moment for the Elder, for it signaled the end of generations of Chem unity. The Elder sighed aloud at the realization of his failure, and the coming loss. They finally grew to reach their potential as an empire, but there was always that bad blood in his people that gave in to passion over reason. Somehow he failed to read that in his people’s eyes.

A strident clang on the Assemblage doors marked the coming of Bureel. All eyes turned there. With a groaning announcement reserved for dark times the doors slowly swung open. In strode Bureel, his raiment of gold and red, his step quicker than it should be. At his back were his lieutenants, and forty warriors in two files. Not since the Ascension of Terumaz had warriors armed for battle entered the chambers of the Assemblage. The members of the Assemblage parted to make way for the Usurper. With a stern monarchical gaze centered on the anthracite throne Bureel made his way through the midst of the Assemblage towards the raised dais of the Elder. The throne was on a dais of seven steps. As Bureel approached the dais the Chamberlain leapt forward to bar his way with a massive golden mace, saying, ‘Who are you that dares to approach the seat of the Elder?’

‘I am Bureel of Chem,’ Bureel stated. ‘I claim this seat by right of honor, and the will of the Assemblage. I claim this seat to restore the honor and glory of the Chem. I claim this seat to destroy all who would oppose the ultimate right of Chem dominion.’

The Elder rose and took the golden mace from the Chamberlain. ‘That seat is already occupied, Bureel,’ he said sternly. ‘Only those who have won the right by conquest may demand so great a price. I see no such laurels about your shoulders. I see only the mantle of treachery!’

‘You see with skewed and foolish eyes, Elder,’ Bureel snarled. ‘It is I, Bureel, who control the system of Chem, and thus the hearts of the people. You were not strong enough to lead us back to the days of glory. Your poison in my wife’s ears led her to betray her own people. You’ve brought your own house down, but Bureel shall intercede before the entirety of the House of Chem comes down with you. Will you yield me the Mace of the Elder, or will I claim it through right of challenge to a traitor?’

‘I will not yield it freely to the likes of you,’ the Elder told him vehemently. ‘I will yield it only through the right of challenge! You will not take the empire but from my dead hand!’ The Elder took the heavy mace and swung it whistling through the air. He was quicker than Bureel gave him credit for, and the Elder very nearly succeeded in settling the issue then and there. A flange of the mace caught Bureel’s temple and cut the skin. Bureel’s involuntary cry of pain and anger rang through the hall as his blood flowed freely. The Elder swung the mace about in a wide sweeping arc over his head and brought it crashing down towards Bureel. This time Bureel had his wits about him. He stepped aside the heavy blow and the mace chipped the granite floor with a tremendous ring. The Elder, despite his heart, was too old for such a fearsome weapon. The missed blow caused the Elder to lunge helplessly towards Bureel, and he was unable to steady himself in time. Bureel grappled the shaft with his left hand, holding the Elder’s hands down, and with his right he stabbed the ruler of the Chem in the throat. The blade cut cleanly through beard and flesh, riding over the gorget to nestle in the Elders spine. Bureel withdrew the blade with relish and a fountain of blood spattered his boots. The Elder staggered back, losing his grip on the mace. It clattered to the granite floor. Gasping, eyes wide and vacant, the Elder refused to fall. He tottered back to his seat and slumped into the throne. Blood cascaded from his mouth and wound, pooling in the seat, and dripping onto the floor.

Bureel smiled and picked up the mace. ‘You’ve lost, old man,’ he sneered. ‘This, and the empire, is now mine! Take comfort in that!’

‘Not so, my lord,’ the Chamberlain interrupted him. The tall Chem approached and took from Bureel the massive blood stained mace. ‘You have, as usurpers of old, laid claim to this seat, which is yours by right of challenge. Yet the Ascension cannot take place until the alignment, which is twenty-three decurns hence. Until that time you have the rights and privileges of a victor, but not the seat of the Elder.’

Bureel backed away with a snarl. He seemed about to strike the noble Chamberlain down, even though he was a loyal supporter, but tradition had a strong hold on all Chem, even Bureel. He bit his snakes tongue and said, ‘You speak your office well, Chamberlain. I, of course, will respect the ritual of the Ascension.’ Then he turned to the Elder, who was by now grown pale and blue. ‘Keep your seat then in death for a little while longer, but die with the knowledge that it will be mine!’

The Elder smiled as he died, and his lips formed words, though nothing but a dying stream of blood burbled forth. Bureel could read the lips though, and an involuntary shudder shook his foundation for empire. He turned on his heel and left the dying Chem, those silent words still ringing in his mind. ‘Nazeera yet lives, Bureel. Much can happen!’

CHAPTER 11

Roma was a beautiful world of vast blue oceans, verdant green coasts, rolling plains and white marble cities. Its climate was semi-tropical, but in no region unpleasant. During the normal course of its existence it hosted nothing more ominous than the tense Galactic vacationer desperate for relaxation. It was a slow world, belonging to no empire, and carefully neutral in every way. To all cultures Roma was a clear and innocent jewel in the intrigues of the galaxy. That innocence ended when a Chem scout ship was blown out of space by a previously unknown Terran Fleet.

Since Roma was the only completely neutral site in the galaxy the ten civilized cultures, outside of the three belligerent cultures of Chem, Scythia and now Terra, met to discuss the “Legend of Alexander” in more serious terms than ever before. There was a great deal of concern that the Terrans would boil out of their tiny system on a spree of Galactic conquest as legends foretold, but there was also hope that the Chem could bottle them up, or perhaps solve the problem entirely. The Chem were by far the most skilled of the galaxies warriors in every respect. The Alliance, as they called themselves, informed the Chem in the language of diplomacy that they were free to do whatsoever they wished with the Terrans, but the Scythian’s should, if at all possible, be spared the brunt of the Chem fury. This policy seemed to be working until the sudden emergence of Alexander at the head of the Terran Fleet. The entire galaxy watched with horror as the Terran Overlord conquered the Scythian Empire and came to terms with the Chem. It was a defeat of enormous magnitude for the Alliance. Not only had the Chem failed to diminish the military might of the Terrans, but Alexander sprang to the forefront as nothing less than the legendary conqueror himself.

The galaxy, which watched this Human’s trials on Pantrixnia, immediately assumed the worst. Alexander manipulated the Chem, the most potent of Galactic cultures, and then made a separate peace with them to avoid a pitched battle, preserving his fleet for the conquest of the ‘softer” Galactic cultures. The Chem civil war which followed close on the heels of Alexander delivering himself as a hostage was seen as a continuation of his policy. He did not want to waste his mighty fleet in battle with the Chem, so he sought to conquer their empire by guile. It was widely believed that Alexander orchestrated the Chem civil war. He would use the Chem against themselves to diminish the Chem armadas and consolidate the position of Nazeera. Alexander would then marry her, and the Chem Empire would be his without a shot from his precious fleet. The Terran Fleet would then be free to carry out its conquest of the remainder of the galaxy. In the Alliance only the Golkos and the Seer’koh had fleets of comparable size to the Terrans, but that was only numbers. There was no doubt amongst the Ambassadors that numbers alone would not quell the ferocity of the Terrans.

The ten representatives and their staffs met on a spacious verandah overlooking a topaz hued bay. The breeze was as comfortable as the day was delightful, and the view was nothing less than spectacular. It was in bright contrast to the grave atmosphere which characterized the meetings over the last ten decurns. Anxiety dulled the eyes of each species with a common glaze. There was, however, a subtle difference in this afternoon’s gathering. Once the representatives were settled in a circle, their staffs arrayed behind them, there was an unspoken agreement amongst them that the floor was open to any speaker. There was long silence this afternoon. No one seemed to be willing to open the forum.

‘Well, has no one anything to say?’ hissed the Seer’koh Ambassador. The Seer’koh were a reptilian race of bipeds about sixty percent the size of Humans. They possessed a large fleet of ships, and next to the Golkos they were the most belligerent of the Galactic species. Fantastically quick and lithe they kept entire worlds to hunt game using only their teeth and claws. Of all the races they would find Pantrixnia almost homelike. The Ambassador’s voice, through a pendant shaped translator, was an excellent and intelligible representation of the species language. Otherwise, the hisses and rattles of its voice were the only expressions of emotion on the saurian’s face. At this moment the tapping of its claw on the marble verandah, and a rattle in its throat told its peers that it was impatient. ‘What of our master spies, the Hrang? You have had a mass of your people on Terra for some time now. What have you found out?’

The Hrang were also a reptilian race, but not so aggressively formed as the Seer’koh. They were, in fact, the antithesis of the Seer’koh, thinkers instead of doers. Of all the Galactic cultures they were the most technologically advanced, and though they would rather have remained comfortably unobtrusive throughout this crisis it was this very quality which thrust the Hrang into the forefront. It was a position the Hrang were very uncomfortable with. ‘It has not been easy for my people to impersonate the Humans, despite the excellence of our dermal projectors,’ the Ambassador replied. The Hrang had the chameleon-like ability to alter their skin coloration. This skill coupled with dermal projectors made changes in shape and texture, and allowed the Hrang to become excellent mimics, and spies. ‘We have replaced several thousand Terrans with our people. The Terrans, those that we could transport off the planet in secret, have been given to the Golkos. During our recent meetings we’ve reported on the Terrans in a general nature. We’ve not tried anything significant until now. I am pleased to report that we’ve had a Hrang in a most sensitive position for the last seven decurns. We hope that this will give us access to the most critical policies of the Terrans. Thus far our information is general. The governing body of the Terrans can be characterized as barbaric, especially with their dealings with the Scythians. The Terran’s conquest of the Scythian Empire is a case in point. It was ruthless, as well as efficient. We have, however, not been able to answer some nagging inconsistencies in their behavior. The Terrans are not as militaristic as previously thought, but they are far more explosive than we could have anticipated. From our passive observations it appears that the Terrans were completely unprepared for the Chem threat. They militarized their planet, created an enormous fleet and stymied the galaxy’s most warlike race in something like hundred decurns.’

‘Your observations must be mistaken,’ the Seer’koh Ambassador told the Hrang. ‘Such a military buildup is impossible. We’ve all seen their ships. Why even if we had every dockyard in the galaxy working we could not have built a comparable fleet in less time. Obviously your lack of military experience has led to a misinterpretation. Most probably, my friend, your spies interpreted a Human perception of unpreparedness as a complete lack of ability. No matter, we know they are prepared now. What I would most like to know, however, is any information you have concerning Alexander. From what you’ve told us thus far the Human’s are a passionate and diverse people who need much to unite them. That bond must be Alexander, as we so obviously witnessed in the fall of Scythia.

‘Alexander is an enigma,’ the Hrang replied. ‘It is very difficult to separate Terran intrigue from reality. I would hazard to say that Alexander’s control over the Terran Empire is inconsistent. It appears that he controls the Terran Empire at his whim, and leaves the running of it to a bureaucracy at other times. Of course we know nothing specific of the Terran situation previous to the arrival of our operatives. The positive point of this is that Alexander’s empire is open to coup. Much of the Terran aggression, in our interpretation, is due to Alexander. Remove him and the Terrans may become reasonable. We cannot predict more accurately at this point, though the Golkos, who have the Terran prisoners in their possession may be able to answer to that.’

The Golkos Ambassador, a tall severe looking woman who looked a distant relative to the Chem, smiled thinly. ‘We have gained significant insight into the Terrans through our interrogations,’ she said. ‘As pointed out by the Hrang Terrans are not so militant as we thought, nor as unified. They do have that potential, however. We’ve noted the prisoners draw together to present a single face towards us, when we’ve given them the opportunity. When we’ve divided them we have been able to break them down to their individual characters. Humans vary in strength, ability and perception. They can be formidable adversaries, but they are not the super being’s we’ve made them. What is more significant to us is their complete lack of experience outside of their own planet. Specific military information is confusing, but the Terrans have had numerous fleets, though under separate nations, for as long as our prisoners can remember. Until very recently the Terrans were divided into nation states. They unified, apparently under Alexander, in response to the Chem threat. That may explain the confusion of our Hrang operatives concerning Terran militarization. It is a problem of semantics, not ships. This is not to be wondered at, as we have discovered. Our interrogations, though thorough, do not always gain succinct results. For instance, the status of Alexander as the military Overlord of Terra was not admitted to by some of the prisoners, a preposterous notion. Yet we must be careful not to prejudice our observations with our own interpretations of things. Terrans think differently than we do. They are emotionally driven, and we cannot begin to understand their passions. Everything our interrogators are told is colored by these emotions, and we are slowly beginning to suspect that Terran vocabulary is not so definitive as, say, Golkos vocabulary. What they say is not always what they mean, and this obviously presents us with a dilemma. That they are aggressive, distrustful, and belligerent we can be certain. As far as Alexander is concerned there is little specific information, but the concept of an Overlord is nothing new to the Terrans. One consistency amongst all of our captives is the report of almost continuous Terran struggle for dominance. All were familiar with recent global conflicts where powerful Terrans sought the Overlord’s seat, though without success. It appears from what we’ve pieced together that Alexander’s ascension was accomplished without global conflict, and as we’ve seen it was quite successful. We have before us a very crafty individual if he has indeed won over these people without war.

‘In our final assessment we feel the need to respond to the Terran threat as soon as possible. The opinion of the Golkos is that Terrans can be as dangerous as we’ve feared, but at the moment they are vulnerable. If the Alliance combines its strength and strikes during this time we can prevent any expansionist behavior by the Terrans. Alexander’s support seems to be remarkably tenuous, considering what he accomplished against the Chem, and a defeat would certainly end any dreams of Galactic Empire.’

‘A reasonable assumption, and one which the Seer’koh are prepared to support,’ the reptilian Ambassador replied. ‘May I ask what you’ve done with the prisoners?’

‘They are routinely eliminated after their usefulness is over,’ the Golkos Ambassador said.

‘You mean to say you have executed Terrans?’ The Kempec Ambassador exclaimed. Her people controlled only a few dozen star systems and were by nature a very peaceful race. She met the Golkos Ambassador’s disdain with horror, ‘Have you given thought to what the Terran response would be? Have you considered that it might be just this sort of outrage which would give Alexander the reason he needs to turn the Terrans against us?’

‘You overreact to something the Terrans will never know,’ the Golkos Ambassador replied. ‘Our opportunity to quell the Terran threat is now. It is no time to be squeamish.’

The Syraptose Ambassador disagreed; they were quite sensitive to the prospect of Alliance reaction to Alexander. Their empire bordered directly upon the new Terran Empire and they had no Alliance neighbors. If it came to war the Syraptose were on their own. The Ambassador stood, obviously irritated at the Golkos action and said, ‘You mean to tell us that you took this drastic action without even thinking to consult us? That behavior is irresponsible at best. Have you considered the repercussions of such an act? Do you, by any chance, remember what Alexander himself told the Chem concerning prisoners of war? One million lives for each prisoner executed! Does that statement have any meaning for you whatsoever Ambassador?’

‘An idle threat,’ the Golkos Ambassador answered without a trace of uneasiness.

‘Then it is you who will pay the price for that threat!’ The Syraptose told its counterpart. ‘The Syraptose will not stick their necks out for such reckless behavior. When Alexander leads you up the gallows you shall be by yourself, Golkos. The Syraptose will not sacrifice ourselves for you!’

‘What need have the Golkos for such sniveling cowards?’ the Golkos Ambassador spat back. ‘Go and crawl under a rock if you do not have the courage to face the reality of the day. I should like to see your race crawl to Alexander, begging for a peace he does not desire. Do you know how such people treat cowards? Ask the Scythians!’

‘Ambassadors! Ambassadors, please!’ the Hrang Ambassador interrupted, an action which in itself was amazing. ‘I have just received a new piece of information which changes the situation immensely. I consider it very probable that an imminent invasion of our space by Alexander is no longer likely. On the other hand the Terran Empire may be immediately weakened; so much so that we have the opportunity to swiftly eliminate them as a future threat. Apparently a coup has taken place. Alexander is no longer the Terran Overlord. The governing bureaucratic body, which they call the Senate, has elected a President for their Federation. It appears that the Terrans, without our help, have overthrown Alexander.’CHAPTER

CHAPTER 12

‘Come in,’ Alexander replied to the buzzer at his stateroom door. He half turned from his desk to see Nazeera and Nazar framed in the now open doorway. ‘Good afternoon, my friends please come in.’

‘Hello Alexander,’ Nazeera said, a sheepish smile failing to cover seriousness in her face.

Nazar was more relaxed. He ventured over to the desk and looked at Alexander’s work. His brows rose in surprise at the projected star fields. They were maps of the ten other cultures of the known galaxy projected along with the Chem Empire and the Terran Empire. Alexander highlighted several areas in the alien star systems, and added figures and numbers beside these areas. The Chem nodded his head in ill concealed eagerness. ‘Invasion plans!’

Alexander smiled at the assumption. ‘Far from finalized, they are sketches really, at the most. I am, you see, taking your warnings seriously Nazeera. This is nothing more than an amalgamation of data. It is a simple mental exercise, really.’ Nazar was, however, correct. Alexander was studying the other species of the galaxy using the information available to him through the Chem data system. Each species was fascinating in its own way, but Alexander kept his probing to specific areas. Aside from the obvious military data he looked at historic conflict in the galaxy. Alexander was a believer in the repeatability of history, and there was no better way to anticipate a possible opponent than by reading their history. That was one area of information the Alliance, assuming it ever formed, would not have on him. He considered that an enormous advantage on his part.

‘Still, it is an amusing activity in its own way,’ Alexander noted. ‘A military conflict with a hypothetical Alliance would be interesting. If you will notice the relative positions of the Alliance, assuming all of the other cultures join it, it forms three separate fronts about Terran space. Normally this would be a cause of concern; however, the makeup of these particular regions is actually advantageous to a bold tactician.’

‘You are nothing if not bold, my dear Alexander,’ Nazeera smiled. She came over and sat upon the edge of his desk, professionally interested in what he had to say.

‘How can it be advantageous to be surrounded?’ Nazar asked.

‘The wonderful thing about alliances, Nazar, is that each entity in the alliance is more concerned with its own hide than that of the whole,’ Alexander said. ‘The key is simply to find out what will trigger that act of self over common good. As in everything else maneuver is the key. I would find a way to maneuver myself such that I force a predictable reaction from my adversary. Once I have forced them to react in a predetermined manner the battle is won.’

‘As you did around my flank,’ Nazeera reminded him.

‘That was a similar situation,’ Alexander admitted, ‘but I was not looking for a military victory. I was looking to give you the option of fighting or coming to terms. Had I stayed and faced you, fleet to fleet, it would not have given you much of an alternative. What I did was to take the first offensive move, that of the flanking, and the first overture of peace, the relinquishing of my captured border systems. My intent was to make my desire for a peaceful solution clear without seeming weak in the process.’

‘It was a perfect balance, or so I thought, Alexander,’ Nazeera said sadly. ‘If not for Bureel it would have worked.’

‘I admit I overlooked that factor,’ Alexander said. ‘Of all the things I considered a Chem civil war was not one of them. The Alliance, however, is damnably transparent. Their actions are necessarily predetermined. True, I am surrounded but I need only worry about three specific fronts, not a true spherical envelopment. These fronts can be further dissected into the member states which will provide the military thrust. For instance, consider the military heavyweights of this so-called Alliance: the Golkos and Seer’koh. Unfortunately for the Alliance they must attack along the same front. It would be much more advantageous for their two dominant fleets to be able to attack along different axes. They do form a more troublesome nut to crack but I wouldn’t need to dilute my forces to handle them. Then there is the Quotterim front. The Quotterim have a sizeable fleet of five hundred and fifty ships and they will be supported by three hundred and thirty ships supplied by the Bael and the Fen Dsi. Interesting numbers, these fleets, all no doubt designed to fill out the compliment of the standard Galactic cube formation.’

‘You’ve done your research, Alexander,’ Nazeera smiled. ‘Every empire has ancient fleets designed around the standard combat model: ten ships to a squadron cube, one hundred to a fleet cube, one thousand to an armada cube. Only the Chem and the Golkos have armada strength fleets anymore, but the remainders of the empires have fractional strengths based upon the standard model.’

‘Yes, and you go even further in standardization, much to my surprise and pleasure. In each ten ship squadron is one battleship, two cruisers, four destroyers and three frigates. Each and every squadron complement is the same. A single scout ship is assigned to each squadron, accounting for the extra ships, but they are not generally recognized as fleet combatants.’

Nazar shook his head. ‘It is all very interesting, Alexander, but how does your knowing the complement and number of your adversaries help when you are so significantly outnumbered? By our estimates the Alliance could muster over three thousand ships. That is four to your one.’

Alexander smiled and leaned back in his chair. ‘That’s if you view the Alliance as a single entity, which I do not. Look at the Quotterim, the linchpin of the second front. They are not an overly ambitious or aggressive folk, even if they are frightened of Alexander. Take their fleet out of the second front and it dissolves. The Bael and the Fen Dsi would never cross into Terran space with so few ships between them. Then there are the poor Syraptose all by themselves. It’s quite simple, this Alliance puzzle. Their weakness is all too glaring.’

Nazeera could not help but feel a personal tragedy in her news. That such a spirit should be quenched by dissolution in his own people. Her own troubles served as a balm, allowing her to maintain the gravity which her news warranted. ‘As much as your ambitions pique my curiosity, Alexander, I’m afraid I must get to the reason for our visit.’

‘What, this isn’t a social call? I am quite understandably crushed, Nazeera.’

The Chem Commander could not help but smile. Shortly, the smile faded and she said, ‘Alexander, I am afraid there is bad news, for both our causes. Bureel has killed the Elder and taken control of the Assemblage. In a very short while he shall assume the seat of the Elder. Our cause will be doubly difficult once he completes the Ascension.’

‘Why has he not taken the seat yet? I assumed that would have been his first order of business.’ Alexander asked, his energy somewhat dampened by the news.

‘Even Bureel is forced to observe some Chem traditions,’ she told him. ‘The right of Ascension can only take place at the alignment of the two Chem moons. It occurs approximately once every thirty decurns. The next conjunction is in twenty-two decurns. It is an archaic ritual, I know, but no Chem Elder has ignored it since recorded times. To do so would be an affront to all of our ancestors. Bureel would forfeit his support with such an act, and he is simply malicious, not stupid. He will wait.’

‘Then we must find a way to stop him,’ Alexander said. ‘Whatever the cost we cannot allow him to lay claim to the title!’

‘We do still have your open challenge, Alexander,’ Nazar said. ‘Is there a way we can use that to waylay Bureel’s plans? I don’t expect he would stop the Ascension just to face Alexander, but his failure to respond would throw some seeds of dissension in his support. It may be enough to even the military situation.’

‘Not in time, I’m afraid, Nazar,’ Nazeera said, her chin cradled in her hand. ‘They control the communications net now. Such a challenge would not get very widespread attention. I think you are on the right track, however. That would be the surest way of dealing with Bureel: expose him as the coward he is, and then kill him. Bureel, after all, killed the Elder by initiating the ancient conqueror’s right to challenge. Alexander cannot come to the Assemblage as a conqueror of Chem that would simply unite all the factions under Bureel. If Alexander were to come to the Assemblage, in some other fashion, it might be accomplished. I do not see how that can be done, though. Alexander’s movements are not always dictated by his wishes, at this moment especially.’

‘You are correct, Nazeera,’ Nazar admitted with a half strangled laugh. ‘I was thinking only of Chem, and I thought of Alexander as already more than half Chem. He has other concerns.’

‘What’s this talk?’ Alexander asked suspiciously. ‘If you think I’m about to leave you in the lurch you haven’t learned much of me yet! I came back to Chem for several reasons, one of which was to kill Bureel. I mean to accomplish that, honorably and publicly. I cannot see how that would do other than advance both our causes, unless you see something I do not. As to how to get me there why can’t we use my status as Head of State? Surely the Elder must meet with a Head of State?’

‘That is, unfortunately not possible any more, Alexander. That was my other piece of bad news,’ Nazeera sad somberly. ‘I just heard it on the Galactic net. The Terran Senate has named a President, and it is not you my dear. As I feared there has been a coup. I am afraid we shall soon be parted in our struggles for our own empires. I have no right to keep you here, though at the moment I can think of no one better to help our cause. Your place, as much as it pains me to say it, is in your empire.’

Alexander’s guffaw caught the two Chem completely off guard. ‘Is that all?’ he laughed, and for the first time in a long while he laughed sincerely. It was, truth to tell, a rather comic moment for Alexander. The two Chem, both of whom were very dear to him, were so serious and concerned over his apparent loss of something he never really hadwell, he simply couldn’t help himself.

He allowed himself the moment, but he knew that he had to get serious; Nazeera and Nazar were in a grim position. He could not let them in on that unbelievable secret, they would never have believed him anyway, so he covered it with bluster. ‘I wondered how long it would take those bureaucrats to gather enough guts to strike out on their own! Which one is it?’

‘A woman named Faizah Sadat,’ Nazeera told him, quite taken aback.

‘I don’t know her,’ Alexander said truthfully. ‘I might recognize her, but I don’t know the name. I am, unfortunately not a genius with names. Napoleon was. He could remember an entire regiment by name and association. Not to worry, though, I expected this. That problem will take care of itself.’

‘You expected a coup, and did nothing to stop it?’ Nazeera was incredulous.

Alexander shrugged, ‘Why on earth stop it, I needed it!’ he said truthfully and then he waved off any further questions. ‘You see that I am no longer so sorely engaged as you thought, at least for the moment. Let us then take advantage of my present unemployment. As you’ve said we need to bring Bureel and myself together so that I can publicly denounce him, and hopefully incite him to a challenge. We’ll worry about how later. Where should this take place?’

‘At the Assemblage,’ Nazeera said flatly. ‘Preferably in full session.’

‘Very well, now when will the Assemblage be in full session?’

‘The Ascension,’ Nazeera told him.

‘The entire Chem Empire will be watching!’ Nazar exclaimed.

‘We have our where and when now,’ Alexander smiled. ‘All that remains is how.’

‘There is no longer a military option,’ Nazeera reminded them. ‘We lost four out of every five ships in the battle for Chem. Brute force will not get us to Chem. However, Bureel also lost three quarters of his armada in the battle. The remainder are spread quite thin looking for us. Considering the weakness of Chem defenses, Bureel cannot muster above a hundred odd ships, it should not be outside of reason for a scout ship to reach Chem well before the Ascension.’

‘Sneak Alexander to Chem?’ Nazar grumbled. ‘I suppose that is the only logical answer. I wish there were a more honorable way, but it is Bureel’s lack of honor which forces us to this.’

‘Even so, the route will not be safe, or easy,’ Nazeera told them. ‘Chem is still several decurns from our present position. With luck a single scout ship could make it undetected in three to four decurns.’

‘Then we still have some time,’ Alexander said. ‘How far are we from the Terran border?’

‘Four decurns at flank,’ Nazeera answered.

‘That is slightly over four of my days,’ Alexander said. ‘Good! That should leave us with more than enough time. I need to confer with someone in the Terran Federation. Can a ship or shuttle be spared to run me to the border?’

Nazeera nodded. ‘Whenever you wish it. I would like you back ten decurns from this date, if possible, to give us a buffer. We dare not be late to the Ascension.’

‘Understood,’ Alexander agreed.

‘In fact I think it best to send you with a few squadrons under the command of Nazar, just in case you are waylaid,’ Nazeera told him. ‘In the meantime I will try and provide the rebels with something to keep them occupied. I don’t want them to forget about us, and I cannot bear waiting. The Kuntok shall make their searching dearly bought. If we keep the pressure on them I doubt Bureel will think we are stooping to scheming. The harder we press, the greater our perceived desperation, and the better he shall feel. If all goes well he shall feel quite secure that his Ascension will go unchallenged.’

‘An excellent idea,’ Alexander said, ‘and speaking of challenges I would like to make another address before I leave. I’ve let Terra announce their new President, but I don’t want that President to forget that I am out here!’

CHAPTER 13

Admiral Augesburcke snorted in the most outward sign of irritation his decorum could muster. This was his fourth visit to this office in the last week, and like the others he was doomed to have his concerns ignored. Fleet intelligence had been monitoring Galactic communiqués since the peace accord with the Chem and there were disturbing signs that a Galactic military alliance was forming to deal with the fledgling Terran Empire. Talk of an offensive against the Terrans along many different fronts was as widespread as it was open. The Galactics were apparently too preoccupied with the hasty assembling of a military answer to Terra’s newly disclosed might to worry much over communications security. It did not take long for Augesburcke to build an accurate picture for the coming hostilities which pitted Terra’s untried fleet against at least four times their number on as many as three Galactic fronts. Such dire information failed to impress the new President of the Federation, however. Her first act had in fact been to suspend all fleet construction and disband the naval yards involved. Her rational was twofold. First, it was time to move resources towards domestic needs; and second, the Terran Federation had a more serious threat than any Galactic alliance, and one closer to home: Alexander.

‘Just who does he think he is Augesburcke?’ Faizah Sadat, the President of the Terran Federation asked. Her latest action in this newly created office was to watch another unannounced and completely unexpected address by Alexander to all the members of the civilized galaxy concerning nothing less than Terran policy towards the Chem civil war, and warning against Galactic interference in Terran affairs. The fact that the speech was made without the approval, or even the advisement of the Federation Senate and its President irked the Egyptian no small amount.

‘This man has the gall to announce Federation policy at his own whim, without approval, without even consultation. I made no such request for an announcement, and certainly the Federation Senate did not. I repeat Augesburcke, who does he think he is?’

Admiral Augesburcke had no more liking for this woman. It was a feeling based upon more than their shared experiences in CODOTS; and heightened because at one time, before the Presidential bug apparently bit Sadat, he’d had a very real respect for her. Like everything else in the Terran Federation these days she was new and she had no idea what she was doing. With her background in CODOTS, however, Augesburcke felt Sadat should have been as prepared as anyone for her task. To his disappointment and irritation Sadat instead assumed her office with all the enraged jealousy of an ordinary politician when she felt someone encroaching on her territory. Before allowing the Admiral to answer her demand she replayed the tape of Alexander’s speech and fumed. Then for the third time she asked, ‘Just who does he think he is?’

Augesburcke had to carefully conceal his glee, as even his newly grown dislike for Sadat could not dislodge his professionalism. His answer to her question, though, was blunt, and efficient. ‘Madame President he thinks he is Alexander of Terra, and that just so happens to be exactly who he is as well.’

Her condescending response did nothing to further Augesburcke’s affection for her. ‘Admiral, your admiration for this man is not lost upon me. He has done a significant service to the Terran Federation. May I remind you, however, that Alexander of Terra is not the PresidentI am. Despite his designation as Ambassador he has no real power and absolutely no real authority over the policies and actions of the Terran Federation.’

‘You’ve not met the man, Madame President,’ Augesburcke told her. ‘Nor, it seems, have you bothered to study our agreements with him. He was given carte blanche in our dealings with the Chem, and he is the Ambassador to Chem, as well as all other Galactic civilizations. I must remind you as well, not only was he unanimously appointed by the Federation Senate but the Senate also approved his powers and responsibilities.’

‘His carte blanche powers are no longer applicable, Admiral,’ she told him. ‘As I understand they were only intended to be used during the Chem crisis. That situation is now concluded. As to his powers as Ambassador to the Galactics they are certainly not absolute. No Ambassador to any state has the power to make policy. It is the Ambassador’s job to relay policy, not to initiate it.’

‘Then you have every right to take it up with the Federation Supreme Court which should be in session in another six to nine months,’ Augesburcke smiled. When she frowned and started to retort, he interrupted her. ‘I say again, Madame President, you’ve not met the man. If you seek to enforce this new understanding on Alexander I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.’

‘Admiral Augesburcke I did not bring you here to lecture me,’ she told him testily. ‘The fact remains that this man, this Alexander, is answerable to the Federation Senate, and thus to me.’

‘That is true on my account, Madame President,’ he told her, ‘but what I am trying to get across to you is that it is not true on the account of Alexander of Terra.’

‘Admiral for the last time there is no Alexander of Terra!’ She told him angrily. ‘This man has usurped his authority and I will not stand for it. I cannot understand your willingness to defend this man. He is not a dictator. He has no constitutional authority. Yet he is portraying himself as if he is the head of this government. That cannot be allowed. Surely you agree with that.’

‘What I agree with does not matter.’ Augesburcke told her. ‘The fact of the matter, Madame President, is that there is indeed an Alexander of Terra. It is a legal title created by CODOTS specifically for this man. It was not given with any time limitation, and he has continued to act within the authority CODOTS gave him.’

‘Admiral, CODOTS dissolved a week ago and its powers reverted to the Federation’s Department of Defense. No resolution passed by the Federation Senate has approved the continuation of that particular CODOTS policy. The only matter which has been approved is the naming of Alexander Thorsson as the Federation Ambassador to Extra Terrestrial civilizations, with the rights and restrictions inherent in the position. I am willing, in view of Alexander’s past service, to view this incident as a misunderstanding and let it go at that. If Alexander will agree to abide by the responsibilities of his position he may continue in that role. If he does not I see no alternative but to have him replaced.’

‘Madame President, with all due respects, you really don’t understand any of this do you?’ Augesburcke said.

‘Admiral Augesburcke you begin to try my patience, I did not ask for your opinion on the matter.’ She replied.

‘No you didn’t, but I’ll give it to you anyway, because that’s my job.’ He told her. ‘You see it doesn’t really matter whether you think of this man as Alexander Thorsson or Alexander of Terra. For all intents and purposes, Madame President, Alexander Thorsson died in a Scythian experimentation ship. When the Chem kidnapped him he became exactly what they made him: Alexander of Terra, the sole representative of our species. That is how the Chem see him, that is how the Galactics see him, and Madame President, that is how the majority of Homo sapiens in the Terran Federation see him. We helped, of course, by feeding on the Galactic’s Alexander myth, but it was Alexander who beat us to it. He became that myth. He fleshed it out, and not as the figurehead that we intended, but as the myth itself. We wanted a figurehead, Madame President; I was just as guilty of that as you were. I wanted someone to play the part and make the bluff work, and then when the job was done I thought, as you do, that he could walk quietly away. We fooled ourselves. We wanted an actor, but what we got was the real McCoy.’

‘You don’t really believe that this man is truly Alexander reincarnated, come alive again to complete his conquests? I am not about to give him the absolute powers of a dictator so that we can go to war with the galaxy, Admiral, are you?’ The President exclaimed.

‘You don’t give a conqueror power, Madame President, he takes it.’ The Admiral told her.

‘Admiral you are not making any sense. Are you trying to tell me that this Alexander is going to attempt some form of coup, or do you dare to tell me that the military will support such an action?’

The Admiral shook his head and laughed, ‘Not at all, Madame President, he has no need of a coup. As far as the galaxy is concerned he is already Alexander of Terra, the Overlord of the Terran Empire. Listen to their transmissions. The irony is the Galactics think it is you who have accomplished the coup! Reality is not always what things are, Madame President, but what things are perceived to be. You should know that, Doctor Koto has repeated it often enough. Look at things as they are reported on the Terran and Galactic broadcasts. Terrans have watched Alexander’s rise from the jungles of Pantrixnia to the very visible head of our fleet. They know his past lives and his present. They feel they know him as well as any other being, and they want to believe what they think they see. As far as the majority of Terran citizens are concerned he is nothing less than Alexander of Terra, Protector of Human civilization. He is Lincoln. He is Cromwell. He is Alexander. He does not need your approval, and you, Madame President, certainly don’t have the power or the charisma to strip him of any of the powers that the galaxy, or our own people, has placed upon him.’

‘Then what do you propose we do to bring this Alexander back to reality, so to speak,’ she asked.

‘You misunderstand me, Madame President,’ he told her. ‘I have no intention of either belittling what Alexander accomplished, on behalf of the Human race I might add, or preventing his further accomplishments. I am an honest soldier, Madame, an old and overused phrase I know, but nonetheless true. Let me be blunt, both of us are here in your beautiful and comfortable office because of one man: Alexander of Terra. You shall go down in history as the first President of the Terran Federation not because of any skills or intelligence on your part, but because of the absolute greatness of one Human. I myself owe my position as the living head of the Terran Fleet to this same Human. Alexander somehow dredged up the best qualities of our species when we needed them the most. One misstep would have cost us our civilization, our history and our future. Now you want to tear down the Human who is, more than anyone else, responsible for the continuance of our civilization? I will take no part in that, Madame President. I have no aspirations to reap the rewards of the empire he made possible while at the same time telling him, ‘Thank you very much but we’d just like to forget you ever happened!”‘

‘Understand me, Admiral,’ the President told him in a tone that left no room for argument. ‘I will not allow this Presidency or this Federation to be controlled by a man with delusions of grandeur. The role of Alexander Thorsson is finished. I will make it my job to stop his political career here and now. If I am successful at anything it will be as the person responsible for preventing a possible megalomaniac from assuming a position of power!’

‘You are not only too late, Madame President, but you have completely misread Alexander’s character,’ Augesburcke told her. ‘Unlike yourself, Alexander has already tried to remove himself from any aspiration to power. After our victory over the Scythian’s and his successful negotiation of peace with the Chem I asked Alexander why he was willing to leave. He would have had the world at his feet and deservedly so. His answer, Madame President, piqued my curiosity. He looked at me in a manner which gave me no doubt that this sensation of power and victory was nothing new to him. It was not a surprise, the outcome that is, it was expected. Anyway, he looked at me and told me, as if lecturing, that a conqueror should leave power behind at the pinnacle of victory, while he was still a conqueror, and not a despot. What you desire, Madame President, is what Alexander desires. He felt, at the moment that he’d done his part. He accomplished his goals and then he was going to return to Chem. That would have been the end of it. Unfortunately, destiny seldom leaves characters like Alexander the time to live out their lives quietly, and happily. As we’ve seen already events surround Alexander, and when they do, even if he is not their source, he will seek to control them. Mind that lesson, Madame President. If you wish to lessen the impact of Alexander on the Terran Federation then leave him alone and accept him as he is. If you try and destroy him, or even try to impede him then I’ll guarantee that he will become far more powerful than you ever dreamed.’

‘You are a hopeless romantic, Admiral,’ the President told him. ‘This Alexander is just a failed military man who happened to be at the right place and the right time. By luck he’s gained notoriety beyond his worth. I am inclined to ignore him, but the merest possibility of him deluding the masses and seeking power attracts my attention. If he will not submit to my authority then I will use my authority to quell any ambition he might have.’

‘You are making a mistake, Madame President,’ Augesburcke told her.

‘I believe I am aware of your opinion, Admiral, that will be all,’ She told him coldly.

Augesburcke shook his head and got up. He walked to the door gruffly, but before he left he took one long last look around the room.

‘Is there anything else Admiral?’ The President asked.

‘Only this, if you insist on following this course of action against Alexander I would be asking myself some questions,’ he said, pulling at his mustache, a sign he knew that she knew meant extreme irritation.

‘And what would they be?’ She asked sternly.

Augesburcke’s face betrayed no humor as he said, ‘First I’d ask myself, what is Alexander going to do with this room when he’s sitting behind this desk and I am not? Second, I would start to wonder what Alexander was going to do with me, when he’s sitting behind that desk and I’m not?’

‘Are you threatening me, Admiral Augesburcke?’ the President stood up suddenly, all of her features distorted by anger.

‘No Madame President I am not, and I mean that sincerely.’ He told her. ‘I do not wish for an Alexander dictatorship even with a Galactic empire as a prize. You are, however, speaking of trying to destroy, politically or otherwise, a very powerful and fated person. Such characters in history do not react well to such treatment. Alexander has made your position of power possible, and your payment is nothing less than a betrayal. That is how he will read the message you are sending. Be very careful Madame President. Alexander is not a normal man. His enemies do not fare well. Just ask the Scythian’s.’ With a final hard stare he closed the door, leaving the President of the Terran Federation alone with her thoughts.

CHAPTER 14

The next day on Roma the military Ambassadors of the ten member Alliance sat at their round table contemplating the hologram which hung over the center of the obsidian surface. Earlier that day the political arms of the ten empires made a formal announcement of the formation of the Alliance. Now the Ambassadors watched the taped response of the President of the Terran Federation. It was a distinguished looking female with strength and purpose in her voice, but it was not Alexander. The facade was irreproachably transparent to the assembly.

‘Do they think we are fools that we should fall for such a lie?’ The Golkos representative asked bitterly.

‘Quiet! Let us at least listen,’ the Syraptose representative snapped. The Syraptose were a humanoid race far less militarily inclined than the Golkos or the Seer’koh. As their position in Galactic space was a delicate one the Ambassadors respected their comrade’s wishes and promptly settled down to listen to the transmission, but their skepticism was apparent nonetheless.

‘ … We of the Terran Federation are aware that certain rumors of our aggression are widespread throughout the civilized galaxy. While events of the recent past would tend to bear out such misgivings let me assure you that the Federation acted only in self defense. My policy is not expansionist, and I can personally assure every member state of the Alliance that their sovereignty will be recognized and respected by the Terran Federation. We seek only peaceful coexistence and free trade,’ the speech went on along the same diplomatic lines. After a few more moments the Ambassadors had heard enough.

‘Oh shut it off!’ hissed the Seer’koh. He flexed his slender claws with irritation and thrust his long neck over the table, the colorful feathers briefly forming a wondrous crown around the serpentine skull. His eyes darted from one to the next; glaring at his fellows until finally they rested again on the hologram. ‘We can draw one irrefutable conclusion from this message. The Terran figurehead they term the “President” of their Federation is as skilled as are our politicians at the art of dialogue. They say many pretty things which mean absolutely nothing! It is political maneuvering, nothing more. They are delaying. Alexander is obviously manipulating a seemingly benign puppet government in order to discover our intentions.’

‘My esteemed colleague is quite correct. This is an obvious ploy of Alexander to distract our attention from his plans of conquest, and it is working!’ the Golkos said. ‘We sit here and talk of political agendas when we should be formalizing plans for attack!’

‘You are quick to jump to the military conclusion,’ the Syraptose Ambassador interjected. ‘We are more apt to listen to the President of the Terran Federation. If there is any peaceful way out of this dilemma, we would like to investigate it. We are not overly eager for war. Our position relative to the Terran Empire cuts us off from any support from our allies in the Alliance. If it comes to war we have to face the Terrans alone. What if there truly has been a coup and the offer of peace is genuine? Can we afford not to consider that option?’

‘It is a trick by Alexander to gain time so that he may redeploy his forces for invasion!’ The Golkos replied harshly. She then added, with some restraint of her anger, ‘I empathize with the exposed position of the Syraptose state with respect to the Terran Empire, but let me remind you of what happened to the Scythian’s, who are as lacking a military as any race in the galaxy. Alexander was not so subtle with them. Ask their Ambassador in exile! As for this so called coup, well, we all watched Alexander’s newest announcement at this morning’s meeting. Again he denounces Bureel and the new Chem state that is forming. He is using the manifestation of a reasonable President and a reasonable Terra to buy time while he deals with his Chem goals. Obviously Chem is not cooperating as he anticipated. He is busy elsewhere. Now is the time to strike!’

The Seer’koh added, ‘Our own estimates of Alexander’s actions tell us that he must strike Chem prior to the Ascension of Bureel, twenty-one Chem decurns from now, the seventeenth of this Galactic standard sidereal period. After that the chances of overthrowing the Chem ruler drop precipitously, but meanwhile there is a great deal of chaos in the Chem Empire. He is forced to strike now!’

‘This is our window of opportunity then,’ the Golkos stressed. ‘If we fail to act Alexander will be able to prepare for us; if we do not act together Alexander will pick us off, one by one.’

‘Why don’t we play the same game he is?’ The Syraptose asked. ‘We can allow our politicians negotiate with this puppet, this President, while we mass our fleets. We also need time. An attack by that date is difficult at best when one empire is the aggressor, but the coordination required of ten empires is nothing short of fantastic. If we force a hasty strike now it may well be disastrous. We’ve all witnessed the discipline and coordination of Alexander’s Fleet on the poor Scythians.’

‘Better a hasty strike than a delayed one,’ the Golkos said. ‘One of the character issues we’ve learned in our interrogations of Humans is that they are susceptible to a defeatist attitude when caught off guard and continuously pressed. If a protagonist allows them to regain their composure they can be amazingly stubborn and strong willed. A protagonist who shows weakness invites disaster, but one who shows a single indomitable face before them can be victorious. I do not think we can afford to show any signs of weakness, even to this puppet.’

‘The Seer’koh agrees with the Golkos assessment,’ the reptile replied firmly.

‘Very well, unless the informants of the Hrang have any other conclusions which can shed light on this the Syraptose will concede to that point.’

The Hrang stirred uncomfortably in his seat.

‘Well?’ the Golkos pressed impatiently.

The Hrang sighed, still uncomfortable. ‘We have operatives which are extraordinarily deep within the Terran Empire, but it is increasingly difficult to draw any certain conclusions from our information.’

‘How deep into their empire are we talking?’ The Seer’koh asked.

‘Our operatives are in decision making positions,’ the Hrang said. ‘I can tell you that the legislative and executive bodies are well formed and entrenched. They at least think that they are in power. We are less informed in the military branches. Hrang operatives can maintain an excellent facade of docile Humans, but the exertions required of their military members are beyond us. From what we can gather, however, the military reacts to decisions from the bureaucratic bodies, but they wait, we think, for direction from Alexander. It may well be that Alexander has formed a two tier government, one for the day-to-day running of things, and one for conquest. Taking this into account we have attempted to create a schism between these two branches, to erode Alexander’s control.’

‘How have you managed that?’ The Seer’koh asked, surprised that the Hrang would take such initiative.

‘As you have been aware the President of the Terran Federation has been vocal against the expansionist policies of Alexander in her public addresses,’ the Hrang began.

‘A smoke screen!’ the Golkos barked.

‘True, but it is a smoke screen that has gained some approval in the Terran Senate,’ the Hrang told them. ‘The President is more influential than we guessed, and we have been successful at creating a large pocket of support for a peaceful Terran Federation and not an expansionist Terran Empire. Indeed, if you walked the aisles of the Terran Senate you would find few supporters for an expanding Galactic empire. I would guess that this will come as a surprise to Alexander. The feeling that our operatives get is that the Senate actually accepts the President as executive authority, not Alexander.’

‘It is just a rubber stamp body with no actual power,’ the Golkos stated.

‘Maybe, but it does create a distraction for Alexander if he tries to use it,’ the Hrang said. ‘If it is a body created by Alexander strictly for the purposes of public approval it will not help him if it openly opposes his policies.’

‘It is somewhat surprising that his hand-picked President should be so openly against Alexander,’ the Seer’koh noted. ‘I cannot see how his allowance of a dissenting voice would help his aims.’

‘By distracting us, which he is doing!’ the Golkos insisted.

‘No, that was not his plan, at least not with this President,’ the Hrang said. ‘This President’s main ambition is to undermine the military dictatorship of Alexander. That is her one and only goal. Everything she does is to that purpose.’

‘How can you be so certain?’ The Seer’koh hissed in irritation.

‘The President of the Federation is one of our operatives,’ the Hrang informed them. A stunned silence followed, and the Hrang explained. ‘We replaced the Human Faizah Sadat shortly before the Presidential election. We were of course pleasantly surprised when the Human Sadat was elected to such a powerful position, even if it was as a figurehead. We have since that time used her to undermine Alexander’s position. I must add, however, that it is by no means certain what Alexander’s position is.’

‘Can you explain what you mean by that?’ the Golkos interjected.

‘You must excuse the inexact nature of our conclusions,’ the Hrang apologized. ‘Terrans are an inconsistent people. This makes them easy to impersonate, for the inconsistencies of behavior are accepted as part of their nature, but it makes them extraordinarily difficult to understand. For instance, we have no clear understanding of where Alexander actually came from. He had no political power that we can trace prior to the Scythian-Chem conflict. He was, as far as we can tell, a relatively minor military officer. When he did appear on the scene it was in the hands of the Chem. We have since assumed he was already the military Overlord of the Terran Homeworld, but it appears we might have overestimated his original position. The details are unclear, but we’ve concluded that Alexander actually used that particular sequence of events as his launching point for power. His rise to power was remarkably swift, and completely unexpected. From what we’ve gathered about Terrans he is one of those particular beings that rise to power when there is an opportunity. Alexander took advantage of it fully, an incredible accomplishment under the circumstances, and became the Overlord of the Terran Empire when he struck the terms of the Terran-Chem peace. Obviously, the Chem civil war has interrupted his further plans. He feels the necessity of taking care of that dilemma before moving on.’

‘Then your operative feels that Alexander’s goals are warlike?’ The Syraptose asked.

‘Most definitely, this is why we’ve pursued this risky policy of anti-Alexander rhetoric with the President’s position.’ The Hrang told them. ‘We also recognized this window of opportunity. Our operative is of the opinion that the military is firmly under Alexander’s control. The appointed Chief of Staff is subtly warning her, obviously at the direction of Alexander, concerning her harsh anti-Alexander rhetoric. Alexander has not had her replaced, as of yet, and why that is escapes our logic. Perhaps the position has a greater amount of importance to the populace than we imagine and Alexander is sensitive to that. Our operatives inform us that the Terrans have suffered through some indescribably vicious tyrants in the recent past. Alexander may very well be wary of the title ‘dictator,” and is using the elected body of the Presidency to avert criticism. It is not working as he anticipated. He’s lost some of his control of the legislative and executive bodies he set up, but he is still firmly in control of the military. There is no possibility of changing that.

‘We also have success to report on another avenue. Negotiations between the subjugated Scythians and the Terrans, as directed by the President, have successfully concluded in a stoppage of Scythian technical support. We don’t know how long this previous support lasted, nor how much the Terrans are capable of on their own. Some reports suggest that their fleet was built in little more than ten Galactic decants. That is patently impossible, as our friends the Seer’koh have correctly informed us. It is more likely that there was a flurry of modernization to prepare for the Chem. Be that as it may, however, we must conclude that the Humans are quite capable of supporting themselves. They have, however, lost the use of Scythian cargo fleets, which would obviously be advantageous to them. We wanted to prevent any coerced cooperation by the Scythians so our operative was ready to make singularly harsh demands. It was another risky venture, but fortunately the Scythian’s have refused to deal with anyone but Alexander, another facet of his true power. He is busy elsewhere, however, so nothing has been done.’

‘Fascinating, the Hrang are to be commended,’ the Seer’koh said. ‘One thing worries me; however, the President is in a very visible position. We all know of the excellence of the Hrang counterfeits, but what are the dangers of discovery for so prolonged and visible a replacement?’

‘We estimate another nine Terran months, roughly thirty Galactic decants, before the physical strain is too great for the operative,’ the Hrang said. ‘The most dangerous phase is the initial character impersonation in the first few days. That is happily past. There are some particular physical problems, swift changes in temperature for example, which are always a danger. Skin coloration and texture are susceptible to temperature changes. The operative must always be wary for such circumstances and minimize exposure to witnesses. Routine physical examinations, even using thorough equipment are not usually a problem. The implants are programmed with the correct physical attributes to pass on to the scanners. The chances that their medical equipment, which is of Scythian manufacture, should expose one of our people are remote in the extreme. Our people are severely trained, Ambassador. It is a dangerous business, but one which they know particularly well.’

‘Excellent! That should give us an inside operative through the remainder of this campaign,’ the Golkos said. ‘The situation in the Terran system is better than we’d hoped, and thus our chances for stopping this Alexander before he is a threat to us are greatly increased. Are we all in agreement then? Shall we give the order for a general massing of the fleets?’ Every member of the assembly answered in the affirmative, and the Golkos smiled. ‘I would also suggest we set a date for a general declaration of war, and commencement of hostilities between the Alliance and the Terran Empire.’

‘I propose the date of the Chem Ascension,’ the Seer’koh suggested. ‘Hopefully Alexander will be conveniently unavailable to direct the defense of his own empire.’

‘An insightful suggestion,’ the Golkos replied amidst the agreement of the assembly. Then they adjourned in a much better, and more warlike, mood than they convened.

CHAPTER 15

Alexander was three days enroute to the border of Terran-Chem space. He had a meeting planned with Admiral Augesburcke the next day. Apparently the Australian anticipated Alexander’s call four days prior and was eager for a face to face meeting. The Admiral was agitated, but he would not clarify over the visiplate. Alexander, for his own part, did not wish to air his thoughts openly either. Therefore, in this new age of technology both men were forced to wait until they could be brought together. In the mean time Alexander continued his studies. Nazar gave him leave to study the Chem military dossiers of the ten Galactic cultures which now openly called themselves the Alliance. Nazar also gave Alexander access to Chem intercepts of Terran and Alliance communiqués. Alexander watched with interest their blunt refusal to any and all overtures of the Terran Federation. Without Alexander’s face behind them these overtures meant absolutely nothing to the Alliance. Alexander pitied poor President Sadat, at least initially. As he saw more and more of her his pity turned first to wonderment, and then to contempt. The woman didn’t know what she was doing, and worse, she wasn’t learning. President Sadat was flamboyantly anti-Alexander. She seemed to be somewhat obsessed with him, and as a result there was very little direction from the executive of Terra. At the emergence of another Galactic crisis this was causing considerable confusion and agitation in the Senate. Staunch opposition to the President was forming alongside staunch opposition of an absent Alexander, whom Sadat was painting as a plotting Caesar intent on absolute power; and all at a time when it looked as though the Alliance was about to declare war.

Alexander saw Nazar often in private, and the Chem was an overflowing cup of honest answers. They routinely ate together, which Alexander learned, was a Chem custom they reserved only for the very closest of friends and family. Nazar was quick to admit to Alexander that he already considered the Human as his brother-in-law. All that remained was the formality of Alexander’s killing of Bureel. On that subject Nazar was more certain of Alexander’s victory than Alexander. The man only smiled at the Chem’s visualizations of the future combat. Alexander was confident that he could defeat Bureel in a fair fight. The concept of a fair fight, however, was as alien to Bureel as Alexander’s desire for dictatorship. Anything could happen. He familiarized himself with Chem weaponry, especially those of small and concealable nature. If Bureel was forced to fight him it would occur in the open, before his supporters in the Assemblage. If the Chem sunk to devious methods he would at least use traditional Chem means. An act with an ancient and accepted weapon could be justified under such circumstances and even condoned if one of the Chem’s many heroes had used the trick effectively.

Alexander discussed the possible duel with Nazar many times, but today his questions were pointed, and they considered the possibility of his failure. ‘Nazar, if Bureel ascends to the seat of the Elder and then declares war on the Terran Federation what will happen to the loyalists?’

‘Nazeera and I shall obviously be dead, as will you.’ Nazar pointed out. ‘Support for our cause will dissolve. With an ongoing war with an alien race, excuse the expression, whether it is a popular war or not, all differences between Chem factions will be forgotten. The war would be pursued with typical Chem exuberance, though not with any immediacy. The Chem Armada, as we have known it, has basically ceased to exist. The skeleton of our ancient armada will do no more than provide a basis for a new one. Construction of new armada will be the first order of business in Bureel’s Chem, and though it shall be some time before it is ready to sail, sail it will. The Chem can become quite single minded about such things. I know that is not what you wanted to hear.’

‘Not at all, my friend,’ Alexander smiled. ‘Sugar coated lies are deadlier in the end than hard truths. I had already guessed that was Bureel’s reasoning. It will cement his power. I congratulate him on a wise course of action. When you consider it, especially adding to it the threat of the Alliance against Terra, it is also the swiftest way back to the status quo. No more troublesome Terran Empire and Bureel will have a singular subject to base his power on. It is the Alliance I wonder about, though. They are certainly not as bold as the Chem. You were willing to attack the Terrans with only scanty information on who and what you faced. I don’t see such single minded courage or direction in the leaders of the Alliance. I see their defiance as more bluster than desire. They are not so sure of themselves. They must know, somehow, more about Terrans as a threat. How would they go about gaining such information, aside from the expected listening and watching that we all do?’

‘Hrang spies,’ Nazar told him without hesitation. ‘Those people have a damnable talent for mimicry, though they are hardly warlike in nature. They use it as more of a self-defense, but they are quite good at it. I would have a difficult time trying to tell whether you were a Hrang spy. Their artificial implants amplify their natural ability to change the tone and texture of their flesh. They are quite convincing.’

‘What about internal structure?’ Alexander asked. ‘Certainly they have no such control over their organs or skeletal structure.’

‘True, but the implants have a dual purpose. They are programmed to react to scans,’ Nazar said. ‘Short of cutting someone open it would be very difficult to tell.’

‘I assume it’s not impossible,’ Alexander said. ‘If you suspected me of being a Hrang spy how would you test your theory?’

‘I would subject them to a sudden change in temperature,’ Nazar told him, ‘but you, as a Hrang spy would take care to avoid such a situation. Sudden changes in temperature affect their skin color and texture too quickly for them to react. A Hrang will invariably find a way to avoid such a test. They are quite careful.’

‘You said they can fool scanners,’ Alexander noted. ‘What about x-rays? They don’t scan, they radiate on photographic film.’

‘Why would you use radiation on a sentient being; pardon me but that sounds extraordinarily dangerous. I can’t even think what you would use such a thing for,’ Nazar said truthfully.

‘Really, that is heartening,’ Alexander smiled, and then he explained what an x-ray machine was used for on Terra, with extremely low doses of radiation. Nazar was surprised, and reiterated that he couldn’t even guess when, if at all, such a technique had ever been used in the known galaxy. Alexander thanked him for the information. He now knew why the Alliance could appear so cocky in their responses to the Terran threat which had just backed down the vaunted Chem. Terra was extremely susceptible to spies, especially ones with the skill of the Hrang. He had no doubt that the Terran government was inundated with them, and that every Terran move would be well guessed at in advance. This made his meeting with Augesburcke all that much more vital.

The discussion explained the Alliance to him, but the toughest problem was still one of Terran making. Much like the Terra’s early twenty-first century appeasement of Islam led to emboldened terrorists and jihadists so too did President Sadat’s molly coddling of the Alliance lead to their warlike overtures. What was the President’s game? President Sadat, for whatever reason, was precipitating Terra towards another war, and splintering Terran unity at the same time. Alexander was immediately suspicious, but his firsthand knowledge of the Human potential for selfishness and incompetence tempered his judgment. Whatever the President’s game, she forced Alexander to assert himself, and that could only lead to a coup, which was not what he wanted to have happen.

Alexander went to sleep that night knowing that once again opportunity was coming his way, but this time there seemed to be no painless avenue. The showdown with the Chem occurred without bloodshed. This time there would be no such option, and indeed he feared that terrible things had already happened to an unsuspecting Human race.

The following day the Kun-Gha, Nazar’s battleship, and its squadron pulled alongside the Iowa and her squadron. Shortly thereafter Alexander, Nazar and several of Nazar’s officer’s flew over in a shuttle. The Iowa had part of her aft smokestack converted into a shuttle tower. The shuttles actually flew into the smokestack which was rather disconcerting to Alexander. He hid it well though, and instead enjoyed the fascination of his Chem allies in seeing the mighty Iowa up close and personal.

Chem warships were built along Galactic standard adopted thousands of years before civilization sprouted on Terra. They were long shark-like vessels with blaster projectors and laser turrets built into lateral trenches. Tubes for matter-anti-matter torpedoes lurked on the undersides and within the flank trenches. The sublight engines were built into the aft structure while the superluminal engines ran on graceful pods alongside the hull. They were elegant vessels. The Chem had a flair for fantastic architecture’s on their planet bound buildings, and this carried over into their starships. The ships were ornamented to a state of magnificence which many of the other cultures copied, but none mastered. The Chem warships were also unique in their coloration; geometric splashes of metallic purple, red, blue, gold and silver distinguished each ship in color as well as name.

The Terran vessels, by contrast, carried no beauty with them apart from their strict practicality. That practicality was meant for the deep blue water oceans of Earth and not the cold trackless void of space. The Chem were familiar with the unorthodox Terran design, but only remotely. As their shuttle pulled alongside the Iowa they were greeted with a close up inspection of the Terran flagship. In length the battleship was the equal to any in the known galaxy, but in volume only a Scythian freighter outclassed it. The main hull was close to the depth and breadth of the Galactic counterpart, but the superstructures and the massive turrets made the difference. Alexander was an interested bystander as the Chem warriors discussed the odd Terran vessel. The rotating weapons, especially the main blaster batteries impressed them. The asymmetry of the ships they found inexplicably odd and menacing. They assumed it proved advantageous in battle, therefore, and since Alexander would not discuss the subject voluntarily it was impolite to pursue it further. The Chem were all in agreement on one thing, the very look and feel of these ships was intimidating. They were impressed.

A sliding hanger door opened within the aft stack revealing a lighted landing bay. The Chem pilot expertly guided the shuttle to a lighted circle and gently set it down. The occupants then listened to the clang of the hanger doors and the rumble of air as the bay pressurized. After a moment the Chem’s panel registered the air as pressurized and heated. The Chem opened the hatch and extended their gangway. Alexander, as prompted by Nazar, was the first to exit. Admiral Augesburcke stood at the bottom of the gangway flanked by Captain Thomas, Admiral Sampson and Admiral Chennebruk. Behind them and to either side were two rows of sailors in their dress whites. The first thing Alexander noticed was the seeming bulkiness of the uniforms. The navy dress whites were followed for form, but after initial inspection Alexander recognized that they were actually fully functional, but markedly compact, space suits. The uniforms of the officer’s were similar. Alexander couldn’t help but smile at the progress. Humans were adapting.

The age old naval tradition of being piped aboard was strictly followed, and then Admiral Augesburcke struck his chest with his fist and bellowed, ‘Hail Alexander!’ The Roman salute was repeated by the sailors. Alexander remained impassive. He expected some kind of display, and though he personally thought it unnecessary he gave no such indication to his Chem guests.

‘Good to see you again Admiral, Captain Thomas,’ Alexander smiled and extended his hand.

‘You honor us, Alexander,’ the Admiral replied formally, and he took the hand warmly. The Captain followed suit.

Alexander then introduced the Chem. ‘Admiral, it is my distinct honor and pleasure to introduce to you Nazar of the Chem Assemblage, a noble warrior and admirable dignitary, and his officers.’

The Chem bowed and recognized their hosts. After pleasantries were exchanged, including an introduction of his two Admirals, Augesburcke motioned for Alexander to follow him out of the hanger. Alexander fell into stride alongside the Admiral and the sailors snapped to attention. The severity of the sailor’s expressions impressed Alexander. He was a former military officer and understood the subtleties of ritual from the soldier’s point of view. A soldier stood at attention for a superior regardless of their personal views. It was merely a requirement of etiquette not a valuation of worth. The eyes and the expression revealed whatever personal regard the soldier had for the officer. The difference between disdain and respect was invisible in a formation, but enormous when studying the individual. Soldiers, on the whole, hated formations such as this. It was pure ceremony and no substance. It was one of the innumerable petty rituals which seemingly bore no purpose. An underlying current of irritation and impatience normally hung over these occasions like a pall.

The mood of the sailors in the hanger was different, however, and this was not lost on Alexander. There was uniformity in them that surprised him. Eyes followed him. He dared not guess their meaning, simple curiosity perhaps, but he was relieved somehow that it was not malicious or contemptible in nature.

Alexander was somewhat heartened by this, and it was in a lighter mood that he followed Augesburcke through the labyrinth to the bridge. The bridge welcomed Alexander at attention. His nod to the Admiral allowed the Australian to restart the ships routine. The Admiral then welcomed the Chem to the bridge of the Iowa. If he’d meant to make an impression he did well. Every movement by the crew seemed choreographed to portray a definitive demonstration of efficiency. The huge visiplates were set to show what would be the natural view from the bridge’s windows. Against the vast star field the sharp bow of the battleship sliced through the seas of stars and space, the two huge gun turrets prepared to open a path to any destination.

‘Welcome to the bridge of the Iowa, Nazar of the Assemblage, and you, noble Chem. You are the first of any culture but our own to walk our decks. I hope it is a sign of friendship and cooperation which will last in each of our civilizations,’ Augesburcke said graciously.

‘Thank you, Admiral, that is my hope as well,’ Nazar bowed. ‘This is indeed an interesting experience. I would welcome a tour, if such a thing were possible within the bounds of courtesy. I am certain that the Chem have monopolized much of Alexander’s time as of late. As he knows my mind, and more importantly that of Nazeera, fully, I shall not wait upon his presence.’

Augesburcke nodded and turned to the Captain. ‘Captain, would you be kind enough to show our guests your ship?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ the Captain smiled. The Captain led them down into the bridge, and the Chem followed with considerable interest.

Augesburcke, followed by his fellow Admiral’s led Alexander to the conference room. The room was empty but for the four men. The Admiral took a seat, but reserved the head of the long table for Alexander.

‘Really Admiral, I think we can dispense with the pleasantries, that is unless we are being filmed,’ Alexander said.

‘No we’re not being filmed,’ Augesburcke smiled. ‘It is not wholly without reason that I’ve subjected you to this Alexander. You play it out very naturally I must say.’

‘Not due to delusions of grandeur, however, as our President seems to think,’ Alexander replied. ‘I wonder if I might trouble you, Admiral, for a cup of coffee. I think, in fact, we could all use one.’

‘I’ll ring the steward,’ Augesburcke said.

A few moments later a steward exited the galley bearing a tray, jug and four mugs. He carried it up the stairs towards the conference room, but he had to flatten himself against the bulkhead to let the Captain and the Chem dignitaries by. The Captain asked the steward where he was going and the sailor replied that he was taking coffee to Alexander and the Admiralty party in the conference room. Nazar stepped up.

‘What is this coffee?’

‘Coffee is a heated drink made from ground beans, which we normally have in the morning, or during lengthy meetings. I could have some brought to you if you would like to try it,’ the Captain answered.

‘Certainly, but not right now, I do not wish to delay Alexander’s service,’ Nazar said, adding, ‘He is a wise and cautious man.’

The steward entered the conference room with his tray. He quickly laid it on the table and began filling the four mugs. Admiral Chennebruk stopped him at three, saying, ‘No need, I’m not a coffee drinker.’

‘That’s alright Steward, go ahead and fill all four,’ Alexander told him. When the steward finished Alexander thanked him, and the man left the room. When the door closed Alexander took hold of a mug, not by the handle, but by the body. It was satisfactorily hot. He met the questioning glances around the room by telling the military men, ‘I designed a curious custom while enroute to this meeting. I hope it shall become a useful in our new Galactic Federation, because I am definitely certain that it is required. Now I know you are not a coffee drinker, Admiral Sampson, but indulge me. Will each one of you gentlemen hold up your cup of coffee as I am, not by the handle, but by the mug?’

With slightly perplexed looks the Admirals each did as Alexander asked. After a moment he nodded for them to put them back down. Augesburcke looked a trifle ruffled.

‘I am quite sure I didn’t like that, Alexander, but not for personal reasons.’ He said evenly. ‘You were testing us weren’t you? Testing our Human-ness, I suppose. I can’t think of any other way to put it.’

‘You are unfortunately correct, Admiral,’ Alexander told him. ‘I wish I could say I was done, but there is one more thing I wish to test. I want us to all pay a visit to the infirmary. Until we are finished there I ask that we all refrain from sensitive issues.’ The three officers accepted Alexander’s precautions and within the hour there were four x-ray photographs of four very human skulls. When that was done they returned to the conference room. Alexander told them, ‘Gentlemen we are in a new and dangerous phase of our expansion into space. This little exercise of mine was not without reason. I will tell you why, and in full, but I want you to realize the dire position we are now in. In my opinion we are in greater difficulty than our previous circumstance.’

‘We’ve begun to see glimmerings of that very possibility, Alexander, which is why I have Admiral Chennebruk and Admiral Sampson with me.’ Augesburcke said. ‘I don’t know how close you’ve been keeping track, though by the sound of it you’re ahead of us again, but let me fill you in on some strictly internal affairs.’ Augesburcke sighed as if the subject was distasteful, and then continued, ‘CODOTS, which gave you your charter is dissolved. The central powers of that council are now in the legislative body of the Federation Senate, and the executive office of the Federation President. I am the Chief of Staff of the Admiralty, the ranking body of the Federation Fleet, of which Admiral Chennebruk and Admiral Sampson are also part. We are three of the five members of the Admiralty, which makes us a controlling block in the military. As Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff I still have tremendous power, but it is strictly military in nature and I am answerable to the President. The President, in case you’ve been under a very large rock, has no liking for you. She sees you, as she says, as some kind of Caesar, which I don’t regard as all bad or unnecessary at this time. Obviously, she does not share my opinion. In contrast to her previous conduct on my staff, President Sadat has since developed a deathly fear of a dictatorship on your part. That in itself might not be a huge problem, but our President is ignoring the realities of our situation in space in order to destroy any political career you might have.

‘This political situation is not unexpected, nor can it be termed abnormal, but as a military man it has me concerned. This newly formed Alliance is becoming increasingly belligerent. Our President’s responses are to issue assurances of our non-aggression, and at the same time single handedly tear down the facade of Human military prowess upon which the ‘Legend of Alexander” built. We are at risk of losing a very powerful weapon: your name and fear of our fleet. We are also finding out what it’s like to try and reverse engineer a technology we didn’t know existed until several months ago. The Scythian’s are staging what amounts to a sit down strike. I can’t say as I blame them, but its left us completely to our own devices. That in itself shouldn’t be such a dilemma, excepting of course for the possibility of war on the horizon.

‘Time or the lack thereof makes the task colossal. Out of the seven hundred odd ships of our fleet we have a good forty percent which have major problems, and we can’t even begin to guess how to repair them. We are out in space alright, and patrolling our borders, but we’re not even sure where our space ends and Chem-Alliance space begins. My God, we don’t even have any accurate star maps of the regions to tell us where an attack might come from! I have brought these issues up to President Sadat, but the subject always turns back to you. Everything else is superfluous to her. She thinks you are after her job, and she suspects we are under your thumb. The avenue of the Presidency is blocked for us, at least at the moment. The Senate is no better. It is a legislative branch which by definition cannot reach decisions. They control our purse strings, resources and personnel. We don’t have a problem with that, but here again we are in a deteriorating situation militarily and politically. They see the crisis as over. Military affairs are on the back burner, but that doesn’t matter anyway. They still think in nationalistic terms. They haven’t even agreed on a procedural policy for introducing a bill as of yet!

‘What this all boils down to, Alexander, is a very tenuous position for Terra. I say Terra because there is no Federation as of yet. We have yet to settle on a single planet outside the troops and families placed on the Scythian Homeworlds and those that went out on the initial exodusseven million or so. The Senate had to call off a debate on emigration policy because every damned country, religion and philosophy wanted its own planet to colonize. They’ve brought our ship building to a complete halt because the politicians are now concerned with diverting resources to the betterment of everyone’s standard of living. Don’t mistake me, it is a noble and genuine cause and God knows no one on Terra should go hungry now. Unfortunately, it has put every other issue on hold. We are now completely on our own technologically. The Scythian’s refuse to deal with anyone but you and President Sadat will not allow them to deal with anyone but her. It’s a fine Catch-22.

‘We are in the dark, but we are not blind,’ Augesburcke told Alexander. ‘The Alliance is licking its chops at our chaos. By your suspicions I suppose they have a pretty sophisticated spy network. They are coming, I can feel it. The Chem, I hope, will be willing to sit on the sideline, but who knows what comes out of a civil war? I want your thoughts; it’s as simple as that. Lay every instinct you have on the table. Our time is running out.’

Alexander sipped his coffee and waited until the silence became unnerving. Then he glanced up from the steam. The Admiral’s words had a telling effect on him. They changed his purpose. There was a greater need. When he entered this room it was still as Alexander of Terra, the man who sought the glory invoked with the name but still avoided the seedy trappings of power that went along with the Galactic image he himself built out of a dusty legend. He sought to portray the legend of Alexander as the galaxy knew him, but without the actuality, the harsh underbelly of power. He could no longer afford such luxury. Everything Augesburcke said, and everything he witnessed from Chem was clear to him. He had the answers. He knew the way. He needed the reins of power, but to control events, as he realized he must do, he had to pay the price of innocence lost. He must become what he most detested. All through his Terran existence he hated those who thought they knew what was best for the rest of Humankind. Now he was about to join those ranks. True, his scorn was normally reserved for those who spoke on moral grounds. Politics was somehow so contemptible a passion that such a small defect of character could easily be forgiven. This was taking it to extremes, however. Alexander’s previous ambition to become a rallying point for Humankind, some sort a savior/mercenary was his own creation for his self deception. Humankind didn’t need Alexander the General. Like America needed Lincoln during their Civil War; like England needed Cromwell; like the Huns needed Attila; Terra needed Alexander, the King, the Tyrant, the Overlord.

‘Welcome to the galaxy, gentlemen,’ Alexander said finally. His voice slowed and dropped an octave into a dirge-like rumble. ‘Humankind has always aspired to the stars. We have always run faster than we ought. We have always gotten to places, and done things for which we were not prepared. We always seek that mantle just a few sizes too large. It is our nature. We pay the price for our impudence and move on. Gentlemen, this time the price is not a lost ship or a decimated colony; it is Humankind as we know it. I don’t mean to say that our race will be exterminated. No, that is unrealistic. We will become a race of thralls for alien cultures. That will last maybe two, three, four hundred years. Then Humankind will rise up against their masters and ravage the galaxy. We will conquer our conquerors, and fall ourselves into civil war. Maybe we will all fall back to barbarism then, and the cycle will begin all over again. That is the portrait I paint of the Terran Federation, and the galaxy. I will wager it to be all too accurate.

‘You all know why it has come to this. It is not through any fault of idealism. Idealism is often correct, it just isn’t practical. The Terran Federation is a wonderful addition to the civilized galaxy, a new member for the Senate on Rome where they’ve kept the peace for thirteen thousand years. Its particular drawback, however, is that the cultures of the galaxy don’t believe a word of it. This is not the Terran Federation, but the Terran Empire. They are not about to let our empire into their club, and gentlemen, the people who believe in a Federation are not about to protect it. Their viewpoint has been that since they are technologically advanced civilizations they must, by definition, be benevolent. It is by such deluded views that we open ourselves for invasion. The ability to travel routinely through space does not in itself soften a people’s more malevolent traits. The ability to circumnavigate the globe didn’t make the early Earth empires any more worldly, it made them greedier. Each civilization matures at its own rate, gentleman. All peoples conduct themselves with their own best interests in mind. If we are determined to play in this game of Galactic empire than we had best be prepared for the intrigue that goes along with it. The first rule of intrigue is to survive. Sometimes to survive some ideals get placed along the side of the road. They are not discarded, but they are left behind. I cannot retrieve them once they are gone, nor can you, but hopefully someone who walks behind us will find them.

‘That is what we are all up against gentlemen: survival. If we fail we pay the price of our civilization with all of its accomplishments and errors. We pay for the next twenty generations and their servitude. We pay for the billions of deaths that will inevitably follow, and just possibly the fall of Galactic civilization. If we succeed we can save our civilization and secure our empire for our descendants.’

‘What is the price,’ Augesburcke asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

‘You knew that when you summoned me, Admiral,’ Alexander told him. ‘You all knew it, but the concept of a military coup does not come easily to our democratized mindsnor should it. It is a detestable concept, for once the trappings of democracy are cast aside they can never be fully restored. It is reality, however. I have thrown my voice throughout the galaxy even as our President sought to push me aside. The galaxy sees the Terran Empire, not the Federation. So it must be. Federations are guided by presidents, empires are guided by conquerors.’ Alexander lowered his eyes for a moment, and then he turned to Augesburcke. ‘I once told you, Admiral that I left Terra because I wanted to be remembered as a conquering hero and not as a despot. I did leave as a conqueror, but now I see no alternative than to return as a despot. Terra must have one voice, and one direction. Her goal must be to survive and plant the seeds for growth throughout our empire. Let the flowers of idealism bloom in the beds we make for them, but it is we, the plowman, who must soil ourselves to make that possible. The price is tyranny, gentlemen. I must be who the galaxy thinks I am; who I am expected to be, with all the rights and powers therein: Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire.’

‘My God has it come to this?’ Augesburcke whispered. A fog of depression swirled through the blanket of tension. Sweat stood on the brows of the three military men. For the longest moment they refused to look at each other, but the inevitability of the event drew them back. This was why they were here, but again this man had taken the initiative from them. They were going to offer him the Overlordship of Terra, but instead he demanded it. He knew everything they knew, but with greater depth and understanding. While they struggled to make sense of the galaxy around them, and the turmoil of their own world, he raced headlong with the surety of his instincts. There was a sense of destiny in that tritium-steel room, and not one of the three Admirals was willing to stand in its way. Finally, they glanced at one another and slowly nodded their assent. All three stood, and thumped their fists on their left breasts in the Roman salute.

‘Hail Alexander!’

The words hung with deathly gravity over the table.

CHAPTER 16

‘The time is not yet ripe for my return to Terra, much still has to happen,’ Alexander told the Admiralty. They met after dinner to discuss the details of the Terran Empire. Although currently, and correctly, a Federation, the Terran holdings were recognized by their Galactic neighbors as an empire. It was a disparity Alexander and the Admiralty would soon rectify. Alexander stood at a visiplate which had the known galaxy divided up into its constituent empires. He pointed to the Chem home world, ‘This is the crux of the first crisis, and the linchpin for the timing of the entirety of this Galactic soap operaBureel’s Ascension. The vast importance of this event is one of the reasons I’ve invited Nazar to our meeting. Nazar would you please explain to the Admiralty the repercussions of Bureel’s Ascension, should that take place?’

‘Certainly, Alexander,’ Nazar replied. He turned to the three members of the Admiralty, who were still somewhat ill at ease with those strange luminous blue eyes. They had yet to make the paradigm shift that Alexander took so naturally. These Humans still regarded “aliens” as something unreal. They were as of yet unable to move themselves into a real time reality basis; there was always hesitancy in their responses, as if the moment needed to be filtered through a reality check before registering in their minds. Nazar did not take it as an insult, but was rather amused by it. The three Admirals being unable to read the Chem’s non-ocular expressions were ignorant of Nazar’s emotions completely.

‘The situation in the Chem Empire is dire for the loyalist cause. The loyalists, as you know, support the peace with the Terran Empire. The Chem Armada Commander, with the authority of the Elder of Chem, founded this peace on the foundation of mutual respect and practicality. She realized, and I fully agree, that a battle between the balance of the Terran Fleet and the Chem Armada was not likely to give either side a strategic advantage over the other. The end result would quite probably weaken both empires to the point where they would each be vulnerable to the other empires of the galaxy. Among these the most notable would be the Golkos, and the Seer’koh. Conflict with the Terran Empire was therefore viewed as impractical.

‘Unfortunately this view was not shared by all. The majority of those who regretted the loss of an opportunity for glory won did not have rebellious intentions. However, Bureel succeeded in swaying their support through a series of elaborate lies and half-truths which culminated in his prediction that the Armada Commander would make peace with the Terran Empire rather than engage them. It was an intelligent scheme, and certainly more than I gave him credit for. Bureel’s carefully timed rebellion succeeded in catching us off guard. Even with that he failed in his attempt to assassinate Alexander, to all of our fortunes, and he failed to destroy his primary threat, Nazeera, the Armada Commander. Nazeera’s loyalist armada prevailed, but it was a small victory. The Guardian Armada, a fleet of fifty and two hundred warships which always guards the Chem home system, went largely to Bureel. This gave him instant control of the Chem system. The loyal members of the Assemblage, the majority of that governing body, fled the system. Those that remained have been branded traitors, and sentenced accordingly. Their sentences to Pantrixnia have already been carried out. I had many friends among them. Unfortunately none of them were as skilled as Alexander in surviving that world.

‘The greatest blow to our cause is the death of the Elder. After the loyalist forces were defeated at Chem Bureel challenged the Elder in open council and slew him. It was hardly a legal challenge, but it carried the weight of ancient precedence and that was apparently enough. Bureel has overwhelming support from the reformed Assemblage and is effectively dictator as we speak. He cannot claim the seat of the Elder, however, until the next period of Ascension. That will be the seventeenth of this standard Galactic sidereal period. As you are not yet on the Galactic calendar that equates to sixteen Chem decurns from now. A Chem decurn is roughly equivalent to your day. Once Bureel’s Ascension occurs it will be extremely difficult to remove him. He will have traditional power, as well as military power. If he succeeds his first act will be to rebuild the Chem Armada and attack the Terran Empire. This will accomplish several things for Bureel. It will erase the blot of dishonor he asserts we endured by making peace, and it will unite the Chem. No Chem will refuse the call to war on another empire because of differences in politics. Bureel’s power will be absolute. It is therefore quite necessary to prevent the Ascension from occurring.’

‘How do you propose to do that?’ Augesburcke asked.

‘That is difficult, at best,’ Nazar admitted. ‘We cannot simply kill Bureel. That would only succeed in securing his place and policy. His followers and all other Chem would regard the assassination as a heinous act. They would consider the accomplishment of Bureel’s policies as their sacred trust. Bureel must be challenged legally, or we must overcome them militarily. The latter will not be possible by the time of the Ascension.’

‘Are you asking for the help of the Terran Fleet?’ Augesburcke asked doubtfully.

‘That would not be acceptable for the Chem,’ Nazar replied. ‘Even should our forces overcome Bureel’s by the date of Ascension the Chem would never accept our rule. The Chem would account any who won power using the strength of another culture as weak and undeserving. That is not an option. We are therefore left with the former. The legal right to challenge is a particularly sensitive issue where the Elder, or the Elder’s successor, is concerned. Bureel cannot be challenged on account of cowardice, as he challenged the Elder. Only one person has a legal claim against him: Alexander. Bureel and Alexander have an unresolved challenge. This fact alone may not be enough, even though the entire Assemblage witnessed the challenges for Bureel’s rank has elevated considerably. However, Bureel’s attempted to assassinate Alexander through surrogates, was an extremely questionable act in its own right. This attempt allows the challenge to carry through to Bureel’s new rank. Alexander should have the legal recourse to challenge Bureel even after the Ascension.’

‘Can’t this challenge wait then?’ One of the Admiralty asked. ‘I empathize with your difficulties Nazar, but I’m certain Alexander has informed you that we have problems of our own. I hate to ask you to wait, but we need Alexander now!’

‘Admiral, if I don’t address this problem our position may well be untenable,’ Alexander said. ‘If Bureel gains the seat of the Elder every fiber of Chem energy will be focused on the destruction of Terra. That is bad enough, but if I were commanding the Alliance I would be prepared to attack the Terran Empire, as they’ve hinted at already, on or about the date of the Ascension. The Alliance will wait to see which way the Chem flag blows. They are not over bold, and they have no desire to step on any Chem toes. We then face invasion on three fronts. The Chem in my opinion will be as dangerous as all the others put together. I don’t like the odds of that scenario.’

‘The Chem threat, at least, will take some time to materialize,’ Augesburcke mentioned. ‘From what we understand, Nazar, the majority of the Chem Armada has been destroyed in the civil war. What remains is not likely to pose an immediate threat to Terra.’

‘You would be correct, Admiral, were it not for the reluctance of certain elements of the Alliance to go to war with Terra,’ Nazar replied. ‘There have been significant diplomatic developments over the past few decurns. Unfortunately, they expose the weak moral character of our neighbors, and I’m afraid, ourselves.’

‘I don’t follow you I’m afraid,’ Augesburcke said.

‘Lend-lease, Admiral,’ Alexander told him. ‘Bureel has made his expansionist policies quite plain towards his neighbors, the Syraptose and the Quotterim particular. Now these races are at once reluctant to face the Terran Fleet, and at the same time are concerned with Chem intentions after the civil war is settled. They’ve thrown in with Bureel already by offering him as many warships as he may require for the conquest of Terra. In exchange Bureel has given his word that the Syraptose and Quotterim Empires will remain inviolate. That’s the same thousand ships we now face, but now sailed by Chem crews.’

The Admirals sighed, resigned. ‘I suppose we have to wait for the Ascension then,’ Augesburcke said. ‘I counted on your return to Terra by that time, Alexander. I don’t think we can wait until after the Chem sort themselves out to begin preparations. Even if we do face the Alliance alone it will be an uphill climb. We are outnumbered and face a war on three fronts. Its damn sobering.’

‘Agreed Admiral, we cannot wait,’ Alexander told him. ‘I have thoughts on the subject,’

‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Admiral Sampson, ‘I do not mean to offend Nazar but perhaps it would be proper if we continue these discussions without his company. There is the worrisome possibility that the Chem may not remain our friendly neighbors that much longer.’

‘A wise precaution, Admiral, but one that you need not be concerned over,’ Alexander explained. ‘Nazar will accompany me to my challenge. If I fail he shall undoubtedly be sentenced to Pantrixnia, or killed immediately. Aside from that he is of my family. I’ve trusted my life to him, and I shall continue to do so.’

‘I appreciate your support, Alexander,’ Nazar said, but he rose from his seat. ‘Your Admiral, however, is quite correct. If there is no more debate concerning Chem I am no longer needed. I will therefore take my leave. I thank you for your time, sirs, and I wish you good fortune.’

An officer escorted Nazar back to his quarters. When he left Admiral Sampson apologized, but Alexander waived him off. ‘Admiral you were quite correct, as Nazar pointed out,’ he admitted. ‘I expect we all need each other to avoid any unnecessary pratfalls in the future. I carry no grudge over being reminded when I am an ass or a fool. Back to business then, Admiral Augesburcke, you complained of neglect by the Senate, and the President. Let me ask you, what do you need to get the fleet construction going again?’

‘Senate approval to provide money to pay the work force, commandeer the ships, dock space, etc., and Scythian technical aide,’ the Admiral told him.

‘How much could you get away with without the Senate’s knowledge?’

‘Nothing on so massive a scale as before,’ Augesburcke replied. ‘We could probably seal up the yards in Vladivostok, Sicily, Guam and Keflavik. There may be a few others. At our former pace that would produce a ship every three days, maybe another sixteen ships. That’s not much difference, and it’s based on Scythian aide and a full work force. It is unfortunately a very visible operation. One good thing: we’ve got all our heavies modified. They were, of course, first priority. We’ve completed construction on all available battleships and cruisers. What hulls remain are primarily support ships, not our heavy guns.’

‘Very well, Can we start up operations at the more remote ports anyway? How long could you put off the Senate? Set up a smoke screen, plead ignorance, unfilled orders from our previous buildup, any excuse whatsoever. Do you think you could delay the Senate for two weeks?’

Augesburcke nodded. ‘If we avoided using the most visible dockyards we could probably stand the heat for two weeks with some disinformation and bureaucratic snafus thrown in. We can certainly cook the financial books for pay, but it will be much more difficult without Scythian help. I can’t do anything there.’

‘Leave that to me,’ Alexander told him. ‘The Scythian’s say they’ll only deal with me. Well, they shall get their wish. Call their council, or whatever body they consider authoritative and have them meet us here. I don’t think they’re over a day off. I’ll get them working again. Start setting up your shipyards again as soon as we conclude here, but I want a few changes made. I want priority given to converting oil tankers and freighters to light speed capable ships.’

‘We still have a hundred or so warships which are excellent candidates for conversion, why concentrate on cargo vessels? Are you concerned with the emigration problem?’

‘Not at the moment,’ Alexander told them. ‘It has to do with defense, as you shall see. Gentlemen, I have an in depth battle plan for dealing with the Alliance, and it is based on many of the things I’ve learned watching the Chem fight. Fighting out in space is quite different than any of us could imagine, yet it is not alien. Gentlemen we’ve fought this war before. As I have witnessed it modern day space battles can be seen as a three dimensional representation of our own wooden ship era. Maneuver is very leisurely. Ships do not dogfight as in the movies. Battle above light speed, in fact, battle above point two five “c,” twenty-five percent the speed of light is virtually impossible. The computation of firing solutions at such speeds with relativistic effects exceeds current computer capabilities. Firing a weapon at superluminal speeds will disrupt the superluminal field of a vessel and most likely destroy it. Moreover, the amount of power required to maneuver the large mass of a ship at battle speeds is enormous, and that draws energy away from the weapons. Modern space battles are therefore conducted with as much pre-battle maneuver as possible. Once the fleets are engaged the formations then hammer away at each other. Formations with massed firepower are stressed; sounds like the warfare of several hundred years ago doesn’t it? Maneuver after engagement is strictly avoided. My first suggestion to the Admiralty is for a requirement to be dictated to every officer: that naval warfare of the sailing era and land warfare, especially up to the nineteenth century, be studied extensively. You’ve a captive audience on your ships, Admirals, use it. Every officer should be thoroughly familiar with formerly archaic naval tactics and land tactics of formation assault and defense. They are in style again.’

‘An excellent idea,’ Admiral Augesburcke said.

Alexander’s expression added emphasis to he said, and he told them, ‘Let me stress, Admirals, we’ve done this before. I want you to hammer two points into your commander’s skulls, and I want you to hammer them in hard! First, this is nothing new. The ocean’s bigger and you can’t swim in it, but otherwise it is nothing new. Do not allow your commanders to be intimidated by space, or their adversaries. Second, and to my mind most important, be innovative, and be aggressive. By all means allow your commanders to follow their instincts. When faced with the opportunity they should attack, and they should stress maneuver and above all innovation. Gentlemen, from what I’ve seen battle tactics have not changed out here in a hundred thousand years, but Human’s, by definition, change constantly. That is our greatest advantage. Seize it! To do that I think you need to consider very carefully our ship’s Captains. Career ass kissers, excuse the expression, will cost us ships and men. We are at war. Choose your commanders appropriately.’

‘Point taken,’ Admiral Augesburcke nodded, and then he asked, ‘forgive me but I’m still hazy on the need for cargo ships, will they give us some tactical value I don’t see? Wouldn’t it make more sense to pursue additional warships over cargo ships?’

‘The cargo vessels serve two purposes, Admiral,’ Alexander said. ‘I am thinking that it might be easier to get the Senate to allow you to continue construction on cargo vessels for the purpose of emigration. That would keep the dockyards busy and enable you to have a fleet of vessels at the Senate’s disposal whenever they settle the issue. You could use that as a cover for the continuation of your warship conversion program. As to the vessels themselves I plan on using them for an entirely different purpose than you shall inform the Senate. Think of our own warships, gentlemen. They are massive with a great deal of inertia. It takes several minutes to get one to light speed. It takes longer to pull one out of formation. At close quarters when something comes at them they are hard put to it to get out of the way.’

‘Rams? You want to use them as rams?’ Chennebruk asked.

‘Not rams,’ Alexander said, but his further observations were interrupted by the intercom.

‘Admiral Augesburcke this is Captain Thomas, we have a Chem squadron coming into sensor range. They are refusing any and all hails. They are on an intercept course.’

CHAPTER 17

‘Estimate to intercept and strength?’ Augesburcke asked.

‘Thirty-seven ships, sir, and they shall be in firing range in thirty-two minutes,’ the Captain replied.

‘Tell Nazar’s shuttle to prepare to return to his ship, I want to see Nazar on the bridge first though,’ Alexander directed. ‘Admiral get the squadron moving, we don’t want to sit and wait for them. Move us closer to Nazar’s squadron then break off.’

‘Did you hear that Captain? Carry out those orders!’ Augesburcke said. He led the way to the bridge. ‘Thirty-seven ships, and we don’t know if their loyalist or rebel. If they’re rebel I’m not sure if they’re after us or Nazar. Nazar has only twelve ships in his squadron, but we’ve got a full squadron of fifteen. If they only want the loyalists do we fight or watch?’

‘What better chance to find out what we’re capable of Admiral?’ Alexander told him. ‘We fight. I want some meat on the bones of our reputation!’

‘Aye, aye sir!’ Augesburcke smiled.

They entered the bridge. Nazar was there with the Captain. The Captain stepped up to Alexander, and saluted him. The Captain was well aware of what the Admiralty wanted with Alexander and he read the results of the meeting quite clearly. Augesburcke accepted Alexander’s status without hesitation and stood to the side.

‘Thirty-seven rebel ships in a cubicle attack formation, sir. There are four battleships and nine cruisers. The rebel Admiral has warned us not to interfere, he asks us to withdraw.’

‘He asks us withdraw does he,’ Alexander growled. He went to Nazar and pointed to the approaching rebels on the visiplate, ‘We’ll see about that. Nazar, you need to get back to your squadron. I’ll drop you off as close as I can. Then I shall split off. I’ll position my squadron to attack their starboard side, you take the port. We’ll get them in a crossfire. That should even things out. No argument. They insult me with their offer to withdraw. That’s a good enough reason to fight. I’ll meet you in the middle. Good luck!’

Nazar left the bridge. Alexander strode to the tactical hologram, a lesser version of the Chem displays, beckoning the Admirals and the Captain to follow. He studied the projection and relayed his thoughts out loud, ‘It’s a standard cube formation, much like a three dimensional Wellington square, my how you can predict these people! Good firepower to every side, but it cannot concentrate more than a sixth of its firepower against maneuvering targets. I assume we’re standard squadron strength, Admiral?’

‘That’s affirmative, Alexander. The Iron Duke is our paired battleship. The Renown, Pittsburgh, Astoria and the Salem are our heavy cruisers.’

‘Excellent. We’ll take their starboard side,’ he said, pointing for emphasis. ‘Split the squadron into two formations, each around a battleship. The Iowa will lead with the Iron Duke in trail. We’ll make a pass at that side at good speed. Hit the engines one minute and forty-five seconds out of target, out of range, and then cut them to charge the capacitors. They’ll be going quite slow, expecting us to close and volley. We’ll pass them at speed, however, coasting by so that all of our energy is available for the weapons. Hit them with a full broadside as we pass and then coast out of range to recharge our capacitors. One minute and forty-five seconds out we reverse course and hit them from the other direction. Each turn costs us one minute of charge in our capacitors, but our formation will give us time to recharge for a full broadside for each pass. The Iron Duke will follow us with one minute forty-five second spacing. Gentlemen, it takes a standard Galactic battleship two minutes and thirty seconds to charge her capacitors for a full level thirty-seven broadside. We hit them every minute forty-five with a full load of thunder without them being able to reply in kind. Hit and wheel, hit and wheel, got it?’

‘Understood!’ Augesburcke replied. The orders were relayed to the Iron Duke and then Augesburcke turned to Captain Thomas. ‘Captain lay in a course by the loyalist flagship and then lead our formation along the left flank of the Chem cube! Gunners are to target their capital ships first and work their way down the ladder as we destroy them.’

‘Aye, aye sir!’ Thomas answered.

A hail came onto one of the visiplates. It was a Chem Admiral. His brows told the observers he was surprised and unhappy. ‘Terrans, this is no affair of yours! I advise you again to withdraw. A lack of response will be treated as hostile!’

‘Put me on,’ Alexander smiled. The communications officer nodded and pressed the button.

‘This is Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire. Your threat is in poor taste. I find it neither amusing or honorable. In the interests of our agreement to peace I offer to allow you to surrender your ships and crew. You shall be escorted out of Terran space and turned over to Nazeera of the Assemblage and the lawful Chem government. If you refuse I shall have no choice but to destroy you. Do you refuse?’

‘Alexander himself! Glory is mine! Do I refuse? Most emphatically! Prepare to die, Alexander of Terra! I shall add your name to the everlasting glory of my house!’

‘I will take that as a no,’ Alexander said dryly. ‘Very well, you abuse my generosity at your own risk. Let all the galaxy now learn what it is to unleash the wrath of the Terran Empire!’

He cut the connection.

‘Alexander, Nazar is on board the Kun-Gha, the Captain informed him.

‘Thank you, Captain,’ Alexander replied. Then he instructed the Communications Officer to put him on the fleet secure frequency. ‘Soldiers and sailors of the Terran Fleet we enter our baptism of fire. In this our initial combat for the right to exist amongst our Galactic brethren we shall write the scripture on Terrans from this day forward. We shall never have another opportunity at this first impression, and we shall never have more worthy opponents. I have boasted of your prowess, and for good reason. Let the galaxy now learn why they fear us so, and then let them leave us be. This is the primal hour where legends become reality. This is your chance to make your mark above all others. Who amongst our fellow Terrans would not wish that they were here on this day and at this moment in history? Our future is our own to write. To warbattle stations! Prepare to engage and destroy the enemy!’

Alexander took himself off the link and looked around the bridge. The faces of Terra looked to him with anticipation. ‘Enough of words, let’s show the galaxy how Terran’s fight!’

‘Aye, aye sir,’ Captain Thomas nodded. ‘Gunnery Officer target the nearest battleship. Helm, maintain optimal firing attitude on primary target while in range!’

‘Aye, aye sir!’

‘The Iowa is ready for attack run, Alexander!’ Thomas informed him.

“Proceed! You may fire at will Captain!’ Alexander ordered.

The Iowa’s cell of ships accelerated to fifteen percent the speed of light just as the Chem squadron slowed down to nearly one percent the speed of light. Nazar’s squadron slowed, following their age old practice, after a brief acceleration to close the distance.

On the rebel Chem Bridge the senior officers were perplexed by the Terran’s acceleration.

‘What are they doing?’ the Chem Captain aboard the rebel battleship, Sunkoor, wondered. Nazar’s squadron was closing in typical fashion, but the Terrans raced at them headlong. ‘At that closure we’ll only be in range for moments, and targeting will be only fifty percent efficient.’

‘They are going to get off a volley and run, so they can at least say they’ve fought!’ The Admiral replied. ‘These Terran’s won’t be so difficult after all! The hardest thing about them will be the catching of them!’ The bridge crew laughed aloud at the commander’s jest, but all sound died down as the Terrans closed to range. Galactic blasters had a range measured in hundreds of kilometers, but for the purposes of ship to ship fighting the range was much less. A blaster stream began to diverge shortly after leaving the projector. As the stream spread the energy concentration dropped and consequently so did the blaster’s ability to penetrate shields. The useful range for planetary bombardment was therefore less than two hundred kilometers. To effectively attack a target as small as a ship even the largest battleships wanted to close within ten kilometers, and practically speaking combat was measured in a few thousand meters. These limitations being well known the adversaries held their fire as closed. The viewers shrank the magnification step by step until only a minimal correction was necessary and every detail of the ships stood out in stark detail.

Tempered with the inevitability of conflict, the Chem view of the Terran warships was quite different than the long distance hails of two posturing fleets. Now the asymmetrical forms of the Terran ships were more pronounced. Shadows cut razor sharp angles within the superstructures, confusing the eye and asking for explanation. There was no question of the guns. Though strangely made, the blaster projectors were blatant in their meaning. Maybe that was as intended. Unlike the Galactic projectors the Terrans refused to bury their weapons in the cradle of shadowy trenches as an unseen but well known menace. The huge Terran projectors stood out brazenly; their turrets following their target like some unreal but all seeing gathering of eyes.

‘Steady,’ the Admiral urged his crews, feeling their disquiet. ‘It will be a distinct pleasure to rid space of such ungainly craft. Weapons Officer all boards tie into the central computer! Compute firing solution on their battleship. Forward batteries to bear, then flank, then aft if you please. Steady, fire! Standard attack sequence!’

The rebel ship shuddered as the projector batteries discharged glowing streams of plasma. At the same moment the Terran turrets blossomed in white flame. The Chem saw flashes of their own hits on the Terran’s shields, but then their own ship rocked with the concentrated firepower of the first cell.

‘Flank batteries ready and fire!’ The Admiral roared, but he could see for himself that the fire was ineffective due to the speed of the Terrans. The Terrans must have similar problems, but the Sunkoor rolled with the full broadside. It was immediately apparent that Terran ships could bring all guns to bear at any one time. The Galactic style of fighting, a technical version of the ship-to-ship duel, warranted fixed batteries at every quarter. No area was uncovered, but there was no possibility of bringing all batteries to bear on a single target.

The aft batteries recoiled stabbed into the darkness, but her thrusts were like glowing rapiers blindly searching for their prey and then the Iowa sped out of range.

‘Here comes their second group,’ the Captain reported. She checked her status display. ‘Shield generators three and seven damaged to starboard. They are operating at slightly reduced capacity. Admiral, Nazar is now engaging the left flank!’

The Admiral checked his own display and said, ‘Charge the capacitors and prepare to fire upon the second cell. As soon as the Terrans are out of range we will begin an envelopment of Nazar. We may not get Alexander today, but we’ll have Nazar!’ He watched calmly as his port flank engaged Nazar in the standard slugging match. They were fairly evenly matched at the moment, but after the Terrans left they would outnumber the loyalists three-to-one, even considering the damage the Terrans might inflict. Ah, but this was the life! This is what they were fighting for, the right of battle! Every Chem on board must feel their blood on fire now!

A concussion shook the ship as the Iron Duke completed its run. It was a stronger shock than any they’d felt thus far. The Commander looked to the Captain who gripped her console tightly. She shook her head vehemently, ‘It’s our shield generators, Commander. They are absorbing direct hits. Apparently the Terrans suffer no degradation of their projectors due to their maneuvering guns. We absorbed nine full level thirty-seven hits from their first battleship and ten from their second. That is equivalent to the full broadsides of our battleships at minimum range. Our generators cannot dissipate that much energy over such a short period of time without damage. It is apparent that the Terran squadrons are targeting our capital ships exclusively. We took another six direct hits during the exchange from level thirty-one and,’ another jarring blow cut her off. ‘Matter anti-matter torpedoes from their scouts and destroyers! Cutting back non-essential power,’ the Captain curtly told the Admiral. ‘Two out of ten shield generators are overloaded and have been temporarily shut down. Repair crews are on their way. Weapons were not at full power for the second cell, they followed too closely. We’ve lost one flank battery.’ An officer ran up to her, whispering something in her ear. The blood drained from the Captain’s face. ‘Admiral, they’re coming back! The first formation has reversed course!’

‘What?’ was all the Admiral got out before the hull rang. Concussion after concussion resounded on the Chem flagship. The first cell of Terran ships had reversed course. On further examination the second cell was in the process of repeating the same maneuver. It was instantly obvious to the command officers that the Terrans had no intention of quitting the battle. ‘Shift power to starboard flank generators, and get repair crews on those damaged shield generators! Is there any indication of damage to the Terrans?’

‘We hit the squadron of ships with a full broadside, Commander, but the second squadron was moving out of range before we could fully recharge. Our blasters were only charged up to seventy percent and since we waited as long as possible for the charge our firing angle was bad. No damage noted in either Terran battleship. If I analyze their attack pattern correctly the Terrans will not allow us to fully recharge our capacitors between passes.’

The Commander slumped in his seat. ‘We can fire at one with a full broadside or a partial at each, but not both. Damn, that is poor sport! Captain reroute the capacitors! We will use the forward and aft capacitor banks to supplement the flank batteries. That should enable us to fire the starboard flank blasters at or near a full charge.’

‘That will cut our broadside by forty percent Admiral!’

‘We have no other alternative. Do it!’

The battle dragged on without any change in tactics. The Terrans continued to pour fire on the stationary Chem. The Chem would not, or could not, change their battle plan. The effectiveness of their aim gradually grew, but they suffered from being under constant bombardment and having fewer projectors at their disposal. Conversely the Terran cells were only under fire half of the time. During each wheel maneuver there was a precious few moments to review the damage, allocate resources, charge their projector capacitors and prepare for the next assault. The Chem had no such respite. Seven times the Terran squadron turned on itself in what was to become known throughout the galaxy as “Alexander’s wheel.’ The Terran ships pounded the almost motionless Chem continuously. As the first formation returned for a eighth pass the Chem Captain took one last look over her board and approached him.

‘Admiral, the final shield generator has burned out. They’ve concentrated their fire exclusively on the capital ships, and each is heavily damaged. Within the next few passes our battleships will be gone. We’ve done minimal damage to their capital ships. We don’t have enough projectors to punch through their shields. We’ve fared better with Nazar’s squadron. Still, without our battleships our cruisers and destroyers will never stand up to the Terrans.’

‘Is there any sign that they are slowing to board?’ the Admiral said grimly.

‘No my lord, they are commencing another attack run.’

‘This Alexander is coldly efficient. He will not waste his troops in boarding when he can stand off and pound us to pieces! So be it, then we shall die at the hands of a noble adversary,’ the Admiral said bluntly, but the light in his eyes belied the fire in his voice. He sighed and confided to the Captain, ‘Is it not honorable to die beneath tread of a legend? Maybe, but at the moment it is but a hollow honor. I must admit that in hindsight I envy Nazeera’s wisdom. It is not good to have brought such an enemy onto our beloved Chem.’ The visiplates flashed with another broadside from the Iowa. The Sunkoor barely trembled with the response of her remaining batteries.

‘The joy of battle is not so euphoric during defeat,’ the Admiral muttered to himself. Then a rush of pain shattered his knees, knocking him to the deck. A flash of light blinded him. The air rushed suddenly out of his lungs, roaring in his ears. He sought to clasp the arm of his command chair but it wasn’t there anymore. Winds picked him up and tore his limbs this way and that. Blow after blow recoiled off his body, some hard and unyielding, metal; some soft and thrashing, others like himself. He collided with some ragged edge of metal and it cut through his arm. He was instantly aware of every sensation of his nerves and senses. Then all sound disappeared. He was blind. There were a few more soft collisions, and then nothing. There was no sensation other than his body tingling violently. Then, slowly, his sight returned. The emergency sustaining field in his suit dimmed his view with its soft enveloping glow. Unconsciously, his eyes turned from the stars and sought something concrete on which to focus; it was his hand. He could see one, burned and ragged, but he could not find the other. Then he saw the stump. Blood pumped from the limb, filling the sustaining field momentarily before being identified as an unwanted element by the field controller and filtered out. It exited the field into space where it immediately vaporized into a ruddy gas aglow with the fires of the Sunkoor. His legs felt numb, but he couldn’t force himself to look down. Desperately he sought for something besides the remains of his body. There, the smooth expanse of the Sunkoor’s hull caught him; stretching beneath like a strange horizon. He caught hold of the color of the metal, thinking of the grandeur and beauty of the ancient vessel. Yet the sight soon turned tragic. Over the majestic hull trailed the wispy filaments of escaping gas; the eruptions of flame; the pulsing clouds of plasma. Over the once proud ship the ragged weals of the lash bespoke the Sunkoor as nothing more than a dying carcass; a maimed corpse. Regret flooded his being. Then the sustaining field began to flicker, failing him even as he failed his empire. A certain peace replaced the regret. He was suddenly very, very cold, and an enormous pressure forced itself outwards against his skin.

A titanic flash and explosion lit the Iowa’s visiplates. The death of the Sunkoor was eerily unreal. There was no sound. There was only the initial bright flash of the blaster hits on the hull, and then a roiling cloud of gas and debris ripping through the skin. Torpedoes plunged into the hull, ripping massive sections of the ship apart. The ship broke into two main sections, each trailing a billowing cloud of gas and plasma. The two sections spun lazily through the Chem formation, nudged here and there by the shields of the other ships. In the space of a moment the flagship of Grand Admiral Sen’Arman, whose keel was laid one hundred and seven thousand years before Alexander the Great was borne, was nothing more than debris on the battlefield; unrecognizable and forgotten.

‘That was their flagship, Alexander,’ Augesburcke informed him. ‘That gives us two battleships destroyed, and two more on the way. Only three of their cruisers have been destroyed, but we should be able to concentrate our firepower on them in the next pass. It looks as though your tactic is working quite well. The way their weapon banks are arranged they are never able to bring more than a quarter of their weapons to bear on us. I am thinking that, ship-to-ship, our battleships can bring fifty percent more firepower to bear in an exchange. Add to that their relatively low accuracy due to our velocity and you have yourself a significant advantage. We’ve pummeled them, but our casualties, thus far, are relatively light.’

‘Thus far,’ cautioned Alexander. ‘The Chem are stubborn, and they do not lack bravery, we’ll wait until the battle is over to pass final judgment. How does it look on Nazar’s flank?’

‘Thus far they’ve done well, though they are fighting in the traditional style and are taking more damage.’ Augesburcke commented. ‘There are several boardings taking place. From the ship-to-ship communications we’ve heard they are going well.’

‘Now there’s something to see, Admiral, a Chem boarding!’ Alexander told him. ‘There is no such thing as quarter in the Chem code, and they fight with swords and knives. It’s all hand-to-hand; energy weapons are considered the weapons of cowards. When the Kuntok was boarded the gravity generators were out. We have to train our troops in such fighting, with and without the aid of jet boots. Until we’re ready that is one area of fighting we shall avoid. Our advantage appears to be in formation engagements. We’ll stick to that and refine it.’

Admiral Augesburcke answered a page and then returned. ‘The submarine Shark is down to one shield generator, I’ve told her Captain to withdraw out of range.’

‘Good, we don’t need any unnecessary casualties,’ Alexander said. The visiplate revealed the dark torpedo of the Shark as it broke out of formation. The ship momentarily disappeared beneath a spread from one of the remaining Chem battleships. Alexander leaned forward in his seat. ‘Get the Shark behind us or one of the cruisers so we can provide cover!’ It was too late. Another salvo caught the Shark amidships. A cascading series of detonations ripped through the Shark’s hull front to back. Shock waves rocked the Iowa

‘Matter-anti-matter torpedoes going up,’ Augesburcke shouted, as if the massive lightshow should have a corresponding cacophony of sound. The turbulence lasted only a moment. The Shark was gone. There was only a glowing cloud of plasma to mark her wreck.

‘Make a note in the log and record the time. The Shark is the first Terran casualty of the Terran-Galactic War,’ Alexander said grimly.

‘The Terran-Galactic war,’ Augesburcke whispered.

‘Yes Admiral, before all is said and done I expect to have to fight every civilization out there,’ Alexander told him. ‘It’s the price of joining their exclusive club.’

CHAPTER 18

The battle, if it could be called that after the Chem battleships were put out of commission, withered on for another hour. The rebel squadron finally broke apart when five of the six cruisers were destroyed and the survivor heavily damaged. Alexander captured the rest of the rebels, but he allowed a destroyer to withdraw. He wanted word to get back to Bureel. As they retreated Alexander hailed them. A grim faced Captain appeared on the screen, her bridge a shambles.

‘You have the day, Alexander, what else is it you want?’

‘I want you to pass on a personal message to your lord, Bureel,’ Alexander told her. ‘Tell him the next time he attacks the ships and space of the Terran Empire I will chase the shattered remains of his armada all the way back to Chem. Then I’ll take his head and stick it on a pike, for all the proud Chem to see what happens to a coward! I still remember our unresolved challenge! I still remember the assassins he sent after me! I await him at his leisure. Tell him that!’

‘I am sure my lord will repay you for such words, Alexander,’ she snarled.

‘See that he at least attempts it, my noble Chem Captain! You fought well, and with no less courage than I expected from the Chem. I salute you. Know this in truth, however, that as I waited upon your lord’s challenge in the strict observance of Chem law and tradition he answered me instead with assassins. All of your bravery and sacrifice cannot blot that stain of cowardice from his name, or from Chem should he not answer my call. Alexander waits. Think well before you challenge Terra again!’

‘I will pass on the message my lord,’ the Captain replied, a more sober expression on her strained features.

The Chem rebels withdrew leaving a like number of ships behind to be boarded and salvaged by Nazar. The Chem loyalists lost five ships, with five more heavily damaged. Nazar’s casualties were considerable, but after two days he left the battlefield with half again as many ships as he started out with. This brought Nazar almost up to his full squadron strength again, and as he was able to salvage a rebel battleship he came out significantly pleased. Of the marooned rebel crews none of the rebels gave quarter, but as so often happens in rebellion and mutiny not all of the crews who served on the ships were willing. A large portion of the enlisted force had no choice in the direction their officers chose. Those Chem were spared, and oaths were taken for their loyalty to Nazeera, the de facto head of the loyalist cause. So the battle ended as a very profitable venture for Nazar. He increased his strength in every way and won a glorious battle.

For Alexander the victory was no less welcome. The Terrans were adapting well to war in space, which was initially a great concern. Their casualties were light relative to the damage they inflicted. It was a testament to sound tactics and capable crews. A victory dinner was held that night aboard the Iowa Nazar and his senior officers were present. Before the dinner Alexander established a future tradition based, of course, upon the past. With all the senior officers present, and the entire Fleet established on a comlink Alexander led the Fleet of Terra in a toast to their fallen comrades. Then a strange and haunting sound flooded the Galactic communication channels as Alexander had the bagpipes send his sailors home. The ancient instrument careened to Terra where the mournful song was greeted with tears and pride, to the furthest reaches of the Bael Empire where it was listened to with fear and premonition. After the farewell tribute Alexander started the dinner, though he himself left for a time. He was in his stateroom on the subspace comlink with Nazeera. When he finally returned Nazar queried him. Alexander shrugged, and admitted, ‘She wanted to hear all about our victory, of course. It was not at all the conversation I intended, but it was wonderfully nice to hear her and see her again.’

‘I am glad you both have such affection for each other,’ Nazar smiled. ‘She needs it. Nazeera spends so much of herself in the Chem cause that there is little left for herself. She’s always deserved more of a male than she’s gotten, and certainly she did not deserve Bureel! That is something I look forward to rectifying!’

‘I will drink to that!’ Alexander replied, and he touched glasses with Nazar. Alexander invoked a two drink maximum of the revelers that night, for those off duty. For those on the current watch, and the following watch their tours were shortened so that they wouldn’t miss the celebration. For the Admiralty, and Alexander, however, there was dinner, a drink and back to the conference room. The Admiral’s were finding Alexander to demanding taskmaster. When he got an idea in his head he ran with it, and expected everyone else to follow. In that respect they were not surprised, privately, that his military career was cut short. Officers of that mold could be remarkably effective, but they could also be embarrassing to those superiors intent on climbing the ladders of power. Those types of commanders normally maneuvered through contacts and took care to remain obscure. Alexander wouldn’t have the patience for such maneuvering, or the lack of character for such undeserved advancement. Alexander’s headstrong rushing through the issues turned out to be an advantage, in the Admiral’s eyes, rather than an irritation. He was professional at all times, a trait that met with their definite approval, and he listened. He valued their professional opinions, especially it seemed, when they clashed with his own. Alexander’s manner and his temperament were built for action and problem solving. He was opinionated and had no squeamishness for making decisions. They were all, even Augesburcke who’d had the most extensive dealings with him, amazed at his grasp of tactics and strategy. When they addressed this question he looked at them disapprovingly.

‘Maybe I do, though I cannot give the Air Force any credit for that. I spent my years in the service studying weapon systems, and military history. I thought it would make me a better soldier. I wrote my tactical thesis on Henry Morgan the pirate. That met with extreme disapproval even after I pointed out that Morgan never lost an engagement, and in each instance he was not only outnumbered, but attacked fortified strongholds manned by regular troops. I studied war when I was in the military, gentlemen. It was a mistake. Present company excepted, I found that to make a career I should have studied business administration and politics!’

‘Won’t this come as a pleasant surprise for those who were promoted over you?’ jested Admiral Sampson.

‘No it will not, not if I find them,’ Alexander said seriously. ‘Understand me, I don’t bear any personal grudge over the system’s favoritism but I know the capabilities of some of those officers. If I ever run across them I’ll rip the rank off their sleeves myself. I’ll not allow good men to be led by incompetent careerists!’

Alexander had a way of deciding on something that made it understandably final. It was a manner which the Admiral’s could appreciate, since they were not included in that fatal category. Vindictiveness was natural, and it could be ignored, or even condoned, if it honed the weapon better. That was Alexander’s concern, and it was something they appreciated. He knew what had to be accomplished to fit this vision of Humans in space, and he threw himself wholeheartedly into the fray. When he explained his plans for dealing with the Alliance they were struck, but no longer surprised, by the boldness and brilliant calculation.

‘The overall picture is serious enough to warrant our attention, Admirals, but it is nonetheless clear. The Alliance is either out of practice or they find the entire concept of secure communications impractical. By their own fleet channels we have compiled a list of ships which are to take part in the offensive against Terra. By their own media we know where these ships are massing, their fleet designations, their commanders and their general goals. The Golkos Grand Admiral herself, one Koor, has even been interviewed by the media and has been so good as to discuss her plans in some detail! Our Chem friends assure me this is no deception, but rather it is meant to sooth the Galactic populace. It is all consistent with our own information concerning the Alliance’s progression from an idea into a reality. Thanks to your attention, Admirals, submarine scouts have patrolled our borders since the Terran-Chem confrontation. It’s paid dividends. We can see the three arms of the Alliance strike forces gathering on our own scanners. By our counts, and the Chem confirm this, we will have almost four thousand Alliance ships massed against us gentlemen. There will be twenty-five hundred alone on the Golkos-Seer’koh front; eight hundred on the Quotterim-Bael-Fen-Dsi front; and five hundred on the Syraptose front. Despite Alliance disunity and sloppiness this is still a sobering number. Admiral what is the disposition of our forces?’

‘We currently number over seven hundred ships, Alexander,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘Of these sixty-four are battleships and fifty-nine are heavy cruisers. We’ve divided our forces into three fleets. The Fifth Fleet and the Second Fleet each have a complement of twenty-five battleships, fifty cruisers of both heavy and fast configuration, seventy-five destroyers, twenty-five frigates, and twenty-five submarine scouts. Their flagships are the American battleship Wisconsin and the Norwegian battleship Thor, once known as the Tirpitz, the sister ship to the Bismarck.’ Augesburcke stopped and grinned. ‘My, oh my, would I like to see that old battlewagon. We sure could use her.’

‘She’s waiting for you at the bottom of the Atlantic, Admiral,’ Alexander smiled. ‘Considering what your Dr. Hashimoto has done thus far I wouldn’t put it past him. What about the Seventh Fleet, our designated Homeworld defense force?’

‘As you know, Alexander, we designed the Fifth and Second Fleets as our strike fleets. Their numbers match up with the capital ships of the standard Galactic fleet excepting the fact that we can’t muster the number of destroyers and frigates they can. We’re counting on our advantage in firepower to even that out. The Seventh Fleet has what’s left: eleven battleships, eighty-seven cruisers, one hundred and twenty-seven destroyers, twenty-seven frigates and one hundred submarines. That’s almost three hundred ships, but by the time we’re done we should have it up to around three hundred and eighty-nine. At this time the Second and Fifth Fleets are deploying along the Syraptose and Quotterim fronts with the Seventh handling the Golkos-Seer’koh front.’

‘It is a logical deployment, Admiral, but I think we need to take it further. Galactic doctrine dictates that we put our fleets on our border and defend that border. The Alliance fleets will engage us and the result will for all intents and purposes decide the war. Well, I for one am not willing to follow Galactic doctrine or etiquette. I’m not going to sit back and allow four thousand ships to dictate the battle. We can, in my opinion, defeat the Syraptose front with the Fifth and probably do the same to the Quotterim front. That leaves the Seventh outnumbered six-to-one or so; and with about two hundred battleships to our eleven. Those are not very good odds, gentlemen. We need to simplify the situation. We need to remove this multiple front. The Syraptose and the Quotterim are the keys. Take out the Syraptose and their front obviously disappears. Take out the Quotterim and their front dissolves.’

‘We can handle the Syraptose without too much difficulty,’ Augesburcke nodded. ‘They don’t want to be in this fight. The Quotterim, however, will be supported by the Bael and the Fen-Dis. When massed they’ll have almost nine hundred ships. That’s a tall order unless we hit them before all forces come to bear. Then we can attack at odds more in our favor.’

‘They’ll just refuse the fight until they’re massed,’ Alexander said. ‘We have to hit a stationary target fast and hard and knock them out of the war. We have to hit their Homeworlds.’

A silence fell about the room.

‘Rommel’s long right hooks to their jaw, Admirals. It’s the only way to guarantee the Syraptose and the Quotterim drop out of the war. Then we can deal with the Golkos-Seer’koh.’

‘We are right back where we started, even if we are successful,’ Admiral Chennebruk said. ‘The Fifth and Second Fleets will be wholly out of position to support the Seventh. I am as bullheaded as the next man, but I don’t want to put the Seventh in that position. It would be like Custer against the Sioux.’

‘If we attacked headlong as Custer did you would no doubt be correct, Admiral, but the flanking of the Syraptose and Quotterim opens up several options not previously available to us.’ Alexander stood up and went to the hologram. ‘Surprise, geometry, diplomacy and fear, gentleman, those will be the fruits of our insolent attacks. Surprise will come because the Galactics will not be able to convince themselves that we have the audacity to do what we will. Geometry because our strike forces at Syraptose and Quotterim will automatically flank the Homeworlds of Bael, Golkos, Seer’koh, etc. None of those empires can fight their way through to Terra; attack our own Homeworld and then return to defend their own from our fleets. That threat should enable diplomacy. We shall not tread on our conquered foes, gentlemen, but rather offer them peace and equality as brethren empires. That option will be set against the fear of our rampant Terran fleets. Whose Homeworld will be next? Which then will be the better choice, to risk ones Homeworld or settle to reasonable terms of peace?’

‘And if the Golkos-Seer’koh press on?’

‘Defense in depth, Admiral,’ Alexander sighed. ‘It won’t be easy with so few big guns. Therefore, we resort to true guerilla tactics in our space to whittle them down and exhaust their crews until a final defense at Terra, with the planetary defenses supporting what’s left of the fleet.’

‘I can’t imagine the Golkos or the Seer’koh would have the stomach for that fight knowing the Fifth and the Second Fleets were on their way to their own Homeworlds.’ Admiral Augesburcke remarked. ‘It sounds viable to me, Alexander but considering the rumors of the Alliance offensive starting on or about the Chem Ascension we better start moving.’

‘That we will, we’ll just do it quietly,’ Alexander told them.

‘They’ll adapt to our tactics, especially after they hear of this engagement,’ Chennebruk observed.

Alexander shook his head, ‘no, I actually think they will not. You are asking them to change thousands of years of Galactic doctrine overnight. It won’t happen. They will find some excuse for not giving our tactics credibility, until it is too late. They don’t understand maneuver, while we understand it through hundreds of years of practical experience. Think of it this way, gentlemen. When Greece became the dominant civilization in the Mediterranean it was not through technology but tactics. The invention of massed infantry, the hoplites, changed the entire political structure of the civilized world without a technological leap. Only after the invention of the stirrup did the balance change. Then heavy cavalry dominated the military landscape for another few centuries before the tactics of pike and longbow sent it into obsolescence. Think of it. Remember how long it took for adversaries to change their tactics? The English defeated much larger forces of French troops, led by massed heavy cavalry, at Crecy and Agincourt, but those two battles were seventy years apart. Even Terrans learn slowly to adapt to new tactics. No, I don’t think we need to worry about our tactics becoming obsolete overnight, but on the other hand there is no reason to sit on them. We can make refinements and improvements by all means. There is no tactic, no maneuver, which is set in stone. I want no doctrine. Our commanders must have a firm grasp of the basics, but they must be allowed to use their individual genius in the field. There are Rommel’s and Patton’s out there, gentlemen, and we must allow them to do their work.’

Admiral Sampson asked, ‘I

Is it absolutely necessary to send our forces so deep into Syraptose and Quotterim space? What if Bureel’s Ascension takes place? You have our main strike forces flanking the Syraptose and the Quotterim, with only a single fleet for Terra. We shall be out of position to defend against a Chem attack, or even if the Chem do not attack we will be hard pressed to keep the Golkos and Seer’koh at bay. Wouldn’t it be more prudent to use our interior lines to strike the Alliance fleets separately? We could probably hit the Syraptose and the Quotterim hard enough to drive them out of the war with one blow.’

‘You are quite correct Admiral, if they allow us to come to blows. My concern is that they are already afraid of us; therefore, by refusing to fight they’ll still tie up our fleetstactically they don’t have to fire a shot to accomplish their mission,’ Alexander reminded him. ‘I realize that my stratagem leaves our forces scattered throughout the known galaxy. However, we are fighting on a truly level plain now and despite our adversaries combat tactics their fleets are just as maneuverable as ours. We could use our advantage in interior lines to magnify our forces against the Syraptose and the Quotterim Admiral, if we could catch them. They do not have to fight to accomplish their goal. They can refuse the battle knowing that the longer they keep us busy the farther the Golkos and Seer’koh can drive into our space and threaten Terra. I cannot convince them to fight in open space Admiral, but if I put their Homeworlds at risk I can guarantee the outcome. In a sense we are forced into such a bold route. It is the only avenue left us where we can dictate the outcome with any certainty. True, there is also the Chem question if I fail and Bureel ascends to the seat of the Elder; but though I’ll be dead I’ll give you the benefit of always keeping your options open,’ Alexander smiled. ‘The Quotterim strike will be out of position to defend Terra, but in perfect position to strike the Chem Homeworld, as well as other targets if fortune favors us. Since they will threaten the Chem before the Chem threaten Terra that will take care of that. I should not think the Chem will have enough ships to pose a potent threat, however. My suggestion, in case I fail, would be to continue on to the Quotterim and Syraptose Homeworlds. Destroy their fleets so the Chem cannot use them, and then strike the Chem Homeworld on the way back to Terra. You shall have a fighting chance at least Admirals, and that is all any of us can ask for at this point. Are there any more questions? Is everyone in agreement?’

The Admiral’s nods sounded more like the licking of chops.

‘A brilliant plan, Alexander, you have my compliments,’ Sampson added.

Alexander admitted it to be bold, but as far as brilliance, he told them, ‘No plan is brilliant unless it works. There are hoards of very pretty plans in the archives written by General’s who died by them! I’m quite certain Marcus Lucinius Crassus thought himself a military genius until the Parthians destroyed his bought legion and poured molten gold down his throat!’

‘I am not quite willing to let it go at that,’ Augesburcke said, ‘and that raises again my own disquiet of leaving you to the mercy of Chem ‘honor.’ The reputation of the Chem aside this Bureel is a slimy bastard. He’ll not hesitate to forget convention while it’s convenient and slit your throat. I for one am hesitant to allow him the chance. We have here a strategy wherein the entire Alliance will begin to unravel almost as soon as war was declared, but it won’t amount to a hill of beans if the name of Alexander is not behind it. The Galactics fear you as much as the might of Terra. We can’t afford to lose that.’

‘Short of parking a Terran fleet around orbit in Chem, Admiral, there’s not much you can do to help me.’

‘By my calculations, Alexander, there aren’t enough Chem to stop us from doing just that.’

Alexander was silent for a long while. Finally he said, ‘Admiral, I cannot condone it or authorize it. You will, however, have as good knowledge as anyone on my whereabouts and actions on Chem. No doubt if Bureel means to execute me it will be broadcast. What you do in my absence is entirely up to you. I leave you with full control of the fleets, and the initiative.’

‘Understood, Alexander.’

There was one more question before they broke for the eveningthe coup. Alexander was blunt about it, but his answer still surprised them. ‘Gentlemen, events have progressed so far that you, in your opinions, and I in mine, consider such a serious action as necessary. It’s obvious that we need to find out who we’re dealing with in the Senate, and on which side of the aisle they stand, or to be blunt which side of the galaxy they were born on. Beyond that we should let events continue as they are. If the actions or non-actions of the President and the Senate bring the politicians in line with our reasoning then our task becomes less painful. You can bend an ear, so to speak, with those in the Senate who are of similar understanding. They can, at the proper moment call for my return to Terra. The tide of events will accomplish for us what a regiment in the Senate will not. On the other hand if the President and the Senate surprise us and turn out to be quite capable of handling the situation then we are happily relieved of such an unpleasant task as accomplishing a coup. Good night gentlemen!’

CHAPTER 19

The Scythian delegation was fidgety, if that term could be used to describe their unabashed nerves. They sat at the conference table, five of them, opposite Admiral Augesburcke and two marines with blaster rifles. Augesburcke glared at them. Alexander was late, purposefully late. He let the Scythians stew for a good half hour before he abruptly entered. Augesburcke rose to salute him, and the marines stood at attention. Trembling, the Scythians stood.

Alexander watched them on a visiplate during the wait, and their nerves were apparent. He therefore attacked them headlong, ‘So you would not deal with anyone but myself. Very well I’ve spared some time for you. What is it you have to say?’

The Scythian’s were wholly unprepared for such a tack. They sat dumb faced and silent.

‘You are a conquered race, yet I have allowed you a personal audience. My time is not my own. Say what you have to say.’ Still, no response, but it was obvious that this was not due to stubbornness. Alexander leaned back in his chair, content with the initial shock. He hoped it made them more pliable to a reasonable Alexander. ‘You perhaps have grievances?’ he said, opening the door to a more non-threatening discussion. ‘I hear you have ceased any and all activity on behalf of Terra, and yourselves for that matter. Can you explain this?’

‘We find no advantage in working for our conquerors,’ a Scythian replied, finally.

‘An honest approach, and a natural one,’ Alexander admitted. ‘It is a time honored tradition to continue resistance in a passive manner, though it is not always possible to do so for extended periods of time. What is it you then wish to talk about? You made your answer to my President and her envoys that you would deal with no one but myself. What is it you wish to deal with me about?’

‘The situation has changed since that time,’ the Scythian replied, almost boldly.

‘By that you refer to the impending invasion of the so called Alliance?’ Alexander smiled. ‘Your Galactic friends will come to liberate you from the terrible Terrans and return you to your eminent positions of economic influence throughout the galaxy? They will of course forget all the whispered threats which caused the Chem to go to war with us. They will of course forget the economic thumbscrews which you’ve applied to them for the last two millennia. They will forget all these things and let the Scythians return to the prominence and wealth to which they are accustomed. Does this sound likely?’ He waited a moment for a response, but there was none. ‘Very well, I shall assume you agree with me that an Alliance Empire will be no more advantageous to the Scythians than a Terran Empire. Let me then tell you where your advantage lies. You are a free people, and by that I mean free. I will remove my troops from your four Homeworlds. Your Homeworlds are to return entirely to Scythian control. The remainder of the planets of the former Scythian Empire will become open for emigration from Terra. They are to be member planets in the Terran Federation, but otherwise free to conduct their own affairs. There will be some diminishment of Scythian estates in some locales, but no Scythian will be forced out of their home. They shall be given the same rights and privileges as Terran citizens of the Federation. Scythian control of the freighter fleet will not be usurped. From now on we will purchase passage at standard rates. You shall be allowed access, as Federation citizens should you decide to accept citizenship, to any planet, port, or other location that the Federation is not at war with. You shall in short be able to conduct your affairs as before, but this time as citizens of a Federation.

‘Your further advantage also lies in your Human partners. Scythians are enterprising, but they are cautious. Humans, on the other hand, are explorers as well as traders. It is our intention, once these current troubles are over, to begin a vast exploration of the regions around our known civilizations. That should prove a boon to the Scythian entrepreneur. You will also have competition to spur you on, as we are ardent traders ourselves. In essence you are being given the opportunity of becoming part of something with a great deal of potential. If it doesn’t work out, well, you can always say you were coerced, that is, if the Alliance is interested in hearing your version of the story.’

‘What is your price for our cooperation?’ The Scythian’s replied, knowing fair terms when they saw them.

‘Silence, for now,’ Alexander replied. ‘There will be a time and place for a formal acceptance of my terms. For the time being Admiral Augesburcke will inform you of what we require.’

‘As you wish, Alexander,’ the Scythian said, but then it asked, ‘I wonder, however, at the brevity of your revenge. It does not follow reason.’

‘You learned very little of us in several thousand years I’m afraid,’ Alexander noted. ‘What use would an enslaved people be to us? What did you expect, mass executions, tyranny, terror? Maybe that is all you had the right to expect, watching us at a distance. Hopefully, we’ve learned from our own madness. In this instance, however, it is more than altruism. There is an old saying from old Earth: “politics makes strange bedfellows.’ Suffice it to think that when I found a suitable requirement for your special skills my revenge died. Alexander can use you, and you need Alexander. That is enough.’

‘We will abide by your terms at your leisure,’ the Scythian said. Then, for the first time Alexander or any other Human witnessed, the Scythian’s bowed with respect.

The next day Alexander met with Augesburcke privately just before returning to the Kun-Gha. They shared a farewell drink. The Admiral handed his Overlord a gin and tonic, ‘Tanqueray and tonic, actually,’ the Admiral said.

‘Really, Admiral, my dossier must be quite explicit,’ Alexander said, taking the drink with relish.

‘It was very detailed,’ the Admiral smiled. ‘Not the Air Force dossier, the Soviet dossier. You like your Tanqueray, you hate blackberry brandy, whiskey and all forms of schnapps. Microbrews are your favorite beers, and otherwise you’ve developed rather a bourgeois attitude towards cheap brews. You waver back and forth between Pepsi and Coke. You prefer grapefruit juice over orange juice. Those were the highlights of the ‘drinks” section.’

‘I’m not certain I want to hear more,’ Alexander said.

‘They were just as afraid of you as the Alliance,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘They expected great things from you.’

‘Well I hope I haven’t disappointed them,’ Alexander said, and then he dug out a file. ‘Speaking of dossiers I was reading the file on our President. Did you notice that she is a relative of President Anwar Sadat? In fact she spoke on several occasions at U.S. universities on the subject of civilian governments at risk from military dictatorships. Her main theme was, and I quote, ‘In times of crisis the civilian government is in danger of overthrow by elements of the militaryespecially when pursuing a difficult path to peace.’ It is an obvious reference to the assassination of President Sadat, God rest his soul, by the Muslim Brotherhood in the Egyptian military. He was pursuing a very difficult peace with the Israelis. He was a courageous man who died at the hands of ignorant cowards. Maybe she fears some parallels here?’

‘It’s possible,’ Augesburcke mused. ‘Although I have to point out that Egypt wasn’t in danger of being annihilated by Israel. Our position is more consistent with Israel, but I see what you mean.’ He took a sip from his own drink and shrugged. ‘I admit I only thought about her paranoia in context with political jealousy. That is something I have profound experience with unfortunately. Still, that fits quite nicely with her paranoia concerning you doesn’t it? No doubt there are some Hrang operatives who are only too happy to help her along. We should concentrate on the Senate appropriations and Defense committees, but there’s no doubt the Senate is rife with spies, perhaps even Ms. Sadat’s staff.’

‘I am quite sure we will find some unexpected surprises,’ Alexander said. ‘Admiral how many spies did we find in our squadron wide search?’

‘Seven, all noncombatant or supervisory positions and all revealed by X-ray photos,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘There has been no action, no notification taken, as you ordered. Sensitive information is being funneled around them, and a disinformation campaign is being started. We will keep pumping them until we spring the surprise. Five of them were Iowa crew, including the Operations Officer. Captain Thomas nearly screwed himself through the ceiling; he’s known the Ops Officer for twenty years. Not one of them showed up on the medical equipment the Scythian’s gave us.’

‘Keep it under wraps, but start the search fleet wide,’ Alexander ordered. ‘Let’s expand it if we can especially in the Senate and if possible the Executive. Work up a scam. Let’s assume we contracted some disease from the Chem. Assume it’s communicable and have everyone checked with a complete exam, including X-rays. Before this breaks, however, I want you to mingle with Senators, and I especially want you to see the President.’

‘You think she’s a spy?’ Augesburcke asked, surprised.

‘Admiral, I think she’s surrounded by them; but if she’s not a spy for the Alliance she ought to be!’

CHAPTER 20

Faizah Sadat, the Human Faizah, followed the aural prompting which told her to leave her small metal holding cell and proceed down the hallway. She was naked, and pain was an insistent reminder of the last session the aliens inflicted upon her. As she left her cell she found around twenty other Human Beings in the same circumstance. They milled about aimlessly. She knew some of them from previous holding cells, and when they saw her they gravitated to her, and to her strength. Faizah ignored her own pain and smiled. She thought of Alexander and how Humankind had as a whole gravitated to the example he portrayed. It was her turn now, in no less important a context. This was no test of honor, however. There was no chance at glorious death under the watchful eyes of a hard but honorable foe. This was Alexander’s Scythian ordeal only under the cruelest of taskmasters. There was no hope for return under these beings. She’d seen Humans die on the operating table, terribly awake during vivisections conducted by mechanical surgeons. Anesthesia was an unnecessary luxury for lab animals, and that is exactly how they were treated. Questioning sessions were handled brutally, again by machines. She’d not seen a live being aside from the other Human captives since her final memory of Earth. She’d fallen asleep, as usual, studying on her sofa in her New York apartment. It took her several days to realize that her nightmare was terribly real. She tried to use the example of Alexander to rally her spirits, but in the end it was only her own resolve that allowed her to hold her head up. Of all Humans, Alexander would know the horrible gulf between his experience and theirs. He could appreciate their trials.

The voice told them to proceed down the hallway. It gave no further instructions. The prisoners looked about aimlessly until Faizah moved on. Mechanically they followed her. ‘There is nothing before us that has not already been done,’ she said loudly. ‘If they have yet to break our spirits, after all their despicable acts, then there is no possibility they shall overcome our world, or our God, or our spirits. They may have control of our bodies, but our spirits and our souls are our own!’ The people took heart at Faizah’s words and their steps were firm. Their brows knits, young and old, with tight defiance. They followed her to a large vaulted chamber, again of metal. Within were several other groups of Humans, nearly a hundred in all.

The voice returned, flat, emotionless, but this time it was not mechanical. ‘You have served your purpose, Humans, but before you die know that you shall not die vain. You shall serve to stem the evil tide of the tyrant Alexander and preserve the Galactic peace.’

Faizah stood defiantly in the dark steel chamber with her companions and listened closely to the words, guessing their meaning. As were her brethren Faizah was exhausted, but the glare in her eyes betrayed no fear. The fear was in the unseen voice, and it was for Alexander. ‘You would be responsible for so vile an act? I warn you it will not be without repercussion.’

‘You speak from ignorance, Human,’ said he voice. ‘We shall, however, give you a moment to prepare yourselves.’

‘How very noble of you,’ Faizah said sarcastically. ‘I only wish I could live long enough to see Alexander when he gives you your just deserts. There will be a reckoning, I guarantee it!’ Then she turned to her companions. They gathered around her, a huddled mass of fearful Humanity. Her fear melted in a comforting vat of hatred, and she let that violent humor taint her aristocratic voice. ‘Do not be afraid, friends. They can take away our lives, but they cannot take away our faith in God or our pride in Humankind. We shall be avenged, if that comforts you. Those who author despicable acts always pay. Let us remember Alexander when he faced certain death. Can we be any less courageous? Take pride in your Humanity. Let nothing but spite and hatred for our captors weaken your hearts. Humankind shall overcome their treachery. Let them be assured that Alexander and the legions of our brethren will avenge us. Think only of that! Alexander will avenge us!’ A hue and cry rose, ‘Alexander! Alexander! Alexander!’ Suddenly a staccato of laser fire cut off the voices. The darkness of the chamber was lit with flashes of deadly light. The metal room echoed with the grunts of injured Humans and the thud of falling bodies, but there were no screams of fear, no pleading for mercy. After a long horrible moment the room was eerily silent.

CHAPTER 21

‘This is insupportable!’ Bureel growled to the Assemblage Chamberlain, his lieutenant Gurthur. The whole of the Assemblage was in a dull roar. The ranking survivor’s full report from the skirmish at Lompoc V had just concluded and to the Bureel supporters, of which the Assemblage had a necessary majority, it was a sobering message. Not only had Nazar escaped, but the Terrans proved as formidable an adversary as rumor built them. Alexander himself led the Terran squadron, which could in no way be blamed for forcing the battle after the Chem Commander’s patronizing request for a Terran withdrawal. Alexander again acted with dignity, honor and resolve. The thought of him leading the entirety of the Terran Fleet against an already weakened Chem brought a new interpretation to the wisdom of Nazeera’s peace. There was no trepidation on the part of the Chem warriors, ordinarily they would welcome such a test for glory but the stakes were now such that even the most war loving of them had second thoughts. Even the hard core Bureel supporters could now admire the foresight of Nazeera, and the skill with which she gained concessions from Alexander for not fighting. Imagine, they thought, gaining a frontier of twelve strategic systems from a warlord like Alexander! The defeat at Lompoc V was a slap of cold water in their face. Murmurs arose questioning the very wisdom of war. It was a subject ordinarily taboo, but now noble Chem without a sliver of fear in their bones questioned themselves, and their leader.

Bureel recognized the change in the wind, but he did not let it dampen his resolve, at least not visually. He looked out over the Assemblage, knowing they expected him to lash out in anger at the defeat, but he knew he must be above that. Lordly did he bow his head, but he kept his shoulders strong and upright. He must be, he thought, not the lesser to Alexander in their sight. When his eyes met those of the ranking commander of the decimated squadron, awaiting his lord’s dispensation, he strove to ensure they were wise.

‘My heart grieves at our defeat, as must all Chem when victory exceeds our grasp,’ he said finally. ‘It does not grieve with disgrace, however. There is glory in battle, even though it ends in defeat. It hardens the warrior for the next trial, and ensures that there is no room in the breast for anything less than the annihilation of the foe! To fight to the last is admirable and wins the warrior everlasting notoriety. To withdraw is more difficult, though at times there is more wisdom in it. You returned to Chem in defeat, but without your returning we would know nothing of our enemy. This was a lesson to our pride. Let us treat it no less, but make of it no more. Let Alexander scurry about with his squadrons when the full weight of the Chem Armada is upon him! Let this example perk our appetites for revenge. Our day will come, soon.’ Bureel paused and studied his Assemblage. The light was back in their eyes. They listened intently. He could now reiterate his vision of the future without it sounding disingenuous. ‘We will pay back this trifling attention of Alexander. After my Ascension we shall rebuild our armadas for a new day of glory. Then shall we declare war upon the upstart Terran and his fledgling empire. We will unite the Chem, all the Chem, back into the honor bound people the galaxy fears. We will expand into our rightful place amongst the stars. Only in this way may we fulfill the purposes of our ancestors, and the yearning of our hearts. You know my mind!’

There was general applause, and it was genuine. Bureel’s speech hit the correct chord amongst his audience, and Gurthur leaned over to him, saying, ‘Well done, my lord!’

‘It is a step towards the Ascension, my good Gurthur, if we can keep these nobles happy enough, long enough,’ Bureel said. ‘Though I do not miss any meaning in Alexander’s message I have at least diverted it from those who owe their allegiance to me. They are content, for now. We will not put ourselves in any more such adventures until after my Ascension. That event, at least, will not be compromised by Alexander, if I read his message aright. He considers it beyond his grasp, so he waits. Oh, how that must irk my dear wife! Let them wallow in such discomfiting bliss. She cannot disappoint me with her strength, and he dares not. If he wants to carry through with his challenge, which is his right, he must come to me, and that means he must come to Chem. That he cannot do, and will not hazard. That leaves Nazeera an exile after my Ascension, and as soon as war is declared on the Terran Empire her support will bond to me. What happens then does not matter.’

Gurthur nodded and handed his liege a goblet of wine, ‘The Alliance awaits your Ascension before launching their own offensive against Alexander. Certainly our combined weight shall rid us of this dangerous adversary. Then who knows what you might accomplish to the glory of Chem?’

‘Yes, the stars are open to us then, but what reaction from the Alliance to our misstep at Lompoc V? Does our defeat affect their intention to press forward? They are none too bold, these sniveling cultures in need of alliance with others. They cannot stand alone, of that I’ll grant the Terrans in the least but these others cannot be trusted. Each race vies to get their neighbor to fight for them, and then share in the spoils without so much as a scratch!’ Bureel’s anger was artificial, and he let a curl of his lip signify his sarcasm. ‘We all use surrogates when we can. What difference between using a captain or a culture? What resolve remains of this Alliance, I wonder? You have spoken with them, Gurthur, what have they to say?’

‘They are unshaken, my lord,’ Gurthur told him. ‘Even the most squeamish of the Galactics realize that something must be done. Fear drives these creatures, and Alexander has instilled it in them anew. They assure me that this small event will in no way affect their overall plans.’

‘We shall see,’ Bureel growled.

When the being known assumed throughout Terra to be President Sadat found out about the battle on the Chem border it was via the media. Terran journalists figured out how to tap into the Galactic broadcasts almost as quickly as the military, and they reveled in such dramatic events. The victory, especially Alexander’s part in it, was the number one topics of interest globally, greatly overshadowing President Sadat. Admiral Augesburcke, who arrived on Terra the following week barely mentioned the battle in his data linked report, reporting only,

“Encountered superior force of Chem rebel ships during rendezvous with loyalist Chem. Location: Cygnus sector, Lompoc V System (Galactic standard nomenclature). Time: 1754Z, 071017 (Terran). Terran ships were threatened and responded in kind. A total of twenty-five enemy vessels were destroyed or captured in the skirmish. One ship lost, the Shark with all hands.”

The Galactic media featured a very different story. The Galactic wires, equally as excited about the dramatic events as their Terran counterparts, were full of the face of Alexander and his defiance of the Chem rebels. Alexander had been asked to withdraw but he instead attacked and destroyed the Chem squadron which dared threaten Terran space. It was a sobering message to the civilized galaxy. Though it was a small engagement it still made a sensation; the vaunted Chem severely beaten by the legendary Terran Conqueror. Consternation swept through the Alliance in waves, and it quickly focused on the small planet in the heart of the Terran Empire. President Sadat was at this moment in contact with her superior in the Hrang system. She had a meeting set up with Augesburcke in fifteen minutes, but the impact of the Terran victory had thrown all of the carefully laid plans of the Alliance into chaos in stark contrast with what they told the Chem rebels.

‘Everything is on hold for the moment,’ the Hrang informed her. ‘An emergency joint session of the political ambassadors and the military liaisons is scheduled for the next decurn. The net result is at least a seven decurn delay, one more week in your time and that is being overly ambitious. I’m afraid it will take that long, at least, to re-engage the invasion timetable, and there are bound to be changes. Alexander’s victory could not have been timed worse. There was finally a consensus and we were moving forward. Now we must rebuild the nerves of half the membership!’

‘Is there a chance the invasion might be postponed or even canceled altogether?’ The President asked anxiously.

‘A postponement of seven decurns after Bureel’s Ascension is already in place,’ the Hrang replied. ‘A cancellation, though, is out of the question. The Hrang, the Seer’koh, the Golkos and the Bael all agree insistently that the Terrans are now more dangerous than ever and must be dealt with immediately. This particular occurrence only accentuates the point. It is imperative we strike as soon as possible in a coordinated and coherent manner. Our problem right now is a strategic one. The proof of the Terran prowess makes a three pronged invasion absolutely necessary. Unfortunately the Syraptose, who are responsible for one front on their own, are wavering. They are not at all confident they can handle even a minor Terran force by themselves. The Quotterim are also wavering. They share the sector with the Bael, and again unfortunately, it is the Quotterim fleet that forms the bulk of that front. Without the Quotterim or Syraptose in the Alliance we have a single front invasion. That could prove disastrous. Therefore, we must re-establish the military cohesion of the Alliance before we proceed. We cannot attack without support, and the prospect of defense as individual empires against Alexander is almost non-existent. That is the situation which requires you to maintain your cover.’

The Hrang spymaster sighed, making a hissing noise followed by a slump of his narrow shoulders. He gave an all too Human shrug, and said, ‘If there is any good news out of this it is the clarification of the Terran power structure. All doubt that Alexander is not firmly in control of the military is now gone. You have that to deal with. You must somehow use you limited power to stir up further antagonism against him, and, if possible, detrimentally affect their military establishment. You have permission to take whatever risks are necessary. Indeed, things have gotten to a point where,’ he hesitated, blinking his large yellow eyes as would an owlin fact, a distant, distant ancestor of his galactic strain of saurians’We find ourselves in a position of unusual peril. The Hrang Master Council has decided to change the status of all of our Terran operatives to expendable.’ He allowed a moment for that to sink in, shaking his head. ‘Understand that we feel there is no choice. The threat from Alexander of Terra is that severe. If all that you can do is to buy us a decand or even a decurnthat is worth your life.’

President Sadat hoped that her superior did not note the sudden cessation of her breathing or the flush of warmth she felt flooding into her cheeks. She found herself unable to do or say anything other than to nod gravely.

Her self control was apparently acceptable, as the spymaster asked only, ‘Is there any danger of exposure from this extension of your mission. The duration of your assignment is not proportional to the exertion. You have perhaps the most difficult of all assignments in the history of Hrang intrigue.’

‘It is negligible,’ Sadat replied with more than a little pride. Even if she failed in the end, her fame would be well worth the cost. Her family would be taken care ofshe stopped herself. If she failed, Alexander would succeed and it would be Alexander who would dictate her family’s fate, as he would that of the Hrang Empire. Her name would not be remembered by her people, that is, if the Hrang survived at all. She refocused her thoughts; she could not afford weakness or failure. ‘I have been exposed to several of their physical exams,’ she replied with new resolve. ‘The latest was yesterday. Admiral Augesburcke complained of an outbreak of disease amongst those of his crew who came in contact with the Chem. I was therefore subject to a routine examination. It is of no concern. Their equipment is archaic, and their Scythian equipment is easily fooled. The situation here is under control. I have increasing support in the Senate towards a peaceful policy, directly opposed to Alexander’s hidden agenda of expansionism. As this body was obviously intended for rubber stamp approval I expect it shall pose quite a thorn in his side.

The spymaster nodded. ‘This revelation of Alexander’s control over the military clarifies the situation a great deal. I now believe the information I have been privy to concerning Alexander’s rise to power is false. The concept of his relative unimportance prior to his rise to power, and the assertions that he was a figurehead in the Terran-Chem conflict are purposeful misrepresentations. I believe the Terrans, and the military especially, have long been involved in active disinformation as a hedge against possible espionage. It has been, I admit, remarkably effective considering I am in a position of considerable importance, more so than Alexander himself, in theory. They succeeded in deceiving us concerning their true power base, even though we knew what that basis of power should be all along. For a time I actually believed that the Terrans were establishing a true federated system of government with legitimate representation. The fact that all of this is an elaborate ruse to confuse us as to their true intentions and to shield their ruler speaks of just how cunning Terrans are. Their weak link in all of this is the public.

‘Alexander went to a great deal of trouble to establish the Presidency and the Senate, and its entire purpose was not as a counter espionage ploy. Terrans want to feel involved in their government. This is impossible in a dictatorship so Alexander has set up a puppet government which he controls from a hidden vantage point. With Alexander’s facade of federated government broken in our eyes, but still intact in the minds of the Terran masses, it is my opinion that I can manipulate public support against Alexander and his wars of expansion. This latest issue highlights Alexander’s true hegemony over Terran policy. The Terrans have an ingrained distrust for dictators. I’ve already taken advantage of that issue, and this latest event will give added force to my arguments. We may be able to impede Alexander, and possibly even stop him, by using his own people against him. If I can create enough fear of a dictatorship and retribution for expansionist acts amongst the people I could cripple Alexander. The extra time may in fact be beneficial to us. We can accomplish a great deal.’

‘Excellent,’ the Hrang exclaimed. ‘I shall then leave you to your efforts!’

CHAPTER 22

Sadat turned off her visiplate and turned on her intercom, ‘You may send in Admiral Augesburcke,’ she said brusquely. The President composed herself. The information from her superiors was extraordinarily helpful, but suddenly a new question arose in her mind. Alexander was in control, she was certain of that, but why then had he allowed her to progress on such a blatant anti-Alexander campaign in the Senate and in her public addresses? Was she elected with an understanding that a certain approval was required of her? She was not privileged with the insight into the office of the Presidency that the Human Sadat might have had, and therefore much of what she did had a certain risk to it. If there were any ‘understandings’ concerning her office she was ignorant of them. On the other hand, she thought, using the Terran phrase, it might be one more elaborate level in Alexander’s architecture of a fictitious, but very believable, government apart from himself. She frowned. She should have kept Augesburcke waiting until she decided a course of action. Alexander’s bluffs and double bluffs were confusing her. The underlying chaos of the situation made her hesitate. Should she take an aggressive stance and deride the seemingly blatant influence Alexander had on the military? That would be consistent with her previous behavior. Or should she overlook it, as a knowing partner in the overall scheme? She decided on consistency. When Augesburcke walked into her office she met him with a scathing remark, ‘Well, Admiral, what is it you are up to now?’

Augesburcke smiled and sat down without being asked. The tenor of her remark was lost on him and he didn’t answer her immediately, but rather studied the President very minutely. The overt expression on his swarthy face was one of indifference, but he was in fact quite pleased. Not a half hour ago he quit the Senate floor. While there he had a few minutes alone with a half a dozen very influential Senators. During that time he informed them of the increasing gravity of the Galactic situation, which the President purposefully ignored and they were themselves completely ignorant. He also showed them some curious X-ray photographs of certain high level officials in the Senate as well as the office of the Presidency. Too much had occurred to these Senators in too short a time for them to be easily shocked, but in this case they were shocked to the point where they demanded the unthinkablefor politicians at leastimmediate action.

Very quickly Admiral Augesburcke calmed them, and cautiously informed them that a solution was already in the works. Their help was required, certainly. That help initiated some heavy soul searching amongst each of the Senators. The solution was a sacrifice, a grave sacrifice, to the system they built, as well as to themselves; but of the alternatives, a military coup was far less palatable, and the present situation was absolutely intolerable. Admiral Augesburcke left assured of each Senator’s heavy hearted but steadfast support. As he settled himself in his chair, he thought he could almost hear the first of a series of speeches being made on the floor that day. The thought made him smile, and it carried over into his remark to the President, ‘Why whatever do you mean, Madame President?’

‘Don’t play games with me Augesburcke,’ she replied harshly. ‘I sent you to personally inform Alexander of the limitations he is subject to, and what do you do? You give him command of your squadron and allow him to embroil us in the Chem civil war! Can you give me one good reason why I should not call for your replacement right now?’

‘Yes, you would need Senate approval for that, and you don’t have it,’ Augesburcke told her bluntly, with just a hint of venom to his words. ‘Madame President, let us understand each other, you are not one to purposefully embarrass yourself in a public fight you cannot win, I know that from your record. I am not one to purposefully embarrass you. I am a professional. I do not have any more control over the interpretation of the media than you do Madame President. The truth of the matter was that Alexander was on board the Iowa at the time the Chem hailed us. We had no choice but to fight, unless we wished to be branded cowards by the Chem and therefore the galaxy. That is an image we cannot afford at this time; even you can appreciate that.’

He shrugged and spread his large hands out wide, growling, ‘What would you have done in my place, creep back with my tail between my legs, leave a weapon unusedbe sensible!’ Augesburcke took a deep breath, calming himself. ‘As we were determined to give them a scrape I simply reinstated our previous agreement with Alexander, which by the way has never been rescinded by the Senate. The Chem thought he was in charge, and that concerned them, so I didn’t disappoint them. I used what I had to pursue a military advantage in the situation. No military commander worth his salt would ignore an advantage, Madame President!’

President Sadat was somewhat disarmed by Augesburcke’s explanation, but she retorted, ‘Admiral, you should not have been involved in a military situation to begin with. I understand, though with great reluctance, your decision to use Alexander in this manner, but I cannot begin to understand why you thought it necessary to fight the Chem rebels!’

‘That was the easy decision, Madame President,’ Augesburcke told her. ‘The rebels were infringing on the Terran frontier, which gave us the right to use force. Their order to withdraw, and that’s what it was, if accepted would have made us very weak willed in their eyes. Remember, we are dealing with a Chem interpretation of our actions, not a Human interpretation. We can forgive prudence with more ease than they can. Signs of weakness and cowardice provoke the Chem; it does not bring them to reason.’

‘How can you be so certain Admiral?’ She snapped. ‘Your experience with the Chem is not considerable.’

‘Forgive me but it is more considerable than your own, Madame President,’ he replied harshly. ‘I am also a student of history as you are. Take our own history for example. When has appeasement worked in the quest for peace with aggressive dictators, nations or even your own culture of Islamnever! Well it wasn’t going to work with the Chem or, looking down the road, it won’t work with the Galactics. You are trying to broker a peace with the Galactics. If I’d given in that would have made your job much more difficult if not impossible.’

‘You let me worry about my job, Admiral Augesburcke,’ she said testily.

‘Then you let me worry about mine, President Sadat,’ he retorted. ‘I was in command, not you. You reminded me once that you claimed no expertise in military matters. This was strictly a military matter, and it required a military decision. The Chem Squadron Commander was not there for a parley. I did, however, not react quite so rashly as you seem to think. I also had the advice of Alexander, whose knowledge of the Chem is considerably greater than my own and of Nazar of the Triumvirate of Chem.’

‘You had a Chem from the loyalists on the Iowa? That was impulsive, Admiral! Though you claim to have made a military decision you have nevertheless affected our diplomatic position. You’ve made it a point to choose sides in this affair which is out of your jurisdiction and exceedingly unwise!’

‘Madame President the peace we made with the Chem Empire was made with the loyalist government, which we officially recognize. I acted well within my bounds to have an Ambassador from a recognized government on board my ship. There is no illegality in any of the actions I took, Madame President. If you are of a different opinion I hope you will investigate it fully by taking it up with the Senate, I will demand no less if you care to pursue the subject. The fact that these actions happened at all, Madame President, is something you must be held responsible for.’

The President was surprised at the Admiral’s charge. ‘This is my responsibility, in what way?’

‘My reason for being provocatively placed on the Terran-Chem frontier is a direct result of your order to me to personally censure Alexander. As Alexander was with the loyalist fleet, an obvious necessity of his position seeing as the recognized Chem government is one in exile; it required us to meet with elements of that fleet. I was merely carrying out your directives, Madame President, as you ordered. The events which occurred afterwards were dealt with efficiently and logically. The results bear me out.’

‘Perhaps, Admiral Augesburcke, perhaps they do, but that does not give me cause to like them,’ she said bitterly. ‘It may be time for us to re-examine the Chem situation. The government of Bureel seems to be fully in power now. The recognizance of such may alleviate any further tensions between us.’

‘Madame President you cannot be serious! Bureel began his rebellion as a repudiation of the Terran-Chem peace! His entire policy is based upon military expansion with the Terran Federation as its initial goal!’

‘That is what he says; Admiral, but you know politics: what you say is not necessarily what you mean.’

‘Not in this case, Madame President,’ Augesburcke cautioned her. ‘For Bureel to deny his entire policy would be worse than political suicide to the Chem. They would demand the real thing.’

‘Spare me the melodrama, Admiral, I think I am well enough versed in politics to read between the lines,’ she told him. Then she stood, signifying the meeting was at an end. ‘Now, Admiral, I think we have both had enough of this unpleasant conversation. I have work to do, and I am afraid I must leave you to your work.’

She sat down and turned to her visiplate, ignoring the Admiral further.

Augesburcke left the President’s office. Admiral Chennebruk met him outside. ‘That was fun! She bought off on our spin of the Lompoc V incident, but now she’s actually thinking of recognizing Bureel’s government! I can’t imagine what effect that will have, but I’ll wager it can’t be good!’

‘What should we do about it?’

‘Let it ride,’ sighed Augesburcke. ‘Let everything ride, even the person who now sits behind our President’s desk. We’ve done what we can, politically. We’ve made our point in the Senate, now let the politicians confuse things furtherthat’s what they’re best at. Hopefully, if it all pans out as Alexander sees it, it will be the politicians who actually do the right thing in the end. They’ll make the right decision and allow us to save Terra and the Federation at once, and not sacrifice one to save the other. Anyway we have military responsibilities aplenty. Let’s get to them.’

President Sadat was still seething with frustration when she tuned her visiplate into the Senate debates. She almost believed Augesburcke’s story, which simply added to her confusion. Was Alexander the chief manipulator of things or wasn’t he? Did even Augesburcke know? She buried her head in her hands, her artificially heightened temples throbbing. Then Senator Church began to speak. She was a very powerful voice in the Senate from Scotland, and she’d thus far been a strong proponent for an aggressive foreign/alien policy. The President’s anger turned to trepidation as she listened to the first of a series of harsh attacks against herself, and her “coddling” to alien powers. The attacks were insistent and increasingly personal. The President realized, belatedly, that she’d been fooled again. Augesburcke had been lying, saying what she wanted to believe, because here was Senator Church using her strident voice against her, but with the words of Alexander. To President Sadat it was finally apparent that Alexander was on Terra, in spirit if not in body. He’d succeeded in keeping her off balance and in the dark until she made her intentions clear. Now he struck with a verbal assault which used her own words against her. The Senate, and soon the people would be inflamed against a President that steadfastly ignored the Galactic realities for her own jealousies of power. It would now be almost impossible to accomplish what just a few moments before she thought almost probable. She must tell her superiors. There was nothing more she could do at this point. Alexander was finally taking control of the pulpit: the Senate. Certainly she’d incited a small, though vocal opposition, but now Alexander was hitting back. He ignored the subtlety of her arguments because he had a firm grasp on the reality of the situation. His attacks were pointed, and personal. Soon, instead of calling for the proverbial head of Alexander, they might call for her own.

Sadat felt completely deflated at how Alexander manipulated her. Everything she accomplished, including the Presidency, did nothing more than fit neatly into Alexander’s own personal design. A very real concern for her people hit her for the first time. Now she understood the fear that Alexander had to draw on, and the brilliance by which she thought he created it. Desperately she wanted to do something to stop it all and begin again, but for that it was too late. All that was left was to put up the best front possible for her people. In this she would succeed. She would carry on with her mission, but she still shuddered to think what would happen to her when Alexander showed, in person, to demand an accounting.

CHAPTER 23

‘I haven’t commanded a ship this small for some time,’ Nazeera said, shaking her head. Her bridge on the scout ship was markedly cramped compared to the great hall on the Kuntok, but this ship was well suited to its purpose. It was small, carrying only a thirty member crew, and was built around two powerful superluminal engines which powered the defense screens and sensor arrays at sublight speeds. The defense screens were specially designed to deflect scanners as well as energy weapons. These screens minimized the risk of detection, especially when the scout ship did not use its own scanners. This fit Nazeera’s need perfectly. She didn’t care about what was out there; she merely wanted to get to Chem as quickly and as secretly as possible. At this task the ship, and Nazeera, were each very capable. She had extraordinary patience, a quality required in any stealthy operation. She also had a keen insight into the actions of others. Alexander, almost always present on the bridge when Nazeera was there, watched numerous times as she unerringly predicted what rebel patrols would do. Space was a vast place, but it seemed amazingly crowded around Chem. The diminishing of the rebel armada not withstanding there were still more than enough rebel ships to make her task demanding. Nazeera picked her way carefully through the formations in abrupt hops. Her dashes at light speed were seldom over a few seconds in length and often depended on her instinctive calculations as to what three or four formations of rebels vessels were doing at any time.

Alexander sat by, unconcerned, while she worked. At times he went aft with Nazar, or Nazeera when she left the helm to Nazar and took one of her few breaks. The Chem taught him their martial arts. He found it relaxing. Alexander also worked with both of them on his knife and sword techniques. His use of these weapons was largely instinctive, and he continued along these lines, honing his reactions until he fought without thinking. This was a concern of his, though he did not voice it. Up until now situations forced him into instinctual reactions, but now he could very well face a more structured ritual in his challenge to Bureel. He did not want to be caught thinking too much.

Alexander yawned. He’d suffered through three decurns of this. It was old. Finally the Chem home world was in view. Nazeera was watching, calculating the final dash that would bring them to the planet proper. It was all out of his hands. Without success he tried to maintain his interest, and absorb the sense of tension which gripped the Chem crew. Instead the thought that came to mind was the realization that they had seven more decurns of hiding to accomplish prior to the Ascension. The expected boredom dampened any thought of excitement. He slipped off to sleep.

Nazeera’s intense concentration was interrupted by a soft snore. Amazed she turned from her command seat to find Alexander, boots thrust out into the aisle, sleeping. She looked around the bridge at the incredulous faces of her crew, and smiled. ‘I suppose things can’t be that bad,’ she told them. ‘It is time for the last leg. Engage the engines on my mark!’

Bureel was suspicious. He heard nothing of Alexander or of Nazeera. True, the Terran Senate was now involved in a bitter debate concerning the direction their Federation was taking, and Alexander’s name was right in the middle of it, but he heard nothing from the man. There was a growing call for the resignation of President Sadat, and the return of Alexander. The Terrans were enamored with him, that was apparent, but where was he? Bureel expected him to accede to the wishes of his people and return, or at least make a speech, but there was nothing. His absence, and the mounting chaos in the visual branches of the Terran government heartened the Alliance. They renewed their vocal threats on the Terran Empire and finally began aggressive patrols on the Terran-Seer’koh/Golkos frontier. This increased the ardor of the Senatorial debates, and the pressure on President Sadat, who still concentrated her energies on attacking Alexander and placating their potential adversaries. Still, there was no sign of Alexander.

Nazeera’s remaining forces stepped up their pressure. To all observers it looked as though the loyalist raids were an all out desperate attempt to somehow open a path to the Homeworld before the Ascension. But as with Alexander there were no reports of her whereabouts. The Kuntok was accounted for, but there were no hails from Nazeera to her own ships, or to those she engaged. There was no report of Nazar either.

Bureel was not stupid, nor was he secure in his power. The fact that Alexander, Nazeera and Nazar were all absent from the limelight was too meaningful to be ignored. It all pointed to a plot. Once he was certain something was afoot it was a simple task to guess the intent. That purpose, and the possibility that the three were already on Chem, caused him palpable discomfort. Still, there was no reason to panic. Bureel didn’t have to worry about a knife in the dark. Although he would easily stoop to heinous acts at need, Alexander had thus far never acted disgracefully, and certainly such a thought would never occur to Nazeera or Nazar. He smiled at the scruples that protected him, as well as gave him advantage. He had nothing to fear from assassins, but they certainly must! He already had a dozen Chem desperate for advancement and ready to compromise their honor.

Gurthur began a planet wide search for the fugitives, secretly of course. When they were found they were to be quietly eliminated. Bureel laughed at his own cleverness. Catch him napping would they? As with everything each misfortune could be turned to advantage. With those three out of the way Bureel would be left quite alone on the pinnacle of power.

Not an hour later the door to his chambers opened and Gurthur stepped in, there was an agitated expression on his face and his steps were unusually quick. ‘What is it Gurthur, you’ve not located them already have you?’

‘Yes, my lord they have been found,’ he blurted, shock clearly written on his face.

‘Excellent!’ Bureel was genuinely pleased. ‘I could not have hoped for such an easy victory, but I shall take what opportunity grants me. They must be very sloppy spies to get themselves caught so quickly. Where did you find them?’

‘My lord, you misunderstand, we did not find them, they came out openly and are currently at the ancient circle of the Plebiscite!’ Gurthur told his lord, bowing his head in apology.

Bureel’s face fell. The Plebiscite was an ancient custom. Every decurn a citizen could enter the ancient stone amphitheater of their ancestors and mount the central stage. There they could speak their mind without fear of retribution. Nothing they said there could be used against them. No troops were allowed in the amphitheater. It was tradition so old that even Bureel would not think of violating it.

‘What are they doing there?’ Bureel’s voice was weak and unsteadyhe knew the answer.

Gurthur turned on Bureel’s visiplate. The media was carrying the event live. There was Nazeera on the stage of the Plebiscite. Already there were thousands of Chem citizens gathered to hear her. She spoke of tradition, and honor; how these beloved values were twisted to serve the ambition of one Chem: Bureel. She demanded, as the chosen heir to the seat of the Elder, an audience before the full Assemblage prior to the Ascension. There was a roar of approval from the crowd. Nazeera had always been popular amongst the masses, and Bureel had but recently come into the picture. Then Alexander stepped upon the stage. The immediate effect he had upon the Chem was nothing less than enthralling. He wore his purple and black armored uniform, which made him appear even larger and stronger than his stout frame. Across his breast and over his shoulder he wore the orange and black Banthror pelt as a sash. Pinned to the sash were the symbols of Terra and the extinct Scythian Empire. The sword and knife of Pantrixnia were girt on his belt. It was a very wild and commanding appearance. His piercing eyes searched the crowd silently. He did not speak for a long minute. The crowd grew restless.

‘You know me,’ he said quietly and with gravity. The people hushed to hear him. ‘You know me, perhaps better than I know you. My opinions on the Chem, such as they are, come from associations with individuals, not from long experience. Yet we Terrans have much in common with the Chem in concepts such as honor, honesty, loyalty and respectability. We feel them; we value them even as you do. It is our shared value of those qualities that affect my outlook on the Chem. Some of my impressions are favorable, even to the extreme, as with the noble Nazeera whom you now call an exile. Some of my impressions are unfavorable, even to the extreme. Let me explain myself more fully,’ and Alexander went into an account of his grievances against Bureel, the sources of his personal challenge, and the reiteration of it in the public eye.

Bureel listened, and he watched it grow into an empire-wide event in the space of an afternoon. His counselors and cronies waited upon him, but they all ended up watching the visiplates in stupefied silence. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the masses and the media were sympathetic to Alexander’s plea for the challenge, and enraptured with Nazeera. As his anger mounted Bureel took it out on his own supporters, ‘What are you carrion doing here, watching, waiting, accomplishing nothing? Are you toads that you will let them harangue my cause, your cause, with no intervention? I cannot confiscate their voices, but I refuse to allow them to go uncontested! Make some use for yourselves and get you down to the Plebiscite. Recant these scurrilous accusations and make our own case known to the people!’

The Chem, wounded in their pride, but mindful of their oaths, obeyed, but without the fervor that Bureel would have wished.

‘Fools, am I to be served by such?’ He asked himself. At length he gained control of himself. He turned to Gurthur, who alone remained, ‘They shall not kick this dog to death, not yet! Broadcast my official policy on the subject of Alexander! Tell the masses that he is welcome to my Ascension, but that I entertain no challenges with a convicted criminal! He was sentenced to death on Pantrixnia, lawfully. Now that he is in our jurisdiction again it is my responsibility to carry out that sentence. I will not threaten his person while in the confines of the Plebiscite, but as soon as he sets foot without he is to be arrested and brought before the Assemblage. There shall the sentence be carried out. Alexander has given up his right for an honorable death. It shall be death by execution.

‘As for Nazeera we shall let her talk! Her collaboration with this alien is enough to taint her message. If the multitude still wants her audience at the Ascension then let it be. I shall not prevent the orderly ritual of my Ascension from becoming a spectacle to my glory, and that of Chem. We shall turn this into an event of historical proportions. A new dynasty shall sprout from this Ascension! Mark my words, Gurthur; I shall bathe the mace of the Elder with the blood of Alexander at my Ascension. He aspired to take my head, did he? So shall the method of his execution be! We shall resurrect an ancient Terran custom. Alexander’s final act will be to bow his head before the Elder of Chem. Then shall I set my foot upon his tyrant’s pate and take my oath! Let all the galaxy watch and tremble!’

CHAPTER 24

The morning of the Ascension was a study of nervous calm not only for the principles involved but for the galaxy as a whole. A galaxy wide war rested on the results of the day; results which could be forecast no better than the weather. Nazeera, Nazar and Alexander were housed in the amphitheater and the throng which gathered every day to hear them speak and to debate with them kept a watchful vigil. Nazeera’s decision to rely on the tradition of the Plebiscite was well founded. The art of the orator suited her, as it did Alexander, and the drama by which they came turned the tradition into a spectacle. Although never ignored by the people, Nazeera’s stature in exile rose to tremendous heights despite the best efforts of Bureel’s emissaries. The people of Chem had never been thus openly addressed by their leaders and her personal appeal fired their ardor. They made a pilgrimage to the amphitheater to hear her speak and to debate with her. Her strength allowed her to take questions from the common Chem and speak of such lofty subjects as policy without diminishing her nobility or their regard. She held them by the millions and millions whether it was there in the amphitheater or on the Galactic networks. The entire civilized galaxy was there to watch the Chem struggle for power, and though Bureel tried once to censure the coverage he was completely unprepared for the hue and cry which followed. After a quiet upbraiding from his supporters for in any way tampering with the intent of the Plebiscite the blackout was quietly lifted.

Yet as enthralled as the Chem were with this debate over the course of their empire it was Alexander who provided the extra draw which elevated this from a simple political event into a happening. Nazeera realized this, and she used it well. Alexander was thrust to the forefront whenever possible, and he took the reins, if not with pleasure, with fervor. Alexander, being Human, was not at all ignorant of the power of the masses. He thought of it, in a detached view, as a play within which he had the opportunity to manipulate the emotions of the audience, as Anthony had at the death of Caesar. The certitude that his views were genuine made his appeals all the more effective, but it was when Alexander walked amongst the citizens in the amphitheater and talked with them, one-on-one, that he gained his following and raised the level of the crowds expectations. He could go nowhere, excepting to sleep, without the familiar whirring of the probe, actually a number of them. They followed him through the throngs of people, watching, listening, occasionally asking or relaying a commentator’s questions. Alexander used the Plebiscite as a politician would a political convention. By the end of the week every Chem, indeed, every citizen in the known galaxy knew Alexander’s views and aspirations as completely as they knew of his adventures on Pantrixnia. They’d known of him from the snippets of Galactic events since, but this was an in depth exploration of his character, and he captivated them equally. He was blunt and forward. He readily addressed the possibility of his own execution on the day of the Ascension, and he met it as if it were a line in a play, a subject addressed with the full knowledge that another ending would actually take place. There was passion in his voice when he talked of Bureel and the challenge, a passion which Bureel could not answer in his taped rebuttals. Alexander put forward, in many different ways, the gulf which lay between his own opinion of the Chem, and the actions of Bureel. He had a genuine liking for the people, their philosophy, their society as a whole, but he could not justify his own position with regards to his challenge of Bureel, or of Bureel’s rebellion against Nazeera and the Elder of Chem. In his mind he was acting much more the Chem than was his adversary.

‘Have I done any less than walk away from my empire to fulfill an honor bound challenge? I have made the effort in this affair, beyond what the modern visions of honor require. Can the proposed ruler of the noble Chem do any less? Can it be that a Chem, who might ascend to the most honored seat in all of Chem, could have his honor measured by practicality, or shielded by a title? I cannot believe that to be so. Having known your Nazeera, and spoken with so many of you, my opinion is far too fixed to believe that any Chem could stoop so low for the sake of power alone. I could not believe it possible that one who gained such honor of representation would do so. I could not believe the Chem would allow such a thing.’ The words had a telling, and predictable, effect. The Chem masses were proud of their heritage. It was easy for them to sway to the side which demanded honor through blood, and with valid cause. Any argument against such a challenge could not be seen in a favorable light. Bureel knew that full well, and so he kept silent on the matter. By the morning of the Ascension there was a heady anticipation that the leaders of their respective empires would meet for a face-to-face challenge. Alexander had so made his case, by being truthful in every matter, that the challenge was more than anticipated; in the minds of the masses it was required. His love for Nazeera, which was the subject of much discussion, and its place in the entire affair could be forgiven. The Chem had the same sense of romance and fantasy as Humans, so it was not a very great dilution of Alexander’s cause. Moreover it was a flaw that Bureel could not exploit because of his own manipulative use of Nazeera. A challenge at the moment of betrayal would have been appropriate, but Bureel had instead chosen to use the knowledge against his wife. This refusal at the justifiable revenge of a disappointed spouse forfeited all right of Bureel to use the occasion. To thus make it public would be to expose himself to additional derision. Imagine, blackmailing Nazeera for his own gain rather than blotting out the seeming dishonor in blood! To the Chem, such behavior in a person of rank would be unforgivable. So Bureel left that subject untouched and the populace assumed a love had grown between their Nazeera and Alexander after her estrangement, which was perfectly acceptable. Neither Nazeera nor Alexander alluded to it openly, but the media was quick to conjecture on their hints and mannerisms. The Chem’s impression of Alexander was thus heightened from admiration and respect to a level of affection. The concept of war with the Terrans, who seemed so compatible in the example of Alexander, was as unwanted as his execution.

When Nazeera, Nazar and Alexander made their way out of the Plebiscite that morning they did so with an escort of nearly a million Chem. The act of arresting the three, on Bureel’s orders, therefore turned out to be a more polite affair than the indignity which Bureel envisioned. The constables merely contented themselves with falling in step and joining the three on their march to the Assemblage. At the hall Bureel and the entire Assemblage waited on them. They had no choice. The Ascension could not take place until precisely noon. Aside from that all of Bureel’s efforts at disinformation and propaganda had failed miserably. It was not that the Chem were any worse liars, at need, than other cultures, as politics breeds that talent; it was simply that the story of Alexander and Nazeera was too delicious to pass up. The media was in a frenzy to feed the masses what they wanted, and all attempts at censure and control were ingeniously worked around. It was almost a festive occasion as they walked through the streets, but the atmosphere changed on entering the Assemblage.

They walked up the marble steps under a bright sun and blue sky, with the adulation of the crowds. When the doors of the Assemblage closed behind them, however, there was a sudden, still, silence; only a few dim lights illumined the hall. The lights were not bright enough to dim the hostile glow of the multitude of Chem eyes. The Chem formed ranks on either side with Bureel waiting beneath the throne of the Elder. Gurthur held the mace of the Elder, the ruddy gold looked as if it had been dipped in blood. Next to the Gurthur stood another Chem, swathed in black with a hood over his head. In his hands was an axe. At his feet was a block.

‘Welcome, welcome!’ Bureel laughed, ‘So you’ve enjoyed your slight foray with the masses have you? My lovely wife, how good to see you once again! I see your estimable brother is still by your side. Welcome Nazar, how I’ve missed our pleasant conversations. And you Alexander of Terra, I certainly welcome you! Why it was from your own memory that I revived this quaint custom of the axe and block you see before you. You departed life once before via this method, how fitting that you should do so again! Oh, but do not worry my noble Nazeera and Nazar, you are Chem after all, and thus we must use a Chem method for you. A visit to Pantrixnia will provide you with and honorable end!’

‘Bureel you would not dare,’ Nazeera started, but Bureel cut her off.

‘Oh, you can stop fuming my dear; your beloved masses cannot hear you now. The Ascension shall be public, for who should wish to shut out that glorious ceremony. There is no need to telecast the mundane details of government, however, such as sentencing and execution! Now, as I am certain you have each had your fill of talking these last decurns let us proceed without further interruption!’ The guards seized them, or tried to. Alexander overpowered the first two Chem that grappled him, but a stun rod stabbed into his abdomen shocked him into submission. The guards disarmed him, and though he remained quite conscious, and the feeling was returning to his limbs, he couldn’t resist the Chem hauling him to the block. The guards forced him onto his knees and then strong hands pushed his head on the block.

The wood was cold and rough under his cheek, but it was the deathly chill of the sharp blade on the back of his neck that triggered a wave of repressed memories. Alexander felt the fear, the helplessness and the anger at himself for being the author of the situation. ‘What an arrogant fool I am; like a fool I trusted in the honor of a villain! A fool you were Alexander and a fool you remain!’

Almost as a cool breeze on a summer day another feeling came upon him; the same feeling that accompanied him to the block five centuries pastfaith. Whatever Bureel took from him today, his faith was unshakeable. Alexander relaxed, ready to meet his death on the Galactic ethernet with just as much calm as he did on Pantrixnia. ‘At least Augesburcke knows of the treachery of the Galactic spies. There will be blood to pay’ but then a wave of doubt hit him. Alexander knew he had the answers to this cosmic chess matchor he thought he did. ‘I didn’t have the answer for this, did I? I was too smart for my own good. Now it’s cost me my life; I pray to God that it doesn’t cost us our civilization.’

CHAPTER 25

The last sound Alexander expected to hear was Nazeera’s defiant voice informing Bureel that a reckoning would be made. He was slightly disconcerted that the axe failed to fall, because now he heard Bureel’s harsh laugh. That spurred Alexander on to one more titanic effort to break free from the block. He strained mightily, using all of his fury and hatred for Bureel to give him strengthit wasn’t enough. His arms and legs were still tingling like they’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t the strength. Alexander tried to ignore Bureel’s boasting andmake his peace, but it was hardoh, it was hard.

‘A reckoning you say; what from the rabble out there? They will do as they are told! I shall deal with them at awhat? What is that again?’ Bureel’s interruption of himself brought Alexander’s attention fully back. Even as they forced him to the block the two Chem who had his arms, as well as every other Chem in the room looked to Bureel. Gurthur leapt up to him. His whisper was so harsh that everyone heard him. ‘The Terran fleet has just appeared out of subspace in the Chem system! Our patrolling squadrons are overwhelmed. The Terrans are even now entering orbit! They demand the release of their Overlord and threaten to bombard the planet if we execute him! Their address is being broadcast to the public even as we speak!’

Bureel fell back in shock and anger, but he whispered breathlessly, ‘Put it on!’

The face of a Terran Admiral appeared on a dozen visiplates. The Chem watched in amazement as he addressed them. The Chem, who had never suffered to let even a trading vessel into their space, now had a fleet of alien warships entering orbit around their home world! With a mixture of embarrassment and anxiety they listened to the Terran.

‘I am Admiral Sampson of the Terran Second Fleet addressing the Assemblage of Chem! I demand the instantaneous release of Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire. This cowardly sentence of execution in the midst of our Overlord’s honorable attempt to fulfill a challenge will not go unpunished if it is carried out! I am authorized to inform you of our peaceful intentions should the unlawful sentence of Bureel be rescinded and my lord’s challenge answered. If you refuse I shall commence with the bombardment of your planet, starting with Assemblage itself! I await your reply!’

‘You will meet only with destruction, Terran!’ Bureel fumed. ‘You have served only to combine the Chem forces under me, the weight of which will crush you!’

‘What greater honor for a Terran than to die in defense of their Overlord?’ Sampson answered, and then he chuckled grimly. With a wicked grin, the Admiral pointed out, ‘There are twenty rebel ships on my scanners; I assume you have more forces at your disposal then that? I have over two hundred and fifty Terran warships under my command with another five hundred in reserve. Unless you can do better, that should be sufficient for our purposes, I think. Before your reinforcements arrive, however, be assured that we shall leave nothing of your planet but a smoking husk should Alexander be executed! If he dies in challenge, then he dies well. We shall bear his body peacefully back to our space. We bear no grudge against the Chem, but no people with honor will allow the execution of their lord by any other hand than their own!’

‘He speaks with truth and nobility, my lord,’ said a Chem from the Assemblage, and he was assented by many voices. ‘We have brought this on ourselves for the purpose of avoiding a lawful challenge. That in itself makes us deserving of penalty. Release Alexander of Terra from this shameful bondage and face him as a Chem, and as our leader.’ There was a chorus of approval, but Bureel snarled and pulled out a blaster. He turned on Alexander.

During Sampson’s address Alexander had the opportunity to recover from the stun rod, and his guards released his arms. As Bureel whirled upon him he instinctively leapt aside just as the blaster flowered. He was just quick enough, as Bureel’s blaster fire glanced off his shoulder and then plunged into the breast of the Chem executioner. A murmur went up in the Assemblage. The members were in shock at the actions of their would be Elder. When Bureel pointed the gun towards Alexander for a second shot several Chem stepped boldly between them. A Chem warrior took the weapon out of Bureel’s shaking hand and threw it away in disgust.

Alexander shook the remaining effects of the stun rod from his head. Picking up the axe of his would be executioner he faced a glowering Bureel. The Chem parted, opening the space between them. His senses had largely returned, though the lingering buzz of pain caused his face to twist in an unpleasant grimace. His smile, therefore, came out grotesquely twisted as he informed Bureel and the Assemblage, ‘This is not about the Chem and their honor. This is not about the Chem and the Terrans. This is about Alexander of Terra and Bureel the Usurper. What say you Bureel? You’ve made a throw for an empire, but there’s only one way to cement it, and yourself into history. Let me go and I’ll destroy you and your empire. Have me slain in front of your peers and your people and you’ll lose the respect of both. Kill me yourself in a duel of honor and you’ve won all you’ve aspired to. You shall go down in Galactic history as Bureel, the slayer of Alexander. You will be the Chem who stopped the Conqueror. What do you say?’

Bureel answered with an inarticulate cry of rage. He drew his sword and knife and flew at Alexander. Alexander had just enough time to strike the sword thrust aside and meet Bureel head on. The Chem had the momentum, but Alexander had the strength. He met Bureel’s lunge and threw him aside. Bureel was quick as a cat to his feet, however, and now he circled Alexander, staying away from those powerful thews while using the reach of his sword to its best advantage. Bureel now fought a classic Terran dueling style with rapier and main gauche, as Alexander timed sweeping strokes from his axe. Bureel’s thin sword did not have much cutting power through Alexander’s armor, but the Chem used it with swift thrusts which Alexander had difficulty parrying with his heavier blade. The style of the foray was not to Alexander’s advantage. Bureel had settled himself down into a fight where his quickness and reach would work well. Alexander had no choice but to press the attack, and get the fight into close quarters.

Alexander lunged forward, swinging the great axe in wide decapitating strokes, but Bureel leapt nimbly away, slashing at him. He had to catch the quicker Chem flat footed, so Alexander took a page from the Banthror’s attack of so long ago. He feigned a stroke, and as Bureel leapt aside he rushed in, catching the Chem as he landed. Alexander parried a weak defensive with the haft of the axe. He brought the head around but Bureel twisted to avoid it. Alexander expected that, bringing the butt end of the axe quickly up from below. The heavy axe blade served as a perfect counterweight and the butt end of the haft driven by Alexander’s muscles smashed into Bureel’s left side. The force of the blow lifted the traitor off his feet and sent him flying into the steps.

Leaping to take press his advantage, Alexander swung the axe down at Bureel’s chest but somehow the Chem slithered aside. The blade rang on the anthracite steps, botching the metal and sending splinters whizzing around the chamber. Bureel stabbed as he scrambled away, but the blade simply scraped along the side of his cuirass. Alexander reached forward and grabbed Bureel by his sword wrist. Holding the slighter Chem fast, he rammed the spike of the executioners axe repeatedly in Bureel’s stomach. The Chem’s breath raced out of his lungs at the impact and a sudden groan came from the Assemblage. It was lost on Alexander, who couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. Bureel dropped his weapons, whining and wheezing. Alexander let go of the axe and wrapped his brawny hands around Bureel’s scrawny. He squeezed, turning Bureel’s face purple and lifting him off his feet.

The Assemblage gasped as Bureel plucked feebly at Alexander’s hands; though not a single soul moved to interfere. Before the Assemblage, the Terran Fleet and the galaxy, Alexander held Bureel aloft and strangled him. The Chem struggled weakly for a few moments, but the throttling of Alexander soon dimmed the light in his eyes. After a long horrible moment, Bureel stiffened with a spasmodic jerk and died.

Alexander threw the body to the floor with disgust, panting for breath. Finally he looked out over the Assemblage. ‘You Chem, I don’t know what to think of you,’ he told them. ‘You kidnapped me. You sentenced me to die on your horrific prison planet. You sent assassins after me. You threatened my people and my civilization. You have lied to me. You have wronged me in every way,’ he stopped and shook his head like a lion. Glowering at the visiplate, his face twisted in ferocious passion, he looked ready to explode. Then, almost inexplicably, Alexander sighed and the anger drained from his face.

When he spoke again his voice was still rough, but now it was measured and considerate, as if he moved on and his anger died with Bureel. ‘As God is my witness, I don’t know what to make of you. Even after all of this, I respect and admire you. Despite your persecutions, I enjoy your company. Despite all that is sane, I’ve fallen in love with one of you. I see you almost as kin, and if the analogy fits with Terran kin than we shall never see completely eye to eye. Yet I would no sooner leave the Chem Empire to fall than I would my own. You’ve something unique and essential to offer to this galaxy, and I as Alexander of Terra do not wish to lose it.’

Alexander gave Bureel a dig with his foot. ‘I didn’t come to Chem as a conqueror, but to settle a matter of honor. There is no reason to change my mind. Chem is for Chem. Only the Chem can decide their own road. That is all I have to say. It is time for Alexander and Terra to step aside and wait upon the Chem to decide their future course.’ He walked up to Nazeera and told her, ‘As ranking member of the Triumvirate I thank you, Terra thanks you for allowing the duty to go forward. We will wait for Chem’s word as friends and comrades. Long live the Chem Empire!’

There was a rousing chorus that echoed Alexander. Nazeera inclined her head, as rulers would to another of state, and then she drew her long, thin knife. Striding over to Bureel, she sank upon her knee. In a flash, she plunged the thin blade through his right eye and into his brain. As if that were not enough, she elaborately pressed a switch in her haft, emptying a lethal poison into Bureel’s already dead brain. Withdrawing the blade, Nazeera wiped it on his cloak. The last thing she did was to cut off the badge of Bureel’s rank. She stood and took this to Alexander. Pinning it on the Banthror sash, she said, ‘You have conquered the rebel Bureel, Take this trophy with you as well as the thanks of Chem.’

‘My thanks to you and to all of Chem,’ he replied. ‘Now, for Alexander, he shall return to his own empire where we also must decide our future course.’ He turned to Sampson on the visiplate, ‘Admiral your attentions are most appreciated. Have your flagship squadron remain in orbit, to pay respect to the new Elder of Chem. The remainder of the fleet is to return to your previous assignment with the knowledge of a job well done and my compliments. With the permission of the Chem government you and a delegation shall attend me.’

The Chem allowed a Terran delegation to descend to the planet’s surface, but they waited until the Terran fleet was beyond the system before the debate in the Assemblage began. The remainder of the Chem armadas joined around the Homeworld, their differences forgotten. Chem was therefore surrounded by a cocoon of its own ships when it debated its future. Alexander and the delegation stayed in a series of apartments, where Chem and Human surgeons attended him; there he held a conference with Augesburcke and Sampson, and learned what transpired after their last meeting.

Admiral Augesburcke and the Admiralty watched the Chem broadcasts from the Plebiscite with intense interest. A clear picture of public support for Nazeera and Alexander formed, but beyond that was the official intention of the Chem government, i.e. Bureel, to have Alexander arrested and executed, without the opportunity for challenge. Augesburcke knew of nothing that could prevent Bureel from carrying out his threat. Once Alexander was in the Assemblage he would be under the control of Bureel’s supporters. His chances were therefore not very promising. Augesburcke was not about to let his Overlord walk into a trap.

‘I was unwilling to give you up Alexander; you are too essential a piece to the entire Terran situation,’ he said gravely. ‘Things progressed just as you foresaw, but in my opinion, the Chem were not above temporarily forgetting protocol as a matter of practicality. As soon as you entered that Assemblage chamber all bets were off. They could take his head for the galaxy to see, and I couldn’t see how we could stop them.’

Sampson shrugged, and said, ‘Our strike fleets already left for the Syraptose and the Quotterim systems, and that was the bulk of our forces. It appeared our hands were tied.’

‘That’s where the geometry of our Quotterim attack helped out,’ Augesburcke said. ‘You planned the Quotterim strike so that it could be diverted after conquering the Quotterim fleet and therefore pressure Chem or GolkosI simply moved it up a bit.’

‘It’s a good thing you did Admiral,’ Alexander said, rubbing the nape of his neck. ‘I was beginning to feel a bit lonely down here. That’s another rescue I owe you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Augesburcke smiled. ‘This will buy us some time with the Galactic Alliance; however, it will also accelerate our political situation at home.’

‘I think that pot is well stewed already,’ Alexander said. ‘Things are ready to blow as they are; all they need is one good push. We have that push, gentlemen, in the person who sits at the President’s desk. We shall allow that person to express her sense of outrage at the presence of our fleet so deep in Chem territory. Then we shall let her hang herself!’

‘Just give the word Alexander.’

‘Admiral, the word is given!’

Later that afternoon they watched the debate on the Galactic network. There were speeches of conciliation and of philosophy, but in a relatively short time Nazeera was elected as the new Elder, as her predecessor desired. The Chem repudiated the schemes of Bureel, upon who the blame for the unprecedented Terran incursion was heaped. It was an elegant solution to a Chem embarrassment.

Alexander did attend Nazeera’s Ascension later that day, and afterwards they were married in Chem fashion. The event cemented a bond between the Terran Empire, which was still forming, and the Chem Empire, which was just recovering. Alexander planned to spend his honeymoon on Chem and depart in several days on Sampson’s flagship; the battleship Thor He hadn’t forgotten his Galactic plans, however. Nazeera had contacts on Chem which kept her informed of the intentions of the Alliance during their time in the Plebiscite. The confusion of the Terran situation, and now the close ties between Terra and Chem, were causing a reassessment of Alliance strategy. He had time on that front. He did have a task to accomplish after the wedding and before their dinner, however.

CHAPTER 26

Alexander contacted Admiral Augesburcke. The Admiral had been watching the days events unfold, as had every Terran. The return of peaceful relations with Chem and the seeming delay of Alliance aggression was welcome news, though, understandably the political situation was in an uproar. The presence of the Terran fleet in Chem space without knowledge, or approval, from the Senate or the President sent shock waves through both branches of government. The debate was heated on both sides of the aisle, but any resolution was delayed until the President addressed the assembly. That would occur shortly.

‘Admiral, I am quite certain that the President and the Senate do not want to delay their debates for the two weeks it would take me to return to Terra. I suggest we put everything forward during the President’s speech. Are we prepared?’

‘Everything is ready, Alexander,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘As soon as she begins to speak we will have a conference link set up and locked. You can break in at any time. The President will have a great deal to say, I am sure, but I don’t think she yet realizes the sensation she will cause.’

‘Understood, Admiral,’ Alexander answered, and he broke the connection with a melancholy air. The long dreamed of Human domain in space was about to lose its most valuable and distinguishing feature, freedom. After this afternoon, if everything went as he planned, Alexander fully expected to be able to demand any action within his empire and see it done. Dictatorship, even a benevolent one, was still dictatorship. He must take care, he thought, to put curbs on his own power. Now would be the time to begin his preparations for leaving the high seat he had yet to ascend. If he waited until established he might not have the strength, or the will, to leave that power behind.

The Senate rumbled like an unbalanced wheel as President Sadat made her way down the center aisle. The events of the day were reaching a climax, and they all knew it. They just didn’t know which way things were going to fall. Alexander’s brash claims over the last week struck some of the Senators as a form of madness; delusions of grandeur carried too far. Others saw a political practicality to it. Alexander did not do any more than to tell the Chem people, and the galaxy, what they thought he was to begin with. It was obvious to everyone, for him or against him, that his risky ploy succeeded. Without it, and probably without the intervention of the fleet, Terra would be at war this very moment with the rest of the galaxy. That the fleet had shown up in Chem space, and indeed so far into Chem space that it presented itself to the Homeworld, was explained as a military necessity. Augesburcke seeded his supporters in the Senate with a short but effective report and allowed the politicians to circulate it. The fleet was there to give Alexander some bidding power, but it was also there, in case he failed, to deliver a fatal blow to the remnants of the Chem Armada. Once the Chem were defeated the Terran fleet could rush back to Terran space in time to counter the Alliance offensive. It was a scenario all too likely to occur if Bureel ascended the seat of the Elder, and it would have put the Terran Federation in dire straits indeed. Militarily there was no alternative. The interesting thing about the entire percolation of information through the Senate was that Augesburcke, and his supporters, went to great lengths to ensure Alexander’s commanding part in the scheme. It was an acknowledgment of credit to another that came with difficulty to politicians and military commanders, and so it carried even more weight. The end result was a Senate which waited with some impatience on a President who would most likely rail at the very figure who, as rumor explained it, had to do the President’s job in the President’s spiritual, if not physical, absence.

When President Sadat reached the podium it was with ill disguised temper. She did not wait for the Senators to settle down, or even for them to take their seats. At once she launched into a headlong attack on Alexander and the institution of the Fleet.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate and citizens of Terra I stand before you on a grave day in the Federation’s young history. It is a day where we must decide no less than the future freedom of our hard won government. Change has come upon us at breakneck speed, and there are some, within the institution of the Federation and without, who are attempting to take advantage of the situation in a blatant grab for power! The principle figure in all of this is a man named Alexander Thorsson, a man whose courage we have all admired, but a man now twisted in his resolve to gain power beyond him. Although named the Ambassador to Chem, this man has repeatedly overstepped his bounds in an effort to embarrass this office and put himself forward. Against all procedures and protocols he has publicly proclaimed himself as “Overlord of the Terran Empire!” It is a claim both presumptuous and mad. We live in a Federation, not a dictatorship, or so it seems. As fantastic as these claims may be, of which maybe we all share some blame since it was Terra who put Alexander Thorsson forward as a rebirth of the Terran and Galactic legend of Alexander the Great; the truly troubling element to all this is the reaction of the Fleet to this man’s prompting. Without any orders from the lawful bodies of the Senate, or the Presidency, we suddenly find our fleets on the point of attacking the Homeworld of a Galactic neighbor with whom we were in the most delicate negotiations for peace.’

President Sadat looked over the Senate with a grave expression. She let her words sink in before continuing, ‘The outcome of this foray is inconsequential when viewed against the breach of constitutional power. The acts of the individuals involved are nothing less than treasonous. I demand, we must all demand, the immediate cessation of any official responsibilities for those persons currently holding positions in the Admiralty of the Federation, as well as Alexander Thorsson. There must be a criminal investigation, and I regret to say, there must be convictions in this matter. The fate of the Federation is at stake!’

‘Indeed it is, Madame President,’ interrupted the baritone voice of, by now, the most recognized figure in the galaxy: Alexander. His image appeared next to that of President Sadat. He wore his purple and black dress uniform without the armor, but he still retained the Banthror sash. The sash now had two symbols pinned on it, the Scythian Empire badge and that of Bureel’s rebellion. Alexander stood, surrounded by the stars on the bridge of a battleship. His demeanor was grim. ‘The fate of the Federation is at stake,’ he repeated, ‘but so is the fate of the Human race. It is a fate which you have wantonly disregarded, Madame President, and for very singular reasons.’

‘How dare you interrupt the President of the Federation,’ she fumed. ‘This is just the form of disregard to which we’ve been subjected to in your mad grasp for this office! I demand that someone cut his transmission!’ When that did not happen she cried, ‘This is a clear attempt at a coup, and a clear act of treason!’

‘It is not an attempt at a coup, the coup has already taken place and the treason is yours, Madame President,’ Alexander said calmly.

‘How dare you!’ she began, but he cut her off.

‘Enough! As Overlord of the Terran Empire, by the authority of the CODOTS council which gave me, Alexander, the charter of control of Federation military personal under the duress of alien interventions, I place you, President Sadat, under arrest for treason!’

‘You have no such jurisdiction even if your charter was still valid,’ the President retorted. ‘There is no alien intervention!’

‘Oh but there is, and you know it,’ Alexander told her harshly. ‘Admiral Augesburcke activate the Presidential podium and begin the roundup!’ Another image appeared behind President Sadat. It was a live X-ray image and it showed the President at the podium. The skeleton was humanoid, but not human in the least. There was a loud gasp from the Senate. The President was unaware of the projection behind her. She stared about the Senate floor in confusion until her eyes followed those of the Senators. When she turned and saw the picture behind her she lost all control in the ensuing panic. Her form wavered, her skin color flushed, and in a moment a Hrang stood before the Senate, not a Human. Immediately four Marines rushed to her; with perhaps more zeal than was called for they forced a gag between her teeth and manacled her. Marines surged onto the Senate floor, accosting designated Senators. Some panicked and changed, pleading with the unfeeling troops. Others attempted to maintain the charade, assaulting their captors verbally but to no avail. After scarcely five minutes every Hrang spy in the Senate, and on Terra, was captured. When the Senate calmed Alexander was still there. He addressed the government and the people.

‘People of Terra, this is indeed a grave day, and a sad one. I do not know where the true President of the Terran Federation is at this moment, or whether she or our Human kin who have likewise been taken are still alive. They had better be. For as I am Alexander of Terra I will pay in blood one million fold should they not be returned. Make no mistake about it, we are at war. The threat of war from the Chem Empire has been averted. However, the despicable actions of the Galactic Alliance, as plainly illustrated here, have infiltrated the very being of our government. We have been threatened, our people taken and replaced, our government subjugated to their nefarious intent. Such is our alien intervention. Terra now faces the military threat of some one hundred billion beings one three Galactic fronts. The situation is grave. I will remain in control of the present situation with the aid of the Admiralty until the Senate decides to revoke or renew the CODOTS charter. That is my statement to you, people of Terra. Let me now engage you to listen to my statement to the Alliance.

‘To all the member states of the Alliance I send my deepest derision. I demand the immediate return of all Humans replaced by Hrang spies. There is no negotiation on this subject. This demand is final and bears catastrophic consequences should it be ignored. I also demand the immediate resignation of all member states from this military Alliance. Each state shall be judged individually on their involvement in this heinous matter. Any state remaining within the Alliance shall be dealt with on a basis of equal guilt. You have twenty-four hours within which to reply. Alexander out!’

Alexander’s image faded and pandemonium erupted within the Senate chambers. Order was restored shortly by the Senators who supported Alexander and the Admiralty as they anticipated the event. Swiftly they snatched the podium and immediately called for the expansion and normalization of Alexander’s charter as the Overlord of the Terran Empire, to borrow the Galactic terminology. This charter was made effective during circumstances of alien interventions and gave Alexander power as the Commander in Chief of all military forces. This was immediately approved, though very few of the Senators really knew what it meant. In the heat of the moment the supporters of Alexander were able to brush all objections or calls for clarification aside. Their emotions were hardly more contained than their more ignorant colleagues, and the same sense of panic gripped them, but they had a course of action they could take and they seized hold of it. They rose above the sea of chaos as powerful figures in their own right, and that as much as any sincere motive leant to their zealous appeals. They put forth another motion which carried later that afternoon. On the seventeenth of September Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire, was elected by the Senate of the Terran Federation as President in absentia.

The adventures of Alexander continue in the third installment of Alexander Galaxus, Alexander the Conqueror …

Alexander Galaxus: Book III

ALEXANDER THE CONQUEROR

by

Christopher L. Anderson

PROLOGUE

From the ‘History of Galactic Civilization,’ University Galaxus, Cambridge, Terra.

The ascension of the Terran species into the mix of Galactic civilization during the thirteenth kicellia is a fascinating study in the possibilities of history. Relegated to an isolated existence in the backwaters of civilization the Terran species seemed destined for no other fate than their own self destruction. Aggressive, inventive and curious to a fault the Terrans were understandably quarantined by their more ‘civilized’ neighbors. This did not prevent the Scythians, within whose space the Terran system lay, from taking advantage of their ignorant tenants. The Scythians, an intelligent semi-telepathic species, owned a niche in galactic commerce as notable as the military career of Alexander himself. In an effort to expand this niche and hold at bay her more aggressive neighbors Scythia mounted a propaganda effort that spanned two kicellia and won them untold riches and influence. The source of this propaganda campaign was the unsuspecting race of Terrans. The Scythians reported Terran ferocity and aggressiveness diligently and to great effect. Terrans, after all, were physically more powerful than any of the sentient species then known and enormously, if destructively, imaginative. Under any light the Terran species was a formidable presence.

The crowning achievement of the Scythian propaganda was the ‘Legend of Alexander.’ Recognizing that their neighbors had fully adapted to a stagnant state of peaceful coexistence they took the career of Alexander the Great, reporting it and amplifying it before a concerned audience. At the last, before his death, the Scythians showed Alexander standing upon a mountaintop, (now known to be the mountain passes before India), but instead of reporting that Alexander’s troops rebelled and returned home the Scythian’s showed Alexander staring up into the night sky. There he saw not the solace of heaven or the beauty of the universe; but amongst the stars Alexander saw more worlds to conquer. Scholars have long argued over what exactly gave the Scythians the idea to use Alexander as a catalyst for their strategy of commercial conquest through intimidation. Some point to the actual verbiage Alexander used, which was recorded along with the image of Alexander at the very time and place where his galactic legend begins. This direct source of knowledge is still a matter of fascination for galactic archeologists, especially Terrans, and it is especially intriguing due to the irony of the words, and their timing. Alexander the Great is heard to say in a most sober and philosophical voice, ‘What lands (worlds?) lie behind matter not, it is the striving forward which matters. Ever forward must we move lest we stagnate and grow rank in spirit. That which lies beyond I shall seek, and I shall have. There is enough beyond to sate even my spirit, aye, even the spirits of my descendants. From this vantage I look afar and I see countless lands (worlds?) to conquer, even to the everlasting and innumerable stars.’

Though there is little doubt that Alexander was speaking of the seemingly endless expanse of Terra his words can easily be interoperated as having a far greater, and to the Galactics a far more ominous intent. The irony of the moment is that Alexander’s career as a general had already reached its zenith. He never advanced beyond India, instead electing to return to his captured empire to avoid mutiny by his troops. Yet even as Alexander’s Terran career ended his career as a galactic legend began. The ‘Legend of Alexander’ flourished in the imaginations of Galactics and every great Terran warlord who followed him was seen in the eyes of the Galactics as seeking to fulfill Alexander’s dream of world, and stellar conquest. One day, it was feared, the terrible troubled masses of Terra would erupt from their tiny world and fulfill Alexander’s manifest destiny. Alexander was more than a legend to the Terrans, it was felt, he was their ideal, their beacon and their destiny.

Who profited from this frightening legend? It was the Scythians, of course. The people of commerce held the key to the lock upon Terra. Should her neighbors push or threaten her Scythia could easily unleash the hordes of Alexander’s descendents upon the galaxy. For a civilization which had enjoyed over thirteen kicellia of peace and prosperity the galaxy would not, could not entertain this possibility. For the next two kicellia Scythia kept the galaxy gleefully informed as to the goings on within Terra. Caesar, the Vikings, Genghis Khan, Attila, Napoleon, Hitler; all became known far beyond their Terran audience, and the galaxy feared. For the time being the Scythians prospered with their uneasy peace, but peace persevered.

Finally, two thousand three hundred Terran years after Alexander spoke those fateful words, the Chem said ‘No more!’ The Chem were the oldest, most traditional, most honorable race of the known galaxy. It was the great wars of Chem expansion which finally ushered in a lasting Galactic peace. Refusing to give in to Scythian demands to open trading routes into their space, the last great commercial frontier to the Scythian juggernaut, the Chem determined to destroy once and for all this Terran threat and pay Scythia her due.

The Chem were not, however, without caution. They realized that their information concerning their prospective foe, Terrans, was limited to that information which the Scythians divulged. Therefore, a Terran was captured from a Scythian experimentation ship and brought back to their Homeworld for closer examination. The Chem, unlike the Scythians, viewed vivisection and psychological experimentation with abhorrence. Their desire was rather to examine the warrior potential of their foe; most especially the character, bravery and fortitude of the Terrans. Such were the qualities of life the Chem valued and understood, and so, in their own way, they put their captive to the test.

The Terran, who coincidentally bore the name of Alexander, was put on trial before the Chem Assemblage. Information on Alexander’s motives and state of mind during his incarceration by the Chem is a matter of tremendous debate and is dealt with in greater detail elsewhere. Some scholars believe that Alexander was already sowing the seeds of his future dominion and orchestrated his own capture by the Chem to study them, as they intended to study him. Although this is the most widely held Galactic opinion it is hotly contested by, of all sources, Terran scholars. Alexander’s own people contend that Alexander was simply an extraordinary being caught in extraordinary circumstance, and that his sole motive at the time was to so impress the Chem with a single Terran that they would not wish to come into conflict with four billion of his fellows. Whatever the reality of history the unbeatable truth of the matter is that Alexander was sentenced to die upon the horrific prison planet of Pantrixnia. Before this sentence was carried out, however, Alexander was interrogated at length by the redoubtable Nazeera, long herself of Galactic fame, though at that period of time fulfilling her duties as one of the Triumvirate who sat beneath the Elder of Chem. Before his exile Alexander and Nazeera come to know and understand each other extremely well, an important point in their future relations. Despite the growth of their relationship Alexander’s exile to Pantrixnia proceeds as scheduled. Upon Pantrixnia Alexander faces an ancient population of specifically selected predators meant to perform his honorable execution before billions over the galactic ethernet. To the amazement of all, however, Alexander does not die in the Galactic version of Terra Roma’s arena. Alexander survived and gained the grudging respect and admiration of the cultures of the galaxy. The efforts of Alexander almost, but do not quite sway the Chem from their course of action. A people driven by pride and commitment they are determined to carry out their original intent, though now with a greater fear for their own civilization than ever before. When Nazeera leads the Chem Armada into superluminal for the genocide of Terra it is with a heavy heart, and an anxious galaxy as audience.

It is undeniable that the anxiety of Nazeera and the galaxy is founded on the legend of Alexander the Great, and brought from the psychosis of legend to the panic of reality by the adventures of Alexander of Terra. In both they perceive a formidable people, but neither provides the factual capability of Terrans when faced a Galactic adversary. Devoid of hard facts the galactic ethernet is alive with talk and conjecture concerning Alexander and the Terrans, and not the least interested observers of the Chem intentions are the Terrans themselves. Since the abduction of Alexander by the Chem the Scythians were busy. They correctly conclude that their fortunes were indelibly linked with the Terrans through their own propaganda. Their obvious course: to make their own propaganda into reality. The Scythians make first contact with Terra, informing them of the threat of Chem, if not the entire truth. With Scythian aid Terra arms for interstellar war at a frantic and unprecedented pace. The vast reservoirs of Terran ingenuity and determination are called upon, and for the first time since Terrans landed on their Moon, all the petty differences which divided the species disappeared. A fleet is hastily constructed to face the Chem Armada. It is as untested as its crews when it sets sail to meet the invaders, but at its helm is a small but frightening reminder of Terran legend. Alexander is spirited away from Pantrixnia-whether by his own design or fate we cannot discern-and returned to the Terran flagship Iowa as the Terran warlord, the dread conqueror of galactic legend come to life.

The galaxy knows the man, and links him physically to the ages old legend of Terran conquest. Therefore, his mere presence adds credibility to the Terran fleet. As the two fleets face each other, a galaxy waiting upon their every move, a suspicious Nazeera ponders the reappearance of Alexander the Terran. Nazeera is widely, and correctly, renowned for her courage and generalship, and Alexander is faced with a seemingly impossible situation: a foe too proud to back down and too powerful to defeat. Alexander therefore strikes a balance. In a brilliant coup, Alexander’s forces attack the Scythians, subduing the empire of two hundred systems before the startled eyes of the Chem. The attack serves two purposes: it establishes Terran military prowess, and because of Alexander’s positioning of his fleets it outflanks the Chem, placing a Terran fleet between Nazeera and her Homeworld. There is, in fact, very little debate as to the author of this strategy, though many military historians insist that the Chief of CODOTS, Admiral Augesburcke, had much to do with it. (The Admiral maintained throughout his life, and long after the death of Alexander required anything but the truth, that the strategies used throughout were in fact Alexander’s; and that Alexander’s grasp of military strategy and tactics far outstripped any in his day, Terran or otherwise). The end result, whomever we choose to believe, is beyond debate. Terra and Chem reach a peaceful agreement, and Terra is suddenly transformed from a solitary planet to a recognized galactic empire.

The next Standard Solar Cycle in galactic history is extraordinarily volatile. It is suspiciously obvious, (and therefore quite doubtful), from Alexander’s own statements and actions that he considered his career as over. He had no desire to pursue the politics of power which would inevitably follow in the new Terran Federation which was forming, but he nonetheless had no desire to completely remove himself from what he termed ‘The game.’ (The rise of Alexander to power in Terra, described in detail elsewhere is a masterful example of the political manipulation of assumptions), Alexander had himself named as the Ambassador to Chem and all other alien cultures. He joined Nazeera on her flagship, intent on culminating a challenge of honor between her traitorous husband, Bureel and himself. In another twist of fate, Alexander and Nazeera fell in love. Bureel, Nazeera’s husband was in the way. Before we become too sorry for Bureel and wrongly associate this with the David-Bathsheba, (Terran history), triangle we must admit to the reality that Bureel was in fact trying to use Alexander against his own wife in order to gain her position in the Chem Assemblage at the expense of her name, her lands and her life. In this he very nearly succeeded, and the second phase of Alexander’s career becomes primarily concerned with the eruption of the Chem Civil War. Bureel raises a rebellion and slays the Chem Elder, usurping his position with the deadly intention of renewing the war against Terra. Alexander and Nazeera recognize that should Bureel be able to hold power until his Ascension-a traditional Chem ceremony tied, as with so many Galactic ceremonies, to a celestial event-then all Chem, loyalists and rebels would unite in a war against an alien race. Therefore, acting on a standing challenge of honor Alexander and Nazeera go in secret to Chem for a confrontation with Bureel.

This challenge of Alexander is a point worth noting, as many Galactic historians still belabor the perceived sincerity of Alexander’s ‘newfound’ code of honor. The pursuit of challenges of honor was generations into obsolescence on Terra in Alexander’s time, and yet not out of memory. The concept was romanticized, though not practiced in his day. It is, therefore, an anomaly that Alexander should return to such an outdated mode of behavior. The explanation is, as are Terrans, paradoxical. It is well documented from interviews as well as the transcripts of Nazeera’s interrogations of Alexander that he underwent a transformation of sorts after being taken by the Chem. Historians can say what they will, but Alexander of Terra was perhaps the best source to visit for an answer to this question. He explained, ‘It is understandable that doubt should be cast on any change of character, but in this case it must be recognized that this change in my character, if any, occurred under vastly different rules. Before my abduction by the Chem I was, as was every other Terran, subject to the rules and regulations of behavior in twenty-first century pre-contact Earth. Certainly no law abiding citizen of the time could expect to defend their honor, so to speak, in a manner befitting situations even a century earlier. It was a time of well controlled emotion, and well restrained self initiated authority. When the Chem abducted me, however, I was released from all of society’s rules and regulations governing behavior. I was, in a sense, free now to govern my own behavior as I saw fit, not as society recognized. This I did. In my own mind I took what I saw as the most noble and best of Terra in total, and tried to live what I saw as a life with a very limited future by those credos. I wanted to teach respect to our potential adversaries and I wanted to respect my own actions. It is no easy thing for any mortal, regardless of species, to look their own mortality in the eye; but to do it and come away respecting yourself is a victory. At the time it was the only victory I could expect, and as it was the only battle with which I had total control I was determined to win it. Everything that has happened since is a reflection of that philosophy and a result of it. Therefore, I would take issue with any insinuation of disingenuous belief on my part. Certainly I would not have been successful through mere bravado. You can win a game through bluffing, but you can’t make a career out of it. Some time or other you must back up your boasts.’

Certainly this return to a philosophy where honor was a central code of conduct was contagious, and it needed to be. If the renewal of the Chem threat were not enough of a problem then the birth of the Alliance made the future of the newly born Terran Federation seem fleeting indeed. The remaining Galactic cultures formed a military alliance in fear of the imminent Terran expansion of legend. They saw Alexander of Terra as the direct descendent, heart and soul, of Alexander the Great and prepared accordingly. The Alliance planned a pre-emptive strike on Terra as soon as they were able, but first they planted thousands of spies in the Terran military and government. By a stroke of sheer fortune one of those spies replaced Faizah Sadat, a widely respected member of CODOTS, and the new President elect of the Terran Federation. The Terrans who were replaced are shipped off to the Alliance, interrogated and executed. Alliance policy attempted to further disrupt the Terran government by using the false Sadat to begin an ardent anti-Alexander campaign on Terra. This policy originated from the mistaken belief by the Alliance that Alexander was, in fact, already the dictator of Terra. What it accomplished is in itself debatable, but what cannot be debated is that this campaign continuously brought Alexander, who was away in Chem at the time, into the focus of political discussion. Remember that at this point in history Alexander is nothing more than an Ambassador without a clearly defined job. Without this emphasis on Alexander by the false Sadat the Terran Senate would never have so ardently debated his merits, and the hardening of his support, which would later become crucial to Terran reaction to the Alliance threat, might have occurred too late.

Again we see Alexander taking advantage of the opportunity. He’d taken himself to the periphery, if not completely out of the political game, but the Alliance strategy thrust him right back in the center of it. This is a logical reaction to the situation from the Galactic standpoint. Alexander led the Terran fleet against the Chem and struck an accord with them. Alexander was the Terran to whom the galaxy had been introduced through the gladiatorial games of Pantrixnia. He was familiar to them, and he was seen in positions of leadership. Then taking into account all the galaxy ever knew about Terrans, that is, through the Scythians and the ‘Legend of Alexander,’ and it all made sense. Of course Alexander was the Overlord of the Terran Empire! It was ludicrous to conclude anything else. It all fit into a nice neat package for the Galactics, and when you view their psychosis concerning the ‘Legend of Alexander’ you understand why they came to these conclusions. Why else would a Terran burst upon the Galactic scene so dramatically? They recognized it, and Alexander recognized it; and he took advantage of it. Alexander spoke as an Ambassador during the Chem Civil War, but he never illuminated the Alliance, or the Chem, on their misconception. His speeches further infuriated the false President, and confused and divided the Senate; which further confused the Alliance. This confusion prompted the Alliance, through the false Sadat to take aggressive risks on Terra in an attempt to create a schism between Alexander and the military, a perceived link which became quite real, and the civilian populace and authority of Terra. The result was a driving of the military to Alexander, in essence for the purpose of a coup. The military realized they would have to deal with a Chem threat or an Alliance threat, possibly both, but were handcuffed severely by the false Sadat’s control of the Senate. Seeing a very real possibility of invasion they again went to Alexander, who seemed to be the only Terran able to grasp the entirety of the Galactic situation. On that fateful day Alexander covertly agreed to become the head of a coup, and he defeated a Chem rebel squadron at Stellaris; at once giving Terra a future, and giving the Terran fleet instant credibility throughout the galaxy.

The clash of Terran and Chem rebel forces without Senate or Presidential approval and with Alexander visibly at the helm caused a firestorm of political controversy, but a vast outpouring of popular approval. The Senate divided into two camps; one which saw Alexander as a threat, and another which saw him as a leader. Again Alexander was the center of political debate. As this debate raged in the political circles Alexander, now with the obvious support of the fleet, goes to Chem and kills Bureel in a duel of honor. Nazeera ascends to the seat of the Elder and marries Alexander. On Terra the political scandal over the unauthorized presence of the Terran Fleet in Chem space rises to crisis proportions, and the Alliance stands prepared to take advantage of the ensuing chaos. At the pinnacle of the crisis, however, Alexander exposes the Alliance’s espionage including the false President herself. The true danger to Terra is brought home by Alexander and his supporters easily gain control of the Senate. Alexander is elected President of the Terran Federation and named Overlord of the Terran Empire.

Yet even as Alexander ascends to power the fearful forces of the Alliance mass upon his borders; determined that he will not extend his empire any further into the galaxy. As the stability of a single voice reigns over a yearning and adolescent Terran empire, the chaos of war gnaws at her maturity.

CHAPTER 1

The chill dawn mists of Medieval Yorkshire seeped into Alexander’s chain mail hauberk, turning it into a clinging steel succubus which drew the warmth from his very marrow. He shivered against his will, succumbing to the gnawing doubt in his mind as well as the cold. For a moment his brow furrowed. What was it that could cause him consternation, he who warred and raided from Kiev to Alexandria, and all the known world throughout? This was England, his second home. The damp mornings, the lush interior, the white coasts; all were as familiar to him as the forms and faces of the two sons who slumbered at his feet. What then was this strange and troubling brew that was this voyage? Why had Julienna, his wife of Russia and many years, borne that haunted visage at their parting? Thanking him for their times she kissed him tenderly, asking only that he send her sons home to her, alive and whole if that may be. Then she crossed herself and blessed him.

The latter was an act wholly unique in Alexander’s experience with that strong and noble woman. He’d never embraced her faith, comfortable rather with the vibrancy and mysticism of his old gods. That his sons were won over to his mother’s religion never troubled him, for in the core of his belief’s was the concept that each man or woman must find their own path. ‘Ah, my dear wife what troubles you?’ He asked her kindly, a scarred hand on her cheek. ‘This is not the first trek you’ve sent me off on. I am not ignorant of your far seeing eyes, but even if you see my doom ahead what is there to worry of? The knowing of it would not change my course. Fearlessness is the best attribute for the man who pokes his nose out of doors, and worrying over it amounts to nothing. The day of my birth and the day of my death were written long ago.’

‘Are you then so ready to leave this life you lead with me, dear husband?’

‘I would sooner lose my arm than sacrifice a single day with you, dear wife,’ he smiled, ‘but I have lived my life by my word and by my actions, and I can no sooner change than I can dream of another woman’s face. Should I stay by your side every moment to wither with age and apathy, until the only vestige which remains of the man you’ve loved these thirty years is the dull flicker in his eye? Shall Hel lead me to her dying table so that against my will I one day set sail against my patron Thor? Ah, I know that which you hold for my mummery; you and many like you. I am an obsolete man from an age now nearly gone by it seems. Yet I am what I am, and the thought of such is as foreign to me as are the mountains of the moon. Can you not understand that much?’

‘I have understood that much of my husband for all these years, and I’ve never sought to change it,’ she told him firmly, drawing the bearskin cape closer about his neck. ‘That my soul seeks other answers lessens not my love for you, nor my thought of you. May your Thor watch over you then, my husband, and may he lend you his strength when you meet your enemies. If you should fall then I shall know it, husband and I shall know that you shall pass nobly. May your god then offer you a drink from his own horn. Drink to me then, husband, and remember our lives together!’

‘This life and those that follow, Julienna,’ he told her firmly. ‘By Mjolnir’s shaft one life with you is not enough!’

He smiled at the thought, though his heart was heavy at the parting. He glanced down at his sons, an almost fatherly glance; seen through a rough beard and a scarred face. Finally he shook his head and growled, ‘Bah! Your fears are ill founded, dear wife, and ill timed. What is left here but to vanquish poor Harold and establish once again the Danelaw to these isles? There is little enough to do that is not already done!’ Alexander threw the corner of his bearskin over his shoulder and turned to the South, anticipating the coming march, and victory. The grey orb of the Sun was hinting at an early appearance, and the marching downs of Yorkshire near the village of Stamford began to separate themselves out of the glooms. The morning was heavy with dew, with a dull rumble to it, almost felt rather than heard. Alexander grimaced at the tremor, and his hand sought his beard, entwining his fingers in its grey streaked rust with habitual doubt. The act, as natural as breathing to the Viking in this life struck Alexander with a sudden awareness of the very strangeness of his situation. The question of his very being rose in his breast, but it went no further. The exterior sensations of the world overwhelmed the inner perturbation. The rumbling grew into a measured tramping, unmistakable to the veteran’s ears, and the mists disgorged the peaked helmets and dull mail of thousands of Englishmen.

Alexander had no need to raise the alarm for at that instant the strident calls and shouts of his fellow Norwegians ran about him. He rushed back to his sons, rousing them with haste, and shoving axes in their waking hands. Only so much time did he have to grasp his own axe, faithful ‘Ragnarok,’ a blade named after the ending of the world, and sling his shield over his muscled arm. He turned and the English were upon them. A ragged line of half naked Norse absorbed the English onslaught. For a moment they held. ‘Ragnarok’ flew singing in his hand to shear through the stout links of English mail and crunch into a man’s chest. Warm blood showered his face, and he tasted the salty nectar of battle upon his lips. His battle rage awakened and his voice rang out. To and fro wove Alexander’s axe cleaving limbs and heads, showering his foes with their own blood, but for naught. The inexorable flood of Englishmen caught the Norwegians by surprise, without a shieldwall, and for the most part without armor. They were driven back pell mell upon the tiny stone bridge of Stamford, and the retreat turned into a route. Alexander and his sons formed a resolute knot of Vikings denying the English the full measure of victory, but steadily they fell back. The fatalism of Alexander’s religion and the wisdom of Julienna’s prescience seeped into his thoughts as he fought. The doom of the day sprang with renewed fury when his boots rang upon the wood beams of the bridge. Alexander reached the summit of the span, Norwegians falling all about he and his sons, when his mind congealed upon a single thought. He turned to his sons, as much as could be done, and roared to them, ‘Flee now upon your mother’s life, and stand not with me! For I shall take not one more step from this spot, nor return to our home! Flee now with your lives, my love and my pride!’

‘Father!’ They said as one.

‘Begone!’ He thundered. ‘Obey my wishes if love you still bear me!’ Alexander was back in the midst of the męlée, completely absorbed in the necessity of the moment. With his ears, however, he listened for any further recanting of his sons, but there was none. He risked a hasty look behind. They were gone. Then Alexander laughed, and all remorse, hope and humanity left him. As the last of his comrades fell beside and beneath him he raged and fought with no regard for life or the future. The battle before him slowed in his eyes, and the English moved as if in water. He sheared their heads from their shoulders, their arms from their elbows, their shins from their knees. He reveled in the hot gore that bathed him, and guffawed at the scratches of their spears and swords. When finally he realized he was alone amongst the Norwegians on the bridge and that a host stood against him, the rising Sun glinting redly on their steel breasts; then he knew it was time to die. But he did not die. The sea of English swept up to him but not over him. He cursed them time and again, questioned their manhood, taunted their ancestors, but still they advanced and he hewed them down. His limbs felt as lead, and his blood was so hot that he feared it would spurt forth as a fountain from his temple, but he did not fall.

Alexander watched the Sun rise amidst the rising mound of dead, and as the star burned away the mists the grey steel clad Englishmen changed. Now as they advanced upon him they were of every strange and terrible form imaginable. Some were tall and pale with glowing orbs for eyes; some small and frail with large skulls and dark bottomless pits as eyes; some were reptilian; some indescribably strange. None were human, however, and Alexander fought now with a sense of wonder. The rise and fall of the battle took him across the span of the bridge, and below he could spy the grisly mounds of dead beings, bleeding strange blood, spilling strange organs and brains. The sight distracted him, and the motion of the battle regained its speed so that he could hardly keep up with it. Spears pricked at him and, swords cut him even as his notched blade wreaked its fell harvest amongst his weird foes. Then a sharp burning shot up through his loins from below. Alexander glanced down to see a tall flaxen haired being thrusting upwards from the bloody river with a long spear. The weapon found its way beneath Alexander’s hauberk and transfixed his bowels. Alexander’s blood turned cold, and he saw the being grin maliciously at him. A final spasm of rage filled Alexander with a remnant of strength and he heaved a foe over the side of the bridge and upon his tormentor. The gleeful expression of the alien turned to surprise as he was crushed by his comrade. Alexander staggered back, attempting to remove the biting spear from his body with one hand while keeping his foes at bay with ‘Ragnarok’ in the other. It was to no avail. His foes rushed upon him and he was born, torn and pummeled, over the edge of the bridge and into the grisly concoction of water, mud, corpses and gore. Alexander closed his eyes, feeling the life breath of his body leaving through gaping wounds. He waited for the sleep of death to envelope him, but it did not come. When finally he opened his eyes again the bridge at Stamford framed a vibrant blue sky. Julienna leaned over him. It was Julienna, but she was different. She wore the skins he’d caught for her, the jewelry he’d plundered for her, but her flesh was now dark, her eyes were without pupils and they glowed blue. It mattered not a bit; he recognized her without hesitation. ‘My dear wife,’ he whispered. He had breath for no more, and he could not move from the carrion mound.

She looked at him questioningly, and he wondered. Was she not proud? Had he not died well? Did his sons, perhaps, not return? Did she think he’d broken his word? She shook her beautiful head and answered his thoughts, This is not necessary, but redundant. Your sacrifice will not help Terra this time. You must live, Alexander. The answers to all are in your brain. Terra and the Galactics need you alive this lifetime. Do you understand?’

Alexander screwed up his face, or tried to. There was no feeling in it. He tried to raise his hand to wipe the blood from his eyes, but nothing happened. His eyelids fluttered with the effort, and his attention wandered against his will. Words brought him back to the blue sky and the red streaked stone of the bridge. Julienna was no longer there. In her place were ten strange people, including the flaxen haired spearman who had brought him down. Alexander tried to speak, but as before he’d no breath for it. He hoped his eyes expressed his disgust at such a cowardly attack. Apparently they did, as the flaxen haired one’s long face effused laughter.

‘However your fall may be accomplished is to our advantage,’ the flaxen haired one told him. ‘Through your own pride shall we defeat you. The legend of your fall will be reflected in our telling, and no glory shall come to you for it. In the end you shall fade from memory. Terra shall live only for the glory of Golkos.’

Then the next figure repeated the litany, ‘Terra shall live only for the glory of Seer’koh.’

So it went on until all ten strange people repeated their curse. Then, finally, Alexander awoke. The beautiful face and figure of Nazeera again stood over him, but she was dressed in her usual flattering suit of ceremonial armor. Beyond her were the steel bulkheads of their stateroom on the Iowa.

‘Well are you going to sleep the morning away?’ Her voice was energetic and impatient. ‘The shuttle is waiting to take you to Terra this moment. What’s the matter, you said you could hardly sleep for waiting to play this golf game of yours in this special place, this ‘Saint Andrews.’ I thought you’d be up hours ago. Is anything the matter? By my mind you look half dead!’

‘Then I look better than I felt a moment ago, my dear,’ Alexander told her.

‘Really, whatever are you talking about?’ Nazeera asked, almost concerned.

Instead of answering Alexander looked at her and asked, ‘Nazeera, did you ever give thought to the possibility that some of your past lives might have been spent as a Terran?’

‘What a strange question,’ she mused, crossing her arms at the mystery in her man. ‘You really don’t know much about the universe, do you my husband? It is entirely possible, of course, but it is difficult to identify specifics. Beings do tend to spend most of their life experiences in one, perhaps two worlds. More than two is extremely rare. But looking at the surface memories is no help. You see the one consistency in past life memory between all races is the homogeneity of the memory. All of mine, were I to look at them, would seem to me to originate from Chem, just as all of yours, I know for a fact, are Terran in setting. There seems to be an innate need of identification to a single environment, even in the past life experiences which as a rule do not operate above the subconscious level. Yet if you study these memories you will find that certain ones, like dreams for instance, never make any sense. It is because of placement, not memory. In other worlds and other times they make perfect sense. It is these memories, when correlated to specific historical events on other worlds, which are quite persuasive in estimating the depth and breadth of extra world experience a being might have.’

‘There’s a mouthful for my brain this morning,’ Alexander groaned. He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water brought him slowly back to life. When he emerged Nazeera asked him what spurred his curiosity. He told her his dream, and she frowned. When he asked her why she disliked the answer she crossed her arms and gave him a thoughtful look.

‘You have had what the Chem call ‘Neh Pah,’ Alexander: the premonition. Life, as the Universe, moves in cycles and often we ourselves repeat certain cycles of behavior. Your subconscious is warning you that your past behavior may no longer be applicable to your present situation.’

Alexander knew where she was getting at and even, to a certain extent agreed with it. He should distance himself from risk, as had all modern generals and leaders. It was a simple and obvious observation, but it was no longer that easy. The old Alexander could have accepted the necessity, but that Alexander had, for all intents and purposes, died on a Scythian experimentation vessel. The Alexander who was reborn in the face of galactic and personal peril was so utterly driven with honor that such a practical necessity had no real meaning. Alexander knew that honor demanded no regard for personal safety, only steadfast courage. Therefore, though he knew the meaning of his dream he could not accept it, openly at least. His answer was caustic, ‘My subconscious betrays me then if it desires me to place my own safety above that of Terra. I had not known I had such weakness within me.’

‘Wisdom is not weakness, Alexander,’ Nazeera told him, as he expected and hoped she would. ‘Often the most difficult choice is that which follows the wise action over that of glorious disaster. Many an honorable defeat is remembered over the cautious calculated victory. Yet who triumphs in the end?’

Alexander smiled thinly at her, ‘It seems that my brain and my wife are telling me the battle for Terra has grown beyond the requirement of my personal combat. Can this unfortunate evolution of galactic ambition be true?’

Nazeera pursed her lips, ‘It is as true as you know it to be, Alexander. Though I flatter myself that you thought my acceptance was important enough to wheedle from me. Let me ask you, how many schemes do you pull upon your wife? Was this dream of yours true, or have you simply been using your knowledge of your past lives to expose my thoughts?’

Alexander laughed, pouring himself some coffee. ‘No, I’ve never really tried to pull anything over you, my dear,’ he told her honestly. ‘You are far too crafty for me to outwit. The dream was nothing but the truth, and I was concerned with how you’d interpret it. I came to the same conclusions myself and found them biased. I wanted another opinion; one I could trust more than my own. Therefore, I confided in you. That, my dear, is the extent of my scheming.’

‘Very well, the explanation is satisfactory,’ she told him. Taking a proffered cup of coffee from her husband, she’d developed an affinity for the brew, Nazeera asked, ‘Why do you have doubt over your present course Alexander? You have, after all, made the decision already. Your strike forces are almost two decants enroute to the Syraptose and Quotterim Homeworlds. How you pried yourself from their helms I do not know. I expected that you would most want to be on the bridge when your forces enter the orbits of your adversaries Homeworlds. Such would be the most glorious moment for a conqueror.’

‘If I am a conqueror then I am a reluctant one, my dear,’ Alexander told her. ‘The fact that the Alliance planned to invade Terran space upon the outcome of the Chem Ascension spurred this action, not my desire for conquest. The space we have opened to us now is as large as we need for the time being. From what I know so far the Scythians were hardly interested in the worlds within their space, other than those habitable planets along their trade routes. Even then their scientific studies of those systems are minimal. We have much to do in the next century or two, and the administration of additional worlds or empires for that matter is purely impractical. I cannot get anyone in the Alliance to listen to that skein of philosophy, though. They have an image of Alexander ingrained in their minds, and nothing I can do will change that. It is that image which causes them to mass at my borders, ready for invasion and war. I cannot beat back their invasion. Therefore, I must attack, and attack as Alexander. It seems to me, my dear, that the only way I can protect Terra is to make the fears of the galaxy come true, and conquer it. So be it! If that is what they demand, that is what Alexander will provide!’

‘I wonder, my dear Alexander, when the galaxy lies at your feet, as it no doubt will, if your appetite will be quite satisfied. Can Chem remain free and sovereign in Alexander’s galaxy?’ That old glint of fear tainted Nazeera’s blue eyes, a memory, perhaps, of her first encounter with Alexander and the threat of Terra.

Alexander smiled, and all her fears melted, ‘My dear Nazeera, I have conquered all of Chem that matters to me: your heart.’ With that said he approached her with obvious intent.

‘There will be none of that, Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire!’ Nazeera ordered, stopping his amorous advance. She pointed him to the dresser where he’d laid out his clothes the night before. ‘Get dressed. You have a golf game to play!’

CHAPTER 2

Captain Dolgas Set of the Syraptose cruiser Kolgar awakened grudgingly to the buzzer in his cabin. Sleep came with difficulty in these days of tension and he relished what little he could get without interruption. Over the past galactic decant a chaotic mass of communiqués flooded the ethernet as the Alliance fleets massed for the offensive on the Terran Empire and their Overlord, Alexander. Set had no illusions but that his civilization was in peril, and though he viewed the invasion of Terran space with disquiet, he drew comfort from the holographic images of his family that glowed from the tiny bulkhead niche beside him. He said a quiet good morning to the image of his wife, a practice he’d followed for as long as he could remember, and then hit his comm switch.

‘What is it, another communiqué from headquarters?’

‘No, Captain we’ve picked up a superluminal signature on the long range scanners,’ the officer answered.

‘Commander, there are twelve different squadrons enroute to the rendezvous from this sector alone, are you certain it’s not one of those?’ Set replied in weary exasperation, this was the third time this night he’d been awakened.

‘Fairly certain, Captain,’ the Commander responded. ‘This is a very large signature, and the projected course is not towards the rendezvous coordinates.’

‘Where are they going?’ Set asked wearily.

‘Mira Prime, Captain: they are directly enroute to our Homeworld.’

The cold withering grip of fear clutched his stomach.

‘Have the squadron drop out of superluminal, and tie in all sensors to the signature. Keep the shields down; if these are hostiles we can’t afford to let them see us. I’ll be right there!’ He cursed himself in his own fear. Certainly Alexander had proven himself to be an astute general; one did not defeat the Chem through luck, but could even he move so fast, and so daringly? That all depended on his response to the Alliance threat, which Set admitted to himself, was the most public event in the galaxy. The Alliance strategy, as no doubt Alexander knew full well, was quite simply to overwhelm the Terran fleet with numbers. The Syraptose would attack Terran space simultaneously with the Quotterim-Bael fleets, and the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets. Alexander, theoretically, could not be everywhere at once, and by attacking from three different sectors simultaneously he could not concentrate his forces on one opponent without losing territory, time and position to the other attacking contingents. If he thinned his forces enough to engage two, or even all three strike arms, then he risked defeat. A significant defeat of even one of his defending fleets would mean the war was lost; but what choice did Alexander have? That was the question which bothered Set, and now, on his very own sensors, was the possible answer. Could the sensor signature be a Terran fleet? Could such an act of bravado, and risk, be possible? Set didn’t know the answer, but he feared he knew it.

When Set arrived on the bridge he saw that every one of his ten ships was gathered around the Kolgar. Beyond his squadron the sensors revealed a shadowy blur amidst the stars: a superluminal signature. The sensors picked up the distortions in the space-time continuum caused by the superluminal signature, but there was little more specific information to be gained. They could compute speed, course and an estimate of the size or number of ships by the characteristics of the distortion, but little else. This limitation on sensing superluminal targets was true whether the sensing ships were themselves at superluminal or travelling at less than the speed of light. The data was much better the slower the observer was travelling, however, as its own distortion pattern increased exponentially with speed, thus diminishing the ability to receive signals. Sitting in space, silent and almost completely motionless the Syraptose ships were in the best possible position to get a detailed sensor signature. The Captain made his way over to the sensor board and viewed the raw data as it came through.

The Commander approached him, reporting, ‘Course remains as briefed, towards the Homeworld, at a speed of five point seven-three. We are currently twenty-one parsecs from Mira, and thirty parsecs within Syraptose space. Whoever it is they are deep within our territory, and they’ve been here for some time. At their current speed they would enter orbit around Mira in one point two decants.’

‘Ship count?’ Captain Set asked.

‘Inconclusive,’ the Commander answered, ‘The energy signature of the disturbance remains fairly constant, but the volume changes with great variability. We’re running a sensor diagnostic at this time.’

‘What does the energy signature suggest, taken by itself,’ the Captain asked sternly.

‘It would take a body of between one hundred and three hundred ships to make that signature,’ the Commander replied.

Captain Set raised his hands to his temples and rubbed them vigorously. ‘Very well, maintain strict ethernet silence. If they observe us none of us will ever see home again. They’ll have a hard time picking us up through their own distortion, though. Meanwhile we’ll watch them pass by and record them in our sensor logs. When they’re out of range we’ll relay our findings to the Homeworld. Commander, just to be on the safe side I want you to launch a relay probe with our logs. Set it with a one decurn delay.’

‘Yes sir!’ The Commander answered returning to her station.

‘Let’s hope this is not what I know it is,’ the Captain muttered, returning gloomily to his chair.

The Commander took a seat at her station and programmed the relay probe. After the Kolgar’s data logs were loaded she took one of the sensor screens to track the probe and launched it. A slight surge of relief replaced her general malaise as she watched the small metallic sphere jet into space following a curving path away from the squadron. When it was clear of the last ship she reached for the board, intending to switch the sensor from the probe back to the superluminal signature. Suddenly she froze. As the sensor followed the tiny probe the panning camera suddenly revealed a starry background filled with a swarm of menacing silver-white ships. The monstrous shapes and the great size of the vessels left no doubt in the Commander’s mind as to what she saw, but for an instant the breath stopped in her lungs. A warning cry finally erupted from her throat.

Every pair of fear fraught eyes turned towards her. Immediately Captain Set punched the sensor panel to the main bridge viewer; just in time to see the first massive bloom of the Terran battleships. Before another breath could be drawn the bridge exploded in light. There was a rush of superheated wind, only to be replaced the next moment by darkness and cold.

The forty ships of the two Terran squadrons which dropped out of superluminal and stalked the Syraptose overwhelmed the unfortunate aliens in a single surprise broadside. So swift and furious was the assault that no ethernet messages escaped from the doomed ships. After the first salvo each ship was left drifting and powerless, but the Terrans continued to fire. Under the concentrated blaster fire from the huge battleship and cruiser projectors the unshielded hulks were vaporized in a matter of minutes. Then, like ghosts in space, the ships turned and disappeared over the superluminal horizon. One vessel remained: a destroyer. She retraced the Terran’s path, her guns spitting out fire at vagrant pieces of metal. She continued this practice for a quarter of an hour, until she ran across a small silver sphere. With one final blast she vaporized the ball, and then she disappeared. The cloud of gas and minute particles slowly expanded and cooled. There was nothing else to tell an observer that six thousand Syraptose and their eleven warships ever existed.

CHAPTER 3

The heavy stillness of the buzzing English atmosphere belied the tension in the air. Alexander was on Terra again for the first time since the Scythians abducted him and set into motion an epic saga of events which forever changed the face of the galaxy. It should have been a joyous homecoming for the newly married and widely adulated Terran Overlord, but the twisted consternation on his impassioned face gave evidence for a completely different state of mind. His eyes, glaring brightly as green jewels in the sunlight, wrapped within brows furrowed with forced concentration, followed their prey with trepidation, but then suddenly bloomed wide with hope. Alexander’s face lightened with the new evidence of some surprising deliverance, but just as suddenly the fiery stare was as filled with violence as determined as any during his time on Pantixnia. Alexander leapt as if shot, and instead of the relaxing whisper of the warm spring air amidst the grass the Overlord treated those within hearing to a half strangled series of vehement curses. After a moment his temper abated and he stood silently fuming. The realization that his chip had rolled to within feet of the pin only to stop and return to the ‘Valley of Sin’ whence it came struck him as completely as if he’d been informed that the Alliance Fleets were now entering Terran orbit.

‘I don’t believe it!’ The knicker-clad Overlord told the assembled host. ‘I struck the blasted thing as hard as I dared! How many times did you mow this green this morningtwelve? That’s a fine way to treat the Overlord of the Terran Empire!’

‘That’s what happens when you leave the ball below the pin,’ the club professional told Alexander with a wry smile.

‘There’s no way to get it within ten yards of the pin from here,’ Alexander complained.

‘Sure there is,’ the golfer explained, ‘Rocca did it. You just need to pray and take your medicine!’

‘Right,’ Alexander grimaced, and then glancing at the golfer asked, ‘Mulligan?’

‘Not a chance,’ the professional told him pointing to where he began this latest adventure, ‘back down you go, Mr. Overlord.’

As Alexander trudged despondently into the depths of Saint Andrews famous, and treacherous, eighteenth greenside chasm, his spouse watched him with somewhat strained interest. At length she turned to Admiral Augesburcke, who, like herself, stood somewhat off to the side watching the spectacle of Alexander’s golf game. With raised brow the beautiful Chem Elder mentioned, ‘This custom of the Honeymoon is exceedingly strange, Admiral. Is there some significance to this ritual of male sport and female spectatorship? I cannot help but wonder if there is some innate meaning to this game of golf which I do not grasp. Does the witnessing of one’s male spouse struggling with this seemingly simple game normally produce a sexual arousal in Terran females? If so I fear I shall disappoint my husband tonight!’

‘What, you mean you do not find this stimulating?’ the Admiral asked in mock surprise. ‘Believe me, Nazeera, the bond between the Terran male and the game of golf is ancient in the extreme!’

‘I am afraid I do not have the necessary emotions involved,’ lamented Nazeera. ‘Maybe it is Alexander’s lack of success which contributes to my apathy. The other Terran is scoring considerably quicker than my Alexander, and with fewer strokes of his mace.’

‘Ah, but that is superficial. The true art in the game, Elder, is how creatively you get your ball into the hole and how much of the course you use in the process,’ Admiral Augesburcke told her. ‘In that greater aspect Alexander is showing his usual brilliance.’

‘I see,’ Nazeera replied, and then asking, ‘but is not the other Terran a professional at this game? He does not seem to be as adept at this, this creativity, as Alexander.’

‘I’m certain he’s just being polite,’ Augesburcke smiled.

‘Ah, finally something about this that I understand,’ Nazeera grimaced. Her joy swiftly turned to anger, however, as she bumped into the small Scythian who was part of Alexander’s entourage. The Scythian almost squealed in fright, scuttling away only to run up against one of Nazeera’s Chem officer’s. The warrior growled with distaste at the small being, who finally succeeded in retreating to the relative safety of its golf cart. The Chem Elder snorted in irritation at the very presence of what she and her people considered the weakest and most deceptive of the Galactics. The Scythian knew this quite well, though it could not read the Chem’s thoughts. Scythian’s shared a common telepathic link, and though this Scythian lived and breathed it had, in a sense, experienced in the most intimate manner the violent death of its two kinsmen at the hands of the Chem. Though the event was now distanced with the enormity of Galactic change the boarding of the Scythian experimentation ship, within which a previously unknown Terran named Alexander was captive, and the subsequent slaying of the crew by the Chem were foremost in the Scythian consciousness. An emotionally stable people they were unprepared for the wrenching repercussions of that moment, and the nature of it stayed with each Scythian as a fresh wound.

‘Really, I cannot imagine why Alexander allows a Scythian to dangle at his side like this,’ Nazeera growled aloud with unabashed repugnance. ‘I could never forgive the affront, to myself or my people, for the kicellia of medical experimentation. Can the dismantling of their empire be repayment enough?’

Nazeera turned her attention back to Alexander, attempting to control her Chem temper. She watched Alexander pitch another delicate shot to the green, allowing the ball to roll to a stop just beyond the pin this time, and then put it in. All in all her husband seemed satisfied with the play, despite his prior protestations. He shook hands with his playing partners, thanking them for their patience and sportsmanship, and he gave her a kiss as they finally made their way off the course.

The strained expression on Nazeera’s beautiful features was not lost on Alexander. ‘Never fear, my dear, we’re done for the day! All that remains is the traditional pint in the clubhouse. That, I think you’ll enjoy somewhat more. I am sorry about this trip, but I’m told that Alexander is a necessary part of the government. Still, I need a change of pace. That’s why this conference is being held here on the course.’ Alexander’s attention was suddenly drawn from the Chem Elder by a tap on the arm. The professional drew the Overlord’s gaze to the throng of national, ethnic and religious leaders who in an attempt to follow Alexander to the clubhouse were now walking across the fabled green.

‘Ladies and gentlemen if you please!’ Alexander erupted, rushing towards the two score persons who now stopped in a muddle of confusion. ‘Off the green! Off the green! Have you no respect? Now, please keep to the gallery path, it is clearly marked!’

The Pope, riding in an electric cart addressed the Overlord with hardly to be restrained testiness. ‘My dear Alexander, I am reputed to be a patient man, but tromping around a golf course for an afternoon without resolution to the issues for which we came here is, frankly, trying that patience. My time is not my own. I assume I speak for my colleagues as well as myself when I say that we expected something somewhat different in our audience from you. I should also say that we are unaccustomed to waiting upon a dignitary in such an unassuming position, especially with such weighty issues upon our shoulders. We recognize the brevity for which you have to address our concerns, but let me remind you of the gravity of the issue. Once begun the emigration of humanity to the stars cannot be recalled. We have one chance, and one opportunity to make a choice concerning the future course of humanity. I suggest we treat it with the requisite gravity.’

Alexander leaned upon his putter. The image of the Terran Overlord in such a casual position, garbed in knickers no less, was almost comical; but the expression on the Overlord’s brow dared any of the attending dignitaries to find humor in it. ‘Holy Father, I can empathize with you and your colleagues in your concern over the emigration issue. I assure you it is an important issue in my mind as well. There is, however, something of prime importance which you must understand, and that is why we are here today, at Royal Saint Andrews, and not in New York, Geneva, Jerusalem or another more politically correct locale. We are here because I have had a rather taxing agenda as of late, what with saving the world and all, and I need a short vacation. I have desired throughout all of my adult days to play this course, and now I have the power, if not the skill, to do so. Is that selfish, to put you out of a comfortable conference room with the dignity and reverence befitting your petitions? Maybe, but I wanted to see Saint Andrews, and I wanted you to see Saint Andrews, a storied site of peaceful Terran competition, one last time because it may not be here for much longer. That in itself would be a tragedy, but what is worse, in my mind, is the possibility that it may survive but with no free Terrans to play it.

‘That morbid possibility, ladies and gentlemen, is what keeps me awake at night. Let me give you a swift breakdown on the situation as I see it. Currently we are in a state of undeclared war with a Galactic Alliance of over one hundred billion beings. They have three fleets comprising almost four thousand warships massing on three separate fronts. Their purpose is to invade our space within the week. I remind you that these are the very same people who infiltrated the highest levels of our government, and, I fear, have already executed the Terrans they replaced. To make matters even more interesting humanity is currently trapped upon a single planet, making it extraordinarily vulnerable to extermination or enslavement. Although this diverts valuable military resources I think the crisis is grave enough to warrant an immediate emigration of over two hundred million Terrans to planets throughout the Federation.

This is an issue of survival for our civilization, and in my simple mind the concept of emigration it is not a difficult one or a pressing one considering our military necessity. It should be a straightforward and logical solution. Yet while I wrack my all too Terran brain for a way to preserve you and your way of life you come to me and demand a present emigration policy which for all intents and purposes segregates the Terran species. Forgive me if I do not give that concept its due reverence in light of my other problems.’ The expressions of the gathered throng were positively hostile, and Alexander addressed this promptly, ‘Now I realize that my comments are blunt, and some might even say inflammatory. Forgive me if I am not an orator with diplomacy for a language, but I believe it is more important to understand one another without interpretative vagueness, than to coddle. We simply do not have the luxury of time. I want you to understand two things about myself, and about this situation. First, as Overlord Alexander is not a Catholic; he is not a Protestant; he is not a Buddhist; he is not American, British or Russian; he is not of the Western Hemisphere; he is not even of Terra. Alexander is of the Terran Empire, and the President of a Federation comprising over two hundred star systems. That is my viewpoint. It must be. Therefore, your Holiness, when I consider your petition for a Catholic planet for settlement I must consider it against what is best for the Empire and the Federation, not for yourself or your constituents. My second point is this: we live under the threat of invasion from superior forces. My primary responsibility is the preservation of our civilization, not the purity of your institutions. I will do whatever I deem necessary to preserve our civilization in this crisis.’

‘We have every confidence in your ability to defend our civilization, Alexander,’ the Pope replied. ‘However, since an immediate emigration is part of your design why not fulfill both of our desires? You wish for a quick emigration to disperse our species. We understand and condone that. We wish for planets of our own where we can ‘purify’ our beliefs, nothing more. To that end we can quickly mobilize our emigrants, which simplify your requirement.’ The Pope went on about the plans for the future they would build on secularized and ethicized planets; each free for trade, of course, but glorious in their Terran difference.

Alexander listened to the Pontiff’s offer in stony silence. When he finally held up a hand to stop the Pope an expectancy filled the air. Alexander’s voice was grave as he told them, ‘I celebrate your desire for the betterment of our people but I fail to find a single time in the course of Terran existence when avoiding a problem through segregation worked. It is a policy doomed to failure, and I for one cannot be party to it. This is a glorious opportunity provided at a dire time for our species, and one of my concerns is what this opportunity presents. If just one of these planets we are to colonize survives I would like to find upon it a cross section of the full range of the Terran condition, not just a single slice. Our civilization, ladies and gentlemen, is not based upon a single religion, ethnicity, or belief, but a conglomeration of them. I want to preserve that. Now, for my part I could order a military evacuation. You know this. I would much rather have your cooperation. For this cooperation I want to offer you a standard emigration policy. There are roughly two hundred odd planets upon which I want to place one million Terran settlers each. Unfortunately, we do not have the time to measure out exact quotas, and all encompassing representation to these planets. Neither do we have time to move two hundred million people. Initially, at least, we must compromise. Our Scythian friends tell me we have only about five hundred ships available to transport up to five thousand colonists each with a minimum of supplies. We have selected two hundred planets for the initial wave of colonization, and assigned specific planets for each ship. The average round trip time for these vessels is four days, two out and two back. Under a worst case scenario the Alliance fleets will converge on Terra sometime in the next twenty three days. The math is simple, ladies and gentlemen. With the full cooperation of yourselves we can move only about fourteen million people in the allotted time. True we can set up viable colonies, but can we preserve our diversity? There is also the problem of embarkation. It is one thing to volunteer to emigrate, and quite another to get the five thousand people together at the same place and same time; especially if you attempt to get a cross section of people. The latter constraint is quite frankly impossible. We need to move people quickly, and under conditions where not all are volunteers. That is where your help is essential. The quickest way to accomplish our goal is to target small towns throughout the world. The people are already gathered in requisite numbers, there is a political hierarchy already established and the people know each other. In the coming phases of emigration we can address the multiplicity of representation to each planet. For the moment, however, we need to move people. Sociologists from the Federation Senate have supplied you with a breakdown for the locales targeted for emigration. We do not have the luxury of extended debate on this; I need your support now. You have my assurance that each colony will be held under strict conditions of freedom of religion, speech, etc. If you will lend your support to this effort I will provide the transportation. That is the gist of my offer.

Please remember that we have the entirety of our civilization to protect, not just one facet. No plan is perfect, but this is as fair as I can be to all of you. Doctor Koto, my Minister of Terran Development will work out the details. I want to start moving people by tomorrow, voluntarily. I will start moving people by the end of this week, whether you like it or not. What do you say?’

Before the Pontiff could answer Admiral Augesburcke stepped up to Alexander and whispered something in his ear. No one around them could hear what was said but Alexander’s face suddenly went ashen. It was enough of a change to immediately silence the crowd.

CHAPTER 4

The Overlord nodded to Augesburcke and told the assemblage, ‘If you will excuse me for a moment I have something to attend to.’ Then without waiting for a response Alexander drew Admiral Augesburcke, Nazeera, an aide and the Scythian Ambassador off to the center of the green.

‘Set up your screen Sergeant,’ Augesburcke told the aide. The man manipulated the controls of a small grey box attached to his belt, and in a moment a transparent hemisphere shut out the world acoustically and electronically.

‘Is it set up?’ Alexander asked. Upon receiving affirmation from Augesburcke he continued, ‘I was afraid of this, but sailing into Syraptose and Quotterim space was not without risk. Let’s see how bad it is. Alright Ambassador please establish a link.’

‘Very well,’ the Scythian replied without emotion. As one of his taskings to the Scythians Alexander placed Scythian representatives on a number of his ships, as well as keeping the Scythian Ambassador to Terra close by. Out of earshot Alexander referred to the Scythian as ‘Ambassador Football,’ in deference to the nuclear ‘football,’ a small attaché case with communications gear and codes the President of the United States once carried with him. Just as a President could begin a war or launch a counterattack by using the codes and communications gear in the ‘football’ Alexander could view a telepathic link between his Scythian ‘football’ and any of its companions stationed on his far flung ships. It was a connection vastly more superior in every way than the ethernet.

The Ambassador held a small boxlike device which fit neatly into the slender palm of its four fingered hand. After a moment the box hummed, and then a small holographic image of a distinguished looking man in uniform appeared.

Alexander nodded, and addressed the image. ‘Admiral Cathcart, report please.’

‘Hail Alexander!’ The Admiral replied, and then informed his Overlord, ‘At 1732 hours we picked up a superluminal signature on our passive scanners. We received no hails and intercepted no ethernet messages, but the signature dropped out of superluminal shortly after contact. Its size was consistent with a squadron of warships. Fearing detection I dispatched two squadrons to intercept while the main body continued course and speed. We varied the formation as dictated by doctrine to set up a random fluctuation in our signature until I was informed by my Squadron Commander that all eleven enemy warships were destroyed. No messages were sent, and one relay probe was destroyed.’

‘Were there any Syraptose survivors, Admiral?’

‘None sir,’ the Admiral replied evenly. ‘We caught them cleanly by surprise. There’s nothing out there but gas and dust.’

Alexander nodded gravely, finally asking ‘Are you on time?’

‘Everything proceeding according to plan, Alexander,’ the Admiral reported.

‘Very well, Admiral, you and your crews are to be commended on the professionalism with which you accomplished a difficult mission,’ Alexander said evenly.

‘Thank you, hail Alexander!’ the Admiral saluted, and Alexander cut the connection.

The Overlord turned to Augesburcke, a troubled look on his face. ‘I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried,’ he confided. ‘It was a masterful stroke by Cathcart to get away without raising the alarm, but I’m not so certain about this no prisoners business. I know I left the details to the discretion of the Admirals on the scene, but my God, eleven ships gone like that, and with their entire crews. This can really be a dirty business.’

‘Unavoidable, I would say,’ Augesburcke said, ‘but if you’d like to issue further instructions,’

‘No, that will not be necessary,’ Alexander interjected. ‘Patton once said, and I believe I quote him, ‘Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity.’ Besides, in his shoes, I would have done the same thing.’ Alexander mulled over the present events in his head, finally saying, ‘A month has passed since the Ascension and the original Alliance target date. The rooting out of their Hrang operatives gave us at least three weeks time, but now it seems the Alliance is back on track. How many Alliance warships have massed thus far Admiral?’

‘We have a pretty good idea on their numbers and their complement,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘Our subs have pinpointed the Alliance fleets on the Syraptose and Quotterim fronts, and we have detailed scans. The Golkos-Seer’koh front is somewhat more ambiguous. The Golkos are the only member of the five fleets on that front who share a frontier with us. Now the Golkos are jealous of their space so they’ve insisted on escorting their confederates to the rendezvous coordinates. That works to our advantage. It takes time to transit the entirety of Golkos space. They’ve been at it for over a month, but they should be reaching their rendezvous points within the next several days. We already have boats waiting for them. We can only estimate the numbers and complements of those forces still at superluminal speeds, but there’s an enormous amount of chatter on their subspace nets. Apparently the Alliance is somewhat out of practice at this sort of thing, and the fact that they are trying to coordinate between nine different fleets and ten cultures is aggravating the situation. Our listeners have been cataloguing the Alliance ships, by name, type, etc… The Alliance folks are fairly free on the net, and their media is as interested in their progress as we are. Between their chatter, their media, and our scouts we have as accurate a picture as we could expect.

Currently we have two hundred and seventy-three ships on the Quotterim/Bael/Fen-Dsi front; and two hundred and forty-seven ships on the Syraptose front already in position. By today’s count there are twenty-five hundred ships enroute to the Golkos-Seer’koh front. As I said the massing elements of the fleets are still enroute at superluminal, so scans are vague at best. However, from the ethernet traffic we estimate the Golkos-Seer’koh rendezvous will be complete within the next two days. The Quotterim and Syraptose seem a bit less enthusiastic even if theirs is the easiest logistically. They won’t be massed for a week, at least. The Golkos numbers are pretty firm. The Syraptose will contribute five hundred ships when their rendezvous is complete; the Quotterim/Bael/Fen-Dsi fleet will number almost eight hundred. Any way you look at it we’re going to be dealing with thirty-five hundred to four thousand ships.’

‘They are not leaving themselves much of a Homeworld reserve,’ noted Nazeera. ‘Those ship counts are consistent with the balance of their fleets. There are, of course, mothballed reserves but such ships are hardly suitable for the long journey to Terra. The Syraptose, Quotterim, Seer’koh and Golkos might muster several hundred of these ships for planetary defense. Many, however, would undoubtedly be impulse drive ships and so they would have limited firepower. The Alliance must not consider an offensive strike on your part possible, Alexander. ‘

‘Why should they? That would leave our own defenses quite weak.’ He folded his arms in thought and muttered as if to himself, ‘Interesting, though that they should be so bold; I wonder if it is coincidence or whether they really have someone over there who knows what they’re doing?’

‘There’s quite a bit of jockeying going on,’ Augesburcke added. ‘The Alliance has been offering to negotiate several times a day, probably to buy more time. They’re a week off, at least, from any form of coordinated assault, or at least a month behind their original timetable, and counting.’

‘Excellent,’ Alexander replied. ‘The Alliance and it’s dilly-dallying has given us much more flexibility. If they’d advanced on their original time schedule on or about the Chem Ascension our strike arms would have had to go in at emergency flank. That would have increased the risk significantly. Fortunately, that idea was no more than wishful thinking on their parts. By the afternoon of the Ascension our patrols still outnumbered their fleets! As it is we’ve been able to pick our way at cruise through the most sparsely populated regions of Syraptose and Quotterim space. Assuming no more misfortune we can expect to arrive at H-Hour with fresh ships. There is at least a week before the Alliance can even be in position for a strike. Set our new H-Hour accordingly, Admiral.’

‘Consider it done,’ Augesburcke replied.

‘Admiral, I think it very likely the Alliance will not survive to fire a shot.’ Alexander thought for a long moment. No one interrupted him; they were getting used to his mannerisms. Finally he said, ‘Has there been any indication that either of our forces have been discovered beyond Admiral Cathcart’s report?’

‘None whatsoever,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘We’ve been listening closely for any indications of suspicion. There’s been nothing thus far. Fortunately the idea of radio, or in this case ethernet silence is as natural to us as it appears to be alien to our counterparts.’

‘That’s not what worries me,’ Alexander mused. ‘I am confident that our crews are the utmost professionals, but in my experience, plans barely survive the implementation phase. The fortunes of war depend on how we react to changing situations, both fortunate and unfortunate. We’ve got over five hundred ships gallivanting across the galaxy, hopefully in secret. Currently we must depend on the innovations of our crews for the success of our plans. That’s the toughest thing about sitting here, Admiral. I’d rather be out there.’

‘That is the toughest thing about command,’ Augesburcke agreed. ‘I miss not being there myself, but Sampson and Cathcart are quite capable. They’ll handle everything.’

‘I trust their judgment, Admiral, but I’m tired of inactivity. Push the reconnaissance patrols beyond the frontiers. Let’s have a look their disposition. I’m especially interested in the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet. What do they plan on doing on our frontier until the rest of the Alliance is ready? If they think we’ll just sit and wait for them to bring the war to us then they’re in for a surprise.’ Augesburcke smiled in response and Alexander gave the order to cut the screen, returning them to the English daylight.

Somewhat grimmer of aspect and no less resolved Alexander changed his mind set and approached the Pontiff again. ‘My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, Galactic affairs have a priority on my time these days. Where were we?’

The Pope’s steely eyed visage was not welcoming, but he said, ‘I suppose we could not hope for a less prejudiced response, Alexander, considering your position and your responsibilities. However, we must confer further on the details of the matter. In that sense, at least, we must work together. We have provided a united front against an uncontrolled emigration thus far, but maybe it is time to turn that unity to more constructive purposes.’ The Pope suddenly smiled at Alexander’s expression of surprise, and he said, ‘Yes, Alexander, religious and ethnic leaders can be reasonable as well as you. In that territory you do not hold a higher ground than does God. We shall consider your offer and continue our talks through Doctor Koto. In other words you shall be able to begin moving our people tomorrow, as you desire. Our best wishes on the remainder of your day and our combined prayers on the outcome of the war.’

Alexander sighed as if a great weight lifted from his shoulders. ‘Alexander of Terra thanks you and your compatriots Holy Father,’ he said, and then he leaned closer to the Pontiff and lowered his voice so that only the Pope could hear. ‘That is what Alexander of Terra requires Holy Father, but Alexander Thorsson has a request, if I may.’

The Pontiff nodded, ‘My son, I have already set aside time to celebrate mass with you, but what else can I do?’

‘Thank you Holy Father, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,’ Alexander asked, almost sheepishly, ‘I need Confession, andwellif you have time to pray a Rosary with mewell, I need all the help and guidance I can get now.’

‘I understand my son,’ the Pontiff smiled, laying a hand on his head. ‘Bless you for thinking of the Lord at this time. I am at your disposal.’

‘Thank you Holy Father,’ Alexander sighed. He straightened and joined Nazeera and Augesburcke. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, he said, ‘Well that went about as well as I could expect.

Augesburcke nodded, saying, ‘I’m not sure how you did it, but it looks like that problem is defused.’

‘At least for the moment,’ Alexander said, ‘Although who knows what will happen when they’re out there on their own. Still, nothing would have happened without the Alliance. I thank them for that.’

‘So the Alliance turns out to be useful for you again, Alexander?’ Nazeera smiled.

‘Thus far, my dear, the Alliance has at least allowed me to avoid a political quagmire. I could win a thousand battles, Nazeera, but if I tried to tackle this issue without the threat of the Alliance I’d not gain an inch; and I’d probably go down in history as equally ineffective as was the First Federation Senate!’ Alexander started to walk towards the clubhouse. He shook his head, ‘Hopefully now all I have to deal with is the four thousand Alliance ships waiting to invade. That seems the easier task.’

‘There is glory awaiting you under the guise of Alliance fleets, my love,’ Nazeera grinned, clenching her sharp nailed fists. ‘Oh, to be a part of it,’ she said jubilantly, but then she sighed. ‘I am somewhat unaccustomed to sitting on the sidelines of battle, my love, but you play an interesting game. Indeed, I wish I were not returning to Chem so soon. Yet I, as you, have an empire to run. There is no small amount of work for me to do. The civil war has left me challenges which will span many of your years.’

‘No one laments your departure more than I, my dear. I have grown quite used to having your opinion, and your person, only an arm’s length away.’

‘I appreciate your candor, on both issues,’ Nazeera smirked. ‘I shall leave Nazar with you in my place. There is too much to be learned in this adventure of yours to be dismissed.’

‘Such as,’ Alexander asked.

‘Such as why you keep the scurrilous Scythians dangling at your side,’ Nazeera admitted. ‘I don’t think I could have borne their presence, even out of military necessity. They have not paid enough for their threats and duplicity!’

‘Certainly not in the balance of things, though did I not tell you once that with Scythia conquered my revenge died with their empire?’ Alexander replied. Seeing this did not in the least satisfy his consort he explained, ‘The realities of the galaxy demand a more pragmatic solution than the scouring of Scythia. Of course they had a right to expect it, if not from the Terrans then from the Chem. The Scythians duplicity of Chem, and their other Galactic neighbors, warranted just such an action, but you above all people, my dearest Elder of Chem, should understand the recognizance of practicality. Was it not Nazeera of Chem who was originally intent upon the destruction of the Terran threat? And was it not the same Nazeera of Chem, to the fortune of both our peoples, who found the courage to accept a diplomatic solution to the Chem-Terran dilemma over the all too easy military conflict? I account your decision to avoid hostility with Terra as one of the most difficult and courageous political decisions in history, my dear and I mean that sincerely.’

‘Such a charmer, my husband Overlord,’ Nazeera smiled, her sharp canines glinting in the sunlight. ‘You disarm my ardor with words yet again, though as usual you sidestep my questions deftly. I correct myself, however. It is true you did tell me that you no longer sought revenge upon Scythia, but I must say that I did not expect that to lead to trust or companionship.’

‘A point well taken,’ Alexander nodded, turning half to the Scythian, who was still following, and smiling. ‘Politics being what they are we’ve been forced to come to an understanding. The Scythian’s need me. I am the only thing which stands between them and the rest of the Galactic community, which is somewhat perturbed with them. On the other hand I can use the Scythians. Therefore, instead of persecuting them for their past transgressions I work with them. We both benefit.’

‘I would consider myself enormously fortunate that Alexander holds such a practical opinion if I were a Scythian,’ Nazeera replied, eyeing the Scythian with narrowed brows. ‘They need such a protector. Should they stray from the path of honest service to Alexander let them be warned: the Chem are not so noble in thought or deed! Nor are Scythia’s other Galactic neighbors!’

The Scythian shrank away from Nazeera. ‘We do indeed value the Overlordship of Alexander of Terra, Noble Elder of Chem; and one day we hope to win his trust as well. Scythia is, we well know, in a precarious situation. We are diminished in our Galactic standing through our own devices, however, and as civilized beings we accept our accountability. That our empire of a thousand generations is lost is grievous to us. That our civilization continues is fortunate, even under the current restraints.’ Though Alexander’s policy towards its people was apathetically benevolent the Scythian’s had no doubts over Alexander’s well restrained personal animosity. In his negotiations with them he’d asked pointed questions concerning the Scythian practice of abduction. His own involvement in the issue brought to light a number of Terrans who’d been captive under Scythian control for many years. The Scythians, shocked and amazed that the Terran Overlord would have any such knowledge, immediately released their subjects. They feared their eventual discovery under the Terran occupation, as they termed the times, and a further arousal of Alexander’s temper. Alexander, upon learning the veracity of his suspicions stood upon the edge of reprisal, but the Scythian’s were learning his character and defused the situation with a piece of knowledge more disturbing to the Terran Overlord than their own actions.

The Scythian alluded to this mysterious piece of information when it added, ‘We are reduced to subservience by our past miscalculations, for which Scythia has formally apologized to Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire, and to all Terrans. Certainly an apology for such transgressions of personal freedom and dignity are small in comparison to the hardships endured by the Terran victims, but they are sincere, nonetheless. Scythia regrets its part in the process known as ‘Abduction,’ to Terrans; and to the part which we were involved in abductions we recognize our error as civilized beings. Unfortunately, we can only speak for ourselves and not for the Terrans who profited by our nefarious practices.’

Alexander understood implicitly. It reminded the Terran Overlord, as it was meant to, of a more sinister side to the tragedies. It was a side which brought a withering glare from Alexander, but bit his words at his tongue.

CHAPTER 5

A blue haze of cigarette smoke cast an obsolescent glow about the dim conference room on Terra. Nine men, each lounging in one of a number of deep leather chairs scattered throughout the room, lent a conspiratorial air to the already cliché atmosphere. That the scene marked a time long passed by, and long since worth remembering did not seem to occur to the grim Caucasian faces, each so much the caricature of the next. As if to give voice to the complete lack of promise of their union, or reunion as the case actually was, a gravelly growl complained, ‘It’s been too long and too much has happened recently. Face it gentlemen, our day is gone. We had our chance to be the leaders of a brave new world, but we blew it. Let the dead sleep I say. Let Alexander try his hand at it. I don’t have the energy for it.’

‘I am inclined to agree with my associate,’ a heavy set, blotchy faced man muttered through a thick cigar. ‘This meeting reminds me too much of the goddamn ‘X-files.’ I’m in a comfortable position, as we all are. To what purpose should we re-enter this dangerous game? It’s been forty years, gentlemen, since the last generation of the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ was a hairsbreadth away from the planetary power Alexander now enjoys. I don’t miss the intrigue, the secrecy, the women or a title I can’t tell anyone. In fact I rather enjoy sitting back and watching Alexander play this game. What profit is in it for me?’

A gaunt man, as conservatively dressed a conspirator as the rest of the gathering, sent a fuming cloud of tobacco smoke into the fray and cleared his throat. Despite the dolorous response to the reunion all eyes turned to the figure. Accepting the momentary command of the situation with obvious expectation the man sank even deeper into the leather, disappearing into the shadows of his wingback chair with theatric proficiency. One long leg dangled over the other, the foot bouncing sedately as if in time to an unheard symphony. When he spoke his voice was soft, but roughened by the tobacco; laced with the accent of the dungeons of the beltway, and power. ‘It might help, gentlemen, if I were to recount a bit of history, so as to remind us all why we were once brought together, and why we are together again,’ he told them. His pause was pregnant, and irritating, but not one of the men dared interrupt him even though each of them could probably have written the man’s story down word for word before he took another breath.

‘We are the once and future king’s of this world, gentlemen, and the crown is not easily set aside. Our little group grew from the events of Roswell, when the Air Force brought to us a strange and wonderful prize: the ‘Greys.’ Now we call them the Scythians, but for almost thirty years after Roswell they remained secretive of their name, their origins and largely, their technology. But the sheer knowledge they existed at all was the key to unbelievable power, and in all the world only thirteen men held that key. We were the third and final iteration of that exclusive group, gentlemen; a group which controlled what was known and what was not to the populations of the world, to presidents, and to dictators. We were upon the very edge of open power when fate, or fortune, depending on your point of view, took away our active participation with the Greys. Not two months before we were to go public with our knowledge a Military Policeman shot and killed a Grey. We need not go into detail on the Grey’s reprisals, what is important is that they left. We subsequently became superfluous. From the managers of interspecies relations, foremost in the minds of the most powerful persons in government, the military, and industry, we became caretakers, like our predecessors at Roswell, of the greatest secret on Earth; and the continuing cultivators of the Lie.’

He sighed and puffed at his pipe, remaining silent and secretive for several minutes. The others waited, some pondering the memories his words provoked, some indifferent to them. Eventually a final puff at his pipe and a long thin stream of smoke signaled his readiness to talk, and he continued, asking the obvious question, ‘What now? Why we are here after so much time has passed? To regain our lost laurels seems on the surface an impossibility, and even were it possible the labor required, the rebuilding of contacts, the personal risks, all are insurmountable goals. Why are we here then? I’ll supply the answer to your curiosity: we simply have no choice. If we do not move, and move quickly we shall have lost ourselves, our nation and our planet. Alexander is the driver in this, gentlemen. Alexander is the key. He must be removed.’

‘I can’t stay quiet any longer,’ the heavy man stirred.

‘By all means have your say, Mr. Edgar,’ the pipe smoker nodded. ‘This is not a dictatorship; though you don’t have to look far to see one.’

‘Since when has the concept of dictatorship, tyranny or absolute power bothered any of us, Crandal? We all know it and understand it; and as long as the person who wields the power does so to our advantage I have no qualms with it. In that light I cannot see what complaint we might have against Alexander. We profit from his contracts in this, the greatest military buildup in Terran history. What’s more he’s got the emigration ball rolling again, and under a united policy. We are all of us, gentlemen, the engineers of the greatest migration in Terran history. Between these colossal dealings our profits over the next century will be staggering and since we have all benefitted from Scythian regeneration therapy we will all be able to enjoy those profits. How can we argue with that?’

A rail thin, but distinguished looking man with dark eyes pointed a finger at the pipe smoker and said, ‘I am more than inclined to agree with that logic, and don’t waste your breath with this love of country, love of planet crap. The only principles you, I, or anyone else in this room have ever worked for are power and profit. We’ve had both, but now, without the dangers inherent in the intrigues of power, Alexander delivers to us the profit we’ve always expected out of this. What is there to complain of gentleman?’

Crandal smiled and said, ‘Profit is a wonderful thing if you are alive to enjoy it, Mr. Frank.’

Mr. Frank smiled sardonically, ‘To mean that Alexander is embroiling us in a galactic war which may bring it all down on our heads? I’ve thought of that possibility, but it’s a reality we all considered, with or without Alexander. Once we learned the galactic legends concerning Terra, spread and cultivated by the Greys for two thousand years, a galactic war was almost a foregone conclusion. I think we are all intelligent enough not to argue that point. But do you honestly believe we would be any better at handling the situation, even accepting the conception that somehow we could come to power?’

‘Your point is well taken,’ Crandal answered, ‘and in a sense you are quite correct: Alexander appears to be the most capable man to run the galactic war. We realize that, and so does the Alliance. That makes Alexander extraordinarily important to both sides. He is the catalyst for the Alliance threat. Remove him, and a great portion of that threat goes with him. A settled peace, profitable for all sides, can then be brokered under unemotional terms.’

‘And we are to be the brokers of that peace after Alexander is carefully removed from the picture?’ Mr. Edgar asked, shaking his bald pate. ‘Forgive me, but it’s not that simple. It is possible, I grant you, though it is just as likely that we shall be absorbed by the Alliance in the end; under what conditions I cannot begin to guess. No, there is too much of an unknown risk in that avenue. It would be madness to take it without some assurance of Alliance intentions.’

‘Would I bring you here without those assurances? No, gentleman, I have secreted in my possession nine of the Hrang spies; the remainder of the lot Alexander rooted out so effectively. I have been in constant contact with the Alliance, and we agree on one thing: Alexander is our common thorn. Without him the Alliance can breathe somewhat easier, and we can pursue our own goals as the official players between Earth and the remainder of the galaxy.’

‘Are you that starved for power that you would throw yourself, and us, into this?’ Edgar asked. ‘Listen, I don’t need more money. I don’t need more power. I am content. You speak as easily about assassinating Alexander as Hoover did of J.F.K. You were always his golden boy, but the worm isn’t here to protect you, or us, anymore. I don’t want any part of that game. I just want to be left alone.’

‘How nice and domestic of you,’ Crandal replied with a twisted grin. ‘It’s a good idea. Peace and quiet are the rewards of old age, but that’s only if you’re left alone.’

‘What are you implying?’ Edgar asked thinly, the folds of his face straining in a hard expression.

‘I am not implying anything for myself, but Alexander may have something to say about it.’

‘What? What could Alexander possibly know about us?’

Crandal smiled greedily, relishing the new found concern of his audience. After a leisurely puff at his pipe he explained, ‘Alexander has taken a greater interest in the concept of ‘abductions,’ than we would like. Why shouldn’t he, he was intimately involved in them for some time? He seems to have gotten over the Grey’s usage of us, for they can aide him, but apparently there’s something he’s learned which he simply can’t abide by. That something, as you gentlemen are probably already aware, is the Deal.’

‘The Grey’s told him about that?’

‘They did to the most minute particular. Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire, now knows that the Greys brokered a deal to deliver bits and pieces of their technology in exchange for unhindered access to Terran subjects for their experimentation. Alexander also knows, just who brokered that deal, gentlemen. I could tell you what his reaction will be, though you can probably already guess. The hunt is on. You can quit this scheme now, with my blessing, but I wouldn’t give a lead nickel for your life if you showed up at home tonight, or a week down the road. Alexander has shown himself to be quite brutal when the mood is in him, and extraordinarily vindictive. Do you want to know what Pantrixnia looks like, feels like and smells like? Leave here for your homes and I think you’ll be quite a bit closer to finding out.’

‘What is it you are proposing to do?’ Edgar asked breathlessly, speaking for a now ashen faced assembly.

Crandal nodded with satisfaction, he saw exactly what he wanted in the faces of his colleagues: fear and desperation. They were too old and set in the sloth of their ways to be capable of facing prison, or worse. Suicide would be a viable alternative for any of them when cornered, but old dogs still snapped while they had teeth. The man told them, ‘We are returning, gentlemen, to the habits and stratagems of the old days. We each, I think, have a cadre of people we can trust, and surreptitious ways of contacting them. We need to use them. We also have, as I’ve hinted at, the aide and blessing of the Alliance. This is a deadly game, gentlemen. Make no bones about it, the only thing that can guarantee our personal safety is the death of Alexander.’

CHAPTER 6

‘There they are,’ exclaimed Captain Sergei Konstantinov on the bridge of the Terran submarine Gagarin. A Siberian, the Captain’s ochre flesh flushed with wrinkles at the excitement of discovery, much as he used to when the Sun finally climbed high enough to melt the winter ice at home. With an energy belaying his fifty-three years Konstantinov leapt from the radar scope and began pacing the narrow confines of the modified ‘Alpha’ class submarine. Once designed to hunt American ICBM boats the Gagarin, like many of its fellow submarines, was now modified as a fast interstellar scout. A cluster of four engines made the subs the fastest ships in the fleet, and their narrow silhouettes made them perfect hosts for covert screens. Her armament was not up to that of the ship’s of the line, but with four forward blaster projectors, all funneled through the engines, and a score of matter-anti-matter torpedoes she could fulfill her historical missions of reconnaissance and hit-and-run admirably.

‘Mark the tape! Helmsman, course zero-seven-three degrees, Zulu-one-five! Bring us as close as you can to the main body. Engineer, best possible speed! Shields up! All sensors on!’ Konstantinov turned short sharp corners in front of the main viewer, watching the images of the Golkos and Seer’koh fleets grow in size and distinguish themselves into tiny silver-white specks. He lit another cigarette and brought it up to his lips, only to find one already there. He looked at the stick for a moment as if surprised, but then promptly shoved it in his mouth alongside its companion.

The First Officer approached his Captain and said, ‘Captain, our orders are to find the rendezvous point for the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets not to attack said fleets!’

‘Attack? Who said anything about attack, comrade? We are reconnoitering, is all,’ Konstantinov smiled. He winked at his First Officer. ‘Of course, no one restricted how close a look we can get. If those bastards fire at us then I shall take every opportunity to defend myself, my ship and the honor of the Terran Empire. Is that understood, First Officer?’

The First Officer sighed and hunched behind the helmsman. After scanning the navigation screen he reported, ‘Captain! They’re in two main bodies of five to seven cubes each. Initial estimate over twenty-two hundred ships. The cubes are too far apart to take detailed scans of both, which would you like to make a pass on?’

Konstantinov ran to his side, taking in the tactical display through a cloud of cigarette smoke. His eyes darting he thumped his index finger on the Plexiglas, saying, ‘Damn it man we’ll go between them! If they’re fools enough to think they’ll hit us at this speed let them fire away! Chances are they’ll rake each other!’

‘Our scans will be severely distorted close to light speed,’ the First Officer added.

‘Yes, yes, Rochenko, what’s they’re speed?’ Konstantinov waved his hands as if he had a swarm of angry insects buzzing around his head.

‘They’re pretty much motionless Captain,’ Rochenko observed, glancing at Konstantinov with surprise. ‘It looks as though they’ve massed and are waiting for our fleet. That’s roughly the battle formation we were told to expect.’

The Captain nodded like a mad puppet, and spoke as if the words couldn’t leave his mouth quickly enough. ‘Yes, and like a Napoleonic army they don’t want to go mucking their formation about by moving around. They’re early, last I heard the Syraptose and the Quotterwhat did we call them?’

‘Quotterim, Captain,’ Rochenko said.

‘Whoever,’ Konstantinov spat, ‘they’re not due to be in position for three or four days, but here are the Golkos and the Seer’koh, patiently waiting on their frontier for the war to startof all the idiotic ideas. Navigator where are we?’

‘One point seven five parsecs from the frontier, Captain,’ the Navigator told him. ‘That’s roughly one day from Terran space at moderate speed.’

‘Are they good enough to maintain their formation at that speed?’ Konstantinov asked himself. He answered himself with a curse, adding, ‘They’d have to be, we’re forty parsecs from Earth, or Terra, whatever we call it. They’re not going to cruise around for a month and a half just waiting for us to pound their allies and then come back to them at our leisure. No one’s that stupid. Rochenko, what would you say to a commander who faced you with multiple fronts, but did not coordinate those fronts? What would you do here if our forces were at your disposition?’ The Captain asked, an eagerness making his eyes dart to and fro.

‘I would attack, take away their advantage,’ Rochenko said immediately. ‘Why wait for them all to be ready?’

‘My thoughts as well, Rochenko, my thoughts as well. Hopefully they are Alexander’s thoughts when we make this known to him. Very well, gentlemen let’s not keep them waiting. Start a constant transmission to Fleetcom. Prepare to drop out of superluminal on my mark to zero point five ‘c.’ Weapons, a full spread of torpedoes and mines if you please, let’s not leave anything in the larder. If they get lucky I don’t want to die without bloodying their nose!’

A growing hum and a sudden lurch signaled the throttling of the Gagarin’s engines. Konstantinov smiled broadly and now that the game was about to begin his excessive energy turned into a cheerful calm. As the alien fleet grew, the details distorted by the Gagarin’s superluminal velocity, Konstantinov beamed, ‘This is pleasure, gentlemen, pure pleasure; not like chasing the American navy. Here, we’re allowed to shoot! So let us take advantage of the opportunity!’

It was early evening on Lake Pend Oreille in Northern Idaho on the North American continent, on Terra. Alexander and Nazeera were spending a final few nights alone, at least as alone as they could be. They were on Alexander’s float house, a cedar sided two story structure moored in Scenic Bay, a small finger of water on the Southwestern corner of the deep cold lake. About them were several other float houses, though the normal tenants of these were either absent or augmented by Alexander’s version of a Secret Service, and his constant retinue of staff. It was a routine Alexander was quickly acclimating to if for no other reason than his mind, when not distracted by Nazeera, was constantly turning over the galactic ‘game’ as he called it. Alexander’s retinue caused a small stir in the tiny community at MacDonald’s Marina where the float house was moored, but as they’d been used to seeing Alexander there for years, albeit in somewhat lesser status, they took little note of the Terran invasion. What caused a wave of excitement around MacDonald’s, and the nearby town of Bayview, was the alien invasion; especially the Chem. Nazeera was no less a head of state than Alexander and constantly about her was a travelling company of heavily armed and stoically noble Chem. The Chem were ever courteous and polite, though they wondered much at their Terran hosts. Knowing Alexander, who always wore his Banthror cloak and weapons, they expected much more of the same. But what they saw was Terrans uncloaked as it were. They carried no weapons, did not even wear ceremonial armor, and they seemed for all intents and purposes overtly friendly and curious. After the initial shock of their casual behavior wore off the Chem warriors concluded that Terrans were so certain of their prowess in war that they had no need to remind themselves of it. When the need arose they would react accordingly. To the Chem it was a new way of thinking. To see Terrans in so peaceful a setting while knowing the fury which could erupt within them was a sobering picture; and they viewed the Terrans with a new and different respect.

Nazeera squeezed Alexander’s hand and smiled looking out over the waters. A placid smile caressed her beautiful features, strangely offset by the points of her canines peeking out over her lips. ‘This reminds me of my balcony back home, where you first accosted me,’ she told him. ‘I wouldn’t dare repeat our ardor here, there are too many prying eyes,’ she said glancing at the deck next door, where Alexander’s friends Max and Katy Immelmann watched the evening pass alongside an assortment of Terran and Chem military officers. The courtiers were calmly attentive of all that was going on, too obviously excepting Alexander and Nazeera. Nazeera sighed, ‘Besides, it is too cold here. I should rather have you take me inside.’

‘That is a pleasant idea,’ Alexander smiled.

‘Not yet, my rutting Overlord,’ Nazeera smiled, ‘I wish to enjoy the night first.’

‘Very well, then at least you shall be warm, it is colder here than Chem,’ Alexander told her, wrapping her firm shoulders with his Banthror cloak.

Nazeera snuggled into his arms and the cloak, glancing down at the three pins set amidst the fur. Topmost was the Terran badge, a chevron upon a blue world. Below it were the badges of Bureel the Chem rebel, and Scythia. Idly Nazeera fingered the metal, asking, ‘How many more of these shall you add husband? I feel almost undone. Is glory passing me by? I should wish a hand in this calamity you’ve begun. Then my name would be sung in songs throughout the years.’

‘Your name is already sung by the fires of warrior’s, Nazeera, though you are always welcome as Terra’s ally.’ Alexander told her. ‘There is enough glory out there for all of us. Do you wish to join me you’ve only to say so.’

‘Nazeera the woman and wife does,’ she told him, but shook her head. ‘I have, however, listened to the debate of the Assemblage, and it is unanimous with anticipation for the coming war; unanimous in its role as spectator. Strange though it may seem the Chem are more eager to watch Alexander’s struggle against the Galactics than to take part in it. We have no quarrels with our Galactic brethren. We have not been wronged by them. Alexander has been wronged. Therefore, it is Alexander’s fight. Such is the concept of this drama of yours in my people’s minds. Does it disappoint you?’

‘Not in the least, though it may make me sleepless through the nights,’ Alexander told her. ‘I am enamored with the Chem. I celebrate them. I respect their decision as I do your own.’

‘Well said, my husband,’ Nazeera told him, ‘now I am ready to go inside with you!’

‘Excellent!’ Alexander exclaimed, sweeping the woman off her feet. But as he turned to carry her inside the image of Admiral Augesburcke blotted out the light.

‘I’m sorry Alexander, something’s come up.’

CHAPTER 7

Demetios Khandar, Admiral of the Alliance Fleets and Commander of the Golkos attacking force scowled at his superior, Grand Admiral Guenuel Koor. The vehemence with which he objected to his commander’s conclusions came very close to overstepping the bounds set by Golkos military protocol, but the seriousness of the situation warranted the risk. Khandar vented some of his frustration and anger with a heavy pounding of his fist on the metal conference table, attracting all eyes from the Alliance fleet representatives. The action did little to stifle the strained emotion in his Golkos voice, but it did serve to keep his volcanic temper from boiling completely over. ‘I must respectfully, but forcefully, disagree with this entire stratagem, Grand Admiral,’ he stated stridently. ‘To follow this plan is to invite complete and utter disaster. We are playing directly into Alexander’s hands.’

‘And how is that, Admiral Khandar?’ The Grand Admiral replied with obvious disdain. She bore little affection for her underling, but the politics of Golkos dictated his station, and indeed she counted herself fortunate that her connections in the government were just slightly more powerful than his own, ensuring that she retained the station of Grand Admiral and not the caustic and glory seeking Khandar. Koor walked leisurely about the conference table, refusing to be upset at the interruption, just as she refused to acknowledge that their strategic situation warranted the deep cognitive probing Khandar was famous for. She smiled in a pleasant and confident manner and explained, ‘I am not quite certain I understand these misgivings of yours, Admiral nor how they might play into the hands of Alexander. Admittedly he has proved his competence as a general, but how that shall help him now is beyond me. We have almost four thousand ships set to strike him simultaneously from three different sectors. That is a four to one advantage, at least, Admiral. No empire has ever fought against such odds for any duration. We are in an insurmountably strong position. We cannot fail.’

The Admiral stood firm. ‘No Grand Admiral, you are wrong, we are in an incomparably weak position. We put our faith in allies with little heart for our cause. In my estimation neither the Syraptose or the Quotterim on our flanks will survive beyond their first engagement with Alexander. Alexander will remove them from the war quickly and efficiently, and then we will be left to face him with the Seer’koh and Golkos fleets alone. In that scenario we will have a lesser advantage in numbers, but a great disadvantage in tactics and morale. Alexander will have cut the Alliance’s power by a half and our forces will have to overcome a devastating psychological blow before they ever come to grips with the Terran Fleet.’

‘Precede, Admiral,’ the Grand Admiral said coolly. ‘You pique my curiosity. I wish to know how Alexander will carry out such a cunning plan.’

Khandar frowned, but he moved over to the holographic projector. In space hung the red amorphous form of the Terran Empire, and upon three sides the gathering Alliance fleets. The Admiral pointed to the Syraptose and Quotterim fleets, even now moving ever so slowly to their positions on the Terran frontier. ‘The problem lies not so much in our strategy of three fronts as in our simultaneous timing of attack. It assumes that the Syraptose and Quotterim arms of the invasion will attack Terran space with the same vigor that can be expected of the Golkos and Seer’koh. This is a fallacy. In reality the Syraptose and the Quotterim are already nervous at the thought of facing Alexander’s fleets. If he strikes them with the audacity he showed against the Chem, who are far more professional and proud minded, I have no doubt that both our allies will disengage and sue for a separate peace.

‘Alexander is no fool, Grand Admiral. He knows from his ties with Chem and Scythia the practical and political limitations of our Alliance, and he is astute enough to perceive a way to deal with it. To await a frontal assault on all fronts and fight a defensive war would be madness. He will go on the offensive. Alexander will exploit his interior lines and divide his forces into one or possibly two strike forces and a holding force. The holding force will be just strong enough to present itself for battle. They will oblige us to drop out of superluminal for a confrontation only to harry us and withdraw, blooding us of ships and time. It will only be meant to slow us long enough for swift powerful strikes by the balance of Alexander’s fleets against our allies. When the Syraptose and Quotterim have been knocked out of the war Alexander will converge upon us, possibly presenting us with multiple fronts even as we are trying to do so with him. The difference will be that we shall face flanking fleets of equal strength, skill, determination.’

The Seer’koh’s ranking Admiral stood, his tail twitching in irritation. He hissed, ‘Your point is well taken and well conceived, Admiral Khandar, though I may say that it is equally likely that Alexander will strike the balance of our combined Golkos/Seer’koh fleet and attempt to neutralize it in one swift blow. That accomplished the Quotterim and the Syraptose would undoubtedly fail to press ahead. Either way Alexander gains his victory. What suggestion do you have? It is too late to deploy our forces in any other manner.’

‘And too late to change our strategy, even if it were relevant or wise to do so,’ the Grand Admiral added testily, not liking the Seer’koh’s accepting of Admiral Khandar’s concerns over her strategy.

Admiral Khandar smiled at the Grand Admiral’s discomfort, and he was prepared for the objection. He shook his head. ‘There is no need for redeployment. The basic tenet of multiple fronts is a sound one and we should by all means continue to use it. However, I do propose a change in the way we use these fronts. We can use the reluctance of our allies to our advantage.’

‘How so?’ The Grand Admiral asked petulantly.

‘Alexander is seeking battle and that quickly,’ Khandar told them. ‘He has no choice. As brave as his holding force might be it can only detain us for a limited time, if at all. We can choose to ignore his holding force and set a course for Terra herself. Since engagement at superluminal velocity is an impossibility Alexander must strike the Syraptose and the Quotterim quickly or he shall not have the opportunity to converge his fleets on the real threat of Golkos and Seer’koh. He must therefore force the battle. If the Syraptose and the Quotterim refuse the battle, however, he will be left in a quandary. The threat on this flank will remain, advancing on Terra. Eventually he will have no choice but to break off from his mad dashing about and come to face us. Then our allies shall advance on Terra where we can all converge in a region of space small enough for the entire weight of the Alliance to crush Alexander!’

The Seer’koh hissed and rattled in obvious agreement, ‘Well thought out, Admiral. The Seer’koh applauds your innovation. It is a bold twist worthy of Alexander himself!’

The Grand Admiral’s face contorted in consternation, but she said, ‘It is a thought worth consideration, Admiral. No doubt the part of running from Alexander and disdaining combat would come as a welcome relief to our allies. The plan has merits.’

‘The plan has merits, Grand Admiral, but it also has limitations,’ Khandar told her. ‘We have all seen how easily Alexander’s forces overcame the ponderous combat style we’ve used this last millennium. That must change if we are to ensure success. I propose we modify our tactics and emulate those we’ve seen the Terrans use. It is difficult to change I realize, but in this case Alexander has exposed some inherent flaws in our combat. We cannot allow him to exploit these flaws.’

‘I cannot go along with that, Admiral Khandar,’ the Grand Admiral told him. ‘To change our tactics on the eve of battle would be to invite disaster. The Captains and crews of our fleets would be in complete confusion. Disorder would reign, allowing Alexander to cut up our formations at will. No, our doctrine of massed firepower is still adequate to deal with Alexander so long as we maintain a mathematically superior force, and do not expect and depend on him to follow the same strategy.’

‘But Grand Admiral, he shall be able to focus his strength on any part of our formations he chooses, thereby gaining an advantage in firepower. We shall not win such engagements.’ Khandar argued.

‘I disagree,’ Grand Admiral Koor cut him off. ‘That is enough debate. I agree to modify the deployment of our allies. That should satisfy your need for input Admiral. I shall send the necessary orders to our allies. I hold this meeting adjourned.’

As the Grand Admiral turned to leave the room a dull concussion shook the ship. Every member looked up in surprise, but before anyone could say a word a strident voice came over the intercom explaining, ‘Grand Admiral, the fleet has come under attack!’

Grand Admiral Koor stood in amazement, but under the harsh glance of Khandar she finally stammered, ‘By the Terrans? Impossible! How many ships?’

There was a short pause and then a distant rumble from another concussion. Finally the bridge reported, ‘It is the Terrans, Grand Admiral, but we have only one ship on our screens.’

‘One ship!’ Koor roared, punching up the bridge battle display. In the center of the conference table the Golkos and Seer’koh watched a representation of their fleets bloom. Both formations were motionless and intact, but between them sped the tiny dark tube that was the Gagarin, spewing torpedoes and mines which flowered in multi-colored flame throughout the two fleets. The Grand Admiral was livid.

‘The audacity! Destroy it!’

‘No! Don’t you see they’re in the crossfire of our fleets! It is only a scout, jam his transmissions and pursue him when he’s clear of the formation!’ Admiral Khandar argued emphatically, but the order was given and Koor refused to countermand it. In a moment the two fleets awoke with wild volleys of fire aimed at the speeding scout. The projectors and torpedoes, hampered by the enormity of the Gagarin’s speed, scattered around the small ship without effect, instead burning into the unshielded flanks of the Alliance formation. Within moments distress calls resounded across the ethernet. In five minutes the scout was gone, with nothing but a few scorch marks on her hull, and the sounds of stricken Alliance vessels in her wake. Before she disappeared from Alliance screens the Golkos and the Seer’koh heard one other thing over the ethernet they did not expect and did not want to admit: the derisive sound of laughter fading off into space.

CHAPTER 8

The Hrang spy looked absolutely Terran; he even moved like a Terra as he took a seat in the deep leather chair preferred by Crandal. The implant-modified nose curled up at the acrid smell of the smoke, but the pipe smoker merely shrugged. With a very Terran sigh the Hrang told the man, ‘You’ve put yourself in a very untenable position in the minds of my colleagues. We are not quite certain that we want any involvement in an assassination attempt on Alexander. The Chem couldn’t accomplish it. I don’t see any particular reason why you or your associates should be any more successful. If you fail then we open ourselves up to Alexander’s wrath. He was not so merciful with Bureel of Chem. Considering he already has two thousand Hrang in custody I am not certain that I want to put my people or our allies in a more precarious position.’

‘Your concern is understandable, if a bit late. You already have Alexander nipping at your heels. Even as you mass your fleets he is countering you. Don’t look so surprised my friend, your movements are common knowledge to us; I’m certain Alexander’s information is much more detailed and up to date than ours. You are rather careless and sloppy, to be perfectly honest. It is somewhat difficult for me to believe your civilization is as advanced as it is considering the clumsiness with which your Alliance wages war.’

‘We will not appear so sloppy, as you call it, when Terra is surrounded by vast numbers of warships,’ the Hrang told him pointedly. ‘No adversary in the history of Galactic warfare has ever prevailed with as great a numerical disadvantage as the Terrans now face.’

‘Then why are you here talking to me? If you are as confident as you seem then there is no reason for the risk you are taking just to see me. Go ahead then and fight your war. Beat Alexander and dictate your terms to him.’ The Hrang was silent. The threat was not a hollow one and he knew it. After a few leisurely puffs at his pipe, the man continued. ‘The truth is, you’re scared to death of him. He manhandled, excuse the expression, the Chem and now you’re next. Numbers don’t mean anything to Alexander, power does. Alexander knows his destiny as well as you do, and he does not mean to leave it unfulfilled. The fact that you have more ships than he does is a small inconvenience to him. It just means he has to think harder about defeating you. That’s alright though, because he enjoys the challenge. Isn’t that what your analysts are telling you? Now, since I assume you agree in general with my observation, as I don’t see you leaving, let’s get down to business. We will take care of Alexander for you. With that accomplished we deprive the body of the snake from its cognitive as well as spiritual head.’

‘You are quite certain Terran aggression will die with Alexander?’

‘Alexander is the heart and soul of this mad scheme of galactic conquest. Without him there will be a scramble for Terran security. When the Alliance offers terms for peace, which will ensure Terran security with a minimum of territorial loss, the transitional government will accept.’

‘How can you be so certain that your government will accede, especially if the Alliance claims territory as part of the arrangement?’

‘In a barter some demands are expected, territory, prisoner exchange, etc.’ Crandal told the Hrang, and then waved his hand as if to purge the issue from his mind. ‘Never mind that, however, your negotiators will have no problems because they shall deal through me. Your ambassadors shall request that any and all negotiations be channeled through myself. How so? It is simple. In this case the truth works much better than any lie. I was chief of the Terran council which the Scythians dealt with Earth forty years ago. That will come as a small sensation, but it is accurate enough to get my colleagues and I what we want. From that position we will be able to dictate policy once again. That is our angle to this situation. Your angle is, of course, that you will be dealing with a known quantity that has your best interests in mind.’

‘Your offer is intriguing,’ the Hrang admitted, but with the caveat that he would still have to sell the plan to the Alliance council. ‘That difficulty, however, may be overcome with certain assurances. I could guarantee a positive vote in the council with preconditions.’

‘Which would be what?’

‘The return of the Hrang prisoners; territorial concessions; and a reduction in the Terran fleets,’ the Hrang told him. The alien did not note any sign of affirmation or negation on the Terran’s part, so he explained his reasoning. ‘The return of the prisoners will give me the Hrang vote. The Golkos will be looking to expand into the frontiers of Terra, and they would not be disappointed to absorb part of the ancient Scythian empire in the process, so territory gains their vote. A Terran fleet reduction to a system defense force for the Terran Homeworld-say about two hundred and fifty ships-should satisfy the Seer’koh, the Syraptose and the Quotterim. That would allow me to convince the major players of the Alliance that we can deal with you. In return we can supply you with information and technology which will increase your chances of success.’

‘And the assurance you shall deal with Terra through me,’ the man added.

‘That assurance as well,’ the Hrang replied.

‘I do not foresee any problem concerning your preconditions,’ the man told the Hrang, ‘that is, unless Alexander executes the Hrang spies. That is an event I have no control over.’

‘You had better hope that he does not do so,’ the Hrang answered

After the Terran nodded his agreement the alien rose from the chair. The man did likewise. ‘I shall contact my superiors,’ the alien said. ‘They shall press the issue, but I doubt whether we shall have an answer in anything less than two of your days. Until that time I urge you to make no attempt on Alexander’s life. I can guarantee nothing if you proceed before you have our full support.’

‘Understood,’ the man said, taking a deep drag through his pipe. When he spoke again it was with the wry grimace that his colleagues found so disquieting. He took out his pipe and pointed the stalk at the Hrang, saying, ‘Now you understand me: don’t even think of trying to double cross me on this. I’ll make it a point to keep your Hrang friends until I’m safely entrenched here. On the first hint of trouble I carry out the execution Alexander has hesitated over. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly,’ the Hrang smiled. ‘I think I can convince my associates in the profit of this without any cause for alarm. Beyond the concessions we may gain it is certainly more to our advantage to deal with a being as predictable as yourself instead of the cunning Alexander. Good day.’ The Hrang inclined his Terran head with a irritating ghost of a smile and left the room.

The man with the pipe watched the alien go, and then quietly laughed; fully aware he’d been slighted. He took a long drag and slowly wreathed himself in smoke, muttering, ‘Son of a bitch, you’re more Terran than I thought!’

CHAPTER 9

Admiral Augesburcke was terse in his report. ‘The Gagarin, a Terran submarine, has discovered and engaged the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet only one point seven five parsecs from the Terran-Golkos frontier. That is roughly thirty-seven parsecs from Terra, and two parsecs from the balance of the Seventh Fleet.’ Admiral Augesburcke briefed Alexander in a secure conference room set up on the first floor of the float house. The space was limited so there were only Alexander, Nazeera and Admiral Augesburcke present. On the other end was Admiral Halston who was in Command of the Seventh Fleet task force on the Golkos frontier.

‘A sub engaged their fleet?’ Alexander exclaimed, voicing the first impression of all of them.

‘So it appears,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘I’d hazard to say that this man’s got more balls than brains, but as he made it through he’s got enough luck to shut me up.’

‘I like this Captain already. Did they have a Scythian on board?’

Augesburcke shook his head. ‘No just the normal ethernet. The constant comlink was pretty broken up with jamming halfway through their sensor sweep, but as the Gagarin completed its run intact and then wisely withdrew we have the entire tape intact.’

‘Let’s see it,’ Alexander said. Without wait Augesburcke played the entire tape of the Gagarin’s encounter with the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets. When it was complete Alexander crossed his arms and whistled. ‘Decorate that Captain and give that ship a pennant, Admiral, and take note: that is how wars are won. Now, give me your thoughts.’

‘Not much has changed, Alexander, strategically speaking,’ Augesburcke said. He punched a button and a small hologram appeared over the center of the desk. The Terran Empire was in the center, and Alliance Fleets were gathering in three distinct regions about it. Augesburcke pointed them out. ‘As discovered by Captain Konstantinov the Golkos-Seer’koh Fleets are already in position and waiting for the Syraptose and the Bael-Quotterim to form on their fronts. The latter are still massing, albeit lethargically. I would guess they are still a week from being in position and ready for their push. We have a great deal of specific information on numbers, positions, ships names, everything a commander would ever need to know. It’s damn suspicious that we’ve accrued all of this data simply by listening. I cannot imagine commanders worth their salt allowing such blatant use of the ethernet as we’ve noted. But as we can see from Captain Konstantinov’s scan the two sets of data are almost identical.’

‘What has me wondering is what they’re doing just sitting there waiting,’ Admiral Halston observed. ‘They’re so far ahead of their flanks I’d say they’re just asking to be attacked.’

‘They expect to meet you in open battle, Admiral,’ Nazeera told them. ‘You have to understand how their commanders are thinking and realize they are making the same mistakes that the Chem made in the opening stages of our civil war. Terrans, gentlemen, are used to war. From what I understand, you’ve had constant warfare on your planet for ten kicellia. The rest of the civilized galaxy has been at peace for that time and longer. Tradition gives way only grudgingly to reality, and in war the quicker to adapt usually wins. What the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets are doing, gentlemen, is twofold: one, waiting for their flanks to mass into attack position; and two: waiting for a Terran fleet to stand to and agree to engage them in battle. Recall when I, myself, halted my Armada before your fleet and engaged in the per functionary trade of dialogue prior to battle. That is tradition. It was not long, however, in our own civil war before such traditions were cast aside for the type of engagements Alexander showed himself used to.’

The Admirals each allowed their brows to rise, but Alexander corrected them. ‘Do you so quickly forget your Napoleonic code Admirals? We did the very same thing two hundred years past. It’s only twentieth century warfare that has largely done away with the pre-fight ritual. That does not mean I wish to revive it, but gentlemen, we have the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet floating in space waiting for us. I don’t wish to disappoint them, or to miss the tactical opportunity presented to us.’

‘I understand your obvious desire to attack, Alexander, and normally that would be the sound solution,’ Admiral Halston chimed in over the ethernet, ‘but we do not have an attacking force available. Although we’ve beefed up the Seventh Fleet to almost six hundred ships over the last two months a third are the tankers we’ve modified into ‘fireships.’ Although this force is positioned on the frontier it is wholly undermanned for an attack force, and we’ve no other reserves.’

‘I’m not sure we can pass this up,’ Admiral Augesburcke said. ‘We can’t just let them sit there. It is a tantalizing opportunity, and I say we need to take advantage of it.’

Alexander nodded, but he wanted more data. ‘What was the result of Captain Konstantinov’s attack on the enemy fleet?

‘I would estimate at least thirty enemy vessels damaged or disabled by either the Gagarin or their own crossfire.’

‘Play the tape again,’ Alexander ordered. Augesburcke did so, and as he did Alexander opened his thoughts in a running commentary. ‘This is what I see when I watch the tape. One Terran ship pops out of superluminal and what happens? The Alliance fleet panics. Listen to the enormous jumble of radio calls. Every ship steps on the communications of every other ship. I defy any coherent set of orders to get through that. Notice the undisciplined fire, crossfire, haphazard fire. Jamming is non-existent until the Gagarin is nearly three quarters of the way through her run. Then she’s gone. Where is the pursuit? Now, show me the positions of the enemy ships before the Gagarin’s run, and after. Now change back and forth between the two. Do you see the movement? In the space of five minutes one attacking ship has disrupted the formation of two thousand vessels, minutely to be certain, but noticeably. This tells me several things: they are prone to overreact, even to panic, in the face of unexpected and aggressive tactics. Their discipline is, at this point, lacking under fire. They are lacking in tactical foresight or flexibility. Those are the conditions I see now, but they will change. Before they do, however, we must act. We must attack the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets immediately.’

‘But our force will be overwhelmed,’ Halston objected.

‘Not if we use the Seventh Fleet in concert with the fireships,’ Alexander countered.

‘I’m guessing their getting strict orders right now,’ Augesburcke said. ‘The Alliance Captains are being told to maintain formation and discipline of fire at all coststhe consequences will be severe.’

‘That should make our fireships much more effective,’ Halston nodded.

‘Exactly,’ Alexander smiled.

‘Excuse me, but what are these fireships you are referring to,’ Nazeera asked.

Alexander nodded, saying, ‘It might be good to review the concept for us all, not just the Elder of Chem.’

Augesburcke punched up a command and the image of a three masted warship appeared, circa the seventeenth century. ‘This, Elder, is a wind propelled wooden ship used in our ancient naval warfare. As you can imagine they were very susceptible to fire. Precautions were taken, of course, so that any normal conflagration could be controlled. The danger was still there, however, and this weakness was exploited on numerous occasions for both offensive and defensive purposes. The fireship itself was simply a warship or merchantman stripped of all useful equipment and loaded with flammable material. It normally carried canvas that was raised by a skeleton crew, and guided as near as possible to the target ships, which were usually anchored or becalmed. At the latest possible moment the ship was fired,’ the image of the ship was now animated, following the Admiral’s direction with sparkling realism. ‘The skeleton crew abandoned the ship and allowed it to ram the target vessels. The heat generated by the fireship normally resulted in every ship in close proximity catching fire. The outcome, with very little risk and loss of material, is obviously an advantageous one; assuming the wind did not change.

‘What we’ve done, is to convert our fleet of tankers into modern fireships. We’ve outfitted a simple triggering mechanism which will overload the matter-anti-matter engines. A magnetic projector will focus the resultant energy in a single, though somewhat dispersed, beam. This beam can be projected at a single target. It’s a one shot self destruct system, but it carries a power one hundredfold over that of our largest blaster projector. What it hits it kills, and against massed ships it’s bound to cause collateral damage.’

‘You can honor your own Admiral Xora, my dear, for the inspiration. I studied your history during my time aboard the Kuntok. I remembered the intrepid Admiral’s brilliant self destruct order. When surrounded by her adversaries and facing the prospect of being boarded and captured she ordered the Jun-Toor to self destruct by overloading her mains. A pragmatic method of destruction certainly, but Xora was not satisfied to simply deny her enemies her vessel. Rather she had each blaster projector channel opened so that the initial rush of the energy wave was actually focused through the projectors. The Jun-Toor destroyed one of her adversaries and severely damaged two more making it a very costly victory for her enemies. When I ran across that bit of history I couldn’t help but think how I could use it to my advantage.’

‘That is if you can get the Golkos and the Seer’koh not to disperse their fleets,’ Halston cautioned. ‘I’ve no argument about the concept, mind you, but I’m concerned that the Alliance won’t just sit back and cooperate.’

‘They won’t have any choice, Admiral,’ Alexander told him.

Halston should his head adamantly, ‘I am sorry sir, I cannot agree.’

‘I appreciate your candor Admiral, but let me pose the question to you another way.’ Alexander told him, and then he settled back into his chair with that irritating all-knowing look, which was true. He could have told Halston exactly what he was going to say in response to his questions, and what was worse Halston knew it as well. The Admiral, however, had no choice but to play his part, as did the rest of Alexander’s audience. ‘Admiral you are the Alliance commander and suddenly I pop out of superluminal with six hundred ships to your twenty-five hundred. What do you think?’

‘Either you’re a fool or you’ve got something up your sleeve,’ the Admiral told him. ‘My first response, knowing Terran aggression and audacity would most likely be to withdraw my main force and probe with limited sorties.’

‘You cannot do that Admiral,’ Nazeera told him. ‘You are the main strength of a tenuous Alliance. If the Quotterim or the Syraptose hear of your withdrawing from a Terran fleet one fourth your size, which Alexander’s propaganda and Chem confirmation will ensure, you’ve lost your allies and the war. You cannot make any other move but that of confident aggression. Faced with the Terran advance you simply have no choice but to take the risk.’

‘Very well,’ Halston grudgingly admitted, ‘but I do not attack blindly. I am suspicious of the fireships, even if I don’t know their true purpose, and I attack them at long range; cautiously until I draw them out.’

‘What are your scanners going to tell you about the fireships, prior to your ever coming into range, Admiral,’ Alexander asked.

Halston would have squirmed if he could. He was being taken to school and he didn’t like it, but he was also a professional. He answered as honestly as he could. ‘This is a new one for me, but let me guess. I’d see ships roughly two to three times the size of my battleship, large power generation, low mass.’

‘Actually two to three times the mass of a standard battleship, Admiral Halston but you wouldn’t know that. It’s one of Hashimoto’s modifications,’ Augesburcke said. ‘He figured on the low mass in the scans causing warning flags so we filled the tankers with water after we sent them aloft. Now they register an appropriately large mass on the scanners with a rather noticeably advantageous after effect. When the ship blows the matter-anti-matter explosion would normally vaporize the vessel. The disintegration of the projector creates a shock wave in front of it, which originates at the rear of the ship. This shock wave precedes the matter-anti-matter blast which is not channeled through the projector, hitting the water in the fireship’s tanks and causing the hydrogen to fuse into helium.’

‘You create a fusion reaction in front of the shock wave, like a projected fusion bomb,’ Halston nodded. ‘That will get their attention.’

‘Like a great many fusion bombs,’ Alexander chortled. ‘Really this has to be one of my favorite Hashimoto ideas; somewhat twisted, but very efficient.’

‘Grim,’ Halston conceded, ‘and what’s worse as a commander making logical assumptions I would have no warning. I will therefore assume that I see a core of large warships, with heavy energy readings, and high mass. I would assume it’s a new series of ultra-heavy battleships; i.e. dreadnoughts, to revive the old term. I deal with them logically considering my greater numbers and necessity of attackI envelope. I bring as many guns to bear on them as I can and so create greater firepower through a greater number of guns.’

‘Which is exactly what I want them to do,’ Alexander told him.

‘I stand corrected, Overlord, and I withdraw all of my objections,’ Halston said humbly.

‘Thank you for your input and your patience, Admiral Halston. Are we agreed then?’ Alexander asked. When he’d received nods from each of them he reiterated his stratagem. ‘Gentlemen they are shaken, but one attack with one vessel will not alter their resolve. Therefore, they are still there, and they are still waiting for us. We shall give them what they want in a form they will not only recognize, but they will relish!’

CHAPTER 10

The Pro Consul of the Alliance, former Kempec Ambassador Kvel Mavek rubbed her temples in obvious distress. Her expression was oddly Terran, and the two Kempec Mystics and the three Hrang Ambassadors had no difficulty in reading her thoughts. When she finally glanced up from underneath her finely drawn brows her glittering eyes betrayed a mix of tragedy and repugnance. The silky voice of the normally passive and introspective Kempec tempered as she informed her visitors, ‘This is the third meeting I’ve had this morning. The first was with the political Heads of State of each of the Alliance member states. The second was with the military commanders of our Alliance forces. Now I get to meet with the chief architects of our espionage effortsplendid, simply splendid. If I never hear the name Alexander again I will not be disappointed. I don’t believe I can tell you, the master spies of the Alliance, anything politically or even militarily which you do not already know. Actually, I was hoping to learn something from you. You are, after all, gatherers of information and interpreters of data. I have spent the entire morning trying to sort through a mass of conflicting reports, conflicting emotions and nonsensical assurances. Can you shed some light on these mysteries?’

‘What is it about Alexander and the Terrans that you wish to know, Madame Pro Consul?’ She-Rok, the Hrang Master asked politely.

‘I don’t wish to know anything about Alexander, I want you to explain the Alliance to me!’ she replied emphatically. Kvel Mavek then held up her hands to silence the Hrang response, and calmed herself. The attendees waited patiently for the harried Kempec to regroup, which she did quickly. When she explained her position, her manner was controlled, with only a hint of exasperation. ‘I have just spoken with Grand Admiral Koor, the Supreme Commander of Alliance forces. She reports that the Alliance offensive against the Terran Empire will be ready to proceed on our newly arranged schedule, five decurns from now. My ambassadors from each of the member nations of the Alliance have assured me this very morning of their support. Yet I hear strange rumblings within space. Though Grand Admiral Koor said nothing of it, and took care to avoid directly answering my probing, I have heard through my own channels that the Terrans are aware of the Golkos-Seer’koh presence on the Terran frontier. I am no military commander, and though I have the greatest confidence in the Grand Admiral I cannot help but be disturbed by this news. Then there are the Syraptose, our nervous and isolated friends upon the other side of Terran space. They have been the least enthusiastic of the Alliance military arms all along, and at the moment that enthusiasm seems to be descending into some form of mild paranoia. They claim to have lost an entire squadron in the central regions of their own space. No explanation, no distress calls, no wreckage, but they are gone nonetheless. The Syraptose military liaison assures me they will do their duty to the Alliance, but there is an element of defeat already in his eyes. This denial and paranoia cannot be a good omen on the eve of a great offensive. The stratagem seems sound enough, to a layman, but who knows in the face of a general like Alexander? Then there are our worthy Hrang spies, and your request of assistance from the Kempec Mystics. What strange twist of this drama will you cause? Indeed, I like nothing about your request. I like nothing about the military situation. I like nothing about the political situation. All in all I like nothing about this confrontation whatsoever!’

The two races which listened to the Pro Consul’s lamentation contrasted sharply. The Kempec were Golkoid, bipedal, and mammalian; their varying tones of dusky silver to charcoal flesh accented their glittering, almost luminescent eyes. The Kempec were obviously uncomfortable with their situation, both galactically and in this particular gathering. They were a peaceful race, though they could not claim this high moral position to any other reason but the small size of their empire, only some two dozen star systems and their precarious position between the warlike Chem and their bellicose cousins the Golkos. That the Kempec served as a buffer between these two adversarial empires made their natural tendency towards neutrality and reason an understandable preoccupation.

The Hrang Masters, while no more enamored with the steady downfall of Galactic affairs since the rise of Alexander of Terra than their allies the Kempec, had an added resolve. The Hrang’s possessed the chameleon like ability to transform their flesh tones and texture. When this talent was amplified by the liberal use of artificial implants the Hrang’s were able to mimic most of the terranoid races of the galaxy. So incredible was this ability that the Hrang’s were able to impersonate specific individuals; a skill invaluable in espionage. The Hrang used their unique capabilities for the Galactic Alliance which formed in response to the rise of Alexander and the Terran Empire. They replaced several thousand Terrans in the process, and for a time, one of their operatives even held the seat as the President of the Terran Federation. This amazing coup did not last long, however. Alexander swept the Terran Empire clean of the Hrang replacements and dispelled all doubt as to Terran intentions in the galaxy when he took the seat of the Presidency and the title as Overlord of the Terran Empire. His first act in response to the Alliance was to demand the unconditional return of all Terrans replaced by Hrang spies. It was a demand damningly fair minded of the Terran conqueror, as he asked for nothing else, not even a statement of non-aggression, but it was patently impossible. The Golkos, a ruthlessly practical race, executed the Terran prisoners without consultation. Now the one bargaining chip which could avert an interstellar war of epic proportions was no longer on the table.

She-Rok served in Roma as long as Mavek; he placed his hand on the desk of the Pro Consul in an awkward attempt to ease the concern of his colleague. Though the Hrang were unaccustomed to active roles in Galactic events this particular situation warranted enormous risk. He reminded the Alliance Pro Consul that the execution of the Terran captives, while regrettable, was not without Terran cause. For two kicellia the known galaxy lived with the ‘Legend of Alexander.’ Alexander the Great dreamt that one day his descendants would continue his conquests in the endless realms of glory that were the cosmos. Now Alexander’s people had come. In an incredibly short space of time they boiled out of their solar system to subjugate the very Scythian Empire that threatened to use them as mercenaries against the galaxy. A warlord rose and took the very name of Alexander, striking a peace with the warlike Chem and marrying their Elder to cement the bond. This left the remaining cultures of the galaxy cowering under the imminent threat of invasion, forcing the formation of a Galactic Alliance against Terra. All this the Hrang reiterated to the Alliance Pro Consul, adding, ‘From our firsthand knowledge of Alexander we see this demand as nothing but a ruse to stir up support for his expansionist policies. After all, what true value can such a small number of beings possess? Alexander values territory and conquest, not individuals. We have not attacked Terran territory, and while it is true that we supplanted people in power we actually did Alexander a service in removing a potential adversary. Remember that our own operative masqueraded as President Sadat.

‘We used the opportunity to make serious inroads into the Terran Senate in a push for a peaceful policy, but that was political in nature. I cannot see Alexander having anything more than a residual irritation for such acts. This demand of Alexander’s, seemingly so noble in its face value, is nothing more than an attempt to reverse those losses in the Senate.’

‘Alexander is Overlord of the Terran Empire, Ambassador,’ the Pro Consul replied heatedly. ‘He is not the Grand Master of the Hrang, the Chosen of the Seer’koh, or Servitor of the August Body of Golkos. His reactions pertaining to these events cannot be gauged by the theoretical reactions of the ancient cultures. Yet if you insist on drawing analogies do it with the Chem. Alexander won their trust, their admiration and their Elder in marriage. That in itself is unique feats in the history of the galaxy, as the Chem give their adoration grudgingly. The Chem would not, for instance, give a second thought to their citizen’s fate if slain in fair combat.’

Kvel Mavec’s smooth features turned grim and her brows contracted over the steely pupil-less eyes. ‘Imagine if we invaded Chem space or had the poor judgment to execute a Chem citizenimagine that. We’d have a Chem Armada on our doorstep.’ She paused and locked eyes with each of the Hrang and Kempec in the room. Then she shook her head and her shoulders slumped. ‘This is how I see Alexander’s reaction, and it is remarkably consistent with his behavior thus far. We have all been privy to Alexander’s actions in recent history. He’s made no attempt to hide them. Excepting the grave threat his conquest presents, Alexander has acted honorably and fairly. Look at his terms for the Scythian’s who were guilty of kicellia of medical experimentation on Terrans: he took their empire it is true, but he left them their Homeworlds inviolate, and allowed their people to keep the majority of their holdings in the systems now in the Terran Empire. He has even granted them citizenship in the Terran Federation.

‘The Scythian ambassador to the Alliance is now formally asking us to concede to the Terran demands and come to a dialogue with Alexander. We have an opportunity here, even with the Golkos crime. We can plead our case in fear of the ‘Legend of Alexander,’ and pay for the lives we’ve taken as the price of galactic peace. That is the way out of this. The only way, I fear. I do not see the military option as being viable, rather I think it plays directly into Alexander’s hands. Unfortunately, it may be too late. The voice of Kempec is small, and the fleets of the Alliance, almost four thousand ships, are poised to attack the Terran frontier on three fronts in less than half a decand.’

‘I will admit that Alexander is cunning, Madame Pro Consul,’ the Hrang told her slyly, if the term could describe his narrowed eyes and wringing hands. ‘However, it is just that which makes him more dangerous than the blatant warlord. Alexander uses the intrigue and fear of the Galactic cultures as a weapon. Remember how he managed to have himself captured and ‘tested’ by the Chem on Pantrixnia? There, before the Galactics, Alexander showcased for us the prowess of Terrans, not with a champion, but with himself. He had himself rescued covertly so that he himself could face down the mighty Chem Armada sent to destroy Terra. Afterwards he coyly played with our operative in the Presidency, allowing us to believe that we were privy to an incomprehensible coup in espionage. All the while he merely delayed us and gauged our intentions; while he orchestrated a Chem rebellion that destroyed them as an immediate military force and removed the Chem as a threat to him. Now he plays upon us again.

‘What are we to do, Ambassador? It is impossible to ascertain Alexander’s thoughts with any certainty whatsoever. Terrans are a confusing people, and Alexander has risen to power by using that confusion as a shield. Legends, supported by Scythian evidence, make Terran’s out to be violent in the extreme with a lust for glory and power. What have we seen, Ambassador, that would lend us to disbelieve these basic tenets of Terrans?’

The Pro Consul scowled, but nodded her head. Somberly she said, ‘I must unfortunately agree with you there. While Alexander’s actions and words have been overt and honorable they can be seen in an entirely different and frightening light. That in itself is a problem, however. Alexander’s exploits have been very public. I don’t think that there is a more recognizable figure today in the known galaxy. What’s more the populace of many of our civilizations is somewhat enamored with him. He is a powerful and charismatic leader, and none of his actions can be construed in a bad light without the benefit of much skepticism. There is, I’m afraid, no more support for a war against Alexander in the populace than there is for capitulation to him.’

‘That is true, and his marriage to Nazeera of Chem has solidified that reputation,’ She-Rok agreed, adding, ‘Alexander is no longer seen as a Terran, but as a Galactic. It is an important distinction in the mind of the populace, and a testament to his brilliance.’ The Hrang sighed before continuing. When he did his voice hissed in unaccustomed gravity. ‘None of this changes the basic situation, however. It is still Alexander’s goal to conquer the known universe and subjugate every empire under his own. That is what Terran history tells us, and that is what Alexander’s personal history tells us. We have all seen the Scythian tapes of this Terran’s past life experiences, Madame Pro Consul, and I think I am safe in saying that nothing in this man’s past would lead us to any other conclusion. Your own voice of reason would be the desirous method of solving this problem, even with the Golkos murder; but Alexander’s character and his aspiration to be Overlord of all he surveys prevents that strategy from being plausible.’

‘Very well, I accept your argument, but it still remains that we now battle not only Alexander, but our own populist opinion as well.’

‘That will shortly change, though not without great sacrifice on the part of the Hrang,’ the Ambassador told her. In response to the Kempec’s quizzical expression the Ambassador continued, ‘Alexander has in his possession over two thousand Hrang spies. If he follows Terran tradition he will execute those spies. When he does we will simply claim our own act as one of retribution.’

‘Who will believe that?’ Mavek was increduloussuch heinous subterfuge was hard for her to understand much less condone.

‘Certainly no one with a firm grasp of the facts,’ the Hrang answered. ‘However, for our own populace it will plant a seed of doubt. Where there is doubt on both sides it is always easier to believe your own is in the right. When the war is won and Alexander is gone then that is exactly the way history shall be written. The aggressive Terran’s executed captured Alliance troops. It will be just one of the many devious deeds of Alexander, and it will be believable. He has many Terran predecessors who were not so noble, even according to their own people. In retrospect Alexander will not be too difficult to vilify.’

‘That is in retrospect, Ambassador She-Rok. I think Alexander may have something to say about the matter before all is said and done.’

‘You are right, and that is the very prospect that spurs us to use the services of the vaunted Kempec Mystics,’ She-Rok replied. He motioned to the two Kempec, who had been silent during the entire discussion and asked, ‘I assume that since you have brought the noble Mystics that you have agreed to our request for information?’

‘I must reluctantly agree,’ the Alliance Pro Consul told him. ‘My colleagues and I have spent some time going over the information you requested. Despite my desire for a peaceful settlement we have concluded, as have you, that the mere threat of Alexander’s conquest of the galaxy is so entrenched in our psyche that we cannot consider his actions in any other way. We are forced to war, whether our rational tells us it is the necessary course of action or not.’

‘You continue to appear unconvinced, Pro Consul Mavek.’

‘Not unconvinced of the necessity of our action, Ambassador, but unconvinced that this is the proper course and the morally correct course. The Kempec have been arbiters and liaisons for many generations. We have a strongly developed understanding of cultures, whether it be our own or another’s, to an as of yet unparallel degree. The Kempec have played a part in the peace of the last kicellia, and we are proud of that. Now I see us acting with panic, without so much as an attempt at dialogue with Alexander.’

‘We have attempted dialogue with him constantly,’ the Hrang reminded her.

‘But did we tell him anything he wanted to hear?’ she replied sternly. ‘All Alexander has really asked is for us to return his people, but we sidestep the issue with varying degrees of civility without attacking the root cause of our confrontation. There can be no success in that. There cannot be. Two parties will not agree when they cannot even converse upon a common issue. I lament we have not exhausted our possible diplomatic agenda. It is a regret I fear we shall all bear and the Kempec no less than the Golkos, the Hrang or the Seer’koh. While your people may play an active and aggressive role in this history, the Kempec will have used their special skills to supply you with the information you need to commit murder and assassination. That is a long fall for a Kempec, Ambassador, and the repercussions are far from palatable.’

‘Come now, Pro Consul Mavek, certainly the present death of Alexander will not only prove noteworthy but highly profitable to all involved,’ She-Rok told her, his thin lips curling in what might have been a smile.

‘Assassination is a vocation we would just as soon not be involved in,’ the Kempec reiterated, adding, ‘and if I may say so it is a dangerous expansion from the espionage of the Hrang. I once thought your people possessed too ingrained a dread for physical violence to stoop to assassination. Tell me, how is it you were able to convince your disciples to make that leap of moral faith from the precipice of intelligence gathering to the abyss of murder?’

‘Actually, Pro Consul Mavek the Hrang have not had to make such a leap of faith, with all of its traditional as well as practical difficulties,’ She-Rok told her, settling somewhat more comfortably into his chair. At the Kempec’s questioning glance he amplified his answer. ‘The Hrang are a passive race, much as yourselves, though in this instance we see such a large threat to our own sovereignty that we are roused to great, though not unique, effort. We use our skills at espionage for our protection and even that of our neighbors. Though these acts are certainly violations of interstellar laws and courtesy we’ve never violated the passivity of our central goal: knowledge. The dire needs of the moment do nothing to change that, Ambassador, and truth to tell it would be unwise to change our policy. The Hrang have no skill in killing either by sabotage or physical means. We lack the aggression of the Golkos, or the philosophy of the Chem to act upon such thoughts. There are, in fact, precious few of us who may even entertain the thought of assassination, much less take any active part in it. It is not in our nature.’

‘You seem easily convinced of the necessity of Alexander’s death, Ambassador She-Rok. I wonder how you can relate that to your Hrang proclivity for passive espionage. Are we talking of assassination or aren’t we?’

‘We are indeed, Kavel Mavek. Fear is a great driver of deeds, and this crisis is an event we have not faced as a people, or as a galaxy, since the coming out of the Chem.’

‘You confuse me, Ambassador,’ the Kempec admitted. ‘I assumed we were talking of the desperate scenario of a Hrang spy being used as an assassin. Am I therefore mistaken? Certainly no other race can hope to impersonate a Terran? Or have you found one of Nazeera of Chem’s entourage to turn against his sovereign?’

‘Nothing so bold, Pro Consul,’ She-Rok told her, spreading the stubby claws of his plump hands wide. ‘For espionage on Terra it is quite logical to use a Hrang, but for killing a Terran who better to use than another Terran?’

CHAPTER 11

‘You cannot be serious?’ the Pro Consul was astounded.

‘Don’t be so surprised, Mavek, Terrans are remarkably driven by personal gain, and Alexander has made himself some bitter enemies,’ the Hrang told her. He was silent for a moment, as if deciding exactly what to tell her. At length he said, ‘When the roundup of the Hrang spies was accomplished not all of my people were turned over to the authorities. A small number, unimportant in itself, were secreted in safety by a group of Terrans who, apparently, had dealings with the Scythians before the rise of Alexander, and who expected to profit from the eventual normalization of relations between the Galactic cultures. It’s the age old philosophy of the Terrans come to the forefront: power. With their ties to the Scythians, who held the technology they needed, they were set to be the ruling block of Terra. But then Alexander came onto the scene and circumvented them completely. Alexander’s rise to dominance was a surprise not only to the Scythians, but to these Terrans. Now they find themselves outside the circles of power they expected to one day control, and they want back in.’

‘And they are willing to sacrifice their Overlord to this end?’ Mavek could not bring herself to believe such a thing. ‘Certainly that is not consistent with Terran behavior as we have seen it thus far.’

‘It is, of course, difficult at best to draw conclusions with our normal desire of certainty where Terrans are concerned, Ambassador, but you said yourself that if analogies are to be drawn we should draw them with the Chem.’ The Hrang reminded her. ‘It is not so long ago that Bureel of Chem betrayed his own wife and House in the quest for power. If a Chem may fall so low, can it be so inconceivable for a Terran to betray his ruler? The Terran history we know of is rife with violent betrayals. Look to Alexander’s own past life memories: he slew a kinsman to gain his crown.’

‘Very well, you’ve made your point, She-Rok,’ Mavek said testily. ‘However, I still do not understand what they hope to gain by this endeavor. Can they mobilize the Terran military, which is unimpeachably loyal to Alexander, and fight this war? Do they have his generalship or his political savvy? We’ve been played by Alexander wonderfully well, Ambassador. Do they feel they can do better?’

‘It is impossible to say, Madame Pro Consul,’ She-Rok admitted. ‘I think I would put the dilemma another way, at least in their minds. First, their lust for power blinds them somewhat to the difficulties of their situation. I sincerely believe the main crux of their idea is to remove Alexander, fill the void of power quickly and then deal with the galactic situation as best they may. They probably intend to come to terms with us, which may be a mistaken assumption. Second, they do not have the faith in Alexander’s invincibility that you do, Ambassador. They see this galactic war as unwinnable. I believe they wish to stop it before it consumes their civilization entirely.’

‘Meaning they would make whatever peace they could which would preserve their power, even at the lessening of the present Terran Empire?’

‘Quite likely,’ She-Rok told her.

Mavek thought for a moment. ‘The idea has advantages, as unlikely as it may seem. I can see no greater harm in pursuing it, so long as it is the Terrans who take the risk and we cover our tracks carefully. I warn you, however, the entire concept of assassination, beyond the moral abhorrence it bears, may have significantly different ramifications than either you or I can conceive She-Rok.’

‘Indeed Madame Pro Consul you sound strangely vague, certainly nothing unsatisfactory could come about from the death of Alexander?’

‘Nothing beyond the hints of our mystic science, She-Rok,’ Mavek told him in a troubled voice. ‘I am a politician, and a practical woman. Though I give great credence to what the Mystics say I am pragmatic enough to know that actions can be turned to make predictions come true, or prove to be false if the listener misunderstands what they are being told. Even so, were I to be forced to hazard a choice at this moment, of entirely my own volition, I would stop this adventure. I can give you no determinate reason other than my instincts. I have trusted them in the past, however, and I am inclined to do so now. I congratulate you on your excellent scheme of using Terrans and not Galactics as assassins, but I would stop even that if I could.’

‘Are you then withdrawing your support for our cause?’ She-Rok asked pointedly.

The Pro Consul waved aside his fears. ‘The decision was not mine to make. We have an obligation in this crisis and we shall fulfill it. My debating this subject will not change it so let’s leave my doubts behind and get on with it. You have requested that the Kempec Mystics ascertain some possible moments in the course of future events when Alexander’s person might be accurately predicted in time, place and circumstance. I believe we have the information you requested, but again I warn you, the results are not absolute and they are somewhat disturbing.’

The Hrang simply nodded, and he and his companions turned their attention to the two Mystics. The Mystics were clad in similar garments of silver grey, and they gazed at the Hrangs with impassive expressions. The shorter and heavier of the two wore a small badge on her shoulder, and it was she who addressed the Hrang delegation.

‘As you may know, Ambassadors, the art of prediction of future events is a delicate balance between the science of statistical probability, and intuitive foresight. We allow science to channel our minds in the general directions future events will take, and when we focus on individuals, especially ones with Alexander’s power to affect events, we can surmise images of future possibilities. Mind you, these are possibilities only, and even the possession of such knowledge can alter them or undo them; but we are able to assign specifics to the images with degrees of probable occurrence. It is an art fraught with inexactness, especially considering the data we begin with; however, the results often belie the formative data. In the case of Alexander our task was not so difficult. The Galactics view Alexander in a very rigid set of parameters based on a small amount of information. There are the factors of his expected behavior based on Galactic legend, and his observed behavior based upon actual observation. We can therefore clearly perceive the resultant Alliance reactions. That is why it was our advice to pursue a substantially more belligerent role than would normally be acceptable for the Kempec. It would be impossible to alter our perception of Alexander on such a level that he could be dealt with diplomatically, at least at this point in history. We are therefore forced onto a dangerous road of confrontation.’

‘My reverent Mystic you have a firm grasp of what is obvious to us all, may I trouble you to reveal the predictions for which we came?’ the Hrang interrupted rudely.

The Kempec failed to show any irritation in the Hrang’s manner, but said, ‘Ambassador, it is imperative that you understand fully just how interrelated the actions, perceptions, and suspicions of Alexander and the Galactic people are. One drives the other. You cannot separate them. That is one reason we are able to give you any information at all, and also why the outcome is so vague and dangerous, even if you are successful.’

‘You mean a great danger will be removed with the death of Alexander, I assume,’ the Hrang asked.

‘No, Ambassador, I can by no means be certain of that,’ the Mystic told him emphatically, ‘in fact the majority of the scenarios we have come across which occur after the death of Alexander are extraordinarily grim, for all of us.’

‘Then you foresee our success?’ The Hrang exclaimed, ignoring the severity of the Mystic’s warning.

The Mystic sighed with impatience, recalling that she was dealing with a being without the capability of four dimensional thought. Finally she said, ‘I am not saying that either, Ambassador. We have witnessed several future paths for the Galactics which occur in the near future, to be more specific within the next ten sidereal decants. Most of those future histories have Alexander present in them, some, a very few, occur after his assassination. None of the future histories we have witnessed which do not include Alexander of Terra give us any cause for confidence. They include, in their particulars, destruction and chaos on a massive scale throughout the known galaxy. It appears to be an upheaval of the social fabric of all of all cultures not seen since the Chem expansions of the past. If you are looking for a return to the status quo I do not think you shall find it with the death of Alexander.’

‘That will be a future of our making, and therefore preventable,’ the Hrang told the Mystic. ‘The cultures of the known galaxy have dealt with these situations before, and successfully. There is certain to be a period of war and chaos as the Terrans attempt to avenge Alexander’s death; and I do not expect the Chem to condone the act. That is, however, the price to pay for sovereignty. We, the ancient cultures of the galaxy, have worked these things out before, and we will do so again.’

The Kempec shook her head. ‘You are mistaken, Ambassador, for the chaos comes from without the known cultures, inclusive of Terrans. Where, who, or how I cannot tell you, but were I to hazard a guess, and this is a personal observation, I would say that the great tragedy that occurs to our civilizations after Alexander’s death occurs because Alexander was not there to meet it.’

‘Are you trying to convince us not to attempt to assassinate Alexander?’ The Hrang asked angrily.

To this retort the Kempec actually smiled, ‘Unfortunately Ambassador that would not be possible. Even were I to convince you of the danger of the act you could not convince the Golkos or the Seer’koh, and they would force you to carry through with the attempt. Your psychosis concerning Alexander has reached the stage of desperation, so whatever we say will not matter. You will attempt to assassinate Alexander, and that attempt will play its own role in history. Therefore, the Mystics must play their part.

‘There are three occurrences which we can foresee, Ambassador. The initial occurrence will be on Terra, three Terran decurns from now. It will take place upon the western balcony of Alexander’s house. We are not privy to the name-places in our visions, only images. So exactly where this occurs on Terra is somewhat of a mystery as we are not familiar with the planet. We have, however, compared our mental images with star charts for time, and geographic scans for place. We are certain to a fifty percent probability of the place and we will supply the charts to your operatives. It is up to them to detail the actual spot. The second event will take place five decurns from now, upon Alexander’s flagship. The third will take place roughly three decants from now when Alexander is on Golkos.’

‘Alexander on Golkos; you mean as a prisoner?’ She-Rok sat very upright in surprise.

‘As a conqueror,’ the Mystic corrected the Hrang.

‘I told you the results were disquieting,’ Kvel Mavek told the Hrang.

‘Are there no acceptable outcomes to your predictions?’ The Hrang asked vehemently.

‘The latter was by far the most acceptable in our minds,’ the Mystic told the Ambassadors.

The Hrang’s each flushed reddish ochre with anger and without another word they stormed out of the room. The Kempec’s glanced at each other in mixed amusement and pathos. The Pro Consul shrugged and commented, ‘I suppose I couldn’t expect it to go any better. Yet there it is. I fear Kempec is caught in the web of this tragedy to the end. No one seems to have viable solutions, and I find even myself being blown this way and that by the tumult. We pursue a path driven by emotionalism; and Kempec, our own rational, logical Kempec is caught in the tidal wave of galactic paranoia. We can blame the Golkos or the Seer’koh all we wish for our troubles, but the reality of the situation is that in our desperation we have allied ourselves to this Golkos murder of Terrans. Our ancient culture is stained with a crime we neither committed nor had knowledge of. Yet out of fear for this Terran conqueror, this Alexander, we shall brand ourselves in our complicity with the most infamous act of our recent history. How easy it is too look back and criticize our missteps. If it were not for the unwarranted execution of the captured Terrans we could accede to the Terran Overlord’s demand and return our prisoners. It would be a pledge of faith and friendship, even as Alexander himself ceded captured territories on the Scythia-Chem frontier to Chem as a token of good will. The Chem now live in peace with Alexander, while we fear his justifiable wrath. This is the future we have built for ourselves.’

‘The future is a frightening thing, Madame Pro Consul,’ the Mystic said. ‘It is especially so to those who already fear it. Prescience rarely dispels fear; more often it amplifies what is already there.’

‘I wonder if Alexander fears his future?’

The Mystic shook her head. ‘He is making his future. There is nothing to fear of that which you yourself create other than what you put in it.’

‘Do you fear the futures you have seen Mystic?’ Kvel Mavek looked with trepidation on the Mystic, as if fearing the answer.

The Mystic smiled and shook her head. ‘No, Madame Pro Consul, I do not fear them; I am terrified of them.’

CHAPTER 12

The alert klaxons blared painfully throughout the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets. The sudden appearance of a large superluminal signature on an intercept course from Terran space caught the fleets immobile and completely by surprise. Grand Admiral Koor and Admiral Khandar exchanged perplexed glances, but no words, and hurried to the bridge.

‘Report!’ she demanded

Captain Moltor, commanding the Golkos flagship Nived Sheur, stepped up smartly and told her, ‘Grand Admiral the Terrans are coming out of superluminal, initial count is five hundred and sixty-one enemy vessels in three formations,’

‘So few?’ the Grand Admiral asked in a perturbed voice. ‘This must be some trick.’

Admiral Khandar studied the scan minutely, shaking his head. ‘Perhaps, but the core of this fleet is of different design than the Terran warships we’ve noted previously. Also, they are approaching us in a semblance of a classic attack mode. Their speed is greater, but the central mass of ships is in a hollow sphere formation.’

‘Are they mad, to attempt such an attack with so few ships? We outnumber them four-to-one!’ Grand Admiral Koor paced the deck, her doubt growing.

‘Grand Admiral I think I have the answer,’ Moltor told her. ‘Scans show the central core of one hundred and forty-seven ships to be enormous in size and mass. They are approximately five times the volume of the standard Galactic battleship, and three times the mass. In addition their power curves are remarkable; well over triple the signature of a standard battleship.’

‘So that is it: they’ve built super-battleships and they look to crush us with firepower!’ Grand Admiral Koor smiled, now perceiving she knew what she was up against. She dashed to the holographic display, her eyes greedily devouring the data. ‘A battleship is simply a battleship despite the firepower, and now we can bring more weapons to bear on a single target than if the Terrans had made three battleships to every one of these! Deploy the fleet for envelopment of the super-battleships!’ Grand Admiral Koor set herself in her command chair, assured of the correctness of her guess. Her confidence was so great that she actually asked Khandar for his opinion.

The Admiral shrugged, saying, ‘I must admit, Grand Admiral, I can find no fault with your conclusions. The Terran’s, strapped by time and resources, could very well have settled on this as their solution. The flank formations are composed of standard squadrons led by battleships. They are flanking the core.’ He pointed out the standard Terran battleship squadrons. ‘Yes, they are beginning to build speed, as the Terrans did against the Chem. I expect the standard formations will accomplish the ‘Alexander’s Wheel’ tactics we have noted previously, whilst the main core comes to bear upon our fleets. It is a logical strategy, at the least.’

‘Maybe,’ Koor mused, her certainty sinking for some strange reason, ‘but why the attack? Why not conserve his resources, or bring more of his fleet to bear?’

‘I do not know, Grand Admiral,’ Khandar admitted. ‘At this point we can only speculate. However, by taking the offensive Alexander takes the initiative. We therefore meet him on terms of his own choosing. They may not be terms totally to his liking, but we are by our very positioning and intent of invasion dictating his necessary responses. By attacking he gains a slight amount of flexibility he would not have in defending, and a good general always looks for an advantage no matter how trifling.’

‘I would say your argument makes sense, Admiral Khandar, if these Terrans were not so strange to us,’ Koor admitted. ‘They are aggressive to the point of foolishness. If I did not distrust this Alexander and these Terrans so implicitly I would share your confidence.’

‘I cannot lay claim to any supreme confidence, Grand Admiral,’ Khandar told her. ‘I am, like you, trying to make sense out of the situation. I do believe Alexander is employing an offensively oriented defense, but beyond that I do not know. I cannot say where his other resources are, I can only guess. It may be that Alexander planned a pre-emptive strike upon all the forces of our invasion. If so, what forces the Quotterim-Bael and Syraptose have brought to bear on the Terran frontier are facing a similar situation. I am, unfortunately, probing in the dark at the moment.’

‘A grudging admission, but an admission nonetheless, Admiral Khandar, I thank you for your candid thoughts.’ Koor told him, and then she laid her hand on his shoulder in a gesture of conciliation. ‘We have had our differences, but now I need your skill and loyalty. Help me to win this battle and crush this dangerous foe!’

‘You have all of my efforts!’ Khandar replied sincerely.

Under the guidance of Admiral Khandar the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets moved forward in their standard cube formations, but the cubes now maneuver slightly and slowly around the projected course of the Terran sphere. The Terran sphere of super-battleships continued on course, unperturbed, but the Terran wings which consisted of normal battleships, cruisers and the like, distanced themselves from the sphere and began to maneuver towards the Golkos-Seer’koh in a series of three dimensional crossing maneuvers more reminiscent of Alexander’s battle with the Chem.

The fleets closed quickly, the Terran sphere not slowing until within several thousand kilometers of the Alliance formations. The outer arms of the Terran flanking forces raked the outer echelons of the Alliance formations with fire, but the Alliance ships refused to alter their course or engage them. Instead the Alliance formations held on a steady course, and when the Terrans were at extreme range they opened fire. The coordinated firepower of the Alliance fleets concentrated as it was on such a small region of space was awesome. Fire splashed off the shields of the huge Terran ships without apparent effect, but the Terran super-battleships held their fire.

‘Continue a constant bombardment, Admiral, their shields cannot hold forever,’ Grand Admiral Koor ordered.

‘It will be done, Grand Admiral,’ Khandar nodded, examining the scans of the Terran superships as they closed. His first impression was of the discipline of the Terran crews, and their ability to hold their fire until within effective range under such a massive bombardment. As the Terrans drew closer, however, their silence became unnerving. Khandar tried to convince himself that it was just another of Alexander’s ploys; the Terran Overlord was somewhat infamous for the nefarious mind games he played upon the Alliance intelligent effort. If this was the reasoning behind the Terran delay it was working. Khandar could see the bridge crew of the Nived Sheur tensing for the inevitable Terran response. With each passing moment the impending broadside of the super-battleships increased in its theoretical severity.

Doubt entered the Admiral’s intuitive mind with the full force of a hammer blow, and he stared at the sensor displays of the Terran ships with renewed intensity, as if his desire could unlock their secrets. He isolated the images and scans of a single ship, and scoured it minutely. The obvious finally hit him: the single blaster projector. These ships fired all of their energy through a single projector, concentrating all their power on one target. Khandar shook his head in disbelief. Could the Terrans have made such a blunder? Certainly such a projector would have a great amount of power, but experiments on just such a weapon had been done a hundred kicellia past with no success. The problem was one of too much power, and at the same time not enough. The single projector weapon had enough power, in theory, to overwhelm a target ships shield, but in reality below a certain threshold of energy the projector wave got in its own way. This threshold was theoretically too large for a blaster projector to reach without vaporizing. In a standard galactic blaster the projector beam itself set up an interference pattern with the backlash of energy built up outside the shield. It could not punch a hole through the shield instantaneously so an enormous pool of plasma built up outside the shield which interfered with the incoming beam. The only way for a single projector weapon to work was to pump enough energy into the beam to completely saturate the target shield upon striking it, and no ship, not even the Terran’s superships, had that much power. Unless the ships had an entirely different purpose, Khandar thought, and as the thought struck him he glared at the tactical display. The Alliance fleet completed the envelopment. Another quick glance showed the Terran flanks withdrawing. A shot of icy fear crushed Khandar’s chest.

‘The shields on one of the Terran ships are buckling!’ Moltor exclaimed.

Khandar rushed to Grand Admiral Koor’s seat. ‘Grand Admiral it is a trap! Get the flagship away from the Terrans, those are deathships!’

Koor simply stared at Khandar, unable to comprehend what he meant. Moltor suddenly exclaimed jubilantly, ‘There she goes!’

On the fringes of the Terran sphere, now deep within the womb of the Alliance envelopment, a super-battleship lost her shields. The flashes of blaster fire were just upon the point of reaching her hull when suddenly it erupted in a colossal flash of light so brilliant that the viewers could not fully compensate for it. The light consumed the ship, but instead of exploding spherically it sprang forth in an undiluted stream of energy. As if sentient the stream reached out and found a Golkos battleship in the same formation as the Nived Sheur.

The crew watched, horrified, as the battleship’s shields promptly gave way. The stream cut through the metal of the battleship, splitting it in two. The fore and aft sections of the battleship spun crazily away from the center of the disaster trailing glowing clouds of saturated plasma. Then the engines in the aft section imploded. The shock wave bracketed the Nived Sheur, and metal fragments showered her shields. The inertial dampeners could not compensate for the sudden blow and crewmembers lurched across the deck. Power dropped off line, taking the sensors, light, control boards and gravity with it. The Nived Sheur went suddenly dead. Only the cries of fear, pain and anger told the commanders that anything on the ship besides themselves still lived. Then came a series of concussions so violent that emergency power sputtered on and off for several moments. A lull in the cacophony finally pervaded the smoky interior of the Nived Sheur. Emergency power came back on line, and the lights, control boards, and sensors came back to life. Gravity came back on, though fortunately the emergency circuit kicked in and brought it on gradually, allowing the crew to slowly freefall to the deck before full gravity was restored. The Nived Sheur re-entered the engagement, but it was several moments before Koor or Khandar could assess the situation.

The two Admirals found themselves next to each other, staring at the small emergency holograms. Neither had any idea at the moment how long the Nived Sheur had been out of action, but they realized with a sickening reality exactly what the Terran super-battleships were and their purpose. It was all too late. By the time they ascertained their position fully half the Terran super-battleships had already self destructed, and with each inferno they took with them at least one Alliance ship. The space around the wounded flagship was calm now, and they could easily discern why: not a single capital ship in the Nived Sheur’s formation survived.

Khandar shook his head. ‘It is just as well we lost power, the Terran’s obviously knew the whereabouts of our flagship formation and targeted every capital ship. Their sensors must have shown us without power, and therefore not worth wasting a shot.’

‘We must get the fleet out of here, Admiral,’ Koor told him, ‘to remain is death.’

‘The Terran’s have just about spent the last of their deathships,’ Khandar told her, and they watched as a dozen ships went up in the space of a single moment. With each self destruction of a Terran ‘fireship’ there was a corresponding death of an Alliance vessel, sometimes more than one. The shields of the Alliance warships simply could not withstand the full force of a concentrated matter-anti-matter engine explosion.

The two Admirals watched helplessly as a string of three Alliance vessels went up in one cataclysmic eruption. The energy stream imploded a battleship’s shields and carried on through a heavy cruiser and a destroyer before it became diffuse enough to be diverted by the shields of other potential targets. Everywhere were the glowing hulks and damaged hulls of Alliance ships, hundreds of them. The destruction, so great in opposition to their expectations, and the prolonged silence of the flagship, caused the breakup of the fleet without the Grand Admiral’s order. Khandar pointed out the panic stricken ships wheeling out of formation and fleeing the Terran super-battleships. They escaped one danger only to run full into the hornets’ nest of the Terran flanking formations. The Terran flanks, composed of standard squadrons, lay in wait for the fleeing Alliance ships like wolves. As soon as an Alliance vessel, or vessels, broke from the protective firepower of their massive formations the Terrans pounced upon them, pummeling them into dust before they could run or help could arrive from the main body. Scores of Alliance vessels met this fate, and it might have been hundreds had the Terrans had enough ships to fully exploit the confusion.

‘You see they’ve gotten away from the deathships without our help, but also without discipline or regard for formation. Now the Terrans on the flanks are having a field day. We are strangely fortunate, Grand Admiral. Had the Terrans attacked with a thousand ships to support their deathships they could have annihilated us. As it is they can only inflict a due amount of humiliation and suffering.’

‘What can we do to salvage the situation, Admiral Khandar?’ Grand Admiral Koor asked, completely drained of all insight or resolve.

‘Have I the Grand Admiral’s permission to address the fleet?’ Khandar asked.

‘You may do whatever is necessary to preserve the fleet, Admiral.’

‘As you command, Grand Admiral,’ Khandar nodded, and immediately he was on the ethernet directing squadrons to rendezvous for support, forming flank echelons to protect his main body against the Terrans, moving the remnants of the central body away from the remaining Terran deathships, and organizing the orderly withdrawal of the fleet deeper into the Golkos frontier. Khandar’s efforts took time to accomplish, and the Terrans took advantage of it. It was another fifth of a decurn before the remnants of the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet regrouped enough to repel the force of harrying Terrans. When they did so they withdrew, leaving the wreckage of the field to an unlikely victor.

CHAPTER 13

The man with the pipe stood on the edge of Lake Pend Oreille, his pipe bowl glowing softly in the early night. Two dark figures clad in wetsuits stood next to him. They were almost impossible to see, their suits and equipment being completely black, and they waited upon the pipe smoker with the silence of evil spirits. Crandal glanced at the lights down the bay, picking up the set which belonged to Alexander’s float house, and then he turned back to the two figures. ‘Let me reiterate this element to you,’ he told them pointedly. ‘The Alliance wants Alexander’s body as proof of his death. If you cannot gain this advantage then pass up the opportunity. Also, the Mystics say that Nazeera of Chem is to be with him. She is not to be harmed. We do not need a holy war with the Chem. Is this perfectly understood?’

Each of the men nodded, and then silently slipped into the cold black waters of the lake.

The mood of the war room on Pend Oreille made several marked swings during the course of the battle. As the Terran fleet of fireships and their escort of warships dropped out of superluminal and approached the enormity of the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet everyone held their collective breath. Alexander glowered at the hologram, muttering.

‘Will they go for it?’

Nazeera tried to appear professionally disinterested, but she bit her lips until they bled. Admiral Augesburcke paced the float house floor cursing to himself. As the Terrans deployed into three formations the tension rose palpably, climbing to a crescendo as the Alliance deployed their formations in response. Nazeera was the first to speak at this point, sitting abruptly upright in her seat.

‘They’re forming for a standard envelopment,’ she told the assembled Terrans. ‘There is no doubt about it; they mean to engage your fireships as battleships.’

‘We have them!’ Augesburcke breathed.

‘We’ll see,’ Alexander cautioned. ‘Let’s see what kind of nerves they have when the fireships fail to return their volleys. Will they continue to envelope, or will they keep their distance and continue a long range bombardment? The next few moments will tell.’ As the fleets drew slowly closer together the Terran flanks sped ahead. The flank squadrons attacked the outer vestiges of the Alliance formation, not inflicting a great deal of damage, but only intent on distraction. As they dove in towards the Alliance ships only to duck away again Alexander said aloud, ‘Not too close now, we only want to keep them from fully concentrating on the situation, like a mosquito. We don’t need any Gagarin heroics here. By the way, where are our audacious Captain Konstantinov and the Gagarin? I hope he is suitably employed elsewhere, I don’t want him getting killed in this.’

‘Not to worry, Alexander,’ Admiral Augesburcke told him with somewhat less of a nervous smile. ‘He’s standing to a few million kilometers off, flying high cover. His primary responsibility, and that of the one hundred other boats we have out there, is to ensure we don’t get surprised from some unknown Alliance force, and to track the movements of the Alliance fleet after the engagement. He should be busy enough after the fracas. This isn’t his show anymore, though; it’s those tankers you had us convert. It looks as though they’re coming under fire now.’

‘Now’s where we see whether this harebrained scheme works,’ Alexander breathed, as splashes of blaster fire began to cascade amongst the fireships. The long range blaster fire continued, growing in accuracy and intensity, but with seemingly little effect on the tankers. This was not to be wondered at. Without life support systems or multiple weapon systems to keep powered up the fireships could expend as much power as was needed to regulate the defense shields. Once the ships came into optimal range, the shields would not matter for defensive purposes and their fields would be diverted to help funnel the final cataclysmic projector blast. The Alliance fleet kept hammering away at the core of fireships, completely ignoring the flanking Terran squadrons. After fifteen minutes of long range bombardment the foremost portion of the Terran sphere entered the Alliance envelopment.

Three minutes later Augesburcke reported, ‘All elements of the fireship sphere are in optimal firing range, Alexander.’

‘Pull back the flanking squadrons. Release the hounds, Admiral.’ Alexander ordered.

Augesburcke punched a button at his comm panel and gave the order.

Alexander turned to Nazeera, explaining, ‘I don’t dare let those squadrons face the firepower of that fleet. They’ve done their part for now. Still, if everything works according to plan they’ll be able to pick off some of the stragglers if the fireships break up the Alliance formation.’

Nazeera squirmed in her seat. ‘I’m not certain of the ethical use of these fireships of yours, Alexander my love. It does not seem to be the most honorable way to meet in battle. I understand the reasoning, and the logic. Militarily it is, theoretically, a cunning move. I cannot help but think, however, that the Chem would be somewhat disappointed in your strategy.’

‘You surprise me, I admit, my dear,’ Alexander told her. ‘I really did not think of the implications on that account, only of results. I suppose I would rather meet them face to face, but I cannot see a good probability of success in that manner. Not only am I outnumbered, but I am faced with invasion on three fronts. No military commander that I know of has won against such odds. With two foes I could have done it, but only if I could get the foe I’m after to actually engage me. My fear, Nazeera, has been the weaknesses of the Alliance, rather than its strengths. Frederick the Great found himself in much the same spot in Europe. Surrounded by strong neighbors interested in his territory he had to constantly go on the offensive, without real hope or even thought of conquering his neighbors, all to allow his kingdom to survive. In my case, however, the belligerent powers are acting in concert.’

‘I am unfamiliar with your analogy, Alexander,’ Nazeera smiled, ‘but may I point out a slight difference? This Frederick of yours was not looking to conquer his neighbors, Alexander is looking for nothing less.’

Alexander looked at his wife, the Elder of Chem, with a sour expression, but then broke out into a strangled laugh. He laughed at the lunacy of the idea, being reminded of his strange and humble beginnings. A year past the very consideration of his present reality would never have entered his dreams. Any further introspection was curtailed by Admiral Augesburcke. He tapped Alexander on the shoulder and brought the attention of the Overlord of the Terran Empire back to the battle.

‘Alexander, the first of the fireships is ready to go up.

The laugh disappeared, ‘Now we see if Doctor Hashimoto’s tinkering works.’

‘Here, here,’ Hashimoto agreed.

The tension returned to the small cedar lined room. As the tanker ‘Star of Valdiz’ prepared for Armageddon no one in the room recalled the soothing lap of the lake’s waters. The fiery beauty of the sunset was completely lost in the tension of the moment. When the ‘Star of Valdiz’ blew another, more palpable wave of relief flooded through every breast in the room. Like a silent popcorn popper the light show began in earnest. Ship after ship erupted in blinding blooms of energy, sending out bright swaths of plasma and cutting huge gaps in the Alliance ranks. Within the space of fifteen minutes the Alliance formations were in tatters, and warships were scurrying away from the cataclysm of the Terran fireships.

Alexander and Nazeera watched the slaughter grimly. It was difficult, even in its success, as the Alliance vessels and crews had absolutely no chance. Battleships were cut in two, and even those vessels in the core of the envelopment which were not targeted suffered heavily from the exploding ships about them. The immolation of the Alliance enveloping forces lasted only twenty minutes, by then the last of the fireships were gone. The havoc they wreaked on the Alliance formations was another matter.

The first phase of the attack was complete in its success and surprise. The second phase began in earnest as the flanking squadrons sought to capitalize on the confusion. On the periphery of the jumbled Alliance formations there was some semblance of a fair fight as the Terrans engaged those ships fleeing from the carnage. Still, through confusion and panic the Terrans inflicted extraordinarily heavy damage with very little harm to themselves. Two hours later when all was said and done Augesburcke reported the initial tallies. Alexander realized that empty feeling of an overwhelming victory over an unsuspecting enemy.

‘It’s like Agincourt or the Marianas,’ the Admiral reported. ‘From the tapes we’re counting eighty-eight battleships and ninety-four heavy cruisers destroyed. That’s half their battleships in one fell swoop! The programming for the fireship’s targeting computers obviously worked well. They picked out the largest ships in their firing solution, and thereby caused an inordinate amount of damage to the Alliance heavies. Of the three hundred ships considered destroyed by the fireships and the Seventh Fleet over fifty percent were capital ships. That’s definitely a good days hunting!’

‘Our losses?’

‘We didn’t press the issue too hard after they began to regroup, though our forces are still harrying their efforts to concentrate their fleet,’ Augesburcke assured his Overlord. ‘We lost the heavy cruiser Portland and six other ships. There are light casualties otherwise.’

There was somber jubilation in the conference room, as Alexander was reflective. ‘What really hurt us, Admiral, and what could hurt us down the road is the Seventh’s lack of heavies. With only fourteen battleships we just couldn’t take advantage of the confusion. I’d wager that if we could have brought the Second or the Fifth with us we could have ended this war here and now. The Seventh may be potent enough when we have planetary projectors to support it, but as an attacking force I’m afraid we just don’t have the punch. Don’t get me wrong, we got in a good lick today, but I can’t help but think I had the opportunity to knock them out cold and we just didn’t have the muscle to get the job done! Maybe I was too fancy for my own good.’

Alexander stifled his disappointment and sent a live message of congratulation to the Seventh Fleet. A censored account of the battle was released to the press. The approved images consisted of only the standard engagements between Terran ships and Alliance ships, and only vague casualty figures were given; but at the heart of the releasable data were images of the aftermath. Ship after ship of the Alliance fleet drifted lifelessly in a sea of ionized plasma.

The business of the evening taken care of Alexander gathered up his drink, poured Nazeera a glass of wine and took her out on the deck. The night was clear and cool. The faint band of the Milky Way waxed overhead, and the vault above them was splashed with a dazzling array of stars.

Nazeera looked above and sighed, ‘A pity your companion planet is not out tonight, it is one of the wonders of the known universe.’

‘The Moon?’ Alexander said, as if she’d disturbed him from a long distant thought. ‘I remember looking up at the Moon one night long ago. It was the night when Terrans first set foot on another celestial body. I watched the eerie images on television, and then I came outside and looked up at the Moon. At that point I knew I wanted to be an astronaut and to make it in space. Unfortunately, things did not quite work out. Whether it was me, or my refusals to bow to the system, I never made it.’ He shrugged, emitting his trademark half strangled laugh, and added, ‘I suppose either way it comes back to me, but oh how galling it is to know some of the undeserving who made it!’

‘I am your wife, and yet I know so little of your past, my dear,’ Nazeera noted. ‘I would hazard to say, however, that those same Terrans would be rather envious of your position now.’

‘Quite possibly,’ Alexander smiled, ‘but you know it is strange. I had a great many hopes and dreams, Nazeera, that somehow didn’t pan out. All of them had to do with space, or what you recognize as the galaxy and our galactic neighborhood. There is bitterness in me still over that, but that bitterness never carried over into my love or fascination for the universe, even down to the Moon, which was my first celestial love. I’ve spent many a cold night watching it, and asking it why. This night, though, I rather enjoy its absence. Its light blots out all but the brightest constellations. When it is down, as it is tonight, the stars reappear and it is almost as if I can see into the depths of space, and gain some feeling for just how vast it is. This night reminds me more of our night on Chem, that first night.’

‘How so?’ Nazeera coaxed him, turning her beautifully luminous eyes from the heavens and to his. She reached out to touch his arm, but a sharp hissing cut the air, interrupting her advance. Alexander’s arm was suddenly yanked from beneath her hand. She caught sight of his legs being dragged beneath the rail. Alexander hit the deck hard upon his back. A grunt of pain and surprise were all he could utter as the breath was driven from his chest. Nazeera started, but with the quickness of a cat she grappled his arm. Just as she found purchase on his flesh, Alexander was yanked underneath the rail and off the deck. Nazeera was pulled from her feet as she vainly sought to hold onto him, but he was gone into the darkness, leaving nothing but his skin beneath her nails. She cried his name aloud, but all she heard in response was the splash and swirl of the black waters of the lake.

CHAPTER 14

Admiral Sampson was used to making decisions alone, but this time he felt the full weight of the worldno the Empireon his shoulders. The battleship Gangout had developed engine trouble a day past. For twelve hours she limped along with the rest of the fleet, but then her starboard engine gave out and she dropped out of superluminal. Admiral Sampson ordered the battleship Wisconsin to rejoin with the Gangout, and if she could not be brought to speed to rescue her crew, and scuttle the ship, discreetly. It didn’t turn out to be quite that simple.

As luck would have it the Gangout dropped over the superluminal horizon right into the center of an inhabited system. Before long the Gangout registered the inevitable and unavoidable scans of the Quotterim. The Captain of the vessel, realizing he’d been sighted and understanding the dire results wisely jammed the planet’s communications system. The Gangout still had use of her systems through power supplied by her good superluminal engine, so she entered orbit about the planet and established quarantine. The timely arrival of the Wisconsin squadron overwhelmed whatever response the inhabitants might have considered against the Gangout, but it presented Admiral Sampson with a stark dilemma.

The Admiral rubbed his ebony jaw in thought. Captain Palmero had taken charge of the quarantine when the Wisconsin entered orbit, and he was now on the viewer. Palmero had just given Sampson a preliminary report over a tight communications band. Sampson dropped his own squadron out of superluminal to contain the communications signal to a bare minimum, but now he was getting nervous. His fleet was divided, and the enemy knew he was there. At all costs he needed to contain the situation and prevent the information of his presence from reaching the Alliance. Just what that cost might be he was afraid to calculate. There was a long silence.

‘Captain, how many people does this planet have?’

‘Nearly thirty million, Admiral,’ Palmero replied grimly. ‘This is no small frontier town, or world, but an important planet in this sector of the Quotterim Empire. Our Scythian charts list it as ‘Altamira,’ the second largest center of commerce in this province. They get convoys through here monthly, and random traders nearly every day. Fortunately for us there were no traders in the system other than those already on the planet’s surface when we arrived. Currently the situation is in hand, but I can’t guarantee how long that will last.’

‘Are you in contact with the planetary government?’

‘Only to issue our ultimatum,’ Palmero answered. ‘When immediately jammed all of their communications bands, all that we know about at least. I then issued an ultimatum to the effect that the planet was under quarantine. Any outgoing signal from the planet would trigger a bombardment and any ship leaving the planet’s surface would be destroyed. Thus far they seem to be taking us seriously. We’ve seen no attempt either way.’

‘That was quick thinking, but we need more,’ Sampson told him. ‘We need to bring the situation to a head and we need to do it fast. I can’t afford to keep the Wisconsin tied up playing jailer, and there is no way we can shut down every transmitter on a planet that large. I think we need their help.’

‘How do we go about getting it?’

‘We’re on the right track with this quarantine, we just need to get them to buy into it is all,’ Sampson smiled.

‘I’m listening,’ Palmero replied.

Alexander’s brain registered only the unexpected shock of the assault until the frigid waters of the lake slapped him into sensibility. He went under with the rush of water around his ears, and something wrapped about his legs, pinning them together. Whatever it was it immediately began pulling him through the darkness. Instead of trying to fight it Alexander heaved downwards with both arms, clawing for the gulp of air which surprise had denied him. His head broke the surface for an instant, and he did not waste the moment with trying to cry out. He took in a lungful of air and was summarily dragged under and through the water. With the air in his lungs Alexander was able to focus his mind on his predicament. According to the pressure in his ears he was not too deep, but he was moving quickly, more quickly than he could swim; dragged by his legs. He could see the faint gleam of two lights maybe five meters ahead in the stygian night beneath the lake, but nothing else.

He grappled for his blaster, which had served him faithfully under the waters of Pantrixnia, but as his hand grasped the emptiness he remembered with painful clarity leaving it behind with most of his armor. Immediately his hand shifted down to his thigh, and there, nestled safely in its sheath, was the Chem knife. The nearly half a yard of Chem steel came into his hand willingly, and Alexander struggled against the current to place its edge on his bindings. Try as he may, though, Alexander could not reach beyond his feet. The alarm for air began to sound in his head and he placed the blade between his legs and felt it run up against his bindings. He cut upwards and felt the thong part. Nothing. He reached again, feeling the edge run up against more bonds. He cut again, and then again. Finally, with the desperation to breath reaching a painful crescendo, he cut what turned out to be the last bond.

He settled to a stop, scrambling upwards. In a flash of foam he broke out into the starlight, now seeming bright as day, and drank in the cool fresh air. There was no chance to relish the freedom. Alexander filled his lungs five times and then plunged below again. His antagonists were below, and he searched for their lights. Instantly he saw them, slightly apart, but almost upon him. He cursed, assuring himself that never again would he forget his blaster. That weapon would have made quick work of his present problem, but he still had his knife, which glowed dully with the diffuse light of the approaching flashlights. The sudden thump of a spear on his Chem cuirass, the one piece of armor he was wearing, spurred him into action. Alexander did not wait further upon his adversaries. He chose the closest light and charged. Alexander’s experience being what it was he didn’t know what manner of being he would meet. His surprise was almost physical when he came to grips with what appeared to be a normal wetsuit clad Terran armed with a knife.

That was nearly all he saw, however, as the light of the flashlight careened wildly in the ensuing melee. Alexander did not bother to attempt to grapple the knife arm of his foe, but rather sought to grasp with his left hand while wildly plunging his huge blade into the writhing figure. It was a savage and desperate struggle in the cold dark, short of breath, thrashing through the frigid liquid. With nothing to see Alexander clutched blindly. He found little purchase on the figure, as all he felt was the slick suit and streamlined equipment. His knife thrusts were accordingly erratic, but the huge blade still found something. The dancing beams of the flashlight grew suddenly cloudy, diffused by some foreign substance in the water. He felt his adversary’s hand desperately clawing at his breast, finding nothing but the hard scales of the cuirass. The assassin’s blade scraped and thumped against his torso without effect. Realizing belatedly that Alexander was armored the attacker shifted his thrusts to Alexander’s head and neck. Alexander felt the cold bite of the blade creasing his skull, but he ignored it as his blade finally found full purchase in the soft yielding vitals of the assassin. He used the anchor of the blade to pull himself closer to the assassin, reaching out with one hand to steady himself, and wrapping his powerful legs around the torso. The assassin grunted in pain, pinned as he was, and struck weakly at Alexander’s armored back. Alexander, feeling the striking arm on his left shoulder caught it in the crook of his left arm and pinned it to his side. The assassin immobilized, Alexander set himself for a killing blow but even as his knife rose he felt an arm wrap itself around his shoulders from behind. Alexander struck, twisted, and kicked free of the pinned assassin in one instantaneously violent movement. His blade plunged and twisted into the first assassin’s breast as the second assassin’s knife, meant to cut his throat, instead slashed wickedly across his cheek. Pulling his blade free and blindly guessing that he now faced the second assassin, he struck upwards. The blade again found flesh, and this time Alexander heard the palpable scream of pain. He twisted the blade, gaining another satisfactory response, and as before used the anchor of the blade to find his foe. His left hand found a strap, and he pulled his blade from the assassin’s groin. The second assassin continued to strike wildly, but they were weak blows, and they ended altogether when Alexander calmly buried his half meter of steel in his ribs.

Alexander struck away from the twitching corpse, the need for air again ringing in his head. After what seemed an eternity he broke the surface to find a completely different world than he had seen only seconds before. Every light in the MacDonald’s Hudson Bay resort was on, and half a dozen boats were already putting out. It was the matter of only a moment before the first of them reached the waving Alexander, streaming blood from his head and face. A forest of helping hands pulled the Overlord to safety and Alexander gratefully exchanged the chill waters of Pend Oreille for the cool air of Idaho. Alexander daubed at the slashes on his head with a towel as the boat sped back to the float house, which was now an anthill of activity. A small army of generals, aides, guards and the like, both Chem and Terran, met him at the dock. Alexander, holding the bloody towel to his head, waved off all offers of aide, stomping from the boat and giving orders at once.

‘Admiral Augesburcke! Send some of our people back to fish the bodies out. I think we shall find them disturbingly Terran!’ He growled, irritated more with the fact that the assassination attempt had been, apparently at least, Terran in origin. Alexander’s mind was whirling with the implications of what just occurred. The Alliance, he assumed, could be expected, even forgiven, for such attempts. Such was the Galactic’s paranoia over Alexander. Yet what reason would Terrans have to assassinate Alexander, especially in the present crisis? He could think of only one thing, and the thought angered him: political power.

Augesburcke shouted for a tree by tree search in and around the lake for any additional accomplices, his bassoon voice bellowing at the height of fury. He was answered by a cascading series of orders, the roar of boat engines, and the whirl of choppers as a frenzied search effort got under way. To add to the confusion a flurry of press somehow gained entry onto the dock. Flashbulbs were popping off in the night, and frantic questions were being hurled at Alexander, Augesburcke and anyone else who looked like they might have been responsible for preventing such an occurrence. The press, the guards and the Admiralty were all vying for space around Alexander, and on the crowded quay with the tenseness of the situation, tempers started to flare. The press was, obviously, an uninvited presence, and one of the soldiers apparently had enough of their irritating demand for Alexander’s attentions. One of the pushing and pleading newsman finally met his match. A soldier silenced his pleading soliloquy by thrusting her rifle butt into his chest. He cartwheeled off the dock like a stick figure, arms and legs sprouting straight from his body. There was a splash of white foam on black water, and then a long moment of rippling emptiness. Finally, the newsman appeared to a chorus of nervous laughter and genuine anger.

‘Enough! Enough! Silence, all of you!’ Alexander roared, and suddenly the throng about him grew quiet. One reporter, seeing this as a moment of opportunity began to call out a question. ‘I said silence!’ Alexander roared, his temper obviously getting the better of him. The newsman ignored the warning and began his question again. Alexander’s blade flashed out, inches from the pallid white face. ‘Someone get him out of here! Take his press pass and ensure he is not issued one again!’

The members of the press, eyes now white with surprise and fascination actually shrank away from the Overlord, and Alexander replied with a steady glare. ‘That goes for any photographer who wants to shove a camera in my face, or that of any other dignitary. There’ll be no ‘Paparazzi,’ or whatever they’re called, around me. Understood? Manners, ladies and gentlemen, I want you to rediscover them. If you don’t you are out. Simple as that. Now, any one of you want to press me on that?’ There was an uneasy silence. At length a reporter experimentally raised her hand. Alexander glared at her, hands on hips, naked blade glaring emphatically under the lights, blood still oozing from his slashed face. His barbarous appearance and temper failed to coy her. She merely raised a Vulcan inspired brow and kept her hand up. Alexander growled, and daubed his face with the bloody towel. ‘Very well, what is it?’

‘Mr. Overlord, could you possibly give us a brief description of what just happened?’

‘An intelligent question, at least,’ Alexander admitted, but before he answered Admiral Augesburcke stepped up to his side and urged him to forego a press conference and get his ‘Overlordship’s ass’ into the float house so the surgeon could see to his wounds. Alexander glanced at Augesburcke with a sour expression. ‘I look that bad?’

Augesburcke simply raised both brows.

Alexander relented, telling the assembled press, ‘I’ll explain it later, suffice to say it’s just a flesh wound. Now I really must get to it, and by the way, has anyone seen my wife?’

For once the press was patently useful. As one they pointed immediately behind Alexander. He turned to find Nazeera, drenched, in the midst of her uneasy Chem guard.

‘Hello, my dear, sorry to have left you in the lurch there,’ he told her, a wry grin appearing on his bloody face. When he reached Nazeera, whose eyes lost some of their greenish tinge of concern, he wrapped his free arm about her waist. ‘Came in after me did you? That lake is cold, my dear and not at all like your tropical lakes on Chem. Are you certain you are alright?’

Nazeera smiled, putting her arms about him, and examining his wounds. ‘Oh pah! It is only water, my husband! It was hot enough with my desire to find you! Unfortunately, I am no fish, and my entourage would not suffer me to search for you for long. They feared for my life as I feared for yours.’

‘My thanks to the noble Chem for that,’ Alexander nodded to her retinue.

‘Yes, but we must get you within where the surgeon may attend you,’ Nazeera told him, leaving no more room for argument.

Holding the towel to his face he assured her. ‘I’m alright, actually my lungs hurt more than these scratches. I’m not so used to holding my breath. I think the excitement of the evening is over though. Let’s go inside and get me stitched up.’

Nazeera walked with her husband, her own arm around him. The shock of the encounter did not trouble her as nearly as Alexander’s Terrans. She was Chem, and moreover this was not the first time she’d witnessed Alexander in danger. The throng parted for the two, a nervous buzz of conversation but no questions surrounding them. With the buzz of the press still in their ears Alexander disappeared inside with Nazeera, the Admiralty and the Chem.

The enormous yet graceful bulk of the Wisconsin floated threateningly over the capital of Altamira, a city called Deltir. Directly below ‘Big Whiskey’ and her protective guns, was the shuttle of Captain Palmero. The Captain himself was within the capital, convening with the Governor of Altamira. Palmero was forceful though carefully courteous. He told the Quotterim, ‘Governor, we each have our jobs to do, yours is the safety and welfare of this planet, mine is the protection of the Terran Empire from Alliance aggression.’

‘It seems to me that these are Terran ships in orbit around a Quotterim world, Admiral, not Quotterim ships in orbit around a Terran world,’ the Governor answered placidly. The Quotterim were a smallish, slight race which could not be described as particularly humanoid. They were less than a meter tall and weighed perhaps thirty pounds. Though bipedal the Quotterim had extra appendages almost like tentacles but with more rigid articulation under their two arms. The Quotterim’s eyes were large and expressive, and at this moment seemed faintly amused at the Admiral.

‘Then would you care to explain the four thousand Alliance warships massed on our borders,’ he demanded. When the Quotterim shrank back from his manner, Palmero bit back his Spanish anger, and waved a hand to calm the Governor. In a more diplomatic tone, he said, ‘We are each justly assured in our own correctness, Governor, but it is not my intention to debate politics with you at this timeI’m not a politician. I seek merely to come to a mutual understanding and to gain your cooperation.’

‘You seem to be in control, Admiral, what is it you wish of us?’

‘I want you to give me a reason for not bombarding your planet back into the Stone Age, Governor,’ Palmero smiled.

The Governor and those Quotterim gathered about the table looked at each other with a sudden nervous tension in their eyes. The Governor remained almost, but not quite as impassive as before. ‘Really Captain, I think if you’d meant to destroy Altamira you’d have already done so without so many words wasted upon us.’

‘That is true, Governor,’ Palmero told the Quotterim, ‘but it was not my intention to destroy your planet in the first place. We are not here by choice, but by necessity. The reasoning is irrelevant. We are here. I advise you to accept that fact. My problem now is that you know I am here. I need you to give me a reason why I should not jeopardize my mission by eliminating that problem.’

‘You would not destroy over thirty million beings,’ the Governor exclaimed, adding, ‘Even Terrans could not be so barbaric.’

Palmero stroked his mustache, saying stonily, ‘Governor, last century alone dictators on Terra executed somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred million people. That was Terran executing Terran. Do you honestly think we’ll agonize over your people more than our own?’

The Governor hesitated in his answer, and one of his aides took the opportunity to whisper a warning in his ear. ‘It is just as the Scythians told us, Governor! Do not push them into a show of strength! They may destroy an entire city simply to assure us of their deadly sincerity!’

Reluctantly the Governor nodded, acknowledging the Terran’s advantage. Palmero paced to a window, and stood for a moment surveying the rocky seascape. It reminded him of his home on the Mediterranean coast. The sea was the wrong shade of blue, but it was warm with a salty bite in the air, there was even what looked to be groves of olive trees. In a more amicable tone the Captain told the Quotterim, ‘Terrans can be quite barbaric, Governor, but we do not have to be. Eventually we would like a working relationship with the Quotterim as a whole, but for the moment I will be satisfied with your cooperation.’

‘What exactly do you mean by ‘working relationship’ Captain?’ The Governor asked. ‘Quotterim working in Terran mines does not strike me as a future worth treason.’

‘Terrans no longer palate slavery, Governor,’ the Captain said briskly. ‘When I say working relationship I mean just that, as equals. I would hazard to say that Alexander would seek a relationship similar to that we have with the Scythians.’

‘In which we would lose a great deal of our empire through Terran migration and then political absorption,’ the Governor noted.

Palmero shook his head impatiently. ‘That is something you will have to work out with Alexander. I did not come to Altamira to bring about a political settlement to the war. That is beyond my authority.’

‘In other words Alexander will dictate terms to us under threat of annihilation, just as you are,’ the Governor replied, his aides becoming noticeably nervous at the Governor’s tone.

Palmero was about to issue a burning retort, but the sight of the fearful Quotterim surrounding their Governor, who sat proudly behind his desk as if discussing a routine state visit, not the survival of his world. The Captain had a sudden admiration for the Quotterim politician, and a sudden understanding of how Alexander dealt so successfully with aliens. The word alien was actually a misnomer in Alexander’s vocabulary. Each and every person, despite their origin, was a being and Alexander dealt with them accordingly. Now for the first time Captain Palmero saw the Governor as something other than an alien Quotterim. He could relate to how the governor felt, and he responded accordingly.

‘Governor, I empathize with the difficulty of your position, and I understand your obligations and loyalty to your government. You are an astute individual, so I am certain you also understand my obligations and loyalties. Let me add one more thing, however, concerning Terrans. Although it is true that I will go to extreme measures to ensure the success of my mission I can tell you honestly I will do so only with great reluctance. I gain no honor from the destruction of helpless beings, and I can say with equal certainty that Alexander would be most distressed with such an outcome. You see Alexander believes that eventually there will be a normalization of relations between Terra and all the current member states of the Alliance. A catastrophic event, such as the destruction of Altamira, could only hurt the short term prospects for such normalization. I say this to gain your cooperation, Governor, but it is true nonetheless. If your well being were not part of my mission we would not be speaking.’

‘I understand your point, Captain,’ the Governor replied, ‘but you must understand this: treason is treason, and it cannot be bought.’

‘I do not seek your treason, Governor, or even your acceptance,’ the Captain told him. ‘I merely seek your cooperation under duress with quarantine of this system. No ships shall be allowed to leave it, and none shall be allowed in. There are, obviously, to be no transmissions made to or from the system.’

The Governor wrung his tiny hands, and his extra appendages drummed on his ribs as a Terran would drum their fingers on a desk. ‘You may jam our communications, of course, as you already are, and you can ground our ships but I doubt you can prevent scheduled and unscheduled shipping from approaching the Altamira system. That, Captain, is unfortunately out of my control. I will cooperate under duress for the best interests of the citizens under my care, but I will not help you in any way.’

‘That is all I came looking for, Governor,’ the Captain replied.

‘Captain, may I ask, what will you do with those ships entering our system?’

Palmero’s face turned stony. ‘They will have to be destroyed, of course.’

‘That will lead to a great loss of life, Captain,’ the Governor observed.

‘I am open to any options, Governor, so long as they do not violate my objectives,’ Palmero said.

The Governor hesitated, but then told him, ‘You mentioned the concept of quarantine. It is not an altogether unique occurrence for a system to declare a decand or decant long quarantine for a variety of reasons. For instance, there are five systems currently under quarantine in the Quotterim Empire for unpredicted solar activity. Our worlds are tamed, Captain, but often the galaxy is not. It would be possible for us to issue such a warning by your order and thereby avoid any unnecessary bloodshed.’

‘Give me a recording of the message and the procedures for its issuance,’ the Captain told the Governor. ‘If it meets with our approval we will issue it.’ It took only a few moments for the Quotterim Governor to supply Palmero with the message and instructions that it should be broadcast ten times every Galactic decurn on several frequencies. When the Captain had the assurances he wanted he nodded and said, ‘Thank you for your time, Governor. I think this arrangement, strained though it is, will work out to both our advantage.’ The Captain turned to leave, but a thought prompted him to stop at the door and address the Governor again. ‘Governor, I am a soldier and war is my business, but I’d like you to know I am sorry we had to meet this way. You are the first of the Quotterim I have met, and I sincerely wish that it occurred under more peaceful circumstances.’

‘The Quotterim, and myself, would have wished that as well,’ the Governor replied, obviously surprised at the remark.

The Captain nodded. ‘Good luck, Governor!’ He said and returned to his shuttle. When he was strapped in for the short return flight to the Gangout Captain Palmero shook his head and told his aide, ‘You know I think I could really get to like that guy. I wonder what they’d think of Spanish wine?’

CHAPTER 15

The surgeon struggled to finish attending to Alexander, who did not help matters any by trying to relate his story to Augesburcke and Nazeera. The surgeon used a medical phaser introduced to Alexander’s staff by Nazeera’s personal surgeon to suture the wounds. It did not take long, but it demanded that Alexander keep his facial muscles still, impossible with him talking. Finally, the surgeon demanded his silence with no less force than Alexander used on the press. Alexander succumbed.

When the phasing was complete and Alexander was set to finish his tale they were interrupted by a page from Augesburcke’s communicator. It was Admiral Sampson. In short order Alexander, Nazeera, the Scythian Ambassador ‘Football,’ and the Admiralty adjourned to the conference room. There the Scythian established its telepathic link with its Scythian counterpart on Sampson’s flagship, the battleship Wisconsin. The Admiral related the chain of events stemming from the Gangout’s problems, finishing by saying, ‘We wanted to have our friends the Chem check the message for us, if they are willing, just to ensure we’re not missing anything. My Scythian ambassador informs me that it is a standard Galactic quarantine message, and not all that unusual; however, considering the sensitivity of the situation I would like a second opinion.’

Nazeera nodded her agreement, and Sampson played the massage. Nazeera’s aide recorded it on his compad. In a few moments he’d broken the message down into its base signals and run a series of cryptographic tests. Satisfied he pronounced the message to be exactly what the Quotterim claimed. Nazeera concurred.

‘It would be very unlike the Quotterim to take such a daring risk as to attempt to highlight their plight. Even if the signal was a distress your ships would have ample time to lay waste to their planet before help could arrive. They are very cognizant of their lives, Admiral, and though they will have little pleasure for your presence they will do what they have to ensure they are alive when you leave them.’

‘Thank you for your advice, Elder,’ Sampson replied, and quite correctly.

Alexander listened to everything with a contemplative ear. He was pleased, and not simply because they had, apparently, avoided detection again; but rather because his commanders were adapting well to dealing with extraterrestrial cultures. They were tackling the problems they faced without the distracting awe of the label ‘alien.’ He’d been right to trust them.

‘Excellent, Admiral!’ he told Sampson. ‘We must expect these little hiccups. How soon will the fleet regroup?’

‘The strike arm is already regrouped, Alexander,’ Sampson informed him. ‘I gave Captain Palmero two cruisers and four destroyers for the quarantine. That force should be ample. The Wisconsin and the balance of her squadron have rejoined with the main battle group and we are now steaming on course. We’ll be back on schedule by 0400 hours tomorrow.’

‘Steaming on course,’ Alexander mused. ‘Now there is a gloriously archaic term, and somehow still accurate in my mind.’

‘Slip of the tongue, I’m afraid,’ Samson smiled.

‘Thank you, Admiral, good hunting!’ Alexander replied.

‘Hail Alexander!’ Sampson saluted, and the Scythians cut the connection.

Alexander and Nazeera awoke to Pend Oreille at its finest. The Sun was brightly peering over the mountains like a rising diamond, sending the ethereal mists fleeing with the dawn. The hollows of the mountain valleys clung to their secrets in silver coated rivers a while longer, but as the Sun turned golden they too melted away. The warming brought a bundled up Nazeera out to enjoy a cup of coffee with Alexander on the balcony. Following a light breakfast in the bright morning air they attended the inevitable military conference. All sectors around Terran space were quiet. All Alliance strike fleets were accounted for and stationary. The known galaxy was in a false state of peace, and a galactic war seemed far from reality on the lake.

When Alexander’s party left the conference room, Admiral Augesburcke returned for the first time to the subject of the assassination attempt. ‘Alexander, I think we should keep you to a low profile until we find out what is going on. For instance, the first thing that should go is your personal appearance at New York tomorrow for the launch of the first transports to the colonies.’

‘What, and miss the send off of the first wave of colonists,’ Alexander exclaimed, shaking his head emphatically. ‘I cannot, not after the roasting I gave some very influential people at Saint Andrews. I forced this on them, and the Senate. I must show up to give credence for just how momentous this event is. Take whatever precautions are necessary, Admiral, for all of us; but I intend on attending.’

Augesburcke shrugged his shoulders, ‘It is against my better judgment but perhaps our Chief of Security will come up with something.’

‘Who is that?’ Alexander asked.

‘We got him from the American Secret Service, where he’s been Chief of Security since President Johnson’s administration,’ Augesburcke told him, suddenly pointing to a man just entering the float house. ‘In fact here he is.’

A tall gaunt man stopped respectfully before Alexander. He was smoking an elegant long stemmed pipe. ‘Good Morning Overlord. I’m Bob Crandal. I hope I can be of service!’

Kvel Mavek, Pro Consul of the Galactic Alliance, kneaded her thin fingers in frustration. Her tightly drawn flesh eroded her otherwise finely featured face and her darting eyes lost their usual placid calm.

‘What you ask, Grand Admiral Koor, is difficult,’ she said over their secure comlink. ‘I am the de facto head of the political partnership that is the Alliance, just as you are the head of the military arm. The strength of our political bonds is based largely on the assumed security of the product our military forces. The unfortunate debacle on the Golkos-Terran frontier has understandably weakened those bonds. In fact they are weakened to the point where the majority of the member states are in favor of disbanding the Alliance, as is currently demanded by Alexander, and arranging separate peace accords on their own. I do not look to lay blame, Grand Admiral, only to inform you of the facts. I am the Pro Consul of a rapidly crumbling and very artificial political structure.’

‘I realize the delicacy of your position, Madame Pro Consul,’ Grand Admiral Koor said humbly, ‘but do not allow a tragic mistake on the battlefield to jeopardize our hard fought political partnership. That would only play into Alexander’s hands.’

‘I understand that very well, Grand Admiral, and I am sympathetic,’ the Pro Consul replied, ‘but without the backbone of the military how can I keep this Alliance intact? The military response to Alexander is the sole basis for its existence. If that basis is ineffective the logical alternative, in our member states minds, is to seek the best possible solution in their own interests. That solution may well be one without reference to our Alliance.’

‘The military errors that led to our defeat are even now being redressed, Madame Pro Consul,’ the Grand Admiral informed her political counterpart. ‘All I ask is a few decurns of time. The measures we are taking are extreme, but I have every confidence they will produce the desired effect. If you can buy me enough time to convene a full military council, and convince the ambassadors of the member states of the Alliance to abide by the recommendations of their military representatives I am convinced we can save the Alliance. Only in that way may we save our civilization.’

Kvel Mavek was silent for a long while. ‘As I said previously, you ask a great deal, Grand Admiral,’ she said. ‘Still, your request is reasonable. That in itself does not guarantee success, or even a delay. The political council wishes an immediate vote. However, I think I can convince most of the members to delay that vote until after your military council. For the remainder, especially the Syraptose, I may have a way to dampen their ardor for secession.’

‘How is that?’ Koor asked.

‘Unbeknownst to you Grand Admiral, there is a movement on Terra itself which is no more fond of Alexander the Conqueror than are we. They are plotting to assassinate him, but they have asked our aide and our recognition if successful. The political council sanctioned our support, but what they do not know is that the first attempt on Alexander’s life was unsuccessful. We have very few details at this point, but the very possibility that Alexander may well know of Alliance involvement could be enough to make any member state hesitate at withdrawing. Alexander’s determination to avenge was well demonstrated with his hunting and killing of Bureel, the chosen Elder of Chem. I am certain the Syraptose in particular will be willing to wait and see if Alexander voices any outrage at this thwarted attempt, and so avoid fatally isolating themselves.’

‘I was unaware of this turn of events, Madame Pro Consul,’ the Grand Admiral admitted. ‘I find it hard to comprehend why any Terrans would commit so heinous an act against their Overlord, but Terrans are a confusing and unpredictable people. That is the crux of what we learned in our interrogations, and precious little else.’

‘I would that those investigations ended differently, Grand Admiral. Perhaps then we wouldn’t be having this dire conversation.’

‘I doubt that,’ Koor said morosely. ‘Alexander cares nothing for those prisoners. Conquest is his God. His people serve him to that purpose.’

‘That is the assumption what all of our actions are based upon, Grand Admiral, though I must admit it has never completely won me over. The possibility of its veracity, however, forces a terrible prudence in my policies. That is very unlike me, and very unlike Kempec. My soul searches for a dialogue out of this dilemma, but my fear is that Alexander’s charm and honor are but those of an actor. If he is Alexander the Conqueror in truth, then there is but one way to deal with him, and that is through united resistance. If he is not, and we are successful, then the destruction of Terra will be a tragedy upon our consciences.’

‘That is a question for politicians, Madame Pro Consul. The world of the military commander is more black and white. There are few philosophical questions, only victory and defeat. Each has its price to pay, to glory or honor, and that is what I understand. Give me the time I need, Madame Pro Consul, and the military arm of the Alliance will accomplish its task. Then maybe you will have the opportunity for your dialogue.’

‘I will do as you ask, Grand Admiral, though I warn you the price may be high.’ Mavek said seriously, and she hesitated to let the words sink in. ‘Politicians are an ignorant lot when it comes to war, and they believe generals are easy to replace. With victory come accolades, with defeat distrust. As much as I respect your candor and confidence, Grand Admiral, I would be unrealistic if I told you that the political council of the Alliance shares that confidence. Are you prepared to accept replacement in return for my support? It is not my personal wish, but it is an expected condition, and not a surprising one.’

‘Spare yourself the personal tribulation, Madame Pro Consul,’ Grand Admiral Koor replied with a shade of a smile. ‘The problem will shortly be taken care of.’

‘Crandal, eh?’ Alexander asked, somewhat grim in face and tone. He stared hard at the craggy man standing calmly before him. He should have been in his eighties, maybe older, but he looked to be in his fifties. There was something of a condescending look about him, as if he knew all the secrets there were to know. To him Alexander was just another world figure in a long line of men who’d come and gone. ‘So you’ve been with the Secret Service since Johnson’s administration?’

The man grimaced, ‘Since Kennedy actually. I’ve been Chief of Security since the Johnson administration,’

‘I see, and where before that?’ Alexander asked, almost pointedly.

‘I cut my teeth in the FBI, sir; I was a special assistant to Director Hoover.’

‘I trust you never had to wear a dress for the Director?’ Alexander joked, though without seeming to find any more humor in the observation than Crandal did. He waved off any response from the Chief of Security, instead asking if he had any idea what had happened the night before.

‘Details are sketchy, sir,’ Crandal admitted without any apparent sign of concern. ‘We have not as of yet recovered either of the bodies of the assassins you reported. We’ll probably have to drag the bottom for them. We should have them by mid afternoon, however, unless they’ve drifted into the deeper parts of the lake. From the charts it looks as though it gets over a thousand feet deep even in this bay. There may be some trouble on that account. I wouldn’t be overly concerned about the incident; however, it’s probably just some local anti-government faction. They are quite concerned over a possible alien takeover within the government. It’s a logical assumption considering our recent past, sir, and this area has been known to be a hotbed of such thinking.’

‘On the contrary, Mr. Crandal, I find that assumption very illogical and remarkably ill informed considering your position of responsibility,’ Alexander replied venomously. ‘This ‘hotbed’ of anti-government people, as you call it, is an area I am quite familiar with. It promotes free thinking, individualism, and self sufficiency, but the radicals are a very slight minority. I doubt they would go to the trouble of donning wetsuits and using underwater scooters. They’d just as soon take a thirty-odd-six with a scope on me. I want information, Mr. Crandal, not supposition. Next time you come to me with a theory I expect you to have more than an ill-informed stereotype as your evidence. You can start by recovering those bodies. No excuses.’

‘Very well, sir’ Crandal nodded, and he turned to leave.

Alexander stopped him. ‘Mr. Crandal unless you’ve failed to notice I have an entire galaxy that has either tried to kill me or would like to see it done. I would, at least, appreciate those of my own planet being taken out of the equation.’

Crandal nodded with an almost knowing smile, and disappeared.

Augesburcke furrowed his bushy brows. ‘You didn’t give him much of a chance, Alexander, did you know him previously?’

‘Not a bit,’ Alexander answered, shaking his head. ‘He’s been in the system through some very unsavory times. Any special aide to Hoover rouses my suspicion. If there was ever a dirtier player in government I can’t name him, and then to rise to the top after the assassination of Kennedy. That was strangely timed, especially considering the distaste JFK and Hoover had for each other. Well, if it doesn’t completely arouse my suspicion it awakens my dislike. It’s too obvious to be something sinister, in all probability, but my gut tells me I don’t like him.’

‘He can be replaced,’ Augesburcke told him.

‘No, he hasn’t done anything to me, personally, so I’m willing to let this go as part of my own paranoia,’ Alexander growled, ‘at least for the moment.’

‘Alexander, if your instincts tell you something unsavory about this man you should trust them,’ Nazeera told him emphatically. ‘Of what use is your Chief of Security if you do not trust him?’

Alexander shook his head, ‘No I won’t persecute someone on the basis of my own feelings. That mistake I’ve seen too many times before. I may not like him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do his job.’

‘You are talking yourself into this noble stature, Alexander, which has nothing to do with your necessity,’ Nazeera said.

‘At least let me assign someone we know and can trust explicitly as a military liaison,’ Augesburcke asked.

‘Very well, Admiral, put one of your people on it,’ Alexander succumbed, making it apparent that the subject had exceeded his attention span. He turned to Nazeera, asking her to come out on the deck with him. When they were alone he told her, ‘I’ve been doing some seriously unpleasant thinking since this latest adventure. I don’t like what I’ve come up with, but it is nonetheless clear to me that it is necessary. My dear, whatever is going on here I think it serious enough to cut our honeymoon short. The war I can handle, but this business was dangerously close to you. If something goes wrong I don’t want the Elder of Chem in the crossfire.’

‘Really Alexander, do you think me so squeamish? Truth is I wouldn’t mind a little exercise now and again.’

Alexander grunted. ‘That is the last image I wish in my mind, Nazeera. Don’t mistake me. Though I would worry about Nazeera, my wife, in such a situation I have no doubts that you would handle yourself exquisitely. Yet I cannot afford to put the Elder of Chem in the path of a lucky assassin’s bullet. Let me put it to you bluntly, beyond my personal desires. As Overlord of the Terran Empire I must consider the consequences, however remote, of my own assassination and of defeat in this war. Defeat on a total scale. To where can the survivors of my people look if not to Chem? Yet if their Elder is assassinated by Terrans what will become of my civilization when it is at once bereft of its Overlord and its closest friend? That consequence haunts me, my dear. It haunts me even more than the thought of you dying nobly in battle.’

Nazeera thought for a while. Finally she said, ‘Very well, your words ring true, Alexander. I cannot forget my duty to my empire, nor will I be tardy from it any longer. Yet I have a duty to my husband as well. To that end, in my interests as well as that of Chem, I shall have Nazar attend to you. He shall be my ambassador, and he shall watch his brother’s back diligently! Is that agreeable?’

Alexander agreed readily.

‘Very well, the Nived Sheur waits for me in orbit. I shall join you in New York, and when you return to the Iowa I shall return to Chem.’

CHAPTER 16

Later in the day Navy personnel succeeded in dragging the bodies of the would-be assassins from the lake bottom. On closer inspection they were found to be all too Terran. Their equipment was Terran as well, and provided no connection between the assassination attempt and the Alliance. What it did reveal was a level of sophistication completely at odds with any small group of radicals. When Augesburcke brought Alexander and Nazar to the boathouse where the assassins and their equipment were laid out he gave them an expert tour of their findings.

‘This is SEAL stuff, or I’m blind,’ he told them, referring to the elite naval special operations forces. ‘Rebreathers, underwater sled, bolo balls fired from a compressed air gun, everything is top of the line. You can’t get this stuff from magazines, and no pissed off lumberjack is going to know how to use them proficiently. We’re running background checks on our two friends here,’ he said, pointing to the two dead men, now stiff and blue. ‘Maybe that will give us some clue as to where they come from and who they work for. That shouldn’t be too difficult, however,’ he said turning back the plastic sheets to reveal their arms. ‘US Navy SEAL tattoos. They could have been planted, of course, but its consistent. I think we have a pretty good picture of who our assassins are, but beyond that I can’t begin to imagine a scenario which would make any sense out of this.’

Alexander sighed, his face grim. ‘Admiral there is more going on here than some special dislike I am entertaining,’ he said lowly. ‘It is possible that the Alliance hired these men to do their dirty work. That seems most plausible to me as it is the Alliance that wants me dead.’

‘It would be no small leap for the Golkos, or the Hrang,’ Nazeera said, eyeing the equipment with interest. ‘Their definitions of honor are highly susceptible to practicality. They too obviously view you as their threat Alexander, but they are none too confident of their ability to vie with you openly. Therefore, it is no surprise that they sponsor assassins. If they can remove you then they may be able to deal with your successor, or even win the war. That, I would guess, is the basis of this cowardly act.’

‘But even if the Golkos or the Hrang sponsored this they would still need to act through Terran liaisons,’ Admiral Augesburcke noted. ‘The Alliance didn’t hire these men. They wouldn’t know the first thing about who they should look for, or even if they wanted a former SEAL, how to get one. No, there is someone out there in a position to know things who is dealing with them; that is, if the Alliance is even involved.’

‘They must be,’ Nazeera said firmly, ‘otherwise none of this makes any sense. What possible motive could any Terran have for the death of Alexander? The assassination would at the very least put the Terran Empire into a state of chaos, and at worst result in a wholesale Terran defeat at the hands of the Alliance. What Terran would welcome either of those possibilities?’

‘A Terran, or Terrans, who were guaranteed something from the Alliance,’ Alexander mused, recalling the only answer which satisfied the Chem Elder’s question. ‘I think you are both correct. Somewhere out there is someone who is dealing with the Alliance, someone who is promised a very prominent role after an Alliance victory, or a Terran capitulation.’

‘Your death for power,’ Augesburcke nodded. The ringing of his phone interrupted any further observations for the moment. Augesburcke answered curtly at the interruption, but the call took only a moment. The Admiral grunted his thanks and closed the line, his expression one of profound distaste. ‘I was hoping I was wrong. That was Crandal. These boys are SEALS, alright. That clarifies the situation somewhat, because whoever hired these men knows the military and Special Forces system, and well at that. It cannot have been easy to find two SEALS willing to do such a job.’

‘What motivation could they have for such treachery? Underlings do only so much for money, and there is no glory to be gained in destroying the aspirations of the empire. There can be no other reason than a promise of advancement,’ Nazeera asserted.

‘I am inclined to agree with you, Elder. It cannot be money,’ Augesburcke replied. ‘Money won’t be worth a thing if the Alliance takes over. I’d wager there was a generalship promised to these two or some equivalent.’

‘We need to know more about them, that may lead us to their employer,’ Alexander said.

‘Crandal is on it,’ Augesburcke assured him.

‘I expect he is,’ Alexander nodded, adding, ‘but I would feel better if we had someone else looking into this as well, Admiral. Do you know any sharp people who could do some digging?’

‘A few, I’ll get them on it right away.’ Augesburcke replied, but asked, ‘Alexander, if you do not trust this man why keep him on?’

‘Two reasons: first I’m not certain why I don’t trust him, and second, if he is involved in something I don’t want him to know I suspect him. Either way will be satisfactory I think. There is one more thing we can do. On our way to New York I think it is time to have another in-depth chat with the Scythians. They observed us for the last two millennia and may very well know who the Alliance might be in touch with.’

‘How so?’ Augesburcke asked.

‘If the Alliance is in on this then either they knew who to contact on Terra, or someone on Terra knew how to contact them. I don’t know which is true, but if there is a link then one of them must have happened! There’s more to this than just an attempt on my life. I think they’re involved, and it tells me a great deal. Admiral, if the Alliance is behind this then they’re becoming desperate. They are going to do one of two things: forge ahead or pull back and sue for peace. I’m not counting on the latter and it doesn’t require any preparation so I’ll forego it as an option. Let us expect the Alliance Admiralty to be bold and press ahead with their invasion immediately. Let’s push our plans ahead. Tell the strike arms to proceed at best possible speed. We will not sacrifice a coordinated H-Hour, but I want them in orbit around their targets as quickly as may be. Reiterate the standing order. There is to be no warning, no offer of surrender, no parley. The strike arms will not pull any punches. They shall take out whatever military targets they may find in the target systems, wherever they may be. They will be allowed only the diplomatic leeway of accepting surrender.’

‘And the Golkos-Seer’koh?’ Augesburcke questioned, stroking his mustache. ‘I wonder what their response shall be. If I were their commander I’d push headlong to Terra, even with the news of my confederates defeat. The multiple axis invasions will have served its purpose and left a wide open highway to Terra. I’d consider it an invitation impossible to refuse. My strategy would be to take Terra and hold the Terran Homeworld hostage, even as we will hopefully have done with Syraptose and Quotterim. Certainly the Golkos Grand Admiral Koor will not be blind to the fact that our strike fleets will be out of position to defend Terra.’

‘True enough Admiral and I expect the Golkos Grand Admiral will have the very same opinion as yourself,’ Alexander replied, cradling his chin. If he was disturbed by the possibility he didn’t show it. The light in his eyes was sharp, and it was clear by his manner that his mind was racing; seeing every aspect of the great galactic strategy with overwhelming clarity. ‘It is a risk, militarily, that is, though if forced into it I expect our defense of Terra will be viable,’ Alexander said evenly, moving quickly to his point. ‘I am, however, more certain that our military action will provoke the required political response in order to solve our defensive dilemma. Once the Syraptose and Quotterim are defeated we will be out of position for defense, but still in marvelous position for attack. The Golkos and the Seer’koh will be placed in a very interesting position. Militarily they have all that they could ask for, as you’ve pointed out. We have, without a battle, given them a clear path to Terra. If they take that path, that bait so to speak, they then leave their Homeworlds open to conquest by our strike fleets. Yet we shall leave them with an option: they can retreat to the defense of their Homeworlds quicker than we can attack them.’

‘It shall be an interesting study in decision making,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘Even considering the strictly military question the Golkos and the Seer’koh have a difficult decision to reach. Do they continue on and hopefully capture Terra, knowing that they have at best an incomplete knowledge of our defensive capabilities; and in the process almost certainly lose their own Homeworlds? Or do they retreat? That’s not an easy call militarily.’

‘But politically it is obvious,’ Alexander said earnestly. ‘You do not put your Homeworld at risk when you have a fleet to defend it.’

‘Which is what we’ve done,’ Augesburcke said evenly.

‘That we have, under duress,’ Alexander admitted. ‘But I am counting on the Seventh Fleet and our Homeworld defense grid, Admiral. I anticipate only a fraction of the Alliance fleet ever gets this far. We’ll see if the dominoes tumble the way I anticipate. It was the ‘Legend of Alexander’ which precipitated the Alliance attack, and as Doctor Koto so eloquently puts it is their psychosis that pushes the Alliance. Will this psychosis push the Alliance over the brink to blindly attack Terra, sacrificing their Homeworlds in the process? That is the question I cannot answer, yet. I need to give them an out; a way to disbelieve their own manifestation of reality. The Syraptose and Quotterim are the key to that door.’

‘How do you intend your conquests of Syraptose and Quotterim to dispel your myth, Alexander?’ Nazeera asked. She patiently listened to the debate, half with jealousy and half with trepidation. Nazeera longed to lead her people on an Alexander-like sweep of conquest, and her blood seethed with the discipline required to sit on the sidelines. Yet Nazeera was also a Galactic, and she had no wish to see the status quo of the galaxy completely dominated by Terrans, despite her love for Alexander. The Chem Elder respected the institutions of the empires her people dealt with over the past kicellia, and though she cared little for what Alexander might do to the Golkos, Nazeera saw no profit in the complete destruction of galactic civilization as she knew it. Partly to satisfy her own concerns and partly to be involved Nazeera found himself making an observation. Her eyes were bright with anticipation of Alexander’s response, but her voice was even and controlled.

‘The ‘Legend of Alexander’ speaks of conquest on a grand and barbaric scale. We have understandably drawn an analogy between the wars of Terra which we have witnessed and perceived Terran behavior in a galactic war of conquest. If the conquest of Syraptose and Quotterim are as brutal as they are feared to be then the Alliance remnants may well feel compelled to destroy Terra at all costs.’

‘What’s the Alliance afraid of?’ Alexander asked, obviously troubled by the prospect. ‘Did I exterminate the Scythians; no, on the contrary I treated them more fairly than anyone expected. Our agreement with Scythia been well documented. Certainly if anyone had a right for revenge it was Terra. Was not our settlement overtly fair considering the circumstances.’

‘Extraordinarily so, Alexander, but you needed Scythia. You do not need Syraptose or the Quotterim.’ Nazar pointed out. ‘If you do indeed conquer them, as appears likely, the galaxy will be watching. Your treatment of them will be widely watched.’

‘Your observations are most sobering, Nazeera,’ Alexander replied gravely. ‘You speak well and to the point as a Galactic. It is a point well worth considering, though I do not think they change my attitude a great deal.’

Nazeera’s glance was hard, and Alexander addressed it by spreading his arms wide. ‘I never thought to tread upon the galaxy, though my rhetoric has been admittedly harsh at times. My dream, Elder of Chem, is to win a position of equality amongst the empires of the galaxy, not a position of ascendency. Dictatorships are short lived. Relations between states can persevere for millennia. The Galactics have proven that, but it cannot occur with Terra as a lesser or a greater state than her neighbors. We are fighting for equality. I want Terra to be considered an equal culture amongst the Galactics long after I am gone. That is what I will show the galaxy, if we are successful in Syraptose and the Quotterim.’

‘If that is your intention, Overlord, then you will have taken a great step towards the accomplishment of your aims,’ Nazeera told him, satisfied with the scope and sincerity of his response.

Alexander nodded, and said, ‘I want this entire situation to be perfectly clear to anyone listening to the ethernet. There is to be no comm jamming when the battle commences. I want the galaxy to have a front row seat, and I want to show them that we are terrible in war, but magnanimous in our victory. Admiral let’s take a page out of Lincoln’s book: hit them hard, again and again until they fall, but then let them up easy.’

The otherwise somber trappings of the room were alive with the pent up whisperings of its convicts. There was not a single being there who wanted to be there. They did not want to discuss the purpose behind their presence, they simply wanted to disappear. There was nowhere to go, however, and little choice in the matter. The thick draperies were drawn closed, stifling both light an air. Smoke hung in the dim light, further shrouding the huddled shapes, fearful shapes. Their leather cocoons provided no comfort or protection, only a form within which their bodies withdrew. The only sign of life was the bright darting eyes, encased in heavy aged lids, still capable of emoting fear.

‘Gentlemen, there is no cause for alarm, though the first attempt to assassinate Alexander failed there is no cause to fear discovery,’ Crandal informed his mixed audience of Terrans and Hrang spies. ‘The operatives and equipment used in the attempt were Terran. There is nothing to connect the attempt to the Alliance, except possibly motive.’

‘What of a link between your operatives and ourselves,’ Edgar asked with concern.

‘Remember, I am conducting the investigation,’ Crandal answered testily, dragging at his pipe. ‘Besides, the identities of our two friends have been conveniently switched. Instead of two special operatives from SPETNAZ, all the information I have passed on reveals them as disgruntled ex-SEALS. Believe me, even if they did somehow find out their true identities it would be nearly impossible to trace them to us.’

‘What is our next step then?’

‘Our second window of opportunity occurs on the Iowa tomorrow. Our operatives are in place. This opportunity was preplanned in case of a failure in the first. At this time there are no signs of any problems. All indications are that Alexander will take a shuttle to the Iowa after his send off of the first wave of emigrants, and his inspection of the New York shipyards.’

‘Why not hit him there? It is a public place with a high probability of confusion aiding our operatives. It worked in Dallas, why not here?’

‘Unfortunately, as part of Alexander’s precautions Nazeera of Chem supplied his entourage with small shield generators. They will stop a blaster shot or a rifle bullet with equal efficiency. A public venue is therefore out of the question.’

‘However you accomplish it, Mr. Crandal, it is important that you leave the Alliance out of it, for your sake as well as ours,’ the chief Hrang representative told him. ‘Needless to say your own position of power in the new regime would be jeopardized if your fellow Terrans had any knowledge of your present involvements. As for ourselves we do not wish to incur Alexander’s personal attentions. If we all fail the repercussions for us in an Alexander victory would be far more singular and unpleasant than simple defeat.’

‘That is understood,’ Crandal answered.

‘How will you plan to handle a failure in this opportunity?’ The Hrang pressed him.

‘I do not expect failure,’ Crandal answered, but added, ‘in such a case; however, I will take care of the third opportunity on Golkos myself.’

‘Let us hope it does not come to that, Mr. Crandal,’ the Hrang said.

‘I do not expect it to,’ Crandal replied, ‘but if it does I want your assurance that our deal still stands.’

‘For our part we shall honor it,’ the Hrang told him, ‘but you must realize the reality of the situation. If Alexander is on Golkos as a conqueror then there may be little the Alliance, what is left of it, can do politically. I cannot see how his death at that point would swing our political fortunes in so different a direction.’

‘That all depends on how the assassination is carried out, sir, and who carries it out,’ Crandal admitted. Seeing the perplexed looks of his colleagues and the Hrang he smiled, explaining, ‘I intend to see to it, with your help, that Alexander, and hopefully Admiral Augesburcke his most trusted and useful subordinate, are assassinated by the Scythians. There should be ample popularity with the notion of blaming the Scythians amongst all segments of the galaxy. With the opportunity taken it will remove Alexander and the one man who could stabilize the Terran government immediately after the assassination. There will be a vacuum at the top, and I shall fill it.’

‘You should be in a position of considerably more power in that scenario than if you accomplished the deed now,’ the Hrang observed.

‘True,’ Crandal admitted, ‘and I should use that power if it were not for the axe of knowledge which you have hanging over my head, sir. As it is, my involvement in this assassination is far more dangerous to me than to you. Terrans could forgive an alien for such an act, but never a Terran.’

‘How are you to contact us concerning the success or failure of this second opportunity?’

‘Might I request that you find out for yourself by requesting your Pro Consul to call Alexander for a parley?’

‘And highlight our own involvement in this? Impossible!’ The Hrang’s refusal was emphatic.

‘Not at all; you’ve been trying to have a political parley with him since your disastrous defeat on the Golkos frontier have you not? Now is the perfect opportunity. If we fail and Alexander answers you may find him in more of a bargaining mood; if he feels his power is suddenly threatened by home-grown forces. If we succeed you will catch the Terran Empire at a unique point in time, and we can proceed with our arrangement.’

‘I will bring it up with my superiors,’ the Hrang said. The spy rose stiffly to leave, but before exiting the room he asked, ‘How is it you will get the Scythians to assassinate Alexander?’

Crandal smiled and puffed at his pipe. ‘They have already supplied me with the means. All we wait upon is the proper moment. There will be no doubt as to the source of the assassination. As with most things it will really be quite simple, and elegant.’

The Hrang left shaking his head, unsatisfied and now quite concerned. The thought occurred to him that everything he knew of Alexander pointed to him being a far more rational being than the one he was actually dealing with.

CHAPTER 17

Kvel Mavek received the report of the Hrang patiently, but skeptically. She knew as much about Alexander as any member of the Alliance and the thought of Terran assassins dispatching the Terran Overlord drew a nervous guffaw from her thin lips especially after the first failure. ‘You expect me to understand that you are going to continue this drive to assassinate Alexander of Terra? I can perhaps understand our lack of foresight in supporting the first attempt. That failure should only have reminded us that this is the same Alexander who was sent to die on Pantrixnia and would have ended up ruling that hellish place had he not had a galaxy to conquer! I celebrate the bravery of your people in the support of this operation, but I cannot see the logic in continuing it.’

‘It was approved, Madame Pro Consul, by yourself and the council,’ the Hrang Ambassador reminded her. ‘That is inclusive of each of the three particular occasions your Mystics provided us. In each of these instances Alexander was seen to be susceptible to such a desperate deed. We cannot prevent our present course from continuing, Madame Pro Consul. Your own Mystics have warned us that once we start upon such a desperate course in the timeline it is better to carry it through. We therefore respectfully request that you, Madame Pro Consul, ask to speak with Alexander personally.’

‘That is uncharacteristically devious of you, Ambassador, I congratulate you on your ability to wheedle me into a corner,’ the Pro Consul replied. She thought silently for a moment and then pointed to her own personal involvement, saying, ‘You know very well that Alexander considers it beneath his station to address us. He’s made his demands, and he expects obedience, or war. What shall entice him to talk?’

‘Hopefully nothing, if he is dead,’ the Hrang told her, ‘but we should at the very least be able to gain some insight into the event’s conclusion by attempting contact.’

‘Very well, I will take a personal hand in this. I must say though that despite your surprising cunning and the bravery of your people I now consider this a futile and dangerous exercise!’ The Pro Consul replied. ‘Like as not it will just make him angry. Maybe, however, even that will be to our advantage. Our intelligence from the Terran interrogations has shown that heaping difficulty upon difficulty onto the Terran psyche can have its effect. Our fleets are once again massing on the Terrans, and even Alexander can find no advantage in defending three separate fronts. Now if we pressure his person, even if not successful, we may be sowing the seeds for his demise. It is a distant hope, I’m afraid, but not an unrealistic one. Very well, Ambassador, I will play my part. Give me the time for my address so that I may prepare, and have our best analysts ready to read the Terran message!’

Alexander was happy to get the irritatingly ceremonial, but necessary, send-off of the colonists out of the way. New York was all a bustle with the momentous occasion, and the recent victory on the Golkos frontier only served to add to the festivity of the day and the exuberance of the crowds. Although New York was the centerpiece for this display of Terran migration, the Statue of Liberty being the perfect visual symbol of the event, emigrants were embarking on their ships all over the world. Scythian freighters were pressed into service for the emigration. In their vast hulls two thousand families were crowded together for the expected two to five day journey. Each ship carried a like complement of pioneers, entire neighborhoods with pre-established bonds and hierarchies. Each of the five hundred ships would travel to one of two hundred worlds, spreading Terrans as far and as wide as possible in these days of crisis. When each ship had deposited their precious cargo on a new, often Scythian occupied world, they would immediately return for another load. In all the initial plan called for two hundred million emigrants on over two hundred worlds, but initially Alexander and the Admiralty thought it wise to settle as many worlds as possible with viable populations.

The occasion could not pass without a few short words from the Overlord of the Empire, and the President of the Federation. Alexander kept his speech brief, but as usual pointed in reference and meaning.

‘Citizens of Terra, I address you on a momentous day. Today Humankind sets off into the cosmos to stay. It is a moment, I think, for great reflection. What brought us to this opportunity, and what do we desire to accomplish now that it is here? The same qualities of Humanity which ensured that this moment would indeed happen are the same qualities we should export in this, our newest and most grand enterprise. A great opportunity is set before us and we dare not waste it. Let the colonization of the cosmos be done with the greatest qualities of Humankind, not the most petty. When you go forth remember your heritage and the roots of Terra. Remember what your ancestors have passed down in their culture, religion and philosophy. All these qualities defines us as individuals as well as Terrans and it is vital that such qualities be preserved.

Remember also the mistakes, prejudices and crimes of the past. Remember the agonies that millions upon millions of your brethren have suffered to get you to this moment in time. The tragedies of our ancestors must not be repeated. If you remember the glories of your once and future Homeworld, Terra, then remember also that she has blood on her hands. The memories of children murdered by war, lives undone by greed or prejudice, potential never realized through ignorance; all these crimes and more must remain a poignant memory. They are lessons from which to learn, but they are consequences that do not bear repetition. You are at the threshold of a new age, and you shall pass the threshold onto a new world: your world. Pride in your accomplishments, pride in your new world will come naturally and with great facility. Cherish and protect your worlds. See to their growth as equals, for Terra will not and should not rule from afar. You are, even as we speak, members of the Terran Empire with equal representation in the Senate. View such an occasion with the merit it deserves. You know my mind. I wish you all well in your endeavors.’

The idea was grand, the logistics vast and rushed, but despite the uncertainty, the complexities, and the crisis which propelled it the departure of the Scythian ship was breathtaking. When she took to the airs amidst the blaring of horns, confetti and exuberant crowds Terran time stood still, and a long awaited dream became reality.

Alexander left New York for Newport News shortly thereafter. The tour of the shipyard was less emotional, and did not require a speech, so he enjoyed it that much more. Plus, Admiral Augesburcke had a surprise for him. He brought Alexander and Nazeera to a dry-dock where the huge hulk of a battleship sat on blocks. The design meant nothing to Nazeera’s eyes, beyond her surprise that the Terran’s did not accomplish the construction in the relative ease of a space-dock. To Alexander, however, the sight was as strikingly familiar as it was unexpected.

‘I thought our battleships had been completed long since, Admiral. Is this new construction or simply repairs?’

‘Oh it’s quite new, Alexander. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize her? After all it was your suggestion which prompted us to go get the old girl.’ Augesburcke grinned at Alexander’s perplexed stare. The Overlord thrust his fist on his hips and examined the ship minutely, as if his manner would force her identity into the open. There was no name or registry on her sharp prow. The ship had been stripped to bare metal. Though he thought he should know it, he finally he shook his head, unable to answer the riddle.

‘You disappoint me, Alexander, it’s the Bismarck.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘No, the deep water preserved her well and we put back together what the Brits broke. I reiterated your comment to Doctor Hashimoto; the man has a damnable way of turning the most impossible schemes into something practical. He took off on his own and had the Scythian’s tractor her out and fly her here; no small task I tell you. It took three of their ships to do it. You may wonder why we’ve gone to the effort, but after our victory on the Golkos frontier we’ve investigated some of our secondary plans with more vigor. We were finishing off the last of the destroyers, corvettes and frigates out there, but there were absolutely no more big guns and as you pointed out that is what we really need. This is an experiment. Currently we have the Bismarck, the Ostfriesland, the Graf Spee, the Mutso and Nagato in various stages of refit. It’s not an entirely new idea. The Norwegians and the Danes beat us to the punch years ago. The Danes raised three German battleships from Scapa Flow in 1920, and the Norwegians did the same in 1946. The Norwegian projects were newer, the old Tirpitz and Blucher, now Thor and Odin respectively. It’s not a great number, but it is something. With the Alliance coming and our fleets scattered all over the cosmos we need every ship we can get. Next door to the Bismarck you can see the ‘Ostfriesland.’

‘The ship Billy Mitchell sunk in his proof of air power,’ Alexander nodded.

‘Exactly, she’s our shallow water test project,’ the Admiral told him. ‘Unlike the Bismarck the Ostfriesland was in warmer shallow water. We want to see how she takes to the Tritium bath process after that much more punishment. The Bismarck seems to be holding up just fine. We expect her to fly tomorrow. Come on up, then you can see our other projects from the bridge. I think you’ll approve.’

The party entered the maze of the Bismarck. Workers were everywhere bolting in equipment, tuning visiplates, and running tests. The party tried to stay out of the way, but the presence of Alexander himself was too much. Some tried to snap to attention, others just stared. Alexander had a word for all of them, accompanied by a curl of a smile and a pat on the shoulder. Finally they reached the bridge and Alexander was rewarded with a the one place on the ship that was devoid of activity. It was eerily quiet compared to the chaos in the rest of the ship.

‘The new boards will be going in this afternoon,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘The layout is complete and so we have the place to ourselves for the time being. Here’s what I wanted to show you. Some view, eh?’

Alexander followed Augesburcke to the transparent aluminum that served as the bridge windows and viewers. Beyond was the bustle of the dockyard. Destroyers, frigates, and the like were all lined up; each with its swarm of machinery and humanity crawling over their bulk like crabs on the carcass of a whale. The Admiral pounded his fist on the new metal of the bridge.

‘She’ll work out just fine. There’s nothing like the bridge of a battleship. We’ve been lucky, Alexander, extraordinarily so. Look on the other side of the dockyard. You know how we talked about using the carriers as nuke platforms? Truth to tell it always seemed like a waste of a big proud ship. After re-addressing the issue with our present needs in mind we came up with one better. Remember how the first carriers were actually converted from cruiser hulls? Well, we reversed the process. It’s taking longer than we hoped but I think we’ll have them done on time. Look out there just beyond the old Graf Spee. Recognize her?’

Alexander looked across the harbor. Rising enormously over the superstructure of the pocket battleship he saw the rakish lines and gleaming flat top of what could be nothing but the Enterprise. Her old phased array superstructure was amidships atop new tiers of steel. Upon the raw platforms turrets were being built. Even now there were three in place on the foredeck and Alexander could see two more being readied aft of the bridge.

‘The superstructure and platforms are the big jobs. The turrets are the simple part. We manufacture rotating turrets for cranes all over the world. It was no big thing to find some on a scale consistent with our needs. The rifle barrels of our old guns were stressed for powder discharge. Nice but unnecessary for their new use. They’re just part of the mounting and focusing process for the projectors now. We didn’t have to go into an extensive milling process to produce new rifle barrels. We did lose the capability to mass launch the nukes, however, but we’ve got an idea for that. That construction is taking place in California. We’re lifting oil rigs into space, Alexander. Crazy, but the rigs are to be used to launch the nukes en masse. Where there’s space for a missile we are strapping it on.’

‘Ingenious, Admiral. That is a truly outstanding scheme. I must say I like the carrier concept. If there’s one thing we need its battlewagons. How many projectors will the Enterprise mount?’

‘Fifteen level forty-three blasters.’

Nazeera shook her head. ‘Level forty-three? You cannot be serious. Level thirty-seven is as large a projector as exists. The Scythians are not being wholly honest with you if they sold you blaster projectors rated at anything over level thirty-seven, Admiral.’

‘Oh they sold us level thirty-seven blasters, Elder, but we’ve made some improvements. These are still force nine projectors, so they generate the same amount of power as they standard Galactic projector, but Dr. Hashimoto and his team have improved the efficiency from level thirty-seven to level forty-three. That’s roughly twenty-one percent on the curve, I believe. The modifications are being implemented fleet wide of course.’

‘That is sobering, Admiral,’ Nazeera sighed. ‘Your new ships will triple the broadside of any Galactic battleship. That, Alexander, is awe inspiring. You cannot rightly call such a warship a battleship. It is absolutely incredible. I almost pity Khandar.’

‘That should even the odds somewhat when the Alliance fleets get here,’ Alexander mused. ‘I assume we’re doing this to all of our carriers? How many of the super-carriers like the Enterprise are there? The American fleet had thirteen active I believe. It’s something, but probably not decisive.’

‘We’re better off than that, Alexander. There are actually twenty-one big carriers, including the Enterprise and the French carrier Clemensau which we’ve classed together. They’ll all host fifteen blaster projectors. There are, however, another forty-two mothballed carriers, the old Forestall class and the like. We’re loosely classing them by the ship’s length. The smaller carriers will be modified in the standard battleship layout of nine level forty-three blasters and be re-classified accordingly. You can see one of them just on the other side of the Enterprise. It’s the old Enterprise from World War Two. She’s was supposed to be scrapped along with the majority of our other ships after the war but through CIA and DOD front companies she found her way to Cold War storage in Baffin Bay, Canada. We’re not quite certain what do about the duplicity of names. No one has the heart to rename either of them’

‘Keep them as they are, Admiral,’ Alexander smiled. ‘They can be distinguished by their nicknames. In World War Two they called her the ‘Big-E.’ She took more damage than any other carrier and still survived the war. I believe the crews of the new girl call her the ‘Starship Enterprise.’ Now that’s fitting.’

‘Good enough. Now, with the other projects I think we can put up a total force of forty-two additional battleships and twenty-two super-battleships for the Seventh Fleet. That will give the Seventh Fleet seventy-eight heavies. By last count we’d knocked the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet down to seventy-three. That should even the odds a bit.’

‘Excellent, Admiral! Excellent! But correct me if I’m wrong; twenty-two of the heavy battleships? I thought we had twenty-one.’

‘We have twenty-one super-carriers that will become super battleships,’ Augesburcke answered, biting his lip. ‘The extra is the Ark Royal. She’s not near the size of our other supers, but the Brits weren’t about to let the French have one without matching it.’

‘Politics as usual. I can’t say I’m surprised. Oh well, I suppose there’ll be more of that before it’s all over.’

‘As a matter of fact there is,’ Augesburcke winced. ‘There are a significant number of nationals who are, how shall I say it, less than pleased that the flagships of our fleets are comprised almost entirely of American named ships. Its petty I know, but it is a point of jealousy. I wouldn’t have brought it up, but Dr. Koto seemed to think it important.’

Alexander bit back a politically incorrect remark and folded his arms. After a moment of reflection he asked, ‘Does Dr. Koto have any suggestions?’

‘He never comes to the table without suggestions, that I’ll give him. In fact this is really rather well thought out. He suggests we rename the super-battleships for each continent with the emphasis being on great military leaders of the past. This way we can bring about a more homogeneous effort, satisfy our personal needs for representation and remind the Alliance that we have a well documented history of conquerors. The idea has been well received by all our member nations, although the American Navy was rather lukewarm.’

Alexander took the proffered list from Augesburcke and scanned the names. ‘Truth to tell, Admiral, I would have had you rename the Stennis and the Vinson regardless. Who ever heard of naming a carrier after a politician and letting names like Yorktown, Lexington, Hornet and Wasp languish? Well, this is interesting. The French renamed their ship Napoleonobviously we need to pair it with the Iron Duke! We keep the Lincoln, but replace other registries with Shaka Zulu, Cyrus the Great, Caesar, Ramses II, Zhukov, Inca, Zhu, what’s thisAnzac? Now that’s odd. It’s got to be the Aussies, eh Admiral?’

‘We don’t have a very old military history, though it is a proud one. We chose our common soldier as our representative instead of a specific leader.’

‘I heartily approve, Admiral, but don’t be surprised if you see your name on this list one day. Alright, you don’t have to twist my arm, but I don’t know about this one. I see Alexander the Great on this list. I can’t help thinking a ship with that name would attract an undue amount of attention in battle? Somehow I can’t see this as one of Dr. Koto’s suggestions.’

‘You cannot name a ship after Cyrus of Persian without satisfying the Greekspolitics.’

‘Very well, you don’t need my approval, but I’ll give it my John Hancock anyway. I have only one condition. Let’s not call them super-battleships. That is just plain irritating.’

‘We should stick with an appropriate nautical term. I would suggest we go with dreadnoughts after the ship of the name. When the Royal Navy launched the original Dreadnought she was as far beyond the battleship of the day as the Enterprise will be beyond the Iowa. She gave birth to what we call the modern battleship.’

Alexander smiled and nodded. ‘Excellent Admiral, I am now in a considerably better mood!’ Alexander was genuinely impressed with all that Terra accomplished, and was actually less irritated with the political jockeying the dreadnoughts caused than he let on. He wanted every Terran to feel involved in the defense of their planet and this was a simple but effective vehicle. There was something about a ship that took its namesake with them. When it went into battle it carried the hearts and courage of its entire populace.

Satisfied, Alexander took the time to go down on deck, and for a while he and Nazeera walked the new steel plated decks of the Bismarck. He could not help but reflect on what it was like to be on the deck of one of the most famous ships in history, though Admiral Augesburcke informed him that there were some within and without the government who had second thoughts about reviving one of the symbols of transitory Nazi power. Alexander frowned, his mood dampened for a moment. Eventually he disagreed.

‘It’s appropriate that we bring up the subject, for it would be far worse to forget it, but let’s not give up the chance to change the symbology. The old Bismarck and her crew fought without choice for an evil ideal. Let’s give her a chance to regain the honor of her name, and her namesake.’

‘Can I quote you on that?’

‘Certainly.’

‘That’ll make a helluva sound bite!’

‘Admiral I’ll never need a political analyst with you around,’ Alexander smiled.

Nazeera was lagging a bit behind, examining everything about the ship closely. Occasionally she went to the rail to witness the work on the Ostfriesland. She viewed it suspiciously, as if there was something about the warship he could not accept. When Alexander asked about it she threw up her hands and confronted him.

‘I have been mulling over your story about this Ostfriesland and Bismarck The immediacy of their design was at first unfathomable, but now I must believe you were serious. You mean to tell me truly, Alexander, that these ships were raised from your oceans? Impossible! Do you wish me to believe that your people built a space fleet from ocean going warships? Why Chem hasn’t had an ocean-only designed vessel on her seas in over nine hundred kicellia! How quickly did you build this fleet?’

‘They’re actually modified, my dear. We could never have built this fleet from scratch. What’s it been, Admiral, considerably less than a year?’

‘Considerably,’ Augesburcke told him.

‘Incredible!’ The Chem Elder exclaimed, ‘and in this time you’ve learned to fight in space with the best Galactic warriors! I would not have believed it if I hadn’t known you Alexander. Yet that means when you faced me in Scythian space it was with a new untried fleet, and untried crews?’

‘An untried fleet, yes; but the crews were for the most part veterans of war.’

‘Yet you still would have fought us?’

‘Of course,’ Alexander told him evenly.

‘Amazing, absolutely amazing,’ Nazeera muttered shaking her leonine head. She looked at her husband and his Admiral, incredulous, and then she grinned, her sharp canines flashing in the sun and her eyes glowing with blue flame. ‘What unmitigated gall! I certainly married into a very worthy race!’

They left the Bismarck to the dockworkers and spent the night in the city. The next morning Alexander had a meeting with the body of the Terran Senate which largely concerned the emigration issues. Afterwards the party took a shuttle to the Iowa. Alexander’s shuttle was actually a modified Boeing 747. Its truncated wings held sub light engines now, but otherwise it was configured much the same as its atmospheric bound forefather. During the short fifteen minute trip Augesburcke summarized the tour and their situation with Alexander.

‘We’ve just about tapped out the Scythian engine stock, and licensed production on Terra doesn’t begin until next month. We’ve pretty much got what we can use against the Alliance.’

‘Will the dreadnoughts and your projects be ready if the Golkos-Seer’koh push forward?’

‘They’ll be ready,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘The work is progressing slower than we’d hoped initially. There’s clean-up, the replacement of machinery, a whole slew of factors we’ve discovered since we dove into the idea. The dreadnoughts also require significant additional construction. We can’t just slap them together, but they’ll be ready. Believe me, there’s no problem motivating our people.’

‘So maybe another three squadrons, but the ships will be all dreadnoughts and battleships.’ Alexander mused, and he shrugged. ‘Oh well, that’s more than I could have hoped for. It looks as though the Seventh will have to play the part of Indians on the Golkos-Seer’koh for a time. I have a feeling, however, that our schedule will be either very busy in the next week, or very empty. I’d prefer the latter, but we shall see.’

CHAPTER 18

The shuttle pulled alongside the Iowa in short order and Alexander’s party entered the ship through a pressurized gangway. Alexander and Nazeera were piped aboard with the usual fanfare, and they then left Augesburcke to his duties, intending to have a quiet lunch together before Nazeera’s departure. A guard of three marines fell in behind them as they made their way to the stateroom. It was an irritating, but standard precaution after the assassination attempt. Nazeera’s complement of two tall Chem fell in behind the Terran marines.

‘Really, my dear, I am not looking forward to trading you for your brother. As fond as I am of Nazar it is not equitable. I think the logistics of a galactic war are somewhat simpler than those of a married couple, each being a head of state.’

‘Think of it on those terms, Alexander. Let us pick a neutral site where we can conduct recurring ‘diplomacy.’ After all, from what my friends tell me marriage takes more hands on work than running a country!’

‘How about Pantrixnia?’ Alexander replied, referring to the infamous prison planet upon which he gained galactic notoriety.

‘Pantrixnia! I thought you’d seen enough of that!’ Nazeera exclaimed, laughing at the idea. ‘I can see it now: a comfortable jungle retreat perched on the crags overlooking the river and the Tyrannosaur canyonhow delicious!’ The horrific planet was designed to accomplish the honorable execution of criminals, and despite Alexander’s unique ability to adapt to its harsh environment the idea of a habitation there was so ludicrous as to be humorous. Nazeera curbed her laughter at the sudden buzz of Alexander’s comlink. It was Admiral Augesburcke.

‘Excuse the interruption, Overlord, but we have just received a communiqué from the Alliance. It is direct from the Alliance Pro Consul. I think you ought to hear it.’

Alexander’s brow rose. ‘Really, is there anything the Alliance could tell me which might matter a wit? Oh. never mind, I’ll be right up Admiral. I’ll take the call in our stateroom.’

They continued down the hall, but a glance at Nazeera revealed that the marines had fallen in behind the Chem. Strangely bothered by this Alexander turned his head to the Elder of Chem as he walked, and so as he spoke he could see the entire party. He waved a hand, telling her, ‘As you no doubt know, my dear, the Alliance has bombarded us with demands, requests for parleys, threats and peace offerings. It’s as if they cannot make up their own minds as to what they want to do. That is just as well, as my mind is made up. Think of the mess over the Galactic net if both of us were equally confused!’

Alexander’s manner was flippant, which was enough to attract Nazeera’s attention. The Overlord of the Terran Empire had gone over this subject many times over the past few days, and there was always an underlying gravity to the Alliance situation.

Now as she walked the corridor with the Terran Overlord Nazeera knew something was wrong. Alexander used words as if they were actions, or building blocks. His rhetoric, like his military tactics, had purpose. Each singular design affected something in the future which would give him advantage. That was the secret to Alexander’s rumored prescience. It was not so much that Alexander knew what was ahead as it was that he planned for it, and his actions funneled those trapped within his stratagems onto predetermined tracks. Alexander would not change his manner without reason.

Nazeera glanced at the man with a cool tinge to her luminescent blue eyes and asked, ‘Certainly I have heard no greater coherence from the Alliance through our diplomatic channels on Chem. Their courage blows this way and that, and their dialogue follows the wind. Of all the cultures only the Golkos and the Seer’koh have any stomach for this. They are the backbone of this Alliance, and the voices. The Golkos especially. They are warlike, or would like to be. Yet as they are our distant cousins they have that fire in their blood, but they do not possess the strength of honor to discipline that fire. They seek profit and power for their own right. To the Golkos principles are a pliant tool. If there is any treachery in the Alliance you can assume that the Golkos are at the heart of it.’ Nazeera said much the same thing to Alexander before and none of it bore repeating, but she was looking for a lead.

Alexander smiled, nodding, ‘There you have it, the key to this particular puzzle: the Golkos! Remove that piece and the Alliance falls apart. That shall be our objective! We must be ready, however, for all things are not what they seem. Even those things close to us can be seen with a different light. When we see the counterfeits, then is the time to act, and act quickly!’

Nazeera nodded in agreement, but not with what Alexander said. His first statement was false, and obviously so. While it had its truths in the Galactic situation Alexander’s view was broader. His strategy was not to take the Golkos from the Alliance, but in one fell swoop remove the Alliance from the Golkos. It was a subtle but immensely important part of Alexander’s grand strategy, and one he was unlikely to mistake. Nazeera therefore took it as a warning, and a statement said for listening ears. The second part of his statement made sense now, and gave her some idea of what Alexander was thinking. She waited.

The corridor turned to the left up ahead of them, Alexander took a moment before reaching it to glance back and comment, ‘How are you marines bearing up in all this. Are you as confident in this enterprise as you appear?’

Nazeera took this as his lead. The two Chem guards, though they ignored the conversation between Alexander and Nazeera, saw their lords eyes flash violently at them, and then center on the Terran marines. The Chem reacted instantly. As Alexander suddenly pulled Nazeera into the side corridor the two Chem whirled, weapons drawn, to face the three counterfeit marines.

The marines, already prepared for action, did not get caught by surprise. All three carried assault blasters, weapons larger and heavier than the pistol inspired blasters that the Chem, Alexander and Nazeera carried. One of the Chem was shot and burned before he finished his turn. The other grappled with a marine, but stumbled back, dazed by a blow to the jaw from an assault blaster. As the Chem guard leapt to her feet the marine followed up his blow with a finishing blaster shot. The third marine rushed through the gap between his fellows, ducking into the side corridor behind Alexander and Nazar.

The marine was met by Alexander’s boot, taking a vicious kick in the gut. He reeled back down the corridor, and his cohorts stumbled over him, cursing as they attempted to draw a bead on their targets. Alexander threw himself at a Marine. Blocking the muzzle of the blaster with his forearm he slammed his elbow into the man’s jaw, stunning him.

Nazeera, instantly sizing up the situation, flew upon the other Marine with the quickness of a panther, sword in one hand blaster in the other. She slashed at the man in long wicked curves, almost too quickly for the eye to see. The marine’s assault blaster parried two blows, and then he brought it down to stare at the Chem Elder’s belly. Nazeera was too fast. Her slim blade slashed through the marine’s wrist, parting hand from arm and sending the marines assault blaster spinning across the corridor beneath a wash of red blood. The blaster went off, ringing in the corridor and splashing flame off the bulkheads.

The marine grasped the stump of his wrist, crying out in surprise and pain. Unfazed Nazeera kicked him in the face with the heel of her boot and whirled around, her blade plunging into the Terran’s side. The marine, with Nazeera’s blade quivering in his torso, recovered from his surprise and with the grim fury of fatality refused to fall. Though her sword now twisted in his torso he grappled the Chem’s arm with his single hand. With a strength greater than the Chem could counter the man heaved Nazeera off her feet and flung the Elder down the corridor. Nazeera rolled up in a flash as the marine lurched towards him. She snarled, shooting the marine dead in the chest. The Terran sank to his knees and fell face first into his own pool of gore.

Alexander drew his blaster and knife as his marine stumbled back. The third marine, already off balance by the Overlord’s kick steadied himself against the wall. This brought his assault blaster against the wall, and momentarily out of play. Alexander took advantage of the mistep, pinning the marines arm and blaster against the bulkhead with blade of his knife. The marine grunted as blood spurted from the arm and swung his fist at Alexander’s jaw. The Overlord of the Terran Empire stepped in, ignoring the blow and thrusting the muzzle of the blaster into his belly. He pressed the contact thrice. Boiling gore exploded across the corridor as the marine’s torso boiled and burned into a tattered mass of blackened flesh and bone.

Alexander whirled, momentarily blinded by the blood of his kill. Angrily he wiped his eyes with his blood soaked sleeve. When he sight returned he was staring down the muzzle of the remaining marine’s assault blaster. Alexander brought his gun about and shot, seeing Nazeera doing the same out of the corner of his eye. As he felt the gun rock in his hand, her shot burned into the side of the marine’s skull. The marine’s blaster bloomed, nonetheless, and Alexander felt the heat of the plasma scorch the bulkhead next to him. The marine staggered drunkenly, half his head burned away. Nazeera and Alexander each shot again and finally the twitching corpse dropped to the steel floor, leaving a sticky smear of blood and brains.

Silence settled in amongst the blaster smoke and the stench of burned flesh.

‘What the devil is going on?’ Admiral Augesburcke demanded, rounding the corridor corner with a troop of marines. ‘We picked up blaster fire on the internal sensors. The duty officer traced it here!’

Alexander, still dripping with hot blood, and burned by the missed blaster shot, checked to ensure Nazeera was not injured. The Chem assured him with a healthy grin that she was fine.

The Overlord of the Terran Empire shook his blood soaked mane; an old lion perturbed at some upstarts unsuccessful attempt to usurp his unquestioned throne. ‘Well Admiral it seems our friends are getting somewhat more forward,’ he told Augesburcke, explaining what had just occurred. Augesburcke was fuming that on one hand Terrans should attempt such a thing, and on the other they should succeed in getting a team of assassins on the ship.

Alexander stood with a scowl, nodding, ‘Their intelligence concerning me is surprisingly good. They were too well prepared for my likingthat was damned close! Admiral, provide an honor guard for our brave Chem warriors. Lay them in state in the main hanger. We shall return them to their people with full military honors. As for these traitors here: give them to the surgeons and have autopsies performed. I want to know who they were and where they came from. One more thing, Admiral, fire Crandal and have him watched. I don’t know if these incidents are because he was involved as a conspirator, or because he wasn’t involved enough as Chief of Security. In my book, however, two strikes and you are out. I’m not waiting for his third failure.’

Augesburcke agreed wholeheartedly, and Alexander sighed as he closed that chapter in his thoughts. He took a deep breath, preparing for the next step on his mental agenda. There was so much to do, and so short a time to do it in he felt the need to purge himself of everything he felt solved, maintaining his energies for those crisis already upon him. It was a necessity, but he could not afford the opportunity for reflection being lost. Only in that way could he see all the possible options, and learn from past mistakes. The assassination attempts bothered Alexander not so much for the danger they represented as it was the mystery they posed. There was another player out there in the galactic game that he did not know. He could not attack them as he could the Alliance. Therefore, he couldn’t plan for them. Luck played an increasingly unwelcome role in that part of his struggle; luck which Alexander would rather hoard for other uses. If nothing else the assassinations dampened Alexander’s enthusiasm and desire, and for the moment it showed. Resigned to this irritating and unwelcome issue becoming a larger part of his adventure he sighed.

‘Ah well, so much for a rest, now for the Pro Consul of the Alliance. I know these were Terrans, Admiral, but doesn’t it strike you as somewhat of a coincidence that she should call at such an opportune time?’

CHAPTER 19

Nazeera’s goodbye was necessarily shortened by the presence of Alexander’s surgeon, again. Alexander decided not to change his itinerary. He was in no hurry to answer the Pro Consul’s call. If the Alliance knew his schedule as well as it seemed Alexander was inclined to let them believe he was having lunch with his wife; or they could believe him to be dead. Either way worked in his calculations. As a matter of protocol, he assigned Admiral Augesburcke to the call, just to add some spice to the flavor of his joke.

The adrenaline of the assassination attempt had not worn off. Alexander’s words were short bursts of vehement energy. He hunched over a cup of tea, a grimace on his face. His hand was steady, but his mind was all too obviously racing

‘I may want your advice on this, my dear, and I may not. Either way I want you in the loop. Now, as far as the Pro Consul of the Alliance is concerned I’m more than willing to keep her waiting-after all perhaps she doesn’t expect me to answer. I think, in the end, this is an attempt by the Alliance to force my hand. They hope that will be with me safely out of the way, but nevertheless, they seek to push us into a hasty act. I’ll return the favor with an ultimatum. They know I want our people back, though I’m afraid it is tragically late for that possibility. I’ll give them three days to accede to our simple and fair demands.’

‘Then what?’

‘All out war, Nazeera,’ Alexander told her. ‘We’ve been in an undeclared war for some time now; it’s time to remove all the uncertainty and doubt in the galaxy. The Alliance was formed to make war on Alexander and the Terrans. I will give them their wish. No more pre-emptive strikes, no more sparring. It is time for war. We are prepared for the mindset. Now let’s push the Alliance that last fatal step.’ There was an assenting, grim faced nod from the Chem Elder. The surgeon finished cleaning him up and Alexander fairly leapt out of the chair. He began to pace the room, but now that the decision was made his rampant energy cooled somewhat. A heavy sigh signaled that he was able to strategize again. Eyes closed, Alexander sought that state of concentration that allowed him to see a situation with deadly clarity. Finally, he asked what was known about the Pro Consul of the Alliance.

Nazeera accessed her compad. ‘The Pro Consul is a Kempec by the name of Kvel Mavek. She is a career politician who worked her way up through the Kempec ambassadorial ranks. She held a position in the Galactic Senate prior to the formation of the Alliance, most recently as the Senator Pro Temp of the Senate. Her selection as Pro Consul of Alliance is not such a surprise. Her personal characteristics are not unique, though she has shown patience and persistence befitting her ambition. Her principles are pliable, dependent largely on the needs of the moment. When she has the opportunity Mavek will support a passive policy. The Kempec have historically been mediators, especially in the volatile confrontations of the Chem and Golkos, and she will no doubt carry over that philosophy. Mavek is not an originator of ideas, and she will weigh heavily which side of a controversy she will support. I doubt she would have come up with the idea of assassination, or would even support it; but she has not the strength to defeat such a policy if it is supported by the likes of the Golkos and the Seer’koh.’

‘A typical career politician,’ Alexander noted. ‘Their ideals, such as they are, will be sacrificed in order to advance or maintain their position. I am unfortunately quite familiar with the concept.’

‘There is something to remember about Mavek, Alexander,’ Nazeera cautioned him. ‘She is a Kempec, and they are not an aggressive people. Her personal history highlights certain Kempec qualities. She avoids confrontation, and under all circumstances prefers a diplomatic solution. She would like to find a diplomatic solution to the Terran-Alliance problem, and therefore may well be at odds with the Golkos and Seer’koh. Her dilemma is finding a solution acceptable to her masters and avoiding a war. The Kempec have no military to offer the Alliance, but Mavek fears that the retribution of Alexander will weigh as heavily on her people and her planet as it does on the aggressors the Golkos. I am quite certain that she has been in a constant state of turmoil throughout this crisis.’

‘She has the interests of Kempec to balance with her responsibilities to the Alliance, and one interest is likely incompatible with the other,’ Alexander observed. ‘Beyond is Terra, who the Kempec would just as soon deal with through diplomatic channels. The Golkos-Seer’koh want no other solution than the destruction of Terra. It is an interesting situation for any politician, but she can’t have any choice. What guarantee would she ever gain from Alexander that the aggressive cultures of the Alliance would trust? At the same time she may see that their military option is not so concrete as the Golkos would have her believe.’

‘There is another factor, and that is the Mystics,’ Nazeera told him, explaining, ‘The Mystics are a small faction in the Kempec race devoted to a philosophical ‘oneness’ with the Universe. I do not completely believe the idea, but it is said that the Mystics can foresee the future timelines of the Universe. The Kempec believe this, and there is a more accepted opinion of the Mystics in the cultures outside of Chem. I am not confident that the Mystics have prescience, but if the Alliance believes in them they may certainly use their foresight. This may give Mavek a greater confidence in certain channels of diplomacy or aggression.’

‘Belief in prediction is often a crutch for those without the strength of conviction,’ Alexander told her. He clasped his hands behind his back, thinking silently for a moment. Eventually he looked up with finality.

‘Very well. I think it is time for the next act of this great play, and that means it is time for you to leave, my dear. I wanted to avoid this moment, but the galaxy won’t wait. No doubt they’re trying to find out whether I’m alive or not. I need to go talk to Pro Consul Mavek. It’s about time I appear on the galactic net again anyway.’

Nazeera’s melancholy smile dampened the gravity of Alexander’s mood, but she ran her sharp nails through his hair with a feline laugh.

‘Pah! You try and steel all the glory for yourself!’ They spent a long warm moment locked in a private embrace, but finally the Elder of Chem extricated herself.

‘You may escort me to my shuttle, Alexander. It is time for me to go. I too have an empire to run.’

‘As you wish, Elder.’

Augesburcke headed to the conference room with Doctor Koto, ‘I really don’t have any idea what to say to her, but I guess that doesn’t really matter does it? I’ve no real message to convey, and I don’t particularly want to convey any.’

Koto nodded, ‘That may be your best method Admiral. Keep the conversation as shallow as possible. If she’s anything like a Terran her suspicion will do the rest.’

‘Well I suppose you shall learn something from this, whatever the outcome,’ Augesburcke grumbled. Then he took a deep breath and punched the communications key, which was flashing redly at him. The placid countenance of Kvel Mavek, Pro Consul of the Alliance, came onto the conference room’s main viewer. Admiral Augesburcke cocked his head at the woman, introduced himself and asked in as indignant a manner as possible, ‘This is Admiral Augesburcke, Commander in Chief of the Terran Armed Forces. I understand you are the Pro Consul for the Alliance. Is there anything I can do for you?’

The Kempec seemed surprised, and she said, ‘It was my understanding that I would be speaking directly to Alexander, Overlord of Terra. Will communication with him be possible?’

‘At his leisure,’ Admiral Augesburcke told her shortly.

‘My message is quite important, I assure you Admiral,’ the Pro Consul told him calmly, reminding him, ‘it is, after all, Galactic custom, as well as courtesy, for one head of state to address another and not relay such an important communication through an underling. Possibly this custom is new to Alexander. I will be willing to employ the patience necessary for you to inform your Overlord of my communications.’

‘That is quite understanding of you, Madame Pro Consul,’ Augesburcke said with equal patience. ‘However, I must point out, tradition aside, that Alexander and the Terran Empire does not consider the Alliance to be a political state. Are we incorrect in our assumption that the Alliance is merely a military partnership whose sole purpose is the destruction of the Terran Empire? If so you can hardly call yourself a head of state. Now, if you would wish to speak to Alexander as the political representative, head of state if you will, of Kempec I am certain he will be interested.’

‘Your assessment of the Alliance is simplistic in its assumptions,’ Mavek replied, adding, ‘indeed, Admiral Augesburcke I had no idea Terrans were so fascinated with semantics.’

‘We simply desire clarity, Pro Consul Mavek,’ Augesburcke told her, clasping his large hands diplomatically before him. ‘You see, Pro Consul Mavek, you present me with a dilemma. Alexander’s time is not his own. Although he is rumored to be a military man Alexander has political responsibilities as well. In the Terran Empire and throughout the Federation Alexander’s political decisions overshadow his military desires. I am a military commander responsible to my civilian governors, and that means Alexander. I wonder, with all due respect Pro Consul Mavek, whether the same can be said for your Alliance? Certainly if you have firm control over your adventurous military there may be some merit in a parley with the Overlord of the Terran Empire. If you do not, however, it seems to me this call is a waste of time. Perhaps if you were to illuminate me on the subject of your proposed discussion I can bring it to Alexander’s attention. Unfortunately, present circumstances prevent Alexander from speaking to you at this particular moment. I assure you, however, that if you wish to give me your message I will see that it is taken care of appropriately. If you wish a clarification on Alexander’s policies I can also be of service. I understand the semantics of our two cultures may be subtly different. If this is a source of doubt or difficulty for you I have the station required to clarify our position.’

The Kempec smiled mysteriously, though there was a nervousness in it, and she did not seem to be as irritated as the Admiral’s run around should make her. ‘Alexander’s demands have been quite simple, and not subject to misunderstanding on the part of the Alliance. I will, however, be willing to wait upon Alexander’s leisure, if that is the only manner in which I may speak with him directly.’

At this insistence Augesburcke was the study of a very uncomfortable military officer trying to hide something, which of course he was not, and from the Pro Consul’s growing smugness he appeared to be successful.

‘Perhaps, as I wait for Alexander, you may be of help, Admiral Augesburcke,’ Mavek observed.

‘Of course, Madame Pro Consul, how may I help?’

‘After our unfortunate encounter with Terran forces on the Golkos-Terran frontier we are understandably concerned with Terran military motives,’ the Pro Consul said. ‘We of the civilized galaxy have been at peace for well over ten thousand of your years. I have empathy for Terrans, Admiral. You are new to the galactic community, and your experiences with the Scythians and to some extent the Chem have not served to show us in our best light. Let me assure you that we of the Alliance, who represent the rest of the civilized galaxy, have nothing but the most peaceful intentions concerning Terra.’

‘That is heartwarming to hear, Madame Pro Consul,’ Augesburcke smiled, ‘but may I ask then why you have somewhere around four thousand warships poised for invasion of Terran space?’

‘Four thousand ships, Admiral, I think that is somewhat of an exaggeration,’ the Pro Consul smiled in return. ‘You are an unknown race to us, and you have the reputation, deserved or not, for being somewhat aggressive. Certainly your attack on our joint Golkos-Seer’koh maneuvers cannot be seen in a benevolent light. The Alliance has a right to protect our interests, which is the sole purpose of any military presence we may have in the frontiers. We are, however, patient, and are willing to accept your unwarranted incursion as a case of over exuberance.’

‘That is an interesting offer,’ Augesburcke admitted, ‘but the Terran Empire has some understandable concern over the size and positioning of Alliance forces. Might I suggest a starting point for a relief of these tensions? Alexander ceded captured territories to the Chem as a gesture of good will. The Alliance could make a similar gesture of friendship, and a sincere welcome to the Terrans from the Galactic community, by returning to us the two thousand one hundred and thirty-one Terrans kidnapped by the Alliance.’

Mavek squirmed with obvious discomfort. ‘Unfortunately we have experienced some difficulties in locating these people, Admiral. I expect this difficulty is administrative in nature, nothing else. Perhaps, however, it would spur our organizations on to a more thorough search if the Terrans would begin the process by returning our Hrang citizens. We do, after all, know where they are. It would be a simple transfer of custody, and do much to relieve tensions.’

‘Your Hrang spies are in custody for clear and criminal violations of intergalactic laws, Pro Consul Mavek; your own laws, may I add.’ Augesburcke told her sternly, adding, ‘Let me assure you, however, that Terrans are not uncivilized. Your citizens will be treated with the same civility and due process as are our own Terran citizens in Alliance custody; although, and I stress this distinction, our Terrans in your custody have violated no laws and have been no threat whatsoever to the Alliance.’

‘It is an unfortunate circumstance, Admiral,’ Mavek told him. ‘Considering the gravity of our galactic situation, however, I might suggest that this particular issue is not of great enough importance to divert our attentions from larger issues.’

‘I assure you, Madame Pro Consul, that it is of prime importance to Terra, and Alexander,’ Augesburcke told her emphatically.

‘You have that luxury of opinion for now, Admiral,’ Mavek replied evenly. ‘Much depends on just how stable your government remains in facing a galaxy that is willing to welcome you into its community, but will be adamant and stern in the face of any recalcitrance.’

Augesburcke bit back a pregnant reply, but finally the expected amber light finally glowed on the his panel. Augesburcke’s momentary anger turned to anticipation. He smiled with renewed energy for the Pro Consul, telling her, ‘You are about to witness the stability and resolve of the Terran government, Madame Pro Consul. Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire, has agreed to a personal parley. Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ he said, and he transferred the Alliance Pro Consul to Alexander’s channel before she could answer. Augesburcke slumped in his chair, exhausted, and told Koto, ‘I feel as if I just finished a bloody oral report at the Academy!’

‘Good evening, Madame Pro Consul, I hope I have not kept you waiting.’ Alexander told her evenly. ‘It is not my normal custom to personally answer hails I do not initiate, or do not coordinate for. Yet, as you are currently massing your fleets on my borders I decided this occasion warranted an exception. I hope my appearance was not unexpected?’

‘Unexpected, why should it be unexpected Alexander,’ the Kempec asked, caught somewhat off guard.

‘Come now, Madame Pro Consul, I am too busy for such childish games, and unlike my most capable Admiral, or yourself, I do not possess an infinite amount of patience.’ Alexander told her coldly. He kept his hands clasped before him, and did not betray any undue sign of emotion, considering the displeasure inherent in his words. ‘Allow me to ask you a question, Madame Pro Consul, which may therefore lend some credence to this conversation. I cannot think of why you have called me personally but to ease my concern over the two thousand one hundred and thirty-one individuals who were ‘replaced’ during your espionage campaign. I assume you have found the individuals in question, that they are alive and well, and currently enroute to Terran space?’

The Pro Consul drew herself up stiffly, saying in a distant and non-committal voice, ‘Unfortunately, bureaucracies being what they are, I have not been able to ascertain the exact whereabouts of the Terrans in question. However, I have no indications that would tell me that they were other than alive and well. Their discovery is simply an administrative matter, no more.’

‘That is unfortunate,’ Alexander replied, ‘for as I said I am not a patient man; nor am I Overlord of a patient people. I have just the thing, however, which might solve both of our dilemmas. I understand bureaucracies. They need a fire lit under them to accomplish anything. I shall supply you with that kindling. I give you three Terran days from this transmission to find my people and deliver them. If you are unable or unwilling to comply I shall formally declare war on the Alliance, and find them myself.’

The Alliance Pro Consul jerked upright, and stammered, ‘Am I to understand,’

Alexander cut her off, saying, ‘The last thing I desire is to be unclear in this matter. Let us have no misunderstandings. I do not desire Alliance territory. I do not desire war. I want my people. If you do not have the ability to produce them, Madame Pro Consul, I will do it myself. Let me warn you, however, my people had better be safe and well cared for. There had better not be any further treachery in this; I take a dim view on such cowardly acts. I will be recompensed for every life lost; every single one of them!’

‘You dare to make such demands of the Alliance!’ the Pro Consul was beside herself in manufactured fury.

‘Spare me the melodrama,’ Alexander cut in. ‘You have my demands, which are fair in the extreme considering your actions. If you cannot meet these demands then you have my ultimatum.’

‘Your vile threats of barbarism will not coy the Alliance, Alexander of Terra!’

‘Barbarism, very well I will live with that epithet if you can give me back my people. Where are they?’ Alexander expression grew increasingly severe.

‘As I told you, we have not found them as of yet,’ the Pro Consul told him.

‘You have my ultimatum,’ Alexander told her. ‘Three Terran days. Fail and the Alliance pays for its incompetence and crimes with Galactic war on a scale not seen in this age! Yet that is not all. Remember, Madame Pro Consul, the price for each one of my people’s lives is in blood. If it comes down to it I shall come to the Golkos, the Seer’koh, and yes even the Kempec Homeworlds and myself exact the toll. Pay me how you will: with my people’s lives or your own. It is your choice.’ Alexander then cut the transmission abruptly.

Doctor Koto settled back uncomfortably into his chair after watching Alexander’s exchange with Pro Consul Mavek, and said, ‘You see, like yourself, I am still learning about Alexander. I am so far behind his reasoning that I am of very little use to him. I am trying to discover the boundaries of his persona, so that in the future I can recognize the warning signs. Alexander is a unique individual, Admiral, and you won’t find his likeness in the textbooks. To make matters doubly difficult for me the amount of stress he is under is usually reserved for megalomaniacs. They deal with it by hiding in their own personal psychosis and shaping all input to fit neatly in their little world. Alexander, however, shows no signs of dealing with anything but reality. That can be dangerous when things get complicated. If I am to be of any use to him, or Terra, I’d better know what makes him tick.’

‘What sort of warning signs are you looking for, doctor? What I mean to say, is what sort of situation are you trying to avoid?’ Augesburcke asked. ‘Command is a lonely place, doctor, but Alexander is in a unique position. What are we looking for? What do you fear?’

‘I’m not all that concerned with this situation, Admiral,’ Koto told him. ‘As Alexander has intuitively realized the Galactic psyche makes war inevitable. I see no way to avoid it. In the present circumstance it is not Alexander’s ambition which drives us into war but the psychosis of the Galactics. History is full of well intentioned despots, Admiral. It is a point which Alexander has himself brought up, and it is extraordinarily healthy for him to realize the dangers of his position himself. I am trying to be an outside observer into those dangers, and those possibilities. That, I think is important at the moment, and I’ll tell you why. Although Alexander has been quite masterful at gaining us a galactic empire with only a handful of casualties, that particular bit of fortune is soon to change. Alexander knows that. He is leading us into a war on a galactic scale, and I firmly believe that he will be quite capable of giving the required orders. My study has a twofold purpose. First, it is quite healthy for the psyche to be questioned from someone other than yourself; it reaffirms the debate he’s been having within himself, and re-establishes the plurality of the decision making process. Second, I wanted to see for myself just how Alexander handles such a situation. It may help me in the future to distinguish between an Alexander who is rationally doing what is necessary, and an Alexander who has lost control of the situation.’

‘What type of situation are you thinking about?’ Augesburcke asked.

Koto shrugged, saying carefully, ‘Destruction on a planetary scale, Admiral. After all, that’s what Alexander’s threat of retribution boils down to.’

Augesburcke was dumbstruck, ‘Do you really think he’d give such an order?’

‘I don’t know Admiral,’ Koto told him sincerely, ‘I really don’t know.’

CHAPTER 20

Grand Admiral Khandar stood stoically before the military council. The council was composed of the highest ranking military leaders of all the members states of the Alliance. At the moment all with the exception of the Grand Admiral were in an extreme condition of agitation. Khandar expected no less, so he let them have their say. Understandably, the two most vocal representatives were the Admirals from the Syraptose and Quotterim fleets. They represented the two empires who were least enthusiastic of the invasion of Terra, and also the most vulnerable.

‘What I fail to understand, Grand Admiral, is why after such a vast defeat we have yet to seek terms from Alexander?’ Admiral Chenn observed. His chunky Syraptose frame was resplendent in a bright red and white medal riddled uniform. The Admiral, whose medals were won by maintaining the peace of Syraptose space, and not by winning battles, voiced the common dread of the council. ‘How can we, even with our superiority in numbers, overcome such a determined enemy? The Terrans had no trepidation whatsoever in attacking a force five times their number and defeating it soundly. The Golkos-Seer’koh fleet, our strongest force by far, is driven from their own frontier in what I politely term a rout. How, Grand Admiral, are the brave but less powerful forces of the Syraptose and Quotterim to vie with the fleets of Alexander? Answer me that!’

‘We must all persevere, Admiral Chenn,’ Khandar replied forcefully, ‘The Terran attack on the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets only strengthens my resolve in that regard.’

Admiral Senn’tyr of the Quotterim interrupted the Golkos, exclaiming, ‘How can you say that with any sincerity, Grand Admiral? I appreciate that you are blameless in this defeat and were only carrying out the strategies of your predecessor. We might all be somewhat more confident at this point had you been in command at the time. However that may be, the Alliance has still suffered a great defeat. Defeat has many ways of affecting the course of a war beyond mere destruction of life and material. Defeat strengthens the resolve of the victor and weakens the spirit of the vanquished. That has happened. No doubt Alexander’s fleets have gained warranted confidence from this debacle, but I am here to say our own forces brave though they are have been shaken to the core. How do we address this Grand Admiral?’

‘I hear your words, fellow Admirals, and I must bear part of the blame for the straights we find ourselves in. I was present at the battle on the frontier, and realized too late the extent of Alexander’s treachery.’ Khandar told the assembled council, and his manner was grave. Then he turned his eyes upon them all and spread his long arms wide, saying, ‘But what of it, where does that leave us? Since the defeat we have heard absolutely nothing from the Terrans. We know what they think of their victory from their broadcasts, and from the Chem broadcasts. We are painted as the aggressors to their populace, and Alexander is their defender. Their victory has emboldened them, and even the Chem find a glory in the Terran Overlord’s actions. What does that tell us of Alexander’s intentions? Do we really need to have Alexander tell us what his intentions are? I think not. He has his populace worked into a militant frenzy, and they will accept nothing less now than our ultimate defeat. Therefore let us cease this talk of dialogue with the Terrans. They have already spoken their mind.’

‘I am inclined to agree, Grand Admiral,’ Admiral S’kreen said for the Seer’koh. The reptilian commander, only half the size of his lanky counterpart twitched her tail and bobbed her head in irritation. The iridescent feathers of her neck flared over the collar of her uniform; a beautiful but deadly addition to her manner. Claws clacking sharply on the table top, her voice punctuated by an excited rattle she addressed the council. ‘Motives, motives, have we not always had them? Have we not always known the mind and aims of Alexander? This is territory already covered, so let us not waste time with revisiting it.’

‘Alexander may be more reasonable than we are willing to accept, Admiral,’ Chenn rebutted, ‘but how are we to know without a dialogue? We are far more likely to gain a more advantageous treaty with him as armed and sovereign states than we are as conquered states. Look at the Scythians. Alexander overran them in a matter of hours, but look at his terms of surrender: their Homeworlds remain inviolate; they’ve lost none of their personal property on the ‘Federation’ worlds; there are no death camps, no mass executions. These, I would hazard, are the terms of a reasonable being, especially considering the crimes done to the Terrans by the Scythians. Why should we expect anything less?’

‘And give up our sovereignty for his mercy?’ S’kreen spat angrily, ‘Are you willing to go so far for peace? How long have the noble Syraptose fought against nature and their neighbors for their empire? How many ages of toil did your civilization take to build? Will you cast all that toil and bloodshed away for the ease and comfort of one generation? Did your sires and grand sires take such a view? Bah! The Seer’koh will not take such a mean road. Alexander will take from us our kingdoms, or we shall crush him to utter ruin!’

The council turned into a rabble of arguing factions which Grand Admiral Khandar could only watch with frustration. It was a problem he expected, but one which nevertheless was disheartening in that it struck to the very core of the Alliances weakness: its separate parts. He growled to himself in undesired admiration, certain that this present cacophony would not only please Alexander of Terra, but was part of his plans. An aide interrupted his melancholy thoughts, handing the Grand Admiral a transmission card. Khandar took the card, which was simply a slim flat plate hardly larger than the Grand Admiral’s hand. A square red light blinked in the center of the grey card, and when Khandar touched it the light disappeared and card transmitted a recorded image of Pro Consul Mavek. Khandar watched and listened to the Pro Consul’s message with intense interest. The message was short, and to the point, but it gave the Grand Admiral exactly what he needed. The Grand Admiral interrupted the debate, which was rapidly turning into a free for all. His peers reluctantly settled into an uncomfortable silence.

Khandar allowed the silence to settle. Finally he told them, ‘That was well said, Admiral S’kreen. Yours is a point we should all take. Alexander is not interested in our lives, but in our civilizations. Already he wears the badges of Scythia, the rebel Chem, and Terra on his Banthror cloak. Who will be his next trophy? Understand that desire in him, a desire which he has transmitted to his people. We have debated whether or not Alexander’s intentions are truly belligerent, or whether he is merely protecting his new empire. I have just received a transmission from our Pro Consul, who has been in contact with the Overlord of the Terran Empire. Alexander himself answers our questions with an ultimatum. In three Terran days, approximately three decurns, the Terran Empire will declare war upon the Alliance.’ The council erupted into a momentary clamor, but it died down quickly as the gathered Alliance commanders awaited Khandar’s explanation. ‘Apparently, Alexander’s patience with our politicians has worn thin. The conditions of his ultimatum are simple, and cunning. He demands the return of the Terrans replaced by the Hrang spies, an obvious impossibility but a noble purpose on the surface. Our political representatives have been stringing the Terrans along as our fleets mass, but I think Alexander now feels the threat of our forces; therefore the ultimatum. Alexander is, as I said, cunning. This allows him to go to war with a positive public opinion in his own worlds, as well as many of our own. But go to war he shall. Therefore, let us cease debate over whether to parley or to fight. Alexander has made that decision. We must now get on with the business of this galactic war.’

‘Which leaves us no closer to a solution of this problem than before,’ reiterated Admiral Chenn. ‘If we are left with no other recourse but to resist, which is what I am hearing, than how may we accomplish that? All of our plans have gone awry!’

‘I take exception to that, Admiral,’ Khandar said pointedly. ‘In all actuality our position is not bad. Alexander’s fleet inflicted serious casualties on the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet considering the size of the forces he employed, but that is only in relative terms. Our losses amounted to approximately fifteen percent, enough for us to take notice, but not enough to cripple us, or to prevent us from continuing to pursue our objectives. Take into account also that the Syraptose and Quotterim-Bael fleets are untouched. We are therefore at nearly full strength and rapidly approaching our timeline for invasion.’

‘Alexander has already shown that he can deal with our numbers, Grand Admiral,’ Admiral Senn’tyr reminded him. ‘What is to say we will have any more success now than you did before?’

‘Alexander will not be able to employ his deathships against us with success again, it was a one time ploy,’ Khandar told the council. ‘He will be forced to engage us ship to ship, as he did against the Chem,’

‘Whom he defeated decisively!’ Chenn reminded the council, interrupting the Grand Admiral.

‘And if you keep thinking of defeat that is exactly what you shall face Admiral!’ Khandar snapped. ‘Remember that, all of you! You are the commanders of the Alliance fleets, and if you allow such opinions to filter back to your fleets Alexander will have already won! Is that what you wish? You are military commanders, not politicians, therefore as Grand Admiral I expect you to think as such! Now, if there are any of you who would like to be relieved of your command speak up and I will ask your governments for replacements!’ There was complete silence. Khandar glared about the room, resting especially on the Syraptose and Quotterim. The Admirals looked uncomfortable in the extreme, and Admiral Chenn refused to make eye contact with his superior. When Khandar’s gaze rested on Senn’tyr, however, the Quotterim crossed her upper arms and glared back.

‘Very well,’ the Quotterim admiral replied, ‘I grant your observation and will embrace it. Yet that leaves a very real military question in my mind: how are we to react to Alexander’s next moves? Will we change our strategy against him, and if so to what?’

‘An intelligent question Admiral Senn’tyr,’ Khandar admitted, pacing the floor and ending up at the enormous hologram that dominated the center of the room. It hung within the curving flanks of the council desks, like an enormous sphere filled with multi-colored diamonds. At a wave of Khandar’s hand the Alliance fleets were highlighted in color and intensity, poised around the amorphous, but somehow threatening blob of the Terran Empire. Scattered opposite the massing Alliance fleets were bright white lights, but they were very few in number. ‘Here, my fellow Admirals is our disposition. As you see we are still in an advantageous position despite our setbacks. We surround the Terran Empire on three fronts and are but four decurns from the onset of our invasion. We have thirty-five hundred ships still at our disposal. Yet I see a problem. What of the Terran fleets? By all accounts the Terrans have at least seven hundred and fifty ships, not inclusive of their ‘deathships,’ but where are they? Our scouts have seen their scouts, and we therefore know of some two hundred ships of the line which escorted Alexander’s ‘deathships,’ but there is nothing else. By our account there could be five hundred warships out there somewhere. Where are these lost fleets? They have disappeared. Again I ask, where are the other fleets?’ There was a nervous rumble in the assembled audience. All had more or less assumed that the Terrans were waiting behind their borders to spring upon the invaders. Grand Admiral Khandar’s question raised a sudden very unpleasant possibility. Khandar smiled, his point being taken, and said, ‘Don’t worry, for Alexander has already told us where their main bodies are. I say bodies because there are at least two large forces now in Alliance space.’

The rumbling grew louder, but Khandar held up his hand. nt>. It is our job, you must remember, never to be surprised; and if perchance we are the astute general will fold it into their plans. Think back to Alexander’s initial confrontation with the Chem, and to his response. In each case the Overlord’s fleet suddenly appeared from the depths of space onto his enemy’s rear. The flanking attack is ancient, and by all rational has no place in modern galactic warfare. Alexander, however, probably never read our doctrine, or if he has he discarded it. That flanking maneuver is exactly what he is up to now, and he has left his trail, so to speak. You recall that we issued orders to report any event, no matter its significance, which occurred in Alliance space. We have two instances which we consider of interest, one in Syraptose space and one in Quotterim space. The first was the disappearance of a Syraptose squadron. The Syraptose command, with its usual thoroughness, instituted a reporting policy for each element of its fleet. Five decurns past a Syraptose squadron of twelve warships failed to report. Their location at the time of their disappearance should have been right about here,’ he pointed to a pulsing sphere several decurns at flank within Syraptose space. ‘Now it is true that in the rush of things a gross navigational error could have resulted in the lead ship flying through a star, with the rest of the squadron following, but I don’t think so. I think the Syraptose squadron ran into one of the Terran fleets.’ The disturbance in the chamber was intense now, but again the Grand Admiral silenced the throng with an upraised hand. ‘That is not the only occurrence I have to report. The other involves the Quotterim world of Altamira, a region again well within Alliance space.’ Altamira correspondingly pulsed red. ‘Two decurns ago Altamira transmitted a broken quarantine message for unscheduled solar activity. This in itself is not so unusual, but for the timing. We thereby requested that the Quotterim Astronomical Ministry take passive optical readings on Altamira’s star. The readings, in all spectrums, were quite normal. I think Altamira is where the second Terran fleet is massing. What we have, my fellow commanders, is Alexander’s classic flank attack in the formation. His forces are poised to attack, but not before us as we might expect. Rather he shall wait until we are ready to begin our assault on Terran space. He sees our battle plan, and astutely takes advantage of it. He shall wait for our order to advance. Then when we are arrayed to invade Terran space, with all of our sensors sweeping to our bow and flanks; then he shall attack from the rear. His assault would have been swift and furious, and with complete surprise. It is Alexander’s plan to drive the Syraptose and Quotterim from the war, and thereby bring the balance of his fleets against the Golkos-Seer’koh.

‘That is Alexander’s response to our envelopment. He attacks to gain back the initiative. He attacks from within our own space to gain surprise, as he knows that if does not gain surprise our strategy of refused engagement will defeat him. Only in this way can Alexander ensure himself that he will engage us, but that is exactly how we shall defeat him. We shall advance our time schedule, as he certainly knows it already. Our answer? An immediate attack. All three of our attacking arms shall advance on Terra immediately, but with a close eye upon our flanks and rear. We shall catch Alexander’s fleets by surprise. He is taking a gigantic risk, allowing our fleets between his own forces and Terra, but he counts on our slow methodical advance and his fleet’s surprise attack. We shall foil him on both counts by rushing directly to Terra with all speed! We shall not advance in classic terms and secure star systems one sector at a time, fighting pitched battles along the way. We shall advance upon Alexander’s Homeworld. Then we shall dictate the peace to the Terrans when we bring Alexander to Golkos in chains!’

The response to the Grand Admiral’s plan was as exuberant as he could have hoped. The military council stamped their approval on his orders, even though significant portions of the Syraptose and Quotterim fleets had not yet arrived at the rendezvous points and therefore would not make the initial jumps. Khandar refused any delay. ‘The stragglers will be used as a reserve, and a reconnaissance screen against attack from the rear. Let them catch up to the main bodies as best they can!’ The Grand Admiral gained the approval of his peers and the order for attack went out.

Admiral Khandar left the council with a feeling of satisfaction and elation. There was a very real possibility of victory now, but something nagged at him, as if he saw the saw through the glass a future that was somehow wrong. He went about his duties, detailing the movements and deployments of the fleets. When all was underway, he left his headquarters. Aides and guards followed him to his shuttle, and within the decant Khandar was in space again.

The long mottled green torpedo that was the Nived Sheur, the greatest of the Golkos battleships, grew amidst the hundreds of ships in the fleet. Almost three hundred meters long with a hundred kicellia of service she was a ship of tradition for the generations. Khandar looked at her with a melancholy pride. After his shuttle landed he released his aides and guard, going alone to the ships main hanger bay. The bay was a long high vault, dimly lit. At one end were the sliding doors which released the captive ships to space, at the other a small control room. Khandar entered the bay through the control room. It was dark. Only a single bank of three lights was on, illuminating a small patch in the center of the hanger floor. In the light was a raised dais with a body laid atop it. Two Golkos in full dress uniform guarded the body. Khandar approached them, and they saluted. He dismissed them silently. After they departed Khandar approached the body.

Grand Admiral Koor looked peaceful, as if she slept. The hand which still grasped the ceremonial knife standing from her breast gave a different testament to her slumber, however. Khandar shook his head, and said, ‘I am sorry I miscalculated you, Grand Admiral. I took you to be nothing but a political warrior who would find a way to turn your military failure into a political gain. I have wronged you. I shall avenge your wrongful disgrace by winning this war for you, and for Golkos. Then your name can stand gloriously next to the heroes of our world, I promise it.’ He began to turn away, having said what he came to say, but he stopped for a moment. Softly he said, ‘No doubt you see clearer with Death’s eyes than I this moment. Maybe you can even read the minds of the living. Can you read Alexander? That is the mind I most wish to see clearly, and indeed I have tried. I immerse myself in him. I know every movement of his trials on Pantrixnia. I know his past lives. I know the battles he has fought, and the battles he has avoided. Now I think I know the battle he is about to fight, but I cannot know, I cannot be certain. If I am wrong then I cannot see any great harm to us, we have too many advantages. So long as we persevere and hold together he must fall, but does a conqueror such as this ever fall upon the field of battle, or do they only fall to inevitable fate? Is there enough within me, within Golkos or the Alliance, to cause the downfall of the mighty Alexander, or must we all await that time when fate decides his time on this world’s stage is come to an end?’

The silent tragic form of Grand Admiral Guenuel Koor had nothing to say.

CHAPTER 21

‘Shitty frigging around, we’ve been doing nothing but shadowing for four days now, when will we get some orders?’ Captain Konstantinov fumed, and needlessly so. His crew largely ignored his outbursts, though they steered clear of him when they occurred. Four days? That was nothing to a submariner with Konstantinov’s years of experience. Perhaps it was the opportunity for finally putting those long years of waiting aside and getting into some real action. Whatever the reason Konstantinov prowled his space borne submarine with the impatience of a hungry tiger. The crew was used to their Captain’s quirks. They’d served with him aboard this very ship during the ‘Cold War’ with the U.S. Navy. Yet now real war had come, and, they had three dozen Alliance ‘kills’ to their credit. The Gagarin claimed thirty-four warships destroyed on her now infamous single ship attack on the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet, with Alliance help, and two stragglers from the massacre on the Golkos-Terran frontier. The crew took pride in the accomplishment, but there was an almost feverish certainty that Captain Konstantinov was eager for more.

Konstantinov puffed like a laboring train, pacing down the narrow aisles of his bridge trailing the cigarette smoke of his second pack of the day. He stopped at the central Conn where a cramped hologram dominated the bridges tactical displays. He checked the hologram each and every time he paced the bridge, but no matter the scowls and growls the Golkos-Seer’koh formations did not change. ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered again and again. The Alliance warships just sat there in space, three parsecs from the frontier, taking no notice of the Gagarin. No vessels emerged from the cocoon of overlapping firepower to attempt to chase him off, they simply ignored him. This as much as anything else infuriated the Siberian, and more than once he hailed the Alliance fleet with insults, trying in vain to gain any type of response. The Captain angrily slapped the rail of the hologram base. ‘Maybe a full spread into their belly will wake them, what do you say First Officer?’

Commander Vladimir Chernenko grimaced at the third suggestion of attack this day. Shaking his head he advised his Captain, ‘Our orders forbid any such provocation, Captain. Our mission, signed by Alexander himself, is at this point reconnaissance and nothing more.’

‘Damn this wallowing in space!’ Konstantinov cursed. The Captain prepared to vent his rage and frustration upon his First Officer, who prepared for it, again, without any outward sign of concern. In mid curse, however, the Communications Officer interrupted him.

‘Broadband encrypted communications being received by the Alliance fleet, Captain,’ she informed him.

‘Well, can you decode it?’ Konstantinov asked impatiently.

‘It will take a few moments, Captain,’ the officer responded.

‘Well damn it comrade lieutenant don’t waste time talking to me then, get to it!’ The Captain ordered.

‘No need, Captain,’ the First Officer informed him, ‘The Alliance fleet is coming up to power. They are on the move.’

‘Excellent!’ Konstantinov exclaimed, staring at the now moving formations of almost thirteen hundred Alliance warships. ‘Set up a secure real time link to Headquarters, and track those ships! I want a projected course as soon as possible!’

‘They are about to make the jump into superluminal!’ Chernenko informed the Captain.

‘Stay with them, First Officer,’ Konstantinov ordered.

Chernenko went to the helm where the ships pilots operated the modified control board. The board was actually quite similar to the original, though the functions of the familiar controls had changed. The submarine still flew as she once did, though in space now, not water. The First Officer watched the scans carefully, gauging his orders for course and speed according to the movements of the Golkos and the Seer’koh. Shadowing during the jump was extraordinarily difficult as even the minutest of errors could put them instantly millions of miles from their targets. True, there were other submarines lurking about the perimeters of the Alliance fleet, but Captain Konstantinov was not about to let someone else gain the upper hand in this game. Chernenko calculated his orders with the heat of his Captain’s eyes burning into his back. The scanners showed the power curves of the Alliance vessels, and Chernenko calmly matched them. Then just at the superluminal threshold he gave the order.

‘Engage superluminal engines, maintain heading and elevation!’ The superluminal shift occurred, bluing the star field into a momentary web of glowing strands and bright cores; a glimpse into the foundations of the structure of the universe. Then the star field reappeared. A central core of blue stars stood on their bow. Each and every moment a dozen stars would break out of the core turning white and then red as they rushed by. The central core of the Milky Way was still there, comfortably nestled in the lower right corner of the field. To the left the vast bulk of the Alliance fleet slowly fell back. Chernenko made a small adjustment to their speed, and the fleet stabilized in their viewers.

‘Well done, First Officer, station keeping!’ Konstantinov ordered.

‘Station keeping!’ The First Officer echoed.

‘Navigator, plot their course and speed; where are they headed,’ the Captain asked.

The Navigator barely glanced up from her table, her charts replaced with several laptop computers and a small version of the bridge’s hologram. The calculation was easy, but she checked it three times. The answer did not surprise her, but her voice still quivered perceptibly as she told her Captain, ‘Earth, they are headed for Earth. Estimated arrival thirty-one days.’

Konstantinov nodded, and his voice and expression grew in gravity. ‘A full month,’ he mused. ‘They’re not in any hurry are they? At flank speed it should take them only three weeks. Undoubtedly they’re keeping good formation. You never know when those crazy Terrans will attack. Isn’t that so Overlord?’ Konstantinov grinned and looked directly into the bridge camera, which was sending the live signal to Alexander’s headquarters. With a nod and a wink the Captain addressed Alexander directly.

‘Captain Konstantinov and the Gagarin awaiting orders, Overlord; we are ready and waiting, and-how do you Americans say it-we are loaded for bear!’

CHAPTER 22

‘I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all,’ Mr. Edgar breathed, his face flushed with emotion. His brow twitched, and he could not steady the cigar in his fingers. ‘Damn it! We should never have let you push us into this Crandal! Things were dead and buried. Now all of our past dealings are there to be dredged up against us. What was necessary in the past can be seen in a vastly different light now, and it is your greed and incompetence which has put us in the spotlight. Face it Crandal, you lost the edge. You don’t have it anymore, and we were fools to believe you did.’

‘Whine all you want, it doesn’t change anything,’ Crandal replied evenly, puffing at his pipe. ‘The fact remains that we’re not fingered yet. Alexander may still be alive, but he doesn’t see or suspect who is behind these attempts.’

‘He saw enough to fire you,’ was the retort. ‘A fine job of that, I might add, especially after convincing the Hrang that you would take care of the third attempt on Golkos if the second attempt failed. That won’t be so easily done now that you are no longer working on the inside. How are you going to explain that away?’

‘Calm yourself, my friend, all of that is worked out,’ Crandal assured him. The heavy man was unsatisfied and unperturbed. At that moment the door opened and another man entered. He was a stranger to them all. Crandal jerked up in his chair, a gun in his hand, but the stranger smiled holding up his hands and changed into a Hrang. Crandal breathed a sigh of relief, but said, ‘That’s a new look for you isn’t it?’

‘I thought it wise to periodically change my appearance,’ the Hrang said, changing back into his disguise. ‘Alexander’s security forces are proceeding quietly in their investigations but with a fair amount of energy. Having the same man appear here so many times without reason might seem suspicious to the outside world. If I am suspicious of it other, more important beings, may also be.’

Crandal smiled thinly and stabbed at the remote sitting next to his drink. The television in the dark room bloomed to life playing a grainy black and white tape. ‘Have a seat. You are just in time for a brief review. Do you remember this event gentlemen?’ Crandal asked, puffing at his pipe. The camera’s view moved inexpertly through the interior of a spare office building. There was nothing extraordinary about the locale, but wherever the camera looked there were the huddled bodies of white coated staff and soldiers. They were slumped on the floors in hallways, rooms, everywhere; lit up by naked electric bulbs.

Edgar stared dumbly at the screen before finally saying, ‘The ‘accident,’area fifty-one in seventy-three. The day the ‘Grey’s’ killed fifty-nine people in the compound and then disappeared.’

‘Yes, my friends, the ‘accident,’ Crandal echoed. ‘The day when fifty-nine people were killed by our new friends the Scythians without bullets, blasters, knives or gas. It was that catastrophe of stupidity which cost us global power. The Scythians left immediately after the murders, but they left their victims behind. Autopsies revealed they were all killed by some form of telepathy, a psionic weapon. It didn’t take long to figure that out. Autopsies showed that the chemicals in each victim’s brain responsible for transmitting information through the neurons were all ionized by an influx of energy. The brains, unable to transmit data then simply shut down. It was efficient, and indefensible. What took a bit longer was to figure out how they did it. That little piece of work took almost twenty years, gentlemen, and was one of the few programs to survive through this very day. Fortunately, the Scythians not only left us the evidence of this new form of killing, but all of the technology that we had thus far captured or traded from them. We had all we needed to painstakingly piece the puzzle back together. We knew the Scythians were telepaths, but we also knew they were limited telepaths. There was another piece of luck on our side. We had, unbeknownst to the Scythians, a living Scythian prisoner. Now Scythians, as we learned, were connected with each other on a sort of species wide psionic net. We learned, however, that the net could be interrupted, isolating an individual from the rest of the species, by mildly short circuiting the brain. This left the individual in a coma-like state until we had need of them. We did this with a survivor of one of our shoot downs. When the Scythians left we set up an electric interference field in a special room and interrogated the prisoner. The Scythians, especially when isolated from the comfort of their psionic net, are highly susceptible to physical methods of information extraction. It didn’t take long to learn a great deal. We learned, for instance, that the psionic weapon is largely mechanical in nature. Although the initial pulse of energy is actually psionic it is amplified and channeled artificially. This is done through a complex body of circuitry impregnated into the Scythian’s clothing. Of course the Scythian’s wear this specialized clothing when they deal with alien races, as a precaution, so we have examples of it. The weapon has a limited range, about ten meters, and is omni-directional so it has its limitations. It is, however, quite lethal in this range.’

‘How is it possible to employ this weapon against Alexander?’

‘The weapon actually works quite simply,’ Crandal explained. ‘The Scythian’s have an enlarged pons, and this is the area responsible for their telepathic capabilities. When a Scythian activates the psionic weapon a simple neurochemical trigger sends a pulse of energy out of the region. Normally this pulse would not be strong enough for you or I to notice, and it would do no damage. However, when amplified it becomes quite deadly to life forms without psionic disciplines, as we have seen. The question as to how to employ it is somewhat more complicated since we do not have a Scythian to trigger it. What we do have is the circuitry, and a passable mechanical method of artificially recreating the initial Scythian psionic pulse. The pulse, after all, is simply energy which travels by pathways dictated by physics. That does not mean it was simple to recreate, or that we can accurately do so, but we have a signature which is good enough to serve the purpose. When fired the pulse triggers the psionic amplifier and produces the desired results.’

‘You have tested it, I assume?’ It was the obvious question.

‘Several times,’ he answered, wreathed in a blue haze of smoke. ‘We didn’t want to burn out the circuit. It is unique, and beyond our ability to reproduce, as it is actually a bio-electrical circuit. Understand me, as are other Scythian products, this circuit is manipulated on the quantum level by a process still alien to us. But yes, we’ve tested it on several subjects with excellent results.’

‘How are we then to employ it?’

‘While engaged in my temporary but useful duties as Alexander’s Chief of Security I had access to Alexander’s private quarters. During one opportunity I secreted the circuit into Alexander’s ceremonial cuirass. He is very rarely without it, not only for its obvious protective purposes but due to its galaxy wide recognition. It is the same cuirass he wore on Pantrixnia, and Alexander knows the value of this recognition. He will wear it when he is on Golkos, and Admiral Augesburcke will be there as well. In one pulse we will take down the entire government of the Empire, leaving a void which we will fill.’

The room became deadly silent as the men digested the news. Crandal could see the slight nods and the hardening of their resolve. That’s exactly what he needed. Now more comfortable, he continued, ‘You see, alongside the circuit I also implanted a tiny ethernet receiver provided to me by the Alliance. We shall send our artificial pulse through an ethernet transmitter on the day Alexander is on Golkos accepting the Alliance surrender. The pulse will activate the psionic amplifier in Alexander’s armor killing Alexander and Augesburcke. To improve matters there will be nothing at all to trace the assassination to ourselves. The psionic amplifier, when found, is obviously Scythian; and though it is not common knowledge that the Scythian’s have this form of weapon our Alliance friends will assuredly aide us in holding the Scythians responsible for the act.’

‘Ingenious,’ admitted Edgar, ‘but why wait? Why not activate the amplifier now?’

Crandal shook his craggy head, ‘And change history before it is ready? No, my friends let us allow Alexander to play his part. He can gain the glory so long as we reap the benefits. After all, that is what galactic legends foretell as his destiny, and we wouldn’t want to alter destiny would we?’

CHAPTER 23

Alexander and Nazar were at dinner in Alexander’s stateroom, a chess board between them. Nazar had taken to the game quite readily, and as Alexander was no expert, he soon proved to be a potent opponent to the Overlord. Nazar was so adept, in fact, that Alexander was completely absorbed in an attempt to draw the present match out to a respectable length before his inevitable defeat. Therefore, when an urgent communiqué from the Gagarin interrupted the evening meal Alexander gladly accepted the rescue.

After taking the report he sighed, cradling his wine. ‘You know we’re not up against a beginner over there. There is someone in the Alliance hierarchy with a backbone. I see no other way they could move so quickly to the offensive after the thrashing we gave them on the frontier. Imagine the effort just to get the Syraptose and the Quotterim back in the fold. Incredible! I am impressed.’

‘I imagine this is the work of their new Grand Admiral. They are definitely Golkos. We’ll know who they are in a decurn or so, and then I can procure the dossier for you.’

‘That will be fine,’ Alexander replied, his voice far away. ‘It has begun in earnest. I can scarcely believe it. We’ve spent so much time talking about its eventuality, even to the point of our raid on the Golkos-Seer’koh, but it scarcely seems real to me.’

‘Alexander, that is a strange statement seeing as you dispatched your strike forces to Syraptose and Quotterim an eternity ago,’ Nazar observed. ‘I remember you sketching out your invasion plans during the Chem civil war. This is hardly unexpected, especially as you planned for this eventuality decants ago. I know you too well to think you are having second thoughts.’

‘No. I’m not having second thoughts, but it’s the first serious move in this galactic game. You’ve practiced and prepared for it, but until the game is underway and you take that first hit there is a surrealism about it. It is unreal. But there it is; it has begun. The Alliance has found their stomach. The three strike forces have already entered Terran space, and our forces will shortly begin engaging them.’

‘Seven hundred ships spread out on three invasion routes to delay what amounts to three Galactic armadas,’ Nazar smiled. ‘I’d not miss this for anything Chem could offer, unless it were a war against the Golkos. It’s just wonderful! Such brash gall! I’d not have believed any defense possible unless I’d heard your plans myself. I’d wondered how you were going to tackle the problem of fighting at superluminal velocities. Superluminal battle has been considered impossible for the entirety of our space faring history, and for good reason. A superluminal field is very susceptible to fluctuation, thereby negating the field. Firing from within the field is as disruptive as absorbing fire. The field can be protected by the ship’s shields, but only at the expense of power to the superluminal field. When one considers the additional impossibility of targeting a specific ship at superluminal velocities the reasons for abandoning any form of superluminal combat is obvious. The very impossibility of the dilemma must be what intrigued you. I must say your strategy is again elegantly brilliant.’

‘Please, Nazar, no eulogizing before the proof,’ Alexander cautioned. ‘Besides, I cannot quite get myself to consider it combat. It’s more like shooting fish in a barrel, albeit very fast and hard to see fish. We’ll see how our intrepid Grand Admiral reacts. The Alliance, thus far, has helped. I expected them to proceed to Terra at flank speed, but it appears they are satisfied with standard cruise. That gives us more than enough time to accomplish the plan, for the present at least.’

‘It is their formations,’ Nazar observed. ‘They are attempting to maintain their strike formations in superluminal flight. With over two thousand ships on the Golkos Seer’koh front that is a colossal feat. I believe your fleets have taken the wiser course of action by moving in squadron sized packets, with the fleet in a loose formation. That also makes it more difficult for scans to estimate the number of ships in a superluminal signature. The size and configuration of the signature constantly change, thereby increasing the margin for error.’

‘Yes, the Alliance seems bent on maintaining a large unwieldy formation through their advance,’ Alexander said. ‘It’s an ancient problem to march or sail in a formation that is at once defensible on the move and able to deploy rapidly at the onset of battle. Our commanders ran into the same problems in superluminal when our fleets were created. We solved these problems by improving the ship’s autopilots over the galactic standard, something I would have thought patently impossible considering our complete unfamiliarity with the equipment. Fortunately, however, the principles are largely the same as those of our aircraft autopilots. The circuitry is still beyond us, I’m told, but the logic commands in the imprinted software are not. Our engineers actually modified some of the software we use in games to alter the autopilot programming, making it more responsive at higher superluminal factors. I was rather surprised, Nazar, that the Alliance had not done the same.’

‘You must remember, Alexander, that Alliance technology, and that is to say Galactic technology, has been established for hundreds of kicellia. There is little need for the gradual progression of technology that led to the current empires. You would say we stagnated, because of all the cultures in the known galaxy the only ones I know of which advance for the sake of advancement are Terrans. The rest of the galaxy enjoys the consistency of the status quo. We jockey for position and make minor changes in the relevancy or irrelevancy of principles, but on the whole our cultures and our technology advances at a very even and gradual rate. There are no meteoric rises in ability, such as Terrans are used to.

It would have been patently impossible for one of the other cultures to make the paradigm shift from a water and air based military to a space based military; even though you have already done so. The change is too great. That is one of the great disadvantages for the Alliance. Whether they fully realize their difficulty I cannot know. Originality is not a beneficial character trait in either the Golkos or the Seer’koh; especially in the upper echelons of their military. Still, there are a few clans in the Golkos ruling class which are noteworthy for their recalcitrance and energy. More often than not their effect is merely antagonistic, but every once in a while some daughter or son of worth and power rises from the ashes of their ancient families. There is one such Golkos commander by the name of Khandar. I must assume that he has found a way to gain control of the military. He is their most capable general, and a glory seeker. Our dossier describes Khandar as bold and innovative by Galactic standards.’

‘Galactic standards?’ Alexander muttered, somewhat amused by the term; and guessing Nazar’s meaning.

‘I must be careful of my words as they are in context with yourself, Alexander. You are too proud to accept even the praise of a friend, but the fact remains that you and your warrior ancestors are changing our definitions of war and warfare. Maybe we are simply rediscovering what was painfully obvious thirteen kicellia ago to my ancestors. They, as do you Terrans, lived war. We, their descendents, proud though we may be, live only the ritual and tradition they have left us. My conclusion is that our creativity is atrophied. We must relearn what you do instinctually. It is the price the Chem have paid for peace; a price the galaxy is on the verge of paying.’

‘It is a price well worth paying if any surety of its reward could come of it,’ Alexander told him slumping heavily in his chair. ‘Do not criticize the feat of your thirteen millennia of peaceful existence, Nazar. It is easy to make war. Cowards make war with greater facility than the brave make peace. I look at what I have done, and though I can find few acts or events that I would change still I would that they had not been necessary. I am guilty, nonetheless, of destroying this peace of yours. It bothers me to think that my name will, at the very least, go down in galactic history as the warlord who brought an end to the galaxy as we came to know it. Yet what bothers me more, Nazar is that I do not know if I have the strength of the courageous being who would somehow find a peaceful end to this destruction. I realize, and I accept, that I feed off the glory. Will I then be remembered as a Napoleon, dying despised? Napoleon allowed his political greed, if you will, to overcome his sensibilities and destroy much of the glory his genius won. I would rather not leave this stage as a despot.’

‘Your magnanimous victories hardly label you as such. Certainly your name is feared and respected throughout the known galaxy, Alexander, but there is no brand of evil burned upon your brow. Rather the opposite. I know for a certainty that this Alliance war is taxing on their home systems. It is an interesting irony that Galactic legend still holds such powerful sway over the character of our people, and yet these same people by and large revere the man they know as Alexander. Indeed, this is a most unpopular war on both sides. Each feels the necessity to make war, and in their own minds each is justified. However, there is also an underlying sadness. I guess from my limited knowledge of your people Alexander that whether they realize it or not this is not the way they envisioned meeting their galactic neighbors.’

‘In all actuality, this is often how we feared contact would be made,’ Alexander told him. He sighed, adding, ‘We have a strange sense of destiny, we Terrans. We always envisioned contact to be made violently, with the fate of our civilization at stake. There is a damnably perturbed secret desire to in us to be battered by overwhelming odds to the point where all is nearly lost, then to rise up, bloody but indomitable, and destroy our foes. That is the paradox of Humankind. The strangest thing in all of this is the fear of Terra by the Galactics. Certainly no Terran envisioned that.’

‘Nor have the Galactics, to be perfectly honest, until now. Though we lived with the ‘Legend of Alexander’ there is a difference between legend and reality. Fear can be healthy for a being, but the Galactics have taken it to extremes. They fear you far more than legend has it. This may be more because the Galactic populace thinks they know you, Alexander, and they are as afraid of being wrong about that as they are the ‘Legend of Alexander.’ Somehow the legend would be all the more terrible if this enlightened and powerful being we know as Alexander was to be the barbarian of legend as well. Alexander has stirred our opinions about ourselves. He’s made an entire galaxy realize their level of over-civilization.’

The Chem man thought for a moment before coming to a conclusion. ‘I would say our ‘edge’ is gone. We are like a sword left to dull and rust with disuse. That is the intriguing thing you offer us, and what we fear to lose if we are wrong about you, Alexander: our youth renewed. Yet that in itself is a dangerous gift. We can see too much of our youth and reject it, or have it thrust upon us forcefully and be destroyed by it. With gifts must come wisdom, both from the bestowed and the bestowed. That is Alexander’s contribution beyond war.’

Alexander massaged his temples, saying, ‘Nazar, you are at your most dangerous when you are in a philosophical mood. I must say seriously that I can only hope to be what the Galactics have seen in me, not what they fear I am. I bear the same burden with my own people as well. I hope I am enough of an ox to bear the weight.’

Nazar laughed. ‘You were made to bear such weight, Alexander. More than any other being I’ve known, even to Nazeera, you relish the weight upon your shoulders. It feeds your need to be important, and your resolve to succeed. That being said any lesser use of you would have been a waste. Besides, this drama is too deliciously fascinating not to occur. Galactic history would be poor indeed without the audacious rise of Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire!’

‘It is not the rise of the Empire over which I worry Nazar, it is the eventual fall.’

‘What of it? Every empire falls, Alexander. Did not your namesake tell us ‘It is the striving forward which matters?’ He was wise. What use is honor or bravery if a people are too worried over future consequences to take the least of risks? Where would Terra be now if Terrans hid their heads Scythian-like in the sand when this crisis rolled upon them? Their civilization, their history, their future would have been in the hands of others. Fortune smiled that the judges would have been the Chem, but it could just as easily have been the Golkos.’

‘Yes fortune favored us there,’ Alexander nodded.

‘No. History favors those who make their own fortune. That you know. You’ve said it often enough.’

‘I’ve said it through many lives,’ Alexander smiled. ‘You know, Nazar, there’s a fair amount of Viking in you. You’d have made a wonderful pirate.’

Nazar beamed. ‘A Viking, eh? Well now, that is uncommonly kind of you. I’m forced to agree, as I’d look wonderfully fierce in horns!’

CHAPTER 24

Captain Konstantinov stopped his pacing of the Gagarin’s bridge to glance at the ship’s chronometer. His brows drew together and his eyes narrowed to slits.

‘Are we ready?’

‘All boats are in firing position for the ambush Captain!’ the First Officer informed him.

‘Synchronize all ship’s chronometers one more time, and charge up the capacitors,’ Konstantinov ordered. ‘All ships prepare to fire!’ He glared at the main viewer, checking it against the tactical hologram. One hundred submarines formed a wide ring three rows deep about an empty point in space. The ring was thousands of kilometers in diameter, but each ship stood ready, facing into the center. On the edge of the viewer was an enormous swath of distortion. Distances were jaded on the two dimensional display, but it was soon apparent that the distortion was progressing at an extraordinarily rapid rate perpendicular to, and directly towards the center of the ring.

‘They still don’t see us through their distortion pattern,’ Konstantinov noted, adding, ‘Let’s hope this works as well as it did in the trials. We only have one shot from this firing position.’ The Captain’s concern was apparent, and warranted. Their mission was to harass the invading Alliance fleet, but as that fleet was travelling at superluminal velocities the task was easier said than done. Ironically, Konstantinov’s picture of this task was remarkably similar to the U-boat war in the North Atlantic circa World War Two. The Alliance fleet was for all intents and purposes a convoy, and his submarines were a classic wolf pack. The fast submarines would harry the periphery of the Alliance, forcing it to maintain its formation, whittling it down, and slowing its advance. The standard Terran squadrons shadowed the Alliance fleet, waiting for stragglers like hungry sharks. It was a sensible plan, but for the laws of trans-superluminal physics which prevented a ship from firing at superluminal velocities. Try as they might the Terrans could not get around this restriction. The blaster with its energetic plasma stream punched a hole in the superluminal field about a ship. The result was a complete and violent disruption of the field which sent the ship careening out of superluminal and out of control. By firing its blaster projectors at high speed a ship could actually tear itself apart in the departure from superluminal. This restriction was one of the reasons Galactic warfare evolved into the formal static doctrine that it had. A ship could always escape by going into superluminal, and a fleet could avoid engagement by never coming out of superluminal. The Terrans, therefore, had to find another way to harass the Alliance fleets if they were to slow or prevent them from speeding unmolested to Terra. Therefore, Alexander revisited the concept of the ambush.

Konstantinov and his submarines were about to put the idea into effect. His submarines waited at a pre-coordinated point along the Alliance course. The ships were small in size and mass, and motionless, making their signatures almost invisible to the Alliance scanners when they were hampered by their own superluminal distortions. The timing was critical, and had to be controlled by computer. The actual amount of time the Alliance ships were to be within the target area was almost infinitesimal, so everything had to be perfect.

‘One minute!’

‘Captain! The New Jersey and her squadrons are coming out of superluminal in attack position on our flank!’ The First Officer called.

‘Synchronize her chronometers to our firing sequence! All ships lock blasters in on computer controlled firing sequence!’ Konstantinov ordered. The one hundred and fifty-six ships of the Seventh Fleet, less the twenty-five ships of the Iowa squadron, acknowledged the Gagarin’s chronometer and waited. The superluminal distortion of the Alliance fleet suddenly rushed through the center of the ring.

‘Fire!’

Simultaneously every ship fired blindly into the preset killing field. Plasma streams from the Terran ships bolted through the empty space, searching like fingers for invisible coins. In immediate response ship after ship dropped out of superluminal and into normal space. The Terran ships did not wait, pouncing mercilessly on the stricken vessels. The onslaught was ferocious and sudden. The Terrans expecting a sharp fray, but these were not Chem ships and crews, determined to die in battle. They were Golkos and Seer’koh caught completely by surprise, finding themselves suddenly thrust into normal space and surrounded by the dreaded Terran battleships. Even as the first broadside from the New Jersey bloomed, gutting a mighty Golkos battleship, the first calls of surrender were crowding the ethernet. In a matter of moments all thirty-seven Alliance ships which dropped out of superluminal either surrendered or were destroyed.

Captain Konstantinov was livid with the Alliance ships.

‘Fight damn you fight! What treachery is this?’

‘They are all surrendering, Captain, we’ve orders from the New Jersey to hold our fire.’

‘Fantastic, now what? What are we going to do with them? We don’t have enough ships to take prisoners! We’re supposed to be on our way to the next ambush!’ Konstantinov was consumed with frustration, and he voiced the new dilemma facing the Terrans. What indeed to do with their prisoners?

Five decurns of hell followed for the mighty Golkos-Seer’koh fleet. Their sensors all but useless. Their enormous superluminal interference pattern blurred out everything. All the Alliance ships could do was to press on. A half a dozen times the first ambush was repeated, and each time Alliance warships fell out of superluminal into normal space, there to become prey for the Terran wolves. There was simply no viable defense against the attacks. By necessity the field disrupting shields had to be maintained at minimum levels during superluminal velocities. The ships were left open to damage from even a glancing blaster shot. More damaging was the disruption of the superluminal field which inevitably occurred when a blasters plasma stream penetrated it. The result was instantaneous and violent: a radical departure from superluminal that threatened to overload the inertial generators and tear the ship apart. It was a grim situation considering the frequency of the attacks, and the attrition, and none knew it more than Grand Admiral Khandar. Finally, as they suffered yet another withering ambush, there was no alternative.

The Captain of the Nived Sheur stared at the Grand Admiral in shocked disbelief, requiring Khandar to coldly repeat the order, ‘I said turn the fleet around, Captain. Return to the coordinates of the Terran firing. Do not make me repeat myself!’

The Captain did not need to be told again, and slowly, ponderously, the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet turned about. A series of rapid fire orders redeployed the fleet into an envelopment formation, no mean task for the Alliance pilots, but Grand Admiral Khandar would brook no argument. His Seer’koh counterpart, bobbed nervously at his side as the mass of ships turned slowly about. Only half as tall as the rakish Golkos the reptilian Seer’koh nevertheless spoke her mind, ‘We are taking a great risk, Grand Admiral. We have no idea where the rest of the Terran fleet is. This may be another of the Terran traps, or at best a delaying tactic. We can hardly afford the delay any more than we can another defeat.’

‘Admiral, we cannot afford to allow Alexander the initiative,’ Khandar interrupted. ‘If we allow these harassing attacks to continue our fleet will be at only fifty to sixty percent strength when we arrive at Terra, if we arrive. We must meet aggression with aggression. A sharp blow now while we have the odds in our favor will do as much to restore our own morale as it does to plant doubt in the minds of the Terrans. Those two equally important factors make this a risk worth taking!’

The Seer’koh accepted the explanation, bowing her slender head.

‘Grand Admiral, we are approaching the coordinates,’ the Captain informed him. ‘There are faint echoes on the scanners, but it is difficult to tell whether the Terrans are still there.’

‘Drop out of superluminal!’ Khandar ordered. The main viewer of the battleship changed expectantly. Space was suddenly filled with Terran ships and their stricken Alliance charges.

‘Immediate attack! Full ahead, fire at will!’ Khandar ordered.

The Terrans spotted the Alliance fleet dropping out of superluminal and were the first to fire. The New Jersey let go an enormous blast of plasma from her blaster projectors, but the ships of the Alliance now had their shields up, an impossibility in superluminal, and her target withstood the shock. Two dozen Alliance ships responded to the New Jersey’s fire, and though her shields held she glowed, a cloud of discharged plasma from the Alliance projectors whirling about her.

‘Sub light engines full ahead!’ Khandar told the Captain. Then getting on the ethernet he ordered, ‘All vessels close to attack! Prevent their escaping! Fire at will at maximum continuous rate!’ The Alliance warships waded in with their superior numbers, closing ship to ship with the Terrans. It was not long before their enormous advantage in firepower began to have a telling affect.

To Admiral Halston on the New Jersey the situation had disaster written all over it. He involuntarily threw his arm before his eyes as the blinding flash of multiple salvoes lit up the New Jersey’s shields. The bridge swayed sickeningly, smoke curling from underneath control boards. Damage control reports flooded in, adding to the confusion. The lights flickered as the New Jersey fought back with every one of her batteries. The Alliance vessels were now so close that she had unlimited targets, and the gunnery officer could have fired blindly without fear of missing.

‘Damn it!’ He cursed himself for the moments of confusion and delay caused by the surrender of the Alliance warships. The main body, which he was expressly to avoid, was now completely upon him. His squadrons were caught flat footed, almost at a stop. He faced the age old dilemma of not having enough energy to fire and move at the same time. There was no choice, however. The bombardment from the Alliance ships was having a telling effect, and even as the New Jersey rocked with blaster impacts he saw ships of his own squadron limping from the scene, taking matters into their own hands. Reluctantly, but with the grim necessity of the moment, he gave the order to retreat.

The order was more difficult to carry out than it was to give. Alliance warships now interspersed themselves in the Terran squadrons. The sheer lack of space was preventing Terran ships from escaping, and while they were delayed they were caught in a murderous crossfire. Halston saw panic developing as ship after ship reported their superluminal engines wrecked. The fleet was in disorder, and the situation was deteriorating with terrible rapidity. He got on the fleet ethernet.

‘To all vessels of the Seventh Fleet, those who can make the superluminal jump are ordered to do so at once! All ships without superluminal capability are to join on the New Jersey! The best of luck to all of you!’ Admiral Halston watched as dozens of Terran warships suddenly made the superluminal jump, disappearing from the battle. A sense of relief gave him comfort for a moment, but then a titanic sledgehammer rang the ship. Halston felt his feet yanked from under him, and the hard plates of the deck rose to meet him. His view of the world went momentarily black, returning only in a dim grey visage punctuated by sharp painful flashes of light.

‘Admiral, Admiral the Golkos Grand Admiral is calling for us to surrender!’ exclaimed a voice.

Halston clawed his way to his feet, steadying himself on someone’s arm.

‘Put me on the ethernet!’

Blinking his eyes in a vain effort to clear his vision Admiral Halston drew himself up. He could not feel much of anything but a tingling numbness and a dim awareness of where he was. When his sight returned it was to see himself and the scene about him. He watched himself, as on a blurred movie, standing amidst the wreckage and death of the New Jersey’s bridge. He was held up by two of his officers, and he could see the torn remnants of his face and the charred remains of his Admiral’s uniform on the ethernet viewers. When he heard his voice it was ghostly, and he could barely hear it, or believe it was his own. He listened as if hearing the words for the first time, but he knew now that what was below had already happened. It was now a part of history.

‘Surrender? By the Lord of Hosts, I’ll show you bastards to how Terrans finish a fight! All ships full speed ahead and fire at will! God save the Empire!’

Grand Admiral Khandar watched Admiral Halston with grudging respect. He was silent. There was no need for any further orders. One by one the remainder of the Terran fleet, fifty-three ships in all, died. They fired as they died, gathered about the drifting corpse of the New Jersey like a tragic re-enactment of some last stand. No calls for surrender were given. Some ships exploded in matter-anti-matter catastrophes, others simply lost power and drifted. At rare intervals a lifeboat would escape the wreck. Admiral Khandar’s sole order the rest of the day was to leave them be, and let them go. The Terrans, as they died, caused him reflection in his victory far more than in his defeat.

CHAPTER 25

The news came to Alexander in the middle of the Iowa’s night. It was a solemn ship and a grim Alexander that attended the council of war. Augesburcke read the reports and narrated the tapes transmitted by the remnants of the fleet. When he was finished Alexander asked how the coordinated attacks on the Syraptose and Quotterim had gone.

‘Better,’ the Admiral informed him, ‘Though since they didn’t have the support of a conventional squadron the effect was lesser. Over the last two days the Syraptose ‘wolf pack’ has thus far destroyed seventeen ships and disabled fifty-seven. The Quotterim ‘wolf pack’ destroyed twenty-two ships and disabled sixty-nine. Each ‘wolf pack’ continues to redeploy to their successive ambush points. The next strike is planned for seventeen-thirty hours, twelve hours from now.’

Alexander nodded and sighed, ‘Very well, I’ll take the fall for this one. I’ll admit I didn’t even consider that aspect of the engagements. Unfortunately, that cost us a third of the Seventh Fleet, and some good people.’

‘These things happen in war, Alexander,’ Augesburcke reminded him. ‘Admiral Halston has strict orders to avoid any engagement with the Golkos-Seer’koh main body. He made a mistake, and paid for it.’

‘We can’t afford many more mistakes like that,’ Alexander cautioned, ‘but we cannot draw back either. Admiral I want you to inform Admiral Halston’s successor that there is to be no delay in the next planned ambush, but let us remind everyone that this is a hit and run fight. No drawn out engagements. We do just as well to knock their ships out of superluminal as we do to destroy them. Emphasize that point! We will continue to keep the pressure on. Losses are inevitable, at least for the time being, but let’s make certain they bleed more than we do.’

‘Yes sir. One more question: what do we tell the press? We’ve been fairly open with them thus far, but we’ve always had some good news to report. This is different. How do you want to handle it?’

‘I don’t want an ignorant populace, Admiral, they should realize the gravity of these days,’ Alexander replied, but he stopped there, thinking. None of the Admiralty, or Nazar, had seen him so grave in manner before. It was not depression, but rather a tragedy in his eyes. Alexander had nearly always fought his own battles. Now he had to sit back and leave the fighting to others. It was a helplessness he plainly did not enjoy. Finally, he asked a question. ‘What is the name of the nearest system?’

Augesburcke’s aide thumbed through his computer, answering, ‘Xenobia IV, in the galactic atlas; it’s a standard ‘G’ type star with a small brown dwarf at five Astronomical units. It has a small Scythian trading post on the second terrestrial planet but no colony.’

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I am renaming that system,’ Alexander told them. ‘As of this day we shall refer to it as ‘Beta Thermopylae,’ and this proud defeat we shall call the ‘Second Battle of Thermopylae.’ There are to be no criticisms of Admiral Halston. He and his crews atoned for any miscalculation on their parts and showed the Alliance the stuff we are made of. This is a defeat; that is all. It is a sacrifice to the sovereignty of our space. That is, unfortunately to be expected. That is how I see this. That is how our populace should see it. Are there any questions?’

‘None, Alexander,’ Augesburcke replied in stern harmony with his Overlord. He gritted his teeth and pounded the table. ‘We’ll take this shot and bring you better news in the next few days, I guarrantee it!’

‘I know you will, Admiral!’ Alexander said somberly.

‘Grand Admiral, the Terrans are announcing their defeat at Xenobia!’ Khandar’s aide informed him at dinner.

Khandar leaned back in his chair at the Admiral’s mess, a hot cup of churl, a drink not unlike tea, in his hand. ‘Put it on,’ he ordered. ‘Our own ethernet is filled with unwarranted jubilation over such a small victory. Let me see how the Terran’s handle this sting!’

‘Grand Admiral, certainly you cannot downplay your triumph and its glory?’ Khandar’s counterpart of the Seer’koh, Admiral S’kreen asked.

‘Certainly I can, Admiral,’ Khandar returned. ‘Considering the overwhelming advantage in numbers we had. It was an inevitable victory. The Terrans should never have stayed and fought. They should have withdrawn at the first sign of our return. That they did not was either foolishly brave or bravely stupid. I’m not certain which. But it should never have happened. That it did is to our fortune. We had no choice but to take the opportunity.’

‘I believe we caught them despoiling the field, Grand Admiral,’ S’kreen observed, ‘and so it was neither bravery nor stupidity but greed which led to their destruction.’

Khandar’s face twisted in response, ‘I do not entirely disagree with your assessment, Admiral but I note from our own crews that the Terrans were in the process of dealing with a mass surrender. Apparently they are not as efficient in that effort as they are in the more active pursuits of war. They would have been much better served to destroy the ships and crews outright, but they did not do so. I remember a similar case of mercy on the Terrans part in their conflict with Bureel the Rebel. Alexander allowed the surviving Chem of the ‘Lompoc’ engagement to escape with their lives. I believe they had similar purposes here, although I do not doubt they would have salvaged what they could of our ships.’

‘They are a strange race, Grand Admiral,’ the Seer’koh replied. ‘Why should they themselves grant quarter to surrendering foes when they themselves ask for none?’

‘I do not know that is the rule to their law,’ Khandar said, ‘but I cannot answer your question. I think you open up a paradox, Admiral, and that in and of itself may be the only way of describing these Terrans. Let us watch their broadcast. Maybe there are answers therein!’

A the viewer on the mess wall showed the distinguished features of a Terran Admiral standing behind a podium. The background of the briefing was a black star field with the symbol of Terra, a blue silhouette of a bird of prey clutching an olive branch in one claw and a lightning bolt in the other. On the bird’s breast was a coat of arms; the silver spiral of the Milky Way on a sable field.

‘That is your counterpart, Admiral Augesburcke!’ Admiral S’kreen pointed out.

‘Maybe,’ Khandar replied, ‘from what we’ve heard the overall military strategy comes directly from Alexander.’

‘He was not so brilliant this time!’ the Seer’koh pointed out.

‘It was not the plan, but the execution,’ Khandar said, ‘and remember, we have over one hundred ships which were unable to rejoin the assault. Even in defeat the Terran strategy was not without effect! Let’s listen.’

‘Good morning ladies and gentlemen of the press, Terrans, fellow citizens of the Federation, and our Chem guests,’ Admiral Augesburcke began gravely. ‘I am with you this morning to verify the reports of heavy fighting in Terran space.’ The star field behind him animated to display the forces Admiral Augesburcke talked about. ‘As you know forces of the Alliance invaded Terran space earlier this week. This morning at approximately zero-three-hundred Terran Zulu time our forces engaged the invaders in heavy fighting. I am pleased to report that substantial losses were inflicted upon the Syraptose and Quotterim-Bael fleets without loss or damage to Terran forces, however, after initial success in the engagement of the Golkos-Seer’koh our Seventh Fleet was forced to retreat due to vastly superior numbers. Although heavy losses were inflicted upon the invading Alliance warships the Seventh Fleet has also suffered heavily. I am authorizing the release of this compilation tape from the battle. If you will please watch the tape I will afterwards field a limited number of questions.’

The Admiral’s aide rolled the tape on the background screen. The tape began with a cavalcade of surrender calls from Alliance vessels. It was readily apparent that Admiral Halston expected such a response, and he immediately ordered a cease fire. He was in the process of sorting out the surrender when the rest of the Alliance fleet dropped out of superluminal almost in their midst. What followed were images of the furious fighting. Broadside after broadside flashed between the opposing fleets, and the limited space between the ships was soon filled with ionized plasma, glowing hulks, desperately fighting ships. The quarters were so close that the scene reminded one of hand-to-hand fighting more than a fleet battle.

Then came the strident command from Admiral Halston for those who could to withdraw, and those who could not to rejoin about the New Jersey. The following moments were inspiring and tragic, even to the watchful Alliance commanders. The screens of the retreating Terrans showed the last of the fleet gathering about their stricken flagship, firing as they moved. The enormous Alliance fleet enveloped them, calling for their surrender, but still they kept firing. Then a burned and bloodied Admiral Halston uttered his last defiant command. The remnants of the Halston’s squadron moved slowly towards the Golkos-Seer’koh flagship, attacking to the last. The tape ended.

No one in the Terran conference room, including Admiral Augesburcke were unaffected by the display. As the Admiral stepped to the podium again his voice was rough with emotion. ‘There was no surrender of Terran vessels in the battle. Upon the order of Alexander the neighboring system has been renamed ‘Beta Thermopylae,’ in honor of the ancient stand the Spartans made at the pass of that name. If I may reference our own ancient history, King Leonidas and his Spartans fought to the last in defense of their rivals the Athenians. Their sacrifice awakened Greek nationalism which thereafter enabled the Greek victory at Platea the following yearending the Persian threat and setting the foundations for Western Civilization. As did our ancestors, our comrades have again stood resolutely to the last in defiance of invaders. Though they fell in the end, in this, the ‘Second Battle of Thermopylae,’ their sacrifice will spur us on to finish the task at hand; and as before this defeat will conclude with our decisive victory. Are there any questions?’

‘What is the next step, Admiral?’ a reporter asked, herself having trouble containing her voice.

Augesburcke cleared his throat. ‘We persevere. This is only a part of our campaign, ladies and gentlemen. The war is bound to be long and costly. We have won battles, and now we have lost battles. Let us not lose sight of the final goal in the present heat of the moment.’

‘Admiral Augesburcke, where was the rest of the fleet? Why did the Seventh Fleet engage such a large force unsupported?’

‘You must realize that I, of course, cannot divulge the whereabouts of our forces,’ he said simply. ‘In response to the second part of your question, I don’t know if there really is an answer. Admiral Halston had accomplished a significant military victory over the last five days by destroying or disabling over five percent of the remaining Golkos-Seer’koh fleet. That is a significant rate of attrition not only on the enemy’s strength but their moral. Our present policy is not to inter the crews or the vessels but to take away their superluminal capability. In layman’s terms they are ineffective now. It would take those ships hundreds of years to reach Terra without repairs, so needless to say they are no longer a threat. Let me also say that we have, since the beginning of this campaign, been steadily witling the forces of the Alliance down. Initially the Alliance forces on the Golkos frontier numbered over twenty-four hundred warships. We have cut those forces down to approximately nineteen hundred, and they still have a long way to go and the balance of our fleets to engage.’

‘When would they be in range of Terra, Admiral?’

‘At their present course and speed the Alliance invasion fleets would converge upon Terra in approximately twenty-six days,’ Augesburcke replied stoically. ‘We cannot intercept and engage their fleets at superluminal velocities. Unfortunately, that is a limitation in physics we cannot entirely overcome. Though we can reduce the numbers of the invaders somewhat we cannot prevent them from reaching the Terran system. We do, of course, have the opportunity to engage them in conventional combat when they reach our home system. I think we can assure them a rather hot welcome. Thank you all.’ Admiral Augesburcke then left the stage, and the connection was closed.

‘Excellently done,’ Grand Admiral Khandar noted. ‘They tied a glorious defeat in their past, which in the end resulted in a victorious war, to that of their present. It is no secret, my friends, why Alexander has a firm grasp on his population. These Terrans are not rattled by their setbacks, despite what our interrogations tell us. That means they will attack us again.’

‘Are you certain?’ Admiral S’kreen asked. ‘After all we can afford the losses more than they.’

‘To a point, Admiral,’ Khandar replied. ‘They are correct in the assumption that our forces are not what they were when we began. We have suffered twenty percent losses thus far and our own intelligence tells us there are two Terran fleets as of yet unnaccounted for. If they are aggressive with their attacks, yet cautious with their engagements they could very likely bring our numbers down a significant amount by the time we reach Terra. Then they may engage us at odds more to Alexander’s liking.’

‘There will be nothing left of the fleet we have already defeated by then,’ the Seer’koh observed.

‘Of what difference is that? They are a sacrificial force meant only for the purpose of bleeding us before the true engagement,’ Khandar said firmly. ‘If there are any survivors Alexander will be well pleased, but he does not count on it. He means only to make us pay for every light year of Terran space we transgress. We must be ready for such sacrifice. Would we do any less if our space were invaded? See to it, commanders, and prepare for this war as a war. We will not win it in a decurn, and we dare not allow ourselves to think of anything but the final objective. Whatever trials we must overcome to get there we must overcome, but I will, before all is ended, see their sun set on Terra!’ Grand Admiral Khandar left the mess, and after changing the sailing orders for the ships to make them lesser targets, he returned to his quarters. There he turned off the lights and lay in his bed. He did not try to sleep. He knew it would evade him. A single question would keep him from sleep, now until the answer was obvious. Would it be too late then? What if his greatest fears, his impossible fears were correct? What difference would that make in this, the greatest offensive since the Chem wars of expansion? Khandar gritted his teeth until they were about to crack. Where in all this space were the Terran fleets?

The Terran fleets in question sped silently, unsuspected, through the emptiness of space. Each found a similar void in their paths, as the systems outside the Homeworlds of the Syraptose and the Quotterim were barren of activity. Yet they listened intently to the galactic broadcasts over the ethernet. In these broadcasts were the vast majority of their news, and orders. For in each military news conference and in each statement released by Alexander were coded words and phrases encapsulating encrypted orders. Thus far the orders had been upgraded from the original plan of threat and confrontation to attack. All military targets were to be destroyed without warning until the recognized government surrendered unconditionally. There were higher levels slated for the attacks, but privately the crews hoped that could be avoided. They wanted victory, clean and final, not a bloodbath. Which way the battle would take was shortly to be written. The chronometers on the bridge of each ship now counted below fifty hours to destination.

Pro Consul Kvel Mavek didn’t appreciate the unavoidable meeting with the Master of the Hrang spies. It dampened the only sense of elation she’d had reason to find over the last decurns. The victory of Admiral Khandar lent a sudden air of confidence over the capital of Kempec, and even the peace loving people of that world were in a warlike mood. The arrival of the Master Hrang spy was a reminder of Mavek’s latest personal humiliation: her conference with Alexander after the failed second assassination attempt. The Hrang entered her office alone, without his aides this time. Mavek frowned.

‘What have you for me this time Master She-Rok? Do you wish me to converse with Alexander once more? Have you another assassination plot you wish to inform me of?’

She-Rok smiled his thin Hrang smile, bowing politely to the Pro Consul. ‘I understand your frustration, Madame Pro Consul, but it is nothing of the sort.’ He took a seat in his smooth Hrang manner, coiling into it rather than sitting. Joining the fingers of each hand together he said evenly, ‘I come merely to inform you that our participation in such events is finished, for the moment. You need not trouble yourself through any further involvement unless the death of Alexander is accomplished during the third opportunity foreseen by the Mystics. If that eventuality occurs we need merely fulfill our previous agreement with the Terrans.’

‘If I am not mistaken, Master She-Rok, if such a situation was to occur the Terrans would have a significantly greater hold over us, than we over them.’ The Pro Consul replied. ‘Previously our agreement was initiated with the expectation that peace would be on our terms. How is that possible if Terran forces stand upon the surface of Golkos, and have already defeated the Alliance?’

‘Information is a more powerful tool than blasters in this case, Madame Pro Consul,’ She-Rok said. ‘For instance, if the Terrans ever learned that Alexander’s successor was responsible for Alexander’s death they would exact their revenge, thereby nullifying the grasp for power. Silence in exchange for terms. It is an old bargain on Terra, Madame Pro Consul, and one which they will be all to happy to agree to. Might I add, as an extra bonus, that the entire affair is based upon a technology wholly under Scythian control. Therefore, when the distraught Terrans search for a scapegoat they will find it in the Scythians. We will dictate the peace, and be avenged for their fraud all at once.’

Pro Consul Kvel Mavek smiled, and her enthusiasm for the day returned. She hoped now that the foreseen day upon Golkos would never happen, and that soon Alexander would ask for terms himself. Grand Admiral Khandar was making good on his boasts, but in case that newly hopeful path failed Mavek had a backup which seemed almost as workable. She said goodbye to Master She-Rok in a much better mood than when she greeted him.

CHAPTER 26

Admiral Augesburcke entered the conference room almost fifteen minutes late, which was extraordinary for him, and alone. For some reason or another he left his aides outside the room. He apologized, laying his small laptop on the table and plugging it in to the viewer. The Admiral seemed quite agitated, but Alexander let him finish setting up. If something was going to excite the normally unflappable Augesburcke only fifteen hours prior to the great Terran surprise on the Syraptose and the Quotterim Alexander didn’t wish to rush him. Nazar prodded him, but he merely shrugged.

Augesburcke punched a few keys on his computer and sighed as he got a responding image on the viewer. He smiled with relief and held up a finger.

‘One more thing!’

He brought out a small grey box. It was a shield generator. In a moment the grey hemisphere of a security screen blanketed all the room but the table and its viewer. Augesburcke sat down and took a deep breath, looking at Alexander and Nazar with an air of gravity.

‘I’ve got a strange story to tell, and you are not going to like it, Alexander. Bear with me, though, it will make sense in the end.’ He took another deep breath and began his story.

‘In 1948, in Roswell, New Mexico, the United States, a Scythian spaceship ran into severe turbulence due to a thunderstorm and crashed. As strange as it may seem the Scythian ships had a difficult time flying in the Terran atmosphere. Scythian planets all have weather control, so the highly dynamic nature of our atmosphere caught an inexperienced crew of five researchers by surprise. They crashed. Four Scythians died, and one survived. The survivor was spirited away and kept alive for many years, while his ship and all of its equipment was salvaged and studied. Enter the Scythians, who then make contact with the United States government for the first time, specifically with the military. Their purpose was to find survivors of the crash, which they believed they sensed through their psionic net. They admitted losing contact with the survivor at such-and-such a time and requested its whereabouts. They were told that all five bodies had been burned for fear of disease, and the Earth representatives apologized profusely for the undesirable but understandable treatment of the crew. The Scythians, who as we know had studied Terran for millennia, apparently overlooked the Terran tendency to lie, and instead developed a relationship with Terrans. The relationship was secretive in the extreme, and in simplified form it was a agreement to allow Scythian experimentation of Terrans in exchange for technology. This agreement prospered for twenty-five years and was common knowledge to all in the highest levels of all the world’s significant governments. In the United States a special group was formed called the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ which coordinated all of the national and international efforts with the Scythians. This was a worldwide business with its hands in everything. The ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ controlled the introduction of Scythian technology into the military industrial complex, and the testing of this technology in places like Vietnam. You can imagine how rich and powerful these individuals were, but it was only a shadow of what was to come. In 1973 there was to be a great coming out, and the Scythians were going to be recognized formally. We would enter the Galactic’s culture with Scythian help, and those involved in this would have the strings of power and the purse to all Terran endeavors in the cosmos. It was an awesome prospect both personally for the few involved and for Terrans. Then came the ‘accident.’ A Scythian was killed in the area fifty-one complex, and the remaining Scythians panicked and fled, but not without a swift and deadly reprisal. All plans for joint cooperation dissolved. The Scythians left and they would not return until this last year.

‘After a year the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ disbanded, no longer having a purpose. They had their contacts in the world and their investments in the companies to which they supplied extra terrestrial technology, but their dreams of something greater were gone. Their influence dwindled even as they grew rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Slowly they faded from the view of governments, and power. Then came Alexander. In an incredibly short time Alexander suddenly sprang onto the scene and brought together all the reins of power the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ had dreamed was theirs thirty-five years ago. Still, there was nothing they could do, until the roundup of the suddenly discovered Alliance spies. Not all those spies went to our prisons, Alexander, because there was one of the original ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ still around, still in a position to watch, wait and seize the opportunity.’

‘Crandal!’ Alexander breathed.

‘Perceptive,’ Augesburcke smiled, ‘Yes, it was Crandal. He took in eight of the Hrang spies, and as a condition for their safety had them make contact with their masters. Crandal worked out a deal with the Alliance: your life in exchange for recognition from the Alliance of Crandal and the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ as the sole representatives to the galaxy for Terra. A deal was agreed upon and the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ were reunited. Using their old contacts they got their assassination network moving again. It had been a while since they’d operated, but they had the greatest resources of industry in their pockets and some significant experience behind them. Presidents, dictators, civil rights leaders, you name them, they did them. What was one more world leader? In order to do it, though, they needed operatives who were experts and couldn’t be traced back to them. They found them in old Russia. One of the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ was responsible for the international trade of information and policy formation. His counterpart in the old Soviet Union was the Chief of SPETZNAZ, their Special Operations people. The relationship was reignited, promises and payments were made and five operatives made their way overseas. Two went to Lake Pend Oreille in Idaho, and three, by Crandal’s own transfer, were placed on the Iowa as marines.’

Alexander grasped his temple. ‘Special forces personnel, but not SEALS!’

‘That’s what started the ball rolling,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘You were incredulous that these were SEALS, so we dug. The first thing that tipped me off was the dental work. No way it was American. It was Eastern Europe or Soviet. With that to go on it was relatively simple to go through our Cold War dossiers and identify them.’

‘That still doesn’t tie them to Crandal, or the rest of the story,’ Alexander observed.

‘No, the Scythians did some, the Hrang did the rest,’ Augesburcke told him.

‘The Hrang?’ Alexander exclaimed.

‘That’s where it gets interesting, but I’m getting ahead of myself,’ Augesburcke told him. ‘At this point we knew we had SPETZNAZ, but where do we go from there? You mentioned that you thought the Alliance was involved. Logical, otherwise what was the motive for assassination? I went to the Scythians and asked who they might have dealt with on Terra before their open arrival. We’ve all heard the stories of secret government dealings with aliens, but why not ask the Scythians? We’d been too busy to deal with the question previously, and the Scythians were loathe to talk about it. When I assured them of your protection they opened up and I got a list, a very short list, of people they dealt with openly on Terra. On the list, along with Crandal and about two dozen others, was General Yvgeny Bellatov, the former Chief of Soviet Special Operations, SPETZNAZ. Our operatives paid a little visit to the General and it didn’t take long for him to finger his contact, and then identify Crandal as the man’s superior. We set up shop on Crandal. It didn’t take long to finger the Hrang. We set up a remote X-ray camera and we had him. It was an easy thing to cut a deal with him: death or cooperation. He’s been a veritable fountain of information since. Included in his testimony are all the specifics on a proposed third assassination attempt which is supposed to take place on Golkos.’

‘Golkos? They’re looking fairly far into the future aren’t they?’

‘It’s even more interesting than that, Alexander,’ Augesburcke told him, filling him in on all the particulars of Crandal’s plot.

Alexander shook his head. ‘I’ll give this to him, it’s deviously elegant. In one fell swoop they cut the head off Terra and blame it on the Scythians. A marvelous if twisted idea. You know it’s a pity, Admiral, that we couldn’t turn Crandal’s energy into something more constructive.’

‘We’ll be privy to everything on Crandal’s mind from now on, Alexander. On his last visit to the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ we wired our Hrang and had him go in under the guise of one of our operatives. We’ll be attending the meetings from now on.’

‘Impressive, Admiral, very impressive,’ Alexander told him. ‘You’ve done an outstanding job of sleuthing, Admiral, Sherlock Holmes would be proud. I’m in your debt. A toast is in order. Then I’m going to get some sleep. I think we’ll leave Crandal and the ‘Magnificent Thirteen’ to their own devices for the time being. Let them think I’m winning the war for them. Besides, I’m too busy to give him the amount of attention he truly deserves. In a little over fourteen hours we have a show to watch!’

CHAPTER 27

Grand Admiral Khandar frowned. Though he’d just given the Terrans a severe beating the impression seemed to be fleeting. Twice more in the last decurn the blaze of blaster plasma streams crossed the path of his fleet. Each time he wheeled only to find a growing number of stricken ships unable to continue the invasion, but no Terrans. This despite his ordering changes in course at random intervals. ‘We are both learning it seems,’ he mused to his commanders. ‘Blast it, this necessity of running at superluminal with shield strength at minimum is costing us dearly. The greater the power of the defense screens the lower the efficiency of the superluminal field, and so goes our speed! We can crawl to Terra under an effective shield strength, which should give them ample time to engage each invasion fleet separately, or we can speed through their nets and hope they don’t hit us! Not much of a choice! They don’t even have to hit us that hard. A glancing blaster shot on a ship’s superluminal field will drop it out of superluminal through the disruption alone. That in itself can cause a considerable amount of damage; these superluminal field generators are delicate beyond reckoning. The field generators are more than likely to be burned out by the absorption of blaster energy, and the resulting overload. That leaves a ship dead in space. We are, I am afraid, not very suitable for war at superluminal velocities. Why haven’t our scientists addressed this problem before now?’ Then turning irritably to his aide he asked, ‘How many did we lose in that last attack?’

‘Thirteen warships were damaged and unable to continue, Grand Admiral,’ Admiral S’kreen reported. ‘That is consistent with the previous attack in which we lost eleven warships. Obviously our strike weakened their forces considerably. The damage the Terrans are able to inflict is considerably less now than their first attacks.’

‘Considerably less, yes, but significant!’ Khandar reminded her. ‘We have lost ninety-one ships in these attacks, and another one hundred at Thermopylae. Even considering our attrition rate to be one half of one percent, which is consistent with the last two attacks, we cannot allow this to continue. The Terrans are attacking two times per decurn, disabling one percent of our ships per decurn. It does not take a genius to calculate where we will be in the twenty-three decurns it shall take to get to Terra! We can no longer afford the luxury of formation. The security it offers at superluminal is tactically non-existent. Alexander has made that clear and I do not need to be bludgeoned over the head by it to react. The fleet is to break up into its component squadrons and proceed at flank speed to the Terran system by separate routes. That should make the Terran’s job more difficult.’

‘They will be able to concentrate their forces on the squadrons, Grand Admiral,’ the Seer’koh reminded him.

‘At superluminal? No, part of the reasoning behind Alexander’s current success is our target density. The Terrans simply can’t miss us as tightly packed as we are. It was stupid of me not to suspect something like this before. What was I thinking? Certainly the Terrans were not going to let us walk into their Home system for a final confrontation! That was a blind assumption!’

‘But Grand Admiral, if the fleets take separate routes what of our coordinated attack on Terra?’ S’kreen asked, pointing out, ‘If we arrive in their system piecemeal and uncoordinated we shall play directly into their hands. Their smaller force can then be used with great effectiveness.’

‘Your point is taken Admiral,’ Khandar agreed. ‘We shall coordinate our time of arrival, and enroute we shall assign coordinated sectors for the attack. Every portion of the combined fleet will be expected to arrive at their predetermined coordinates at the appointed time. We shall have to trust our people with the great responsibility we give them. There is no other way. We cannot allow Alexander to chop our fleet little by little to the size of his liking. Do you agree?’

‘We have never given our warships so much autonomy,’ Admiral S’kreen replied, nervously drumming her claws on the rail. ‘Your idea is logical, and should not be beyond the grasp of our people, but we are asking a great deal of them. I am especially concerned with the Syraptose and Quotterim strike forces. Any change seems to shake their resolve.’

‘We are asking a great deal, but our worlds and our empires are asking even more of us Admiral. How can we disappoint them?’

‘I will support your decision, Grand Admiral,’ the Seer’koh replied. ‘What I can do I shall.’

‘Excellent! Then let us get to work, Admiral!’

It was more difficult than Admiral Khandar anticipated. The order to break up the fleet was so unexpected and so beyond the normal rigidity of Galactic doctrine that it was simply beyond the understanding for most commanders. Khandar was forced to go through a laborious series of conferences, and took a much greater personal role in the action than he ever conceived as necessary. Finally the fleet subdivided, but not before another volley of blaster fire from the Terrans took seven more warships from superluminal. When the order was finally given and the fleet broke up Grand Admiral Khandar felt more than relief: he felt a sense of satisfaction. As the Alliance warships dispersed he crossed his lanky limbs over his chest and congratulated his people. True it was difficult, but they could adapt to the changing situation, even as the Terrans could. Khandar was just beginning to understand how powerful a tool flexibility was. Without it, even considering his initial victory over the Terrans, his fleet was patently doomed. He’d taught the Terrans a powerful lesson at Thermopylae, taking the Terran name for the battle, yet they had persevered. Their change in doctrine suited the new threat of Khandar’s turning movement. They resorted to true guerrilla tactics, forestalling even the destruction of the damaged Alliance ships. As Khandar soon learned the Terrans completely ignored the Alliance ships they knocked out of superluminal. They ordered them under threat of destruction to jettison their superluminal cores, but nothing more. Even after Khandar’s fleet continued on its way, leaving those ships unable to make immediate repairs behind, the Terrans did not backtrack and destroy them. Khandar understood why: they’d accomplished their goal. The Terrans didn’t need to destroy Khandar’s ships; they only needed to disable their superluminal engines. A ship without superluminal capability couldn’t reach Terra for hundreds of years and was consequently useless. Even considering repairs could be made it would string Khandar’s fleet all along the invasion route, weakening his force, and making it easy for the Terrans to pick off the stragglers.

The Terrans had thought through their defense, and Khandar could appreciate why they had not wasted their warships in a risky frontal assault on their frontier. It was much wiser to trade space for warships until the odds were evened. Still, Khandar smiled with newfound confidence. Squadron sized parcels of ships at superluminal were far more difficult to detect than fleet size signatures. With a little luck they would curtail their losses significantly and meet Alexander’s fleets in the Terran system with a sizable force. It would be a titanic battle he was certain, much as the Chem-Terran confrontation was supposed to be. This time, however, the Terrans could not avoid the engagement. There would be a battle, and it would be on Terra’s doorstep.

Khandar paced the bridge with satisfaction, feeling better than he had since the victory at Thermopylae. For some time he allowed himself to watch the stars fly by the bridge viewers, looking into the beautiful depths of space wherein the Terran Homeworld was nestled. At flank speed he would be there in less than twenty decurns, and he would win for himself and his people an everlasting name and peace. The thought was soothing and pleasurable. When Admiral S’kreen called his name, he hardly heard it, and only after an urgent claw wrapped about his wrist did he respond.

‘Grand Admiral! The Terrans are attacking the Syraptose and Quotterim Homeworlds!’

‘We are at H-Hour minus one, Admiral. Ambassador, will you and your lieutenant please establish your links?’ Alexander asked the Scythians. The Terran strike fleets were one hour from their respective targets, and Alexander wanted a Scythian psionic net connection between both of them before and during the encounter. Theoretically the Syraptose and the Quotterim could have picked up the Terran fleets by now, if they were looking. To reduce that possibility and enhance the fleet’s striking power he had them disperse and approach the Homeworlds on a pre-coordinated multiple axis attack.

Alexander paced while the Scythian’s set up their link. Nazar sat calmly, and Augesburcke fidgeted. After what seemed an hour a clear hologram of each bridge was transmitted through the Scythian’s from the flagships. Admiral Cathcart and Admiral Sampson appeared and each gave a brief report. Admiral Cathcart had nothing to report from the Syraptose system. There was normal traffic on the ethernet, but no sign of any warship activity, or preparedness. Admiral Sampson on the Quotterim front had a few more problems to deal with. Different squadrons of his strike fleet had been detected and hailed. They responded as merchant convoys diverted from the quarantined Altamira system. An escort had been assigned to them at a point outside the Quotterim system, but that rendezvous was still some thirty minutes away. It was the Admiral’s intention to allow the squadrons to drop out of superluminal as expected and dispatch the escort, hopefully prior to any distress or warning calls.

Alexander approved the Admiral’s plan, adding, ‘I don’t think the half an hour will make a great deal of difference, but if you can avoid discovery by all means do so.’ Alexander’s party watched with growing anticipation as the Quotterim approached the rendezvous point. They had no way of knowing how large the escort was going to be, and Sampson took no chances. An entire Squadron was assigned to ambush the escort as another full squadron played decoy. As the decoy squadron announced it was shortly to drop out of superluminal the attack squadron did just that, but behind the escort. The Quotterim escort, which turned out to be only a single frigate sized warship, never knew what hit it. Although its shields were up the Wisconsin’s main guns vaporized the unfortunate vessel in a single volley. The resultant conflagration caused a momentary burst of excited transmissions from the Quotterim controllers, but the Wisconsin answered, explaining that one of the freighter’s suffered a massive plasma leak as they brought their superluminal engines off line. The vessel was damaged, but was being tractored in by another freighter. There was a hesitant response, but the controllers did not press the issue; perhaps preferring to believe the most harmless of possible scenarios. At sub light velocities the stricken freighter and the escort were perhaps a full decurn distant, and too far too see in any detail. Moreover, no assistance was requested, so they let it go.

As soon as the Quotterim scanners ceased their examination of the fictitious convoy both squadrons returned to superluminal for the short sprint to the Quotterim Homeworld.

The Quotterim were guilty of understandable complacency. They were too distant from the Chem Empire be affected by the Chem Wars of Expansion thirteen thousand years past. Although they had a sizeable fleet the Quotterim empire had experienced nothing remotely like a war for exactly three hundred and seventy-two thousand one hundred and forty-three Terran years and some thirty-nine odd Terran days. Their modern and sizeable fleet was the result of the threat the Chem Wars, but it had never seen action.

Admiral Sampson’s ruse bought another five minutes. Then all pretense of ethernet discipline in the Quotterim system disappeared. A flurry of urgent orders crackled over the net, voices laced with panic, and the Quotterim Homeworld defense forces came to battle readiness. There was nothing for it.

The Syraptose had a similar if less militarily demanding history. Still, their response made the Quotterim actions seem absolutely provocative. Within the Syraptose Home system, in the midst of the greatest galactic panic in recorded history the first exploratory hails from the Syraptose controllers to the unidentified advancing fleet did not occur until fifteen minutes prior to the assault. Even then the hails were hesitant. Admiral Cathcart refused to answer. The nervous Syraptose must have assumed that if they ignored the massive bodies of approaching superluminal signatures they would just go away, because they did precisely nothing.

Their spherical envelopment complete, the two strike fleets dropped out of superluminal at precisely the appointed time.

Alexander’s party watched the blue and white marble of Mira Prime appear in Admiral Cathcart’s bridge viewers. It was an Earth-like world of oceans and small landmasses. It was also almost completely unprotected. This was not due to a lack of ships. The Syraptose had held back over two hundred warships from the Terran invasion, but the fleet was in orbit, powered down and helpless. The disbelieving Syraptose had not progressed far enough through their amazingly complex bureaucracy to put their fleet on alert. The initial warning, issued almost an hour prior, had yet to make it to the shift commander in charge of system surveillance.

The hail of Terran blaster projectors awoke the fleet. Fifty Syraptose warships broke into glowing debris in the first bombardment. The only return fire the Terrans experienced was a frantic deluge of surrender calls on their ethernet. These calls were met by a demand for the surrender of Mira Prime itself. Admiral Cathcart shortly accepted the surrender of the Syraptose ships, and the Terran Fifth Fleet pulled close around the planet. Mercifully the Terrans held their fire, but after five minutes with no response from the Syraptose Admiral Cathcart implemented the next scale of the assault. He ordered the immediate bombardment of the surface. The battleships rolled in, targeting the planetary defense generators as the cruisers and destroyers targeted the defense blaster projectors. There was a smattering of fire from the planet’s surface, but within fifteen minutes the concentrated fire of the battleships the planetary shields were glowing. What the Syraptose bureaucracy could not do the concussion of the powerful Terran blasters accomplished. The Syraptose Kolghat herself appeared on all Syraptose ethernet channels requesting an immediate cease fire.

Alexander saw the Kolghat on the Iowa’s viewer, and the Syraptose leader could clearly see the hologram of the Terran Overlord in his purple and gold armored uniform, the ever present Banthror sash clashing barbarically. Alexander told her sternly, ‘There will be no cease fire, Madame Kolghat. Our bombardment will continue until Syraptose forces in Terran space lower their shields and reverse their course, or your planet is an uninhabitable lump of slag. It is entirely up to you. Send the order, and I will be willing to talk.’

The reverb of the fluctuating shields in the Syraptose atmosphere could clearly be heard beyond the office of the Kolghat. She hesitated.

‘You try my patience!’ Alexander told her, his arms crossed over his breast. ‘I am inclined to be reasonable, but that time is swiftly passing. Your defense fleet has surrendered; your planetary defense network is under unceasing bombardment. Your shields are collapsing. What is your answer?’

An enormous eruption from the planet’s surface signaled the complete failure of the hemispheric defense shields of the capital. The generators vaporized in the blaster streams, and they spewed plasma and superheated gas into the atmosphere around the city. The Kolghat’s resolve disappeared.

‘I shall give the order presently!’ She assured Alexander.

‘Do it!’ Alexander ordered.

The Kolghat drew herself up. ‘This is the Kolghat of Syraptose, speaking to all Syraptose military forces involved with Alliance operations against the Terran Empire. At the peril of your Homeworld’s destruction at the hands of Terran invaders you are to drop your shields and reverse your course immediately! This is the Kolghat of Syraptose. I have spoken.’

The Terran Overlord waited until Admiral Augesburcke relayed confirmation of the Kolghat’s order from the Terran-Syraptose frontier.

‘Captain Batu of the Leopard reports the Syraptose signatures have reversed course and are proceeding at flank speed back to Syraptose.’

Alexander nodded. ‘A cease fire is granted, Madame Kolghat. Your planet will not be further violated, but you are not to raise your planetary shields or in any way molest the Terran expeditionary force. Your ships presently in Terran space I will graciously consider under quarantine. They will proceed presently to the Terran-Chem frontier where they will be taken under the custody of a neutral power: the Chem. Admiral Augesburcke will supply you with the proper coordinates for their withdrawal, to include their routing through Terran space. Any deviation from this agreement will be considered reason enough for Terran warships to conclude the bombardment of Mira Prime. You are to subscribe in word and deed to the orders of Admiral Cathcart. Do you understand?’

‘I have no choice, Alexander of Terra,’ the Kolghat told him venomously.

‘I asked if you understood,’ Alexander corrected her.

‘I understand, Alexander of Terra,’ she replied.

‘I do not expect you to like it, Madame Kolghat,’ Alexander told her, ‘but for the time being it is a necessary evil. I will be in touch shortly. Live now by my agreement, Madame Kolghat and the Syraptose people will suffer no further violation by my hand. Alexander out.’ Alexander had Cathcart cut the connection to Syraptose because, honestly, he was too busy watching the more intense situation on the Quotterim front.

‘Lock down the situation, Admiral Cathcart. Do it with reasonable force, if you can, but keep them down and don’t let them up!’

‘Everything is under control here, Alexander,’ Cathcart told him, and he asked, ‘I can spare half my force immediately, shall I deploy them back to Terra?’

‘Give the situation time to solidify and see if any surprises develop,’ Alexander ordered. ‘If you are comfortable with relinquishing those ships then get them on their way.’

‘Yes sir, I’ll await your next transmission. Hail Alexander!’

‘Hail the Fifth Fleet, Admiral Cathcart!’ Alexander saluted, and then he immediately turned his attention to the Quotterim attack. The Terran Second Fleet dropped out of superluminal in the face of furious fire from two hundred and fifty warships of the Quotterim defense force. Adding to this fusillade was fire from the Quotterim Homeworld and orbiting battle stations. The scrap turned into a full scale battle in a matter of moments, but if the Terrans were disturbed by this they didn’t show it. The Terran squadrons blew in from all directions, guns thundering first at Quotterim ships, then at satellites, then at the planet’s surface. As was their habit the Terran ships kept moving, and Quotterim fire, determined though it was, suffered from the confusion.

Quotterim commanders were heard on the ethernet desperately trying to direct fire and defense. But as they engaged a passing Terran squadron, exchanging volleys of blaster fire, another would come upon them from a completely different direction. The Terran warships kept up a steady fire, but they never seemed to get in each other’s way. Rather the opposite. The Quotterim, fighting a stationary defensive strategy, could not isolate even a single Terran squadron. They moved too quickly, and when one was firing broadsides for the attack there were always two other squadrons ready to assume firing position; continuing the attack and covering the withdrawal of their partners. The battle plan was a three dimensional ‘Alexander’s Wheel’ centered on the point defense of Quotterim. It was, as was the original, based upon simple maneuvers in squadron strength timed to always keep several squadrons in firing position. Within the constraint of the strategies timing there was freedom within the squadrons for targets, and to some extent, freedom of maneuver. Little change was needed, however, as the Quotterim, who limited themselves to their manner of defense, could not come up with a viable response.

Outgunned and outmaneuvered the Quotterim lost half their fleet in the first two hours of the attack whilst the Terran fleet lost two dozen ships. As the Quotterim’s firepower decreased without an appreciable loss of Terran strength the defenders losses started to increase at an exponential rate. The orbital battle stations were knocked out, and every Quotterim ship larger than a frigate was destroyed or severely damaged. Valiant and stalwart though their stand was the Quotterim could see the inevitable. After three hours of battle the Qu’neel of the Quotterim requested a cease fire. Alexander repeated his conditions, to which the Qu’neel conceded, recalling her fleet.

CHAPTER 28

‘The nefarious traitors, Grand Admiral it is my considered opinion that every Syraptose, Quotterim and Bael ambassador, military member or civilian in our systems should be executed at once for treason!’ Admiral S’kreen railed. The small reptilian commander raked her sharp claws across the dull surface of the conference table, leaving noticeable furrows. Her whip like tail lashed back and forth in obvious consternation, and the dark pupils darted back and forth between the nervous representatives of the two defeated empires and their confederate.

‘I object to being included in such company,’ the Bael returned, shooting to his feet. His gangly two meter frame ratcheted up out of the seat, chitin covered appendages clicking in irritation. The bright black eyes betrayed no emotion, but the flailing of his wispy antennae accentuated the audible anger of the being and punctuated its artificial voice. The voice was sharp and mechanical, mirroring in every way the insect like movements. ‘You speak with great facility, Admiral S’kreen, for one with such a massive fleet. Might I remind you that the Bael contingent to the Quotterim invasion numbers less than two hundred vessels. A fine invasion that would be, two hundred against the fleets of Alexander! Would the Seer’koh press on with their attack once deserted by the bulk of their strike force? Would the Golkos? I think not!’

‘Would the Seer’koh press on with the invasion with Alexander’s fleets in orbit around their Homeworld, ready to pound their civilization into dust?’ Admiral Chenn of the Syraptose was flustered and turning red to match his uniform. ‘What choice did we have but to accede to Alexander’s demands? None! I tell you neither the Golkos or the Seer’koh would have reacted any differently!’

‘We would not have surrendered our Homeworld without a shot!’ Admiral S’kreen hissed. ‘But you were always the cowards. From the first you have withheld your support from our cause and counseled diplomacy over courage. Bah! You fill me with bile! I cannot stand the lot of you!’

‘Admiral S’kreen, the Quotterim lost nearly eighty percent of our defense force before we were forced to surrender,’ Admiral Senn’tyr of the Quotterim Admiralty reminded the reptilian commander. ‘Even the Syraptose, whom you so easily lambaste with your criticism, did not surrender to Alexander until fifty percent of their ships were irrevocably damaged and their planetary defenses were breached. They can perhaps be blamed for disbelief at such an audacious attack, but cowardice? When they admitted to surrender the Capital of Mira Prime lay without shields, helpless against the mighty Terran fleet. Despite your scorn neither of our peoples is without courage, we are simply overmatched and outwitted. What would you have done if a Terran fleet appeared without warning in orbit about Seer? Would you have sacrificed more of your people and vessels than the Quotterim? Would you have defied Alexander after your planet was completely helpless under the projectors of his fleet like the Syraptose? How much courage does one need to invite death without even the possibility of answering their fire? I reiterate what my colleague from Bael stated: you speak with great facility, but without the benefit of empathy. When Alexander’s fleets enter orbit about Seer then we shall see how far you go to save your civilization!’

Admiral S’kreen was about to launch another attack when the firm hand of Grand Admiral Khandar rose to stop her. The Grand Admiral’s eyes glowed softly with reflection, and his bearing was rigidly military. Soberly he told the assembled commanders, ‘This debate has no purpose, so let us put an end to it. Alexander’s strategy was unfortunately a surprise to us all. For that I must shoulder a large part of the blame. I did not count on the boldness of Alexander, though on reflection I should have. We’ve seen this elaborately covert turning movement used on the Chem. I am solely to blame for not learning from it. Enough bickering about blame then, we have enough operational necessities to concern ourselves over. The matter of the moment is reality, my fellow commanders, and that reality is plain. Under Alexander’s surrender terms the Quotterim and the Syraptose have politically and militarily withdrawn and renounced all ties to the Alliance. Therefore, I must respectfully ask the contingents of those empires to withdrawn from this meeting, and from further discussions with Alliance personnel. As we are still engaged in a military operation against the Terran Empire I must ask you to leave the Alliance fleet immediately. Transportation has already been arranged.’

‘And where are we to go?’ The Syraptose asked nervously, pointing out, ‘We are in the middle of hostile Terran space, and without warships of our empires. Certainly no harm can come of quarantining our contingents, if that is what you consider as necessary.’

‘Unfortunately, Admiral, the terms of surrender included a provision to transmit all available Alliance military data to the Terrans. To that condition both Quotterim and Syraptose governments agreed. This unfortunately ties my hands. I cannot allow you to remain on board my vessels. You therefore have the choice of remaining on board and being executed as spies, or taking the shuttle provided and withdrawing from the conflict. If you take my advice you will proceed to the coordinates on the Terran-Chem frontier where your respective fleets are being interned by the Chem. As a neutral and honorable folk you can expect just treatment from them.’

‘Once again we are left with little choice,’ Admiral Senn’tyr observed, standing with an expression of resignation clouding her fine features. ‘I assume this decision is immediate in its effect?’

‘It is, an escort awaits you outside the doors of this chamber,’ Grand Admiral Khandar informed her stonily. ‘They shall assist you as directed, which ever course of action you decide on.’

‘I am certain they shall,’ the Quotterim said.

‘Needless to say we shall choose exile to our own forces,’ the Syraptose told Khandar. He stood, making it plain that the only goal he now had was to quit the Golkos ship as quickly as he could. Khandar nodded, and the doors opened. Outside in the hall was an armed contingent of Golkos warriors. Without another word the Syraptose scurried out of the room. The Quotterim Admiral rose with great consideration.

‘I regret only that the present action is necessary in your mind, Grand Admiral Khandar,’ she told him with gravity. ‘The Quotterim, in my opinion at least, fought well against the Terrans. We were adamantly set upon supporting our part of this Galactic responsibility despite our doubts. That this calamity has forced us to divert our course is unfortunate, but it is not treasonous. I hope it will be remembered that Quotterim died fighting the Terrans, not running from them.’

‘From the Terran communiqués I’ve perused I hold the professional opinion that your people fought quite well, Admiral,’ Khandar told her evenly. ‘Considering our history with Alexander’s fleets I consider that high praise indeed. Believe me when I tell you that this required action is personally regrettable.’

The Quotterim nodded, bowing, ‘It has been an honor, Grand Admiral.’

Khandar simply nodded, and watched the Quotterim leave the chamber followed by the Bael.

A stern troop of Golkos led the representatives of the defeated Alliance states down the corridor. The head of the Syraptose contingent asked the sergeant of the guard where they were going. His voice betrayed his anxiety, and made it apparent that he thought the Golkos more than likely to betray them to some terrible end.

The Golkos locked his eyes impassively on the Syraptose Admiral, seeming neither antagonistic or friendly. Her voice was respectful, however, as she informed the Syraptose that her orders were simply to escort the representatives to the shuttle bay, where they would disembark the Alliance warship. The explanation seemed to soothe the jangled nerves of the Syraptose, and in a few moments, as if to confirm the Golkos’s statement the airlock to the hanger became visible. The Quotterim displayed no emotion, simply following their comrades in defeat silently; a stark contrast to the noticeable Syraptose agitation. When they reached the airlock a large shuttle was plainly visible through the bay window. The Golkos escort halted at the airlock doors, the sergeant punching in the access code. As the doors opened the Syraptose fairly flew into the bay, making straight for the shuttle. The other representatives followed at a more dignified pace. The Quotterim came last in measured certain steps, not taking any note that the Golkos failed to join them.

As she passed the commander of the guard, Admiral Senn’tyr said, ‘Thank you for your service, Sergeant and good fortune in your continuing endeavors. May the Golkos not meet the same fate as my people.’

The Sergeant saluted, ‘Have a pleasant trip Admiral.’

The Sergeant’s response almost reassured Admiral Senn’tyr that the Golkos might not, after all, execute them. That reassurance faded as she heard the airlock door close behind them. She smiled to herself, resigned to the knowledge that this ending was nearly assured from the moment she received the ethernet from her government. Ah well, she thought, looking about the hanger, empty of everything but the shuttle, the other Alliance representatives and the Quotterim; this was certainly more desirable than the blaster squads used against the Terrans! She glanced at her party, each looking to her for guidance. Admiral Senn’tyr smiled, and pointed at the Syraptose. The larger beings reached the shuttle only to find its doors closed to them. Their relief disappeared in newfound fear, and they pounded upon the vehicle’s smooth skin, crying out in anger and frustration.

‘You see the Syraptose have finally discovered what we knew for certain,’ she told her colleagues. ‘So much the stranger that they, who are so much less trusting and less stalwart than ourselves, have probably not foreseen this eventuality or done anything whatsoever to prepare themselves for the inevitable. Unfortunately, it is too late for preparation now!’ As she spoke a red light flashed in the bay, and a siren warbled. The Syraptose looked wildly about them, uncertain as to what was happening. When they heard the locks to the hanger doors unlatch they rushed to the hanger window, pounding on the transparency and calling out that a mistake had been made, they were not yet in their shuttle! Admiral Senn’tyr shook her delicate head as she linked arms with her colleagues.

‘Denial to the last!’

A rumbling roar drowned filled the hanger, and the hungry winds reached for the beings, dragging them to the far end of the bay where the velvet darkness of the star field beckoned like a waiting maw. The Syraptose were caught up like leaves in a storm, fluttering in the currents this way and that, their cries drowned in the winds and then silenced by the vacuum. The Quotterim quit the flagship in a tiny knot of sentience, quite alone in the universe.

Admiral Khandar clicked off his secondary viewer and without a word about what had just happened addressed the council. ‘I must shortly communicate with Pro Consul Mavek our intentions, and our advice. My preliminary intelligence is that the political factions of the Alliance, including the Golkos and the Seer’koh favor an immediate withdrawal from Terran space into a defensive posture about our Homeworlds. This is, of course, exactly what Alexander wants. We shall be completely divided and Alexander will be spared the difficulties of dealing with our combined strength. He shall henceforth pick us off, one by one, with a fight or without one. It is a scenario I can in no way condone. Militarily it is ludicrous, but politicians don’t think in those terms, and frankly I cannot expect them to. Politicians react to the populace. At this particular moment the populace, which understood our multiple front invasion somewhat better than our politicians, sees the entirety of our plans collapse. Now they fear, and rightly so, the same fate for our Homeworlds. That is what our political leaders are reacting to, and what we must address. Though this setback is gravely serious it is my personal opinion that our position is not untenable. Our Golkos-Seer’koh squadrons are set to converge upon Terra in nineteen decurns. Alexander’s strike fleets at the Syraptose and Quotterim Homeworlds are hopelessly out of position. They are twenty-two decurns from Terra at flank speed. Our flank attacks by the Syraptose and Quotterim, despite their defeat, have served their purpose. Terra is ours for the taking!’

‘We do not as of yet know what defenses the Terrans have in their home system, however,’ Admiral S’kreen reminded Khandar. ‘Do they have sufficient strength to hold their system until their fleets arrive? This begs another question, put forth to me by my government: do the Terrans intend on redeploying their fleets to Terra at all? While leaving their planet purportedly with little protection the Terrans have sent their fleets into the galaxy on missions of conquest. What is to halt them now? While we claim success in weakening Alexander’s Homeworld defenses has he not done the same to us? We are as vulnerable as Terra to an offensive strike. More so, in fact, as Alexander foresaw the eventuality and we did not. What is to say that Alexander will not send his strike fleets to Golkos and Seer, rather than back to their Homeworld?’

‘You raise the crux of the political argument. The geometry of our forces and those of Alexander aggravate the situation,’ Grand Admiral Khandar replied, referring to the holographic battle display. ‘Although we are only nineteen decurns from Terra we are fully thirty-three decurns at flank from Golkos, and thirty-seven from Seer. The Terran fleets at Syraptose and Quotterim are roughly twenty-one or twenty-three decurns from Terra, and as close as forty-two decurns from Seer and forty-nine decurns from Golkos. The math is simple. We can either reach Terra before the Terrans or we can reach our Homeworlds before the Terrans. We cannot, however, attack Terra and protect our Homeworlds. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that many of our warships cannot sustain flank speed for such an extended period of time. Already we are seeing problems. They are not serious at this point, but I’m afraid our vessels have not put in such strenuous activity in many kicellia. If we lose less than five percent of our forces between here and Terra due to engine problems alone I shall be happy.’

‘As for the Terrans who knows what their ships are capable of,’ Admiral S’kreen added.

‘True enough,’ Grand Admiral Khandar admitted, and then he glowered at the council. ‘Beyond all the data lies the true question, however: what is the true level of resolve in this Alliance? Alexander has put his Homeworld at risk in a speculative, but thus far successful offensive. Will we have the same resolve? Alexander turned back the Syraptose and Quotterim strike forces by conquering their Homeworlds. Can we win the surrender of Alexander’s fleets by conquering his Homeworld and possibly capturing him alive? That is the question we must answer.’

Admiral S’kreen hissed, lashing her tail at the difficulty of the dilemma. Although she was uneasy with her own thoughts as the Grand Admiral’s Lieutenant she felt it her duty to speak first regarding the Admiral’s question. Her voice, though it passed through a mechanical voice box, nevertheless displayed the emotion and stress of the moment. Her eyes roved the table, jumping from one participant to the next, her claws nervously tapping the hard surface of the table.

‘Politician’s crave surety in military matters, knowing full well it is impossible to give. Are Alexander’s fleets returning at their best speed to Terra, or are they now turning their attention to our remaining Homeworlds? There is no acceptable level of surety in any response. We cannot even be sure of the Terran level of defense without those fleets present. Logic tells us they have denuded their defensive capabilities for attack, but what if they have not? We know for certain that they had roughly three hundred ships available in their Seventh Fleet before their defeat at Thermopylae. It is a sizeable force, though I note they have only nine remaining battleships. That is a significant weakness. We must assume, however, that their planetary and system defenses are formidable. It is not out of the realm of possibility, therefore, that they can accomplish an effective temporary defense of Terra with those forces we can reasonably expect to exist. If they can successfully defend their system until their fleets arrive we will be at a great disadvantage.’

‘I see no possibility in that, considering the forces Alexander can have at his disposal,’ Khandar replied. ‘Alexander has shown no tendency towards panic in his career. Aside from that our reports show a mass exodus from their planet. If I read his character correctly Alexander has already sacrificed the battle of Terra in order to win the war of the galaxy. That assumption taken for truth are we then ready to sacrifice our Homeworlds to that end. If in the end we conquer Terra but the act fails to impress Alexander what then? He will definitely conquer Golkos and Seer and our own governments will sue for peace.’

‘And if we raze Terra Alexander will reply in kind,’ Admiral S’kreen shuddered.

The room was silent. Every being envisioned their Homeworld as a smoldering husk. Alexander, his Banthror cloak sparkling with the badges of their empires, touring the remains of their civilization; clouds of ash roiling about his booted feet as he kicked aside debris littered with masonry, furnishings and skulls. The fact that Terra lay in ruins would mean nothing to Alexander. His people would survive to run the vast galactic empire that he built.

Finally Khandar spread his arms wide. ‘This is our quandary, my fellow Admirals: for if we cannot resolve these questions firmly in our minds how are we to convince our governments? I believe we must press on with our attack and hold Terra and her resolve hostage. We must answer Alexander’s bold risk with one of equal bravery. Yet I must convince our Pro Consul of such, and she must convince the Alliance counsel. That is a daunting task, especially if I cannot convince all of my commanders of the necessity.’

If Grand Admiral Khandar hoped for an immediate vote of encouragement he was disappointed. The only answer he got was a brooding silence.

CHAPTER 29

Captain Sergei Konstantinov rustled around the cramped bridge of the Gagarin. He’d been restless since the defeat at Thermopylae, making even his previous levels of nervous energy seem tame in comparison. Privately his crew wondered which would kill him first, his heart due to excessive adrenaline, or his lungs from the volumes of cigarettes he inhaled. Konstantinov only seemed to become calm when there was something to turn his attention to, so the crew ensured that they reported even the tiniest event. This kept him occupied, and when the Captain was occupied he was not prowling through the boat looking over their shoulders.

‘Captain! I’m receiving a faint distress transmission from the wake of the Alliance signature,’ the communications officer reported. Konstantinov leapt to the station before the man finished his report, and urged him to elaborate. The man shrugged, ‘It is very low power, sir, but it is there. Its location is not keeping pace with the signature. Its falling astern now. I would guess that one of their ships dropped out of superluminal, but I’m not certain. From its power level its obviously not a standard ship transmitter.’

‘Well, put it on man! Put it on!’ Konstantinov ordered.

The communications officer pushed his speaker switch to external and a faint static covered voice said, ‘… We require immediate assistance, please respond. To any Terran vessel: we require immediate assistance, please respond. To any Terran vessel: we require immediate assistance, please respond.’

‘Interesting, it could be a trap, but then we need something to spice up the day. Helmsmen drop out of superluminal! Tactical, scan for their ship!’ The Captain ordered, then he turned back to the communications officer and had a channel opened.

‘This is Captain Konstantinov of the Terran warship Gagarin; please identify yourself and the nature of your difficulty.’

‘Captain Konstantinov, this is Admiral Senn’tyr of the conquered Quotterim Empire. I appreciate the unusual nature of this request; however, my staff and I have been marooned in your space by the Golkos. I respectfully request that you take us into custody aboard your vessel.’

‘That is an unusual request, Admiral,’ Konstantinov admitted haltingly. He silently asked his First Officer where the Quotterim vessel was as the forward bridge hologram was empty of any ships. To Konstantinov’s embarrassment the First Officer merely shrugged and shook his head. The Siberian attempted to hide the vexation in his voice, saying, ‘Admiral, I’ve no problem with taking you aboard, though I must warn you I’ve little patience for trickery. Unfortunately, at the moment we do not have your ship on our scanners. Can you give me your position?’

‘There is no problem with your scanners, Captain. We have no ship, so it is quite understandable that you have no sensor return.’

Incredulous silence.

‘Captain Konstantinov?’

‘I’m sorry, Admiral, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. Do you mean to tell me you are not on a ship?’

‘That is correct, Captain Konstantinov.’

‘They threw you off their ship? They pushed you off into space?’

‘That is a correct observation, Captain,’ Senn’tyr informed the Siberian. ‘I regret to be insistent, Captain, but we were unable to fully prepare for this eventuality. These uniforms carry a limited amount of life support, and we shall shortly be dangerously low.’

‘Keep transmitting, we’ll be right there!’ Konstantinov ordered. ‘Helm home in on their signal, flank on the sublight engines! First Officer, clear the conning tower and open the hatch. Suit up. You’ll be the one fishing them out of the drink!’ The First Officer left hurriedly, and Konstantinov placed himself behind the helmsman for the delicate rendezvous. The helms navigational screen, a small flat plate viewer with geometric guidance cues, displayed the Quotterim’s transmitter as a pulsating beacon. Quickly but with great care the helmsmen followed the screen, and Konstantinov’s promptings. In fifteen minutes the Gagarin was slowing to a stop underneath a small circle of free floating beings. Shortly the First Officer reported that he’d successfully gotten a rope to them and was pulling them into the conning tower. The apparent success of the maneuver brought a chuckle out of Konstantinov.

‘Well this isn’t something that happens every day! Keep sharp on the tactical, if this is a trap I want time enough to shove those bastards back into space where we got them!’ The Captain, despite his misgivings, did not lose his humor over the situation. After all six Quotterim were within the conning tower the hatch was closed. The tower depressurized as the ship got under way again. This necessary chore accomplished the upper hatch opened and the Quotterim, the tallest of whom measured only a meter, carefully negotiated the widely spaced steps of the ladder. Konstantinov was openly amused at the appearance of his guests, though it was understood on the bridge that this freedom of expression did not transfer to his crew. For the Captain and his crew it was the first time they’d met an alien in the flesh, and though they’d seen photographs it turned out to be a completely different sensation than any of them expected. Some of the bridge crew turned intently to their duties, but most simply stared. The Captain laughed.

‘Well, well here are the poor souls who walked the plank! The blasted Golkos, they’re no better than our own pirates!’ Konstantinov chortled as Admiral Senn’tyr stepped off the ladder awkwardly and approached the Siberian. The Captain towered above the Quotterim, hands on hips, but promptly snapped a smart salute. The smile turned serious, though it did not disappear, and Konstantinov welcomed the Admiral aboard.

Senn’tyr seemed put out, and was quick to say, ‘I thank you for your rescue, Captain Konstantinov. I have no illusions as to our position. We are without ship, haven or empire. As beings go we are destitute, escaping with nothing but our lives. We are your prisoners, sir.’

‘Hmmm, you are quite glum Admiral Senn’tyr, but you have cause to be. It’s been a bad couple of days for your people, but like as not you’ve seen the worst of it. You’ll not be mistreated aboard the Gagarin, at least. Though I caution you against expectation: we’re a warship, not a cruise ship on the Black Sea! I doubt you’ll be as comfortable as you’re used, but I don’t think you’ll be as uncomfortable as you fear.’

Konstantinov was, in his own way, trying to ease the anxiety of these harmless looking being’s. He motioned for the Admiral and his staff to follow him to the Officer’s Mess, which doubled as the conference room. Space was limited on the Gagarin, as with all submarines, so many things had dual purposes. The Officer’s Mess contained just enough space for the Senior Officers on board to eat together. There was a jug of coffee, an ethernet viewer and tactical display. It was rather cramped for the entirety of the Quotterim party, Konstantinov, and the marine guards; so the Captain had all the Quotterim but the Admiral escorted to their quarters. The Siberian remained with the Admiral and a marine.

Konstantinov poured himself some coffee, and provided some water for Admiral Senn’tyr at the Quotterim’s request. While the Quotterim sat at the table, Konstantinov lounged in the corner of the room. Sipping his coffee the Captain cocked his head and studied his guest minutely.

‘Admiral let me set your mind at ease. Terran doctrine frowns upon the mistreatment of prisoners. Your party and yourself shall not be physically or mentally abused, at least not on purpose. We are, however, unfamiliar with your physiology so if there are certain requirements we need to account for, or certain questions we need to address, then you need to let us know. Is that understood?’ When the Quotterim assented he continued. ‘Now as to our intentions I cannot honestly answer all you might wish to know. For the time being you will be detained, but as I said previously this is a warship. It is not a prison ship. As our two states were until very recently at war I shall seek guidance on more permanent accommodations. At the moment is there any particular need you and your people require?’

Admiral Senn’tyr shrugged in a very Terran manner, saying, ‘That is difficult to say, Captain, we drink water as do you, but we left without the Golkos without any of our personal stores or equipment. At the moment I have no way of telling whether or not your food is suitable for our physiology. I doubt that the problem was of particular concern to Grand Admiral Khandar.’

At the mentioning of the Golkos commander Captain Konstantinov’s brow rose. ‘Actually, I think we can solve that once I talk to headquarters,’ he said, addressing the Quotterim’s concern first. ‘We have contingents of Chem and Scythians acting as neutral observers, and doubtless they can help us in this matter. It might help me, however, to know more about how you came to be here, Admiral. Can you enlighten me?’

The Quotterim commander told his story to a fascinated Captain Konstantinov. She omitted nothing of the details of the final council with the Grand Admiral, to whom she felt no lasting loyalty. When it came to the moment where the Quotterim were expelled from the Golkos flagship Konstantinov admired the Quotterim’s ingenuity and foresight, but was horrified to find that the Syraptose and Bael had joined their comrades. All too obviously the Terran assumed he’d left the Syraptose in space, and the Quotterim had not thought their confederates important enough to warrant their attention. Senn’tyr allayed his host’s misgivings.

‘Unfortunately our former allies were unprepared for this eventuality. While all uniforms possess a temporary sustaining field in their design the Syraptose and the Bael did not supplement their suits with emergency power packs. It is an interesting point of distinction in our two peoples. Neither the Quotterim or the Syraptose possess any significant amount of trust for the Golkos or the Seer’koh. The Syraptose, however, seem to feel that any overt action on this distrust would only aggravate their situation. The Quotterim and Bael, obviously, do not agree with that assessment.’

‘That is to your credit,’ Konstantinov remarked, adding, ‘I would now like to inform my superiors. I would ask that you remain, as I am certain there are questions to be answered.’

‘My only duty is to Quotterim, Captain Konstantinov, I no longer have any ties to the Alliance,’ Senn’tyr told him. ‘I will answer any questions which do not further endanger my people.’

‘I’m certain that will be sufficient,’ Konstantinov commented, and made the connection.

CHAPTER 30

She-Rok, the Hrang Master stepped respectfully into Kvel Mavek’s office. The Pro Consul was alone, waiting patiently. It was three decurns since the collapse of the Quotterim and Syraptose resistance to Terra, and a foreboding gloom filled the halls of the Alliance. Throughout the remnants of the confederation was a rising hysteria amongst the populace, and a burgeoning fear of Alexander and the Terran fleets. Planetary defenses were manned round the clock. Skittish militias rang the bombardment sirens every time a cargo ship dropped out of superluminal. More than once the planetary defense projectors opened up without warning, blasting hapless civilian ships to dust before ever ascertaining their identity. The cities were evacuated of all but essential personnel. Those that remained sent their families to the country, spending their days in a nervous malaise and their nights in shelters. Not since the ancient wars of Chem expansion had the galaxy known such fear.

Both the Hrang and the Kempec were sensitive to the hysteria, the halls outside the office in Roma were almost deserted; but they also saw a dire personal need in the danger. Once the door was sealed the Hrang bowed.

‘My congratulations, Madame Pro Consul, in convening this etherlink with Grand Admiral Khandar with the full Council as witness you allow him to make his case directly, and not through an intermediary: that is to say yourself.’

Mavek nodded. The astute Kempec had no desire to be swayed by Khandar’s optimistic militancy and then be forced to convince her political colleagues in his course. There was more to it, which the Master clearly understood.

The Master helped himself to a seat, his entire manner conspiratorial. ‘As I see it,’ he continued, ‘there are those among us, both personally and as peoples who will see the Grand Admiral’s desire to forge ahead with the offensive advantageous.’

‘If by that you mean the Golkos, I quite agree,’ the Pro Consul replied coolly. She punched up the necessary data on her screens and amplified the Hrang’s insinuation. ‘The Golkos by their execution of the Terrans have put themselves in a precarious position. Alexander has made the recovery of his people a very public matter, whether it is genuine or not, and there is little doubt that the occupied governments of Syraptose and Quotterim will furnish Alexander with all the knowledge pertinent to the issue. It will be a grave consideration for the Alliance, but more especially to the Golkos. I’ve no doubt as to what the Golkos representative on the Council will favor.’

‘Is that so unique a position?’ The Hrang asked evenly. ‘Certainly if we were to halt the offensive on Alexander and relieve the pressure on Terra there are many things which would come to light. Alexander would be free to pick and choose his worlds to conquer, and his worlds to parley with. What might an empire sell him to be one of the latter peoples? Information perhaps? Or is it already too late for that? The Syraptose and Quotterim were privy to many things in our councils, not the least of which were the authors of the Terran executions. The Golkos have their crimes to hide and rightly see Alexander in no favorable light. They are committed to war to the end. Yet are they the only ones? What else could our former confederates pass on to Alexander? What else might concern us, both of us, quite personally?’

‘Your point?’ Mavek said sternly.

‘My point? Only that Alexander has historically taken a dim view on assassination attempts. Didn’t we discuss this once before?’ She-Rok smiled irritatingly, his scaled lips showing short blunted teeth. ‘You remember, of course, that this support of the Terran assassination plans had the benefit and active support of both the Kempec and the Hrang. Now Alexander is inclined from what we’ve seen do be magnanimous in his victory is he not?’

‘You are correct,’ Mavek admitted. ‘Alexander has extended very reasonable terms to both the Quotterim and the Syraptose. To each empire he has extended the rights he gave the Scythians; that is the right to keep their Homeworlds inviolate, and full memberships in their so-called Galactic Federation. Both worlds must allow colonization by other members of the Galactic Federation on all habitable planets without the Homeworlds, but they also have those rights in Terran space. It is disturbing, though on the surface reasonable.’

‘He has even gone so far as to grant them a quota of two hundred and fifty ships for a Homeworld defense force; the rest to enter a Galactic Defense Fleet,’ She-Rok noted.

‘In other words a Terran fleet,’ Mavek corrected. Then she sighed in exasperation. ‘The conditions are patently unacceptable to the logical ear, Master She-Rok; but damningly reasonable to the terrified ear of the populace.’

‘So much more important our own resolve to this question of the war,’ She-Rok insisted.

‘Go on,’ the Pro Consul told him.

‘Alexander’s benevolence will almost certainly fall upon peoples, though not necessarily on individuals,’ he explained. ‘It is highly possible that given similar terms the Alliance members might accede to peace separately with Alexander, leaving those of us with blood on our hands to face his anger alone. Certainly the Golkos are at risk, and deservedly so, but included as well are the Hrang and the Kempec. Now our crimes are not so great in comparison, but where Alexander meets out mercy to a people he might very well deal his own brand of justice to individuals.’

‘Are we then to sell our states into this continuing war to save our persons?’

‘If the thought that the name of Kvel Mavek being mentioned to Alexander does not make you shudder then by all means withhold your support at the Council,’ She-Rok told his compatriot. He waited for an answer, but there was none. Mavek was silent. Finally She-Rok nodded. ‘Then that is four. The Hrang have sufficient cause to warrant a continuation of the conflict, at the moment, as do the Golkos, and your own people. The Seer’koh are well within the Golkos camp, so I would assume we have four out of eight votes on the Council. That gives us what we need then, for as Pro Consul you not only cast a ballot for your people but serve as the tie breaker. We have the votes to give Grand Admiral Khandar his continuance then, to all our profits!’

Mavek simply nodded grimly, leaving the office with the Hrang in tow to attend the Council.

‘Alexander, I think you should hear this: the Gagarin has picked up some Quotterim, marooned courtesy of the Golkos,’ Admiral Augesburcke informed the Overlord, interrupting his working breakfast.

Alexander just munched on his toast and stared at his computer screens. He had the transcripts of various interviews with Syraptose and Quotterim government officials on his screens and he was digesting them even as he devoured his breakfast.

‘Blast and be bothered anyway,’ he exclaimed, almost amused at the amount of activity he’d caused around the cosmos. ‘Doesn’t the galaxy know I’m busy? I have here the keys to unlocking this Alliance but I can’t put them together if these people continue stirring the pot. Not you, Admiral, the Alliance. Why can’t they just go about their invasion business while they have a chance and let me work? As for the Gagarin what is our intrepid Konstantinov doing with himself now? Since when has rescuing poor stranded Quotterim from some deserted world been enough excitement for him? Couldn’t he just leave them be and find some more serious trouble to get himself into?’

Augesburcke laughed dryly. He had come to know that Alexander’s sarcastic, sometimes rambling sense of humor was a way for him to handle stress. At this point in time with the Alliance fleets approaching Terra and the Terran fleets still days behind them Alexander was feeling the stress. Augesburcke coughed slightly and continued his account anyway, a certain sign to Alexander that the Admiral thought the interruption warranted. The Overlord glanced up from his screens and listened.

‘Actually Konstantinov rescued them from space, Alexander,’ Augesburcke told him intently. ‘The Captain reports that the Golkos, upon hearing the news of the Syraptose and Quotterim surrender, promptly jettisoned their representatives into space; making them, as he put it, walk the plank.’

‘Monstrous! There’s not a cuddly side to these Golkos is there? I suppose I shouldn’t talk, considering my past life as a pirate,’ Alexander mentioned under his breath, as he thought over Augesburcke’s news.

‘Unfortunately there were no other survivors,’ the Admiral continued, ‘however; the Quotterim survivors include their ranking admiral who was privy to all of Grand Admiral Khandar’s councils and his strategy.’

‘Indeed?’ Alexander queried, his face lighting up. ‘Now that might just be worthwhile! These interviews are all well and good but the Golkos and their cronies have taken great care to let as little news filter out of the Alliance organization and back to the member states as possible. We know all we need of their strategic timing and the requirements of Quotterim and Syraptose support, but precious little else. I don’t know whether we are asking the wrong questions or the wrong people, but an interview with this Quotterim might prove worth our while; that is, if they are willing to talk.’

‘After her experience with Golkos gratitude Captain Konstantinov reports that Admiral Senn’tyr is not only willing, but quite eager to talk, Alexander,’ Augesburcke smiled.

‘Excellent! Let’s get to it then!’ Alexander exclaimed, jumping up and striding out of his quarters to the conference room. In only a few moments the Communications Officer had the etherlink set up, and Captain Konstantinov appeared on the screen. The Siberian expected to speak to a representative of the Admiralty, but to his surprise it was Alexander himself who appeared on his viewer.

‘Good morning Captain Konstantinov,’ Alexander greeted him. ‘It seems you’ve been busy again. You have a nose for the ball, so to speak, as things continue to happen wherever you go. I understand you’ve picked up some guests?’

‘That is correct, Overlord!’ Konstantinov informed him excitedly, and he hesitated, awaiting Alexander’s next question. When Alexander merely nodded and raised a brow the Siberian understood he was to tell his story. He dove right in, snapping off words like a whirling whip. As Alexander failed to interrupt him, instead listening patiently, Konstantinov relaxed and by the end of his report his manner was clear and concise.

‘Excellent, well done Captain!’ Alexander congratulated him. ‘Now is Admiral Senn’tyr available, I have some questions I wish to put to her?’

‘Directly, Overlord,’ the Captain answered, and shortly the small Quotterim appeared before Alexander. Despite the vast distance she was clearly uncomfortable with the interview. Her wispy whiskers twitched and her eyes stared everywhere but at Alexander.

‘Good morning Admiral Senn’tyr, I trust my Captain and his crew are seeing to your needs?’

‘I have no complaints whatsoever with the treatment we have received under Captain Konstantinov’s stewardship; especially considering the circumstances of our presence in your space.’ The Quotterim told him, adding, ‘I am certain that Captain Konstantinov has expressed my willingness to discuss my experiences in this unfortunate matter, and that is the reason for this interview. Let me only say that this is true with regard to any information of the Alliance save that which would prove detrimental to Quottera. After my recent adventures I have no loyalty to the Alliance, but I will not betray my people or my world.’

‘I trust I will have no reason to ask you to do as much,’ Alexander told her. ‘Forgive me beforehand if I dispense with the formalities of diplomacy and get to the point, my time is not my own.’

‘I am at your leisure, Overlord,’ Senn’tyr assured him.

‘Very well, may I first ask you to give me an account, as briefly as you can, of your experiences since you were assigned to the Alliance fleet of the Golkos and Seer’koh? I am especially interested in all of your observations and dealings with the Grand Admiral.’

Senn’tyr nodded, understanding the nature of the question and launched into a detailed, but concise history of the combined fleet. It was in this way that Alexander discovered the struggle and eventual ascendency of Grand Admiral Khandar and all the intimacies of the Alliance fleet. When the Quotterim finished with an account of her final council aboard the flagship Alexander asked her to give her impression of the Grand Admiral. She thought for a moment before answering, but when she did her response was firm and authoritive, as if it was a subject which visited her often.

‘Khandar is decidedly the most intelligent and flexible Golkos I’ve ever known. He has the rare capacity to look beyond glory, cruelty and dominanceall well documented Golkos passionsand balances them with an intellectual view. It is strange for me to say it but I do not think the presumed execution of my party, and the actual execution of the other Alliance representatives, was anything more than Khandar carrying out his government’s policy. It was a decision beyond even his authority to alter, and I am certain similar, though more effective measures have been carried out against my people and our former confederates now in the Alliance government. This is quite simply their way, and you must be prepared for such a possibility when you place yourself under their power. It is similar to what happened to your own people, Overlord. There was no personal animosity towards the Terrans; it was simply a matter of Golkos policy. They executed your people without even giving thought to informing or consulting the rest of the Alliance.’

Alexander straightened as if he’d been shot. No information had come through their previous interviews regarding the Terran hostages as the Alliance Council had actually been very careful to keep the information censored. Khandar knew, however, and he’d addressed the fact to his staff when discussing the conquering of Terra. He was against the execution of prisoners unless it could be effective in gaining concessions from Alexander; but he lost little sleep over the crime and failed to understand that it was any more than a political ploy of Alexander’s. To the Overlord of the Terran Empire, however, the news was a blow. He’d feared it, but there was a great gulf of hope between the fear of tragedy and its reality. The very senselessness of the killings made them all the more difficult to understand. Alexander sighed with genuine pain.

‘So my people are all dead?’ It was a statement, not a fact, though it begged confirmation.

The Quotterim was understandably agitated, now fearing to give any response. When Alexander’s burning green eyes looked across space to her own, however, she felt rather than knew herself to answer, ‘Yes, Overlord, the Golkos executed them all after interrogating them. I must stress, however, that it was done without the approval or even the knowledge of any Quotterim, or indeed any other state of the Alliance.’

‘In your silence and in your support are you not guilty of complicity in this crime?’ Alexander’s voice sunk to a terrifying baritone.

‘Perhaps, but we were swayed by fear of conquest, and small knowledge of Terrans,’ the Quotterim said quickly, almost desperately. ‘We lamented the loss of life, but in truth it was not considered to be anything more than an inconvenience.’

‘An inconvenience? You call the execution of two thousand one hundred and thirty-one people an inconvenience and the Alliance dares to brand me a barbarian?’ Alexander thundered, pounding the table.

‘We could not assume anything else based upon our limited knowledge of your people, Alexander,’ Senn’tyr replied, shaking uncontrollably. ‘Our data from the Scythians told us that over one hundred million Terrans had been executed over the last centum by their own species! In light of that we did not consider it a grave matter. I can only plead that we were misled by the Scythians.’

Admiral Senn’tyr expected Alexander to conclude his rage with an order to execute her and her party, possibly her planet. Instead his eyes suddenly closed and his shoulders slumped. He grasped his temples and his voice became a hoarse whisper. ‘So our crimes of the past continue to haunt us. The mound of innocents grows, and the fear of its stench ruins otherwise honorable folk.’ When he looked up at Admiral Senn’tyr again he looked old and tired. ‘You need not fear my retribution, Admiral. I’ll not take it out on prisoners and, hopefully, future friends. You have answered my questions truthfully and to your peril. Your honesty will not be punished. I have only a few more questions and I will release you from this interview.’

‘As you wish, Overlord,’ Senn’tyr said, regaining her composure.

‘Admiral what is the sense of your colleagues in the Alliance after the fall of Syraptose and Quotterim?’

‘There is a cataract of Galactic-wide panic; that is the closest allegory I can offer. From the reports discussed on board Grand Admiral Khandar’s flagship it is clear that every Homeworld believes Alexander’s fleets will appear in orbit about them at any moment. This has caused an emergency reassessment of the Alliance’s military plans.’

‘Is it your opinion that Grand Admiral Khandar will continue to move against Terra?’

‘It is.’

‘That is my assessment also,’ Alexander nodded. Then he asked, ‘Yet what of the political aspect of the situation? Certainly the Golkos are for pushing on, but what of the other members of the Alliance? What of the Seer’koh, the Hrang and the Kempec?’

‘The Seer’koh will follow the Golkos lead until they see reason to go another way,’ Senn’tyr reported. ‘There is no affinity between the two peoples other than a mutual aggressive character, but the Seer’koh are intelligent and practical. If they see more profit in another direction they will take it. They are not afraid of the Golkos, and they do not like to be threatened. Above all they cherish their sovereignty and guard it jealously. As for the other states they fear Terra more than Golkos, and that is the source of the Alliance.’

‘Have you had an opportunity to review the main points of agreement between our governments?’ Alexander asked, referring to the peace agreement signed by the Quotterim and the Syraptose.

‘I have not, Overlord.’

‘Stand by one moment, Admiral. I shall send them to you. They are not over-long, and I would like your opinion of it.’

The document appeared on one of the Gagarin’s screens and the Quotterim shifted uncomfortably as she read it. After a few moments reflection she decided on a truthful answer, more because she expected Alexander would recognize a lie and become angry with it than her own courage of conviction.

‘I am pleasantly surprised to see that the Quotterim would still retain sovereignty and overall legislative authority over the current extent of our empire. Beyond that it is not a treaty we would have signed if not under duress.’

‘Do you have any opinion as to the mirror clauses? The right of emigration into Terran space by Quotterim equal to the reciprocal rights of Terrans?’

‘It seems to me, at first glance, to be an opportunity for Terran expansion into space, but not blatantly so. I must admit to some confusion as to the purpose and effect of such a policy.’

‘Understandable,’ Alexander mused. ‘Let me ask you this; are the terms in your opinion a viable offer to a state as opposed to war or the threat of war?’

Finally Alexander’s line of questioning made sense to Admiral Senn’tyr, and the next grand phase of his plans was clear to her. She sighed and nodded. ‘I understand. You will fragment what remains of the Alliance and replace it with your Federation. I complement you, Alexander. You will have your galactic empire in all but name. You should have no trouble gaining volunteers from the Alliance. To give up so little sovereignty in the name of peace is too little price to pay when the conqueror of the ages is at your doorstep.’

‘That is what I wanted to know, Admiral,’ Alexander told her. ‘I thank you for your time. Let me leave you with a wish of good fortune to you and your people, and a final thought.’

‘Yes, Alexander?’

‘Simply this: if I wanted a galactic empire I would not take it through diplomacy, no matter how advantageous the terms. I would want my foot upon every world, and every world to bend their knee only after I’d beaten them down. That is the glory desired by the conqueror. Look upon the reality of our two worlds and think on it. If you can do that with an open mind then maybe you will understand Alexander and forget your own legends. The galaxy is a difficult enough place within which to live without fulfilling the expectations of others.’

‘That is a sobering thought,’ Senn’tyr replied, adding, ‘I will do as you ask and think upon it, as I expect we will have many dealings with the Terran Overlord in the future.’

‘That you shall,’ Alexander assured her. He meant to terminate the interview, but the Quotterim asked a simple question.

‘If I may impose on your generosity, Overlord, our families must assume the worst,’

‘Of course!’ Alexander cut her off, though not angrily. ‘I shall see to it that your families on Quottera are informed of your fortunate survival. We shall make what arrangements we can to have you transferred from the Gagarin. Unfortunately it is a ship of war in a combat zone, and unbefitting for passengers of a state at peace with the Terran Empire. We shall attempt to rectify the situation in a manner somewhat more dignified than that used by the Golkos.’

‘That would be appreciated, Alexander,’ Senn’tyr bowed with all due humility and sincerity, and then Captain Konstantinov reappeared.

‘Are there any last instructions, Overlord, before we break the connection?’

‘You jog my memory, Admiral Konstantinov, that’s right: Admiral. You’ve made quite a name for yourself on that boat of yours, enough for Admiral Augesburcke and I to be discussing your future and our needs. Happily there seems to be a commonality between the two.’

‘With all due respects, Overlord, I don’t wish to leave the Gagarin. I believe I’m more useful out here than at a command center!’ Konstantinov replied, flushed with embarrassment.

Alexander laughed, ‘Of course you are, Damn it! In fact, you’re so effective at being a nuisance to the Alliance I simply want to spread it about.’ Then he turned serious, and Konstantinov cut off his own protest and listened intently. ‘Understand this, Konstantinov, this is no mean engagement. What follows through these next weeks is nothing less than the battle for Terra. You are bold, audacious and reckless. The timing is right. I have no need for cautious commanders. We lost some good people at Thermopylae and I need to fill voids. Your name is up. Fortunately, I have something special for you. You shall remain in command of the Gagarin and remain in the field; but I am designating you Commander in Chief, ‘Wolfpack,’ Seventh Fleet. You will be in charge of coordinating the efforts of all Seventh Fleet boats. That’s ninety-four boats after losses under your command. What’s more we have all the boats from the Second Fleet, and the Fifth Fleet on their way to support you. That will give you another forty-nine boats to play with.’

‘Overlord, I …’ Konstantinov started to protest.

‘Damn it man I need you!’ Alexander cut him off. ‘I cannot be everywhere at once. Listen, Konstantinov, if nothing else lead by example. The situation is dire. I’ve got still got seventeen hundred enemy warships enroute to Terra! Facing them are two hundred and sixty ships-of-the-line and your one hundred and forty-three boats. Does that tell you where we stand? I’ve chosen you as CINCWOLF because I need every one of those boats doing to the Alliance exactly what you’ve been doing. Show them, teach them, order them; whatever you need to do. We need attrition! Just understand this one thing Admiral: every single one of you is expendable. If all we can do is ram them that is what we must do. This is our world, our civilization and our families we are protecting. We are the soldiers and we have a duty to perform. Is that understood?’

‘Yes sir!’ Konstantinov barked, ‘Admiral Konstantinov awaiting your orders, Overlord!’

‘Attack Admiral Konstantinov, continuous unrelenting attack! I want no Alliance soldier or sailor in Terran space to get a wink of sleep from this moment until our fleet engages them in the Terran system! You are not to worry about our fleets, Admiral. As far as you are concerned you are alone in space and completely autonomous. The only time you are to have boats unengaged is to rearm or to die. Those are your orders. See to it, Admiral!’

‘Hail Alexander!’ was Konstantinov’s only reply.

‘Good hunting, Admiral!’ Alexander told him, and terminated the connection.

CHAPTER 31

Grand Admiral Khandar established the etherlink with the Alliance Council from his conference room. He was alone, and he initially expected the discussion to be with Pro Consul Mavek alone. When the full Council appeared on his screen he was surprised, but not dismayed. For his part Khandar thought he recognized the purpose of the Pro Consul as simple political savvy, and he could appreciate that. He did in fact welcome the opportunity, for although he considered it a more difficult task to convince the entire Council, it was also more likely to succeed. Ignorant of the private purposes of the members Khandar assumed he could never win more than half hearted support from Mavek, whom he took for a cautious and uninspiring leader. The prospects of Mavek selling her colleagues on their necessity of Khandar’s plan was well nigh impossible. More to the point Khandar felt time slipping away. In his observations Alexander was proven to be as astute in political matters as he was in war. What Khandar now expected out of the Terran Overlord was unnerving to the Golkos cause, and thus, his own. What would follow was another stroke by Alexander to break up the Alliance: an offer for a diplomatic settlement between Terra and the Alliance states. The consequences of such an offer, especially under magnanimous terms, was not difficult to contemplate. It would mean the complete isolation of Golkos with the Golkos fleet left hanging in hostile space. Khandar’s hope, his only hope, now lay in a swift decision to continue the strike on Terra. If that could be accomplished possibly, just possibly, his political allies on Golkos could delay any Alliance decision on Alexander’s offer until Khandar’s attack on Terra. With a victory over Alexander in his own system the Grand Admiral might be able to avert disaster. Therefore, it was a grim but determined Khandar of Golkos who appeared on the etherlink before the Alliance Council.

‘The Alliance Council greets you in grave times, Grand Admiral,’ Kvel Mavek opened sternly. ‘With the fall of Syraptose and Quotterim the Alliance military offensive against Terra has lost two of its three invasion fronts. The surprise attacks by Alexander’s fleets on our allies have spread fear amongst our citizens. We prepared for a war fought in Terran space, not our own. Now, however, we face the prospect that those same fleets which brought Syraptose and Quotterim to their knees will suddenly appear in orbit about our other Homeworlds. Our capitals are in turmoil; our populace demands a response. As the leaders of our worlds we must reply. Our question to you, Grand Admiral is simple: can we afford to continue this offensive against Alexander and Terra, or is it time to investigate other options? Either way, Grand Admiral, make no mistake about it; the intention of this Council is to bring this conflict to a close.’

‘That is my intention as well, Madame Pro Consul,’ Khandar told her, and he paced the confines of his chamber, as if giving a lecture. ‘First let me remind you that the scope of my vision is limited to that of the military situation, which is not as dark as you might think. Also let me remind you that it is the Alliance which began this conflict. It is not so easy to end a war as to begin it, and as the aggressor we would bear the brunt of an overhasty surrender.’ Khandar turned the full bearing of his personality into his steely eyes, glaring at the politicians. His voice was resonant, demanding their full attention. ‘You wish to end this, but what reason do we give Alexander to treat with us should we end this offensive? If we withdraw to the defense of our Homeworlds we are left in a piecemeal posture, subject to the full weight of his fleets one world at a time. Is that not what we feared in the first place? Is that not the very consideration which brought this Alliance together?’

‘Your point is well taken, Grand Admiral,’ Kvel Mavek interjected, avek inbut we are dealing with the present situation. What hope has our offensive now that two-thirds of its forces have withdrawn from the field?’

‘The Quotterim and the Syraptose have played their parts, Madame Pro Consul, and played them well,’ Khandar informed her. ‘I admit that Alexander’s boldness surpassed my expectations, and that I never thought our confederates would suffer more than a sound defeat and withdrawal, but what of it? They were meant to divide and divert Alexander’s forces, and they have accomplished that. Indeed, they have accomplished that in far greater measure than I could have hoped. Now Alexander’s two far flung fleets are deep in our confederate’s space, not on the frontiers. They have that much farther to go before they can return to the defense of Terra or strike our own Homeworlds.’

‘That is not entirely true, Grand Admiral,’ the Bael representative corrected, explaining, ‘either of Alexander’s fleets can strike Bael in a matter of decurns. There are no forces of Bael or the Alliance which can prevent that. Such is the case for five out of the remaining eight Alliance members. How do we plan to address that issue?’

‘With all due respects I do not think we need to, Councilor,’ the Grand Admiral said simply. He began pacing again, but continued his line of reasoning quickly in order to forego the expected, and understandable, objections by the Alliance member states at risk. ‘I ask you to look at the situation through Alexander’s eyes. The Bael are a noble people, and definitely a worthy addition to Alexander’s empire, but he has no need to attack them now. Why should he waste forces in conquest of Bael, or any of our other brethren in the civilized galaxy, if they do not have the capacity to resist his fleets in the first place? No, Alexander is cunning. He will wait. He will seek out and destroy the major threats to his dominion and then allow all others to fall neatly into place. Therefore, Alexander will come to Seer, and to Golkos. When those worlds have fallen the Bael shall have reason to fear Alexander’s fleets, not before.’ Khandar stopped again, hesitating until the silence became palpable. None interrupted him. No one had any suggestion or question which would clarify their course. The Council slipped into the apathy of the observer, disconnected from events, and looking to simply hang on to the tidal wave which swept over them. It was exactly the mood Khandar wished for, and he pounced on it. ‘The only way out of this is to persevere, together, to the full intent of our original plan. The Terrans cannot halt our advance on their Homeworld, and I do not think the y have the forces necessary to defeat us. If we can agree to a few decands of patience I shall take Terra and force a peace on Alexander; a peace on our terms! That is how this war shall end!’

There was a somber silence on the other end of the etherlink. The Councilors queried each other in low monotone voices for only a moment, and then Mavek looked across the vastness of space and said simply, ‘You have our best wishes Grand Admiral.’ The ethernet then went dark.

Khandar stood glowering at the blank wall of the chamber. He was now completely alone with his thoughts, with no one, not even Admiral S’kreen to play the devil’s advocate. He needed no one, as there was not a being in the fleet, or within all the Alliance who did not realize the knife’s edge his world stood upon. He dimmed the lights to reflect his mood, and set out once again pacing the length of the chamber. To anyone listening his voice would have been an inaudible whisper, something felt not heard. To Khandar, however, it was a booming trumpet of thunder; at once invigorating and terrifying.

‘I can now resolve myself to an immortal coup: the taking of Alexander’s world, the near mythical Terra! Whatever the outcome of this war that shall be my legacy! Whether we stand or fall shall be of little consequence to history, but that Alexander could not meet my strength in the defense of his own will be a black mark upon his memory and a shining medallion on my own! Yet what after? Do not the victors write history? I myself doubt the very tenet of my strategy: to bring Alexander to the bargaining table with Terra as the balance. Will Alexander concede to peace and so leave this blight on his record uncontested? Never! He would not be remembered as such. Yet would Alexander leave his own world open to bitter defeat; subject to rape and slaughter without his own presence in defense? I find that equally difficult to believe. What then of Alexander, for that is truly the key of this tantalizing puzzle.’

Khandar thought in silence, pacing the darkened deck until with a sudden revelation, he stopped. The answer struck him and his eyes glowed a greedy red. ‘He must defend his own! That is his code, his badge of honor. Yet when all is lost in battle the wise general preserves what he can and withdraws to revenge another day. Has he not already accomplished so difficult a battle in his past lives? Alexander is wise and would not throw his life away with Terra’s future, not when he can bleed us white and then turn and rend us with his other fleets. When battle is met, however, it is not always so easy to withdraw. If we strike hard and fast enough then boldness may win the day. To kill or capture Alexander, ah, that is the true prize at Terra. If the fortunes of war shine upon me so brightly as to deliver him to that battlefield I shall smite him! Then shall I bring Alexander the Conqueror to Golkos in chains, to my world’s adulation and my everlasting glory!’

CHAPTER 32

Alexander returned to Terra the day after his interview with Admiral Senn’tyr of Quoterra. His reasoning was twofold. Reports indicated a rising level of hysteria concerning the impending Alliance entry into the Terran system. Alexander did not attempt to censure or downplay the news reports that had the Golkos-Seer’koh fleet only two weeks away now, but he wanted to lend his surety to Terrans everywhere. He made nightly broadcasts, preparing his people for the battle to come. He reminded them of their own history when they overcame the most dangerous warrior race in the known galaxy, themselves, time and time again through courage and perseverance. Most of Alexander’s effect was not through speeches, however, but through his presence. No Terran expected Alexander to be anywhere but in space directing the battle when the time came, but for the moment to have him touring the major cities of Terra leant an air of calm. The Terran Overlord was never flustered that the empire was under duress, and his quiet confidence was contagious.

Alexander attended the dockyards, spaceports, social events and legislatures on six continents. Behind the tours was Alexander’s interest in how defensive preparations were progressing. Terra already boasted a significant planetary defense system before the Alliance threat; a result of the Chem intention to destroy the presumed Scythian mercenaries. Since that time the standard array of blaster projectors and defense screens had undergone a radical and very Terran transformation. As Terran engineers studied and came to understand their purchased weaponry a host of innovations and improvements went into the field. Ideas that worked were quickly spread throughout the system, and those that did not were discarded.

To Alexander, who had taken little part in these earthly matters, the preparations were heartening and fascinating. Standing beneath a thirty meter projector rifle on the tropical island of Diego Garcia he listened intently to General Aaron Sharon, former Commander of Israeli defense forces, and now the Commander in Chief of the Terran Defense Force. General Sharon was a well respected commander Admiral Augesburcke’s Chief of Defense in CODOTS. When the CODOTS was dissolved the General retained his responsibilities, and since worked feverishly to overhaul and expand the scope of Terran defense.

‘The Scythians sold us nine of these guns,’ he told Alexander’s party. ‘It’s a good gun, though we’ve made some improvements. There was a good deal of wasted energy vented into the atmosphere and into the crust, which the Galactics like to use as a heat sink. We use this practice as well, but we’ve found a way to save that energy. We can expand the principle of the magnetic bottle which is used to contain matter-anti-matter reactions to this use. Under normal circumstances the energy is transferred deep within the crust and allowed to dissipate. We channel this energy via a magnetic conduit to a holding field in the seamount beneath the atoll and allow it to expend its energy on the matter there. Eventually the energy within the field will turn the matter into a dense plasma, which we can channel back into the gun’s atmospheric phaser. Part of the problem with a planetary gun is the requirement for it to shoot through the atmosphere. This requires us to focus the beam to minimize the energy loss. In reality, however, we still lose about ten to fifteen percent of our power to atmospheric attenuation. It’s not a very efficient method, but it is overcome by the sheer energy available to the gun. Ground power stations are capable of far larger outputs than ship borne engines, and they can be dedicated to the gun alone. Therefore, this gun, despite its limitations, can emit a projector stream greater than that of a battleship broadside. We’ve improved upon this though by concentrating on energy management and finding another method of allowing the beam to pass through the atmosphere. The basic theory was to use the plasma in pulses or ‘bullets’ of energy to create a tunnel in the atmosphere for the gun to fire. These ‘bullets’ are plasma bursts, and they leave a wake in their path which is a near vacuum. The best thing about the idea is the ‘bullets’ are free, as they come from wasted energy. Before we had to curtail and focus the power of the gun, and we still lost a great deal to the atmosphere. Now, however, we can fire almost as if through a vacuum. It took months of tinkering, but now I’m happy to say that we’ve got the bugs worked out and we’re firing at one hundred and twenty-three percent of previous levels.’

‘Impressive General, most impressive,’ Alexander nodded, ‘and you say this increase is due to simply finding a better way to get through the atmosphere? I am surprised, I must say, that the Galactics had not found a better way previously. If you look at their technology they have a remarkable level of ability when it comes to controlling the atmosphere with regard to weather, pollution, and the like. Why would this problem be so difficult?’

‘It was simply never addressed, Alexander,’ Nazar told him. The Chem folded his arms, head cocked to the side, gleaming eyes glancing at the gun. ‘Again we see an example of our differing modes of thought, and one of the reasons you are so feared as a species and as a being. Such an attention to detail is somewhat alien to the Galactic’s mind. We developed our weapons, and our machines to suit our purposes, but there is little exploration beyond that need. The creation of technology takes a great amount of resources. When this weapon was designed those resources were dedicated to it until such time as the desired performance was reached and then they were promptly diverted elsewhere. This desire and ability of Terrans, to endlessly explore for better ways of doing things is unique to the Galactic’s civilization. It is part of your psyche, it appears, and I am beginning to comprehend just how ingrained this need to learn and to change is to your people. My observations also lead me to believe that this difference between modern Galactics and Terrans is more behavioral than intellectual. I consider myself the intellectual equal of any Terran, but my cognitive training is based on a linear, you would call it stagnant, cultural development. Galactics are concerned with the status quo, and thus the maintenance of civilization, not necessarily the improvement of it. This is a result of a lack of need; there is no starvation, no destitution, and until recently no war in Galactic civilization. Each culture has its place and there are rigid borders set upon what is expected and required of people, states and civilization in general. That in a very simplified picture was the state of the civilized galaxy in the kicellia prior to Alexander.

This weapon is a case in point. It is actually a copy of the standard Chem terrestrial defense gun, and in all ways is its equal. The design itself was last updated a kicellia before you, Alexander, were making your stand on Stamford Bridge. There have been few significant upgrades to the design, and it was built for many kicellia of service life. It is a well balanced weapon with a good service history, though I know of no planet, other than Terra, which has more than five of them. The Scythian’s must have spent the last kicellia acquiring that many.’

‘Actually we scavenged four of them from former Scythian worlds outside their Homeworlds,’ General Sharon told Nazar. ‘We’ve found that virtually anything is available at a price, though unfortunately the well is drying up. We’ve pretty much exhausted the Scythian stockpiles. We’ve had to become inventive.’

‘Please go on,’ Alexander asked, walking around the emplacement and gazing at the Sun through the tritium filigree with the fascination of a young boy.

‘There are a lot of hodgepodge and makeshift systems,’ Sharon replied evenly. ‘In addition to the planetary projectors there are multiple emplacements on asteroids moved into high orbit. These batteries consist of smaller power projectors linked in series and dug into the crust of the asteroids. They don’t normally have the power to effect ships with potent defense screens, but we’ve discovered that linked together with their blasters concentrating on a specific location we can penetrate shielding. The batteries are fully automatic and programmed to fire on the same targets as their complementary projectors on Terra. In this way we catch any ship entering a standard bombardment orbit in a potent crossfire. They won’t be able to channel power to ventral shields without leaving their dorsal side wide open. Beyond that our major initiative is the mine fields. We’ve depleted all the available matter-anti-matter generators the Scythians had so we’ve resorted to nuclear again. Specifically we’ve found a use for the roughly thirty thousand nuclear warheads that have been stockpiled over the last half century. The fields are already in place with proximity fuses set. We’ve re-used the magnetic bottle concept to direct the energy of the mine more or less at the target. They should, in theory, be able to disrupt and even penetrate galactic shields. I think it will provide a nasty reception for the Alliance should they try and enter orbit outside our safe corridors. To further confuse the matter there are over one million objects in the fields around Terra, not all of them are nuclear of course, in fact some are simply garbage cans filled with water and tossed overboard, but due to their similarity in size and mass without a minute scan there is no way to tell one from the other. We hope to keep the Alliance busy enough so they don’t have time to look. The minefields are located in low orbits of one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five kilometers: standard bombardment orbits.’

‘That’s the optimal bombardment range for galactic style projectors,’ Augesburcke added. ‘We are counting on the Alliance intention of entering orbit for bombardment after they’ve penetrated our systems defenses. In order for them to have any hope of penetrating our defense screens they will have to enter orbit. Beyond one hundred and fifty kilometers their projector streams diverge and lose power rapidly. Interference patterns set up by our atmosphere and our screens similarly reduce projector power within one hundred kilometers. Therefore, the Alliance has a fairly narrow corridor from which to bombard the surface, and our defenses are layered to aggravate this restriction.’

‘Exactly, Admiral,’ continued Sharon, ‘In addition to these lethal defenses we’ve developed some added surprises which are primarily intended to confuse and confound. The Scythians had in their possession a dozen tractor beam stations originally meant for mining. They have the ability to move great masses at pretty fair distances. We’ve placed them at various points over the globe with the intention of using them to disrupt formations, draw ships into ‘killing zones,’ and manipulate the minefields.’

‘An ingenious change in their purpose, General,’ Alexander observed.

‘That’s not quite all, Alexander,’ Augesburcke smiled. ‘We have one more offensive program which I thought you’d like to hear about. I know in your former life that you happened to fly B-52’s. Well, we’ve found out they’re still useful as launch platforms. With a sub light engine mounted in the aft fuselage we’ve converted them to missile carriers. We can use the aircraft’s existing weapons loads, ALCM’s and SRAM’s with very slight modifications, in space. The nuclear payloads pack enough punch to disable or destroy a battleship if it penetrates the shields.’

‘Really? I don’t suppose that old bird will ever be truly retired except by combat. What about the rest of our aircraft?’ Alexander asked.

‘We’ve had similar success with the Russian ‘Bears,’ and the British ‘Vulcans,’ but the B-2’s have too much composite for the tritanium bath process, and the B-1’s, well the Americans couldn’t get them to work under normal conditions so we’ve left them to the museums. Fighters just don’t carry enough of a payload. However, in tests we’ve found their small radar signatures might prove confusing to Alliance warships. Therefore, we’ve put station keeping thrusters on a few hundred with minimal flight controls. They are flown from the ground by datalink. Their purpose is to ram.’

‘I can understand the amount of kinetic energy involved in such a collision,’ Alexander wondered, ‘but what damage can we expect if a fighter gets through. Can we take out a battleship?’

‘Each fighter has one of our nuclear artillery shells wired into her,’ Augesburcke smiled. ‘It was only a few hundred shells out of the fields, so no great loss. We would have done more but we’ve run out of sublight engines and thrusters; even the ones that don’t work anymore!’

‘How many of these space/aircraft can we field?’ Alexander asked.

‘All in all we can field over five hundred nuclear armed aircraft for planetary defense. The total offensive punch amounts to roughly four thousand nuclear warheads.’ Augesburcke explained.

‘That’s impressive, Admiral, General,’ Alexander nodded. ‘Four warheads to each ship. Things are beginning to stack up against Grand Admiral Khandar. He can’t have any inkling over what he’s about to face. This is hardly a standard Galactic defense. I imagine there’s going to be a great deal of surprise and confusion in the Alliance fleet when it arrives. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the essential part in all this. Our defense in depth looks quite menacing, and in all probability it is just that. The numbers are, however, against us. Even the energetic defense we envision cannot hold the firepower of the Alliance fleet at bay indefinitely; possibly not even until our fleets arrive. We must therefore add time to the equation and buy it how we will. Confusion is our greatest ally, in my opinion. The Alliance forces are attempting to coordinate their arrival for a simultaneous envelopment, but that is more difficult in reality than it is in theory. There is bound to be miscalculation and miscommunication on their part, and we’ve got to take advantage of that.’

‘We’ve been working on that, Alexander, and I think we’ve found our avenue of attack. Believe it or not the exact position of Terra in the Galactic charts is not standard. Apparently this was never a well travelled region of space. The Scythians, when they controlled this space, were not eager to release accurate data; which is hardly surprising. Therefore, there is any number of estimated positions for Terra. This is a dilemma for the Alliance as they have to drop out of superluminal to ascertain exactly where we are. Given the range of error in the existing galactic database the Alliance could mistake any one of a dozen systems for the Terran Homeworld.’

‘We realized this problem in our own operations,’ Nazar commented. ‘It is actually not all that unusual. Off the established trade routes there are many systems with less than accurate positional fixes. Most are newly settled worlds established within the last tri-centum. The standard procedure is to drop out of superluminal at a known location and search for the planetary beacon. Once that is located and the code confirmed the navigational computers can plot a course of entry into the system. Our plan for the approach to Terra was simply to halt in the region and scan for emissions. We did not expect a fleet to oppose us so the prospect of looking for you was not a great concern. The Alliance, however, will have quite a different problem.’

‘That is what we are counting on,’ Augesburcke smiled. ‘With Admiral Konstantinov’s wolves nipping at the Alliance heels they’ll have a busy time looking for Terra, and we’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to make it doubly difficult. The Galactic estimates for Terra are all within roughly one thousand cubic light years, so it’s not an enormous error, but there are still two dozen systems from which to choose. Of these fifteen have habitable worlds. We’ve chosen the one nearest in likeness to our own and set up a relay station. All emissions from Terra have been closely curtailed, but we’ve set emitters on our decoy world. We hope to draw the Alliance fleet to our decoy world and then harass them as they search for the real Terra.’

‘Like as not Grand Admiral Khandar will send squadron sized search contingents,’ Alexander nodded. ‘We should be able to further whittle them down, little by little.’

‘That is the idea,’ Augesburcke replied.

‘Excellent, but will it be enough? I suppose that is the question which entertains all of us now.’ Alexander told them. ‘We’ve done what we can on the military side of things, but the fact remains we’re outnumbered five-to-one with the Alliance fleet barely two weeks away. At best our own forces from Syraptose and Quotterim are fifteen days off. That’s a day gap we can’t fill with anything but courage and stubbornness. Twenty-four hours. Isn’t it interesting how such a small measure of time can dictate the rise and fall of empires?’ Alexander was silent for a long while, staring out to sea. No one wished to break that foreboding silence. It was unnecessary. Alexander’s mind came back to the matter at hand soon enough with his usual optimistic, if vague opinion of the situation, and moved on to the next issue in his mind. ‘Oh well, we shall find a way through this. If it wasn’t dark before the storm we’d have no appreciation for the sunlight. On to the evacuation: how are we faring? Are we meeting the quotas we anticipated?’

‘We are meeting them, Overlord, though not without difficulties,’ Elianna Mogahndi told him firmly. As the Secretary of Terran Emigration she had enormous responsibilities, especially as Alexander was usually far too concerned with military matters to pay her difficulties their appropriate attention. The Overlord had already addressed the problem, which his practical and altruistic mind saw as no true problem to begin with. Therefore, he mistakenly expected all to play their part and get on with it. That was the extent of Alexander’s patience for dilemma’s he didn’t understand in the first place. In response to Alexander’s raised brow she said, ‘We’ve had trouble with certain contingents of volunteers who did not want to be mixed with other contingents. The difficulties are racial, religious, ethnic, you name it. The quotas are being met, but we are forced to use military units who have better things to do. It is effecting morale, efficiency, and I’m afraid the viability of the colonies.’

Alexander struck his forehead in undeniable anger and irritation. ‘The fools; is that all they are concerned with, their own petty jealousies and prejudices? Do they have any inkling of what is happening? What kind of intolerable idiots are these people?’

The explosion caught the entire party off guard, but Mogahndi reminded him, ‘They are your constituents, Overlord, and they feel they have grievances without representation. I do not agree with their positions, or their actions, but they must be addressed whether we like them or not. The pace of the emigration both helps and hurts. The circumstances of the crisis are pushing these people to do something they ordinarily would not. These same circumstances are at the same time raising the stress levels of everyone concerned. Emotions are running high. These people are not just moving across town, or across the state, they are moving across the galaxy. It is an enormous strain and its bringing every concern to the surface. If they have time they will work it out, but we are pushing awfully hard.’

‘If I had time, Madame Secretary, I don’t know if I could move them at all,’ Alexander told her evenly. ‘Do you remember the stalemate in the Senate on just this matter? We are presented with a necessity, as well as an opportunity. We have no choice but to take advantage of it. I appreciate you quandary, Madame Secretary, but I want you to understand the full picture of what we face in this entire issue aside from the war. My advice to you during this time is to relish it. If we are successful in winning this war than your job will have become twice as difficult.’

The Secretary simply crossed her arms and looked sternly at the Overlord. He relented, and said, ‘You are in charge of the emigration. If there areproblem elementsin populations you have free reign to take them off the lists. Especially radicals. We don’t need anyone setting up a holy war on one of our planets. Will that do?’

She nodded, ‘Thank you Overlord.’

Alexander sighed, a signal to those around him that he had just purged his mind of the last issue and was ready for the next. They hopped in a car and drove to the spaceport. Within the hour Alexander and the entourage were in Cairo, and on the way to their next tour. Alexander longed for the relative peace of the Iowa, but he didn’t let the necessity of his appearances dampen his moods. The next tour was to take place at the pyramids. This was all too proper. The great pyramids were a symbol known throughout the known galaxy. The building of the colossal structures were the first event to win Terrans renown. The blood, sweat and ingenuity of the enterprise amazed the Galactics. It was only after further inspection, when the scale of warfare and conflict on Terra became evident, that this intriguing species was looked upon with more fear than wonder. Still, the great pyramids were one of the ten wonders of the universe.

Alexander was anxious to get going, but Nazar and his retinue were uncharacteristically late. When the Chem finally arrived Nazar’s expression changed the Overlord’s manner from irritated to cautiously inquisitive.

Nazar smiled and told him, ‘I apologize for the delay, but I’ve just gotten off the ethernet. That’s not so easy with all the interference in this system. My ears are still crackling from the poor reception here on the planet, but there was no time to get into orbit for a better link, and I had a feeling you might want to know about this. It should brighten even a grim Overlord’s decurn! As you requested the Chem Elder has been making some very subtle inquiries over the last three decurns. I just got off the ethernet with her.

She sends her greetings and her congratulations. Alexander, it was not as difficult as you feared. Once the terms of peace between the Terran Empire and the Syraptose and Quotterim were implemented and the Terran fleets departed orbit my government received inquiries from five of the eight remaining members of the Alliance. The inquiries were straight forward: would such an arrangement be possible for their empires, and what form of reparation would be required? The Elder provided them with the terms of your offer, and a personal Chem guarantee that the terms would be honored to the letter. Their unofficial response was favorable, though none would commit to a move out of the Alliance prior to an official ethernet meeting between yourself and their leaders. Apparently they put a great deal of faith on your word, Alexander, and they want the agreement documented with your presence.’

‘That is something strange in my experience,’ Alexander mused, ‘that is, to have a stranger’s word trusted to such an extent.’

‘You are no stranger to the galaxy, Alexander,’ Nazar told him.

Alexander nodded, understanding Nazar’s statement to a greater extent than any other Terran could. ‘Very well, we will accomplish the conferences at once. Who were the non-respondents, outside of the Golkos?’

Nazar cocked his head, smiling again, ‘That is the most interesting part, Alexander. Aside from the Golkos there was no positive reply from the Hrang or the Kempec, though the latter empires each expressed a very strong interest in discussions directly with you.’

Alexander’s eyes lit up at the meaning in Nazar’s statement, ‘Do you mean to tell me the Seer’koh are willing to withdraw from the Alliance?’

Nazar nodded maliciously, ‘I mean exactly that. Their only demand is that they not be held accountable for the execution of Terrans by the Golkos, and that certain planets in their empire be designated as ‘Homeworlds.’ They are hunting planets; recreational worlds the Seer’koh set aside many kicellia past to preserve their heritage. There is a religious connotation to them which they take quite seriously.’

‘In return they must immediately withdraw their fleet from Terran space, and submit to escort to our borders,’ Alexander replied.

‘That is understood,’ Nazar assured him.

‘By God’s Almighty hammer, never has a threat been halved with so little effort!’ Alexander exclaimed. ‘Grand Admiral Khandar I have you now! The odds are even!’

CHAPTER 33

The heavily hooded eyes of Hrang Master She-Rok contemplated the Pro Consul of the Alliance, Kvel Mavek of Kempec. His beaded skin flushed with the heat of the noon sun of Roma, and a slight sea breeze fluttered the light white tunic he wore. The pleasant nature of the day was lost on him, however, and in biting terms he described their situation as he saw it, ‘My sources have confirmed the desertion of the Seer’koh, Pro Consul. That knowledge is held very close, very close indeed. There are not a dozen beings in the galaxy, including ourselves, who know of it. Certainly the Seer’koh has taken great pains to ensure that the Golkos have gotten no whisper of it, but the rest of our confederates are not so careful or so caring. By my count at the end of this decurn Alexander will have sealed the agreements with all the former Alliance states but for the Kempec, the Hrang and the Golkos. Your stewardship has grown decidedly smaller, Pro Consul, and it is minus half its teeth!’

‘The Seer’koh abandon the Alliance? I’d not have thought it possible!’ Mavek sighed.

‘They saw no profit in their further involvement,’ She-Rok explained, ‘and it is very likely that Alexander was quite reasonable in his terms. To leave the Homeworlds inviolate with a sizeable defense force intact, demanding only access to other worlds and entry into a Federation. Those are not such bad terms when one considers the pounding the Quotterim took in a battle which took less than a eighth of a decurn!’

‘But to give up sovereignty built up over the kicellia, that is a selling outright of our beings,’ Mavek lamented. ‘Are we to become one great expanse of Terran culture? Will we be rife for wars of expansion, our citizens drafted as soldiers? What is to become of the galaxy we’ve built?’

‘Apparently very little,’ She-Rok told her. ‘Alexander is cunning. Why expend his forces when he can win through diplomacy? We gave him credit for his military prowess and his political maneuvering. We never realized that both avenues were actually one and the same strategy. Each served to divide us so that he could conquer us, one-by-one through combat or diplomacy. I believe it is termed multiplication of force, as he is accomplishing through both avenues what would take a much larger military force.’

‘No one wants to be the next Quotterra,’ Mavek admitted.

‘Actually my Quotterim contacts report that they are quite pleased with their situation, all things considered,’ She-Rok told her. ‘They take pride in the fact that they held the mighty Terrans at bay for so long. The Quotterim are not a warrior race, but they faced the Terrans with courage and resolve. Even the Chem ethernet reported their defense of their Homeworld in laudable terms. Their losses were lamentable, but not catastrophic, and the peace they earned is certainly favorable.’

‘You speak as if you were jealous of the Quotterim, She-Rok. That is dangerous talk even on Roma. Do you not recall the treatment our Syraptose and Quotterim confederates received from the Golkos? Swift execution is a perfect reason to hold my opinions to myself. I advise you to do the same, my friend.’

She-Rok’s smile showed his teeth, ‘You underestimate my caution, Pro Consul,’ he informed her. ‘We Hrang are not wholly inept at espionage or covert activities, even considering our defeat at the hands of Alexander. In effect our war was lost when our operatives were discovered, though we continued to forge ahead for a time. Do you remember when you advised me to forego assassinating Alexander, largely on the conjecture of you Mystics? I ignored your advice then, but I am no longer ignoring it. I have accepted it. There is no longer an acceptable hope of success in the exercise of that option, and indeed things have changed so radically since that time that I have no wish for the event to occur.’

‘Isn’t it too late for a change of heart? After all two attempts have been made, and a third is forthcoming. The wheel is set in motion and nothing we can do can halt it now. The Terrans, by your own last report, showed no desire to terminate the operation. What has caused you to change your mind?’

‘The reality of the situation,’ She-Rok said. ‘You see, my friend, Alexander knows all about the attempts, their authors and their supporters. You and I consider this devastating news from our own position and that of our worlds, but for some reason Alexander does not. He knows all about the involvement of the Hrang and Kempec in the assassination plots, and all about the Golkos interrogations and executions. The former he apparently considers frivolous, the latter criminal. Alexander needs a scapegoat for this war even as we do. The Golkos are ready and willing to fulfill that role. It suits their lack of flexibility and foresight.’

Mavek glanced about her wildly, and would have stopped the Hrang if she could. He only laughed and said, ‘Is it not interesting that we should fear the Golkos now more than Alexander?’

‘Is what you are saying true? How could Alexander come by such information?’ Mavek stuttered, obviously upset. ‘That data was not made available to our governments, and it was not known outside our Alliance Council! None of us involved would have leaked this information!’

‘Oh, but we did, unwittingly, when we dealt with the Terran traitors. Alexander knows his people all too well, it seems. Apparently our Terran confederates were not so trusted by Alexander as we thought and they led Alexander’s operatives to our own. Alexander apprised himself of every detail through the confessions of our own people. They had no choice, of course. Pantrixnia can be a very persuasive place.’

Mavek halted at a rail overlooking the coast. The waves were crashing in fury into the moss laden rocks, sending violently beautiful shafts of water shooting for the sky. The spray was so close she could feel the cool mist upon her brow. The Kempec laid her hands on the marble of the rail and slumped over it, sick with the realization of this new calamity.

She-Rok cocked his head and sighed. There was a sharpness to his voice as it whistled through his teeth. He observed, with some impatience, ‘You have not yet fully comprehended what I’ve told you. Alexander knows all. This war is over for us. There is no longer any profit in our efforts. Indeed, our only purpose for continuation to this point was our involvement in the Golkos murders, and the assassination attempts. The Golkos shall pay for their own crimes. There is no more reason for prolonged involvement of our peoples in this war. My people await my report, and I expect Kempec will not move without yours. You know my mind. What is yours?’

Mavek took She-Rok’s eyes sternly. ‘You are persuasive, Master Hrang, but you could just as easily be testing my loyalty to the Alliance as working for the Hrang. Kvel Mavek is no traitor, and neither are her people!’

The Hrang simply smiled. ‘Very well, I should have expected that. It is as I said: we fear the retribution of the Golkos more than we do the Terrans. You have tipped your hand, however. I and my masters know where your loyalties are.’ She-Rok reached inside his tunic and pulled out a tiny, alien device.

Kvel Mavek straightened suddenly, realizing her own mortality had caught up to her. Her placid features turned suddenly harsh, and she spat, fontSo She-Rok, from spy you’ve turned executioner! I didn’t think your people had it in you! Why not simply inform your masters the Golkos and let them do the work for you. They would quite probably enjoy it! Or is this your way of proving your loyalty? Come now She-Rok, we’ve been associates for some time now. Can’t you present me with the truth? Have I not earned that at least?’

She-Rok shook his head, saying, ‘Kvel Mavek, the present circumstances have grown far beyond you, or me for that matter. It is over, my friend. I am sorry that it had to be this way. In my own way I wished that you could have trusted me, but it is understandable that it was not possible.’

She-Rok pressed the contact.

Mavek stiffened for the shock of the weapon, but the only thing that happened was a slight humming that grew in her ears. When she opened her eyes there was a small hologram floated above She-Rok’s hand. The hologram was of none other than Alexander.

‘Good Afternoon, Pro Consul,’ he said gravely. ‘We have a great deal to talk about, specifically the future relationship of our two peoples. It is a relationship which means more to me than territory or badges, and it is a relationship which will, in the future, be strong and amicable. Why then, if we assume that such is to be, should we concede to years of war and ill intentions? We have a chance, here and now, to do away with centuries of mistrust. The first step must be taken by you, however, as only you can decide which path your people shall take.’

Mavek’s eyes rose to those of She-Rok, and she saw that the reptilian being understood her dilemma. ‘Just listen to him,’ he told her, ‘after all, it is the Kempec who are renowned for their diplomacy.’

Grand Admiral Khandar was in the middle of the thirty-seventh iteration of the computer’s holographic attack programs when an encrypted ethernet message disturbed him. It was of the highest code, meant for his eyes only. With ill disguised temper Khandar ceased his exercise and activated the security field in his quarters, locking into the net. The high featured visage of Karim Shekar appeared. Shekar was the Golkos political representative to the Alliance. Khandar had known her for years and thought her intelligent and capable as politicians went. At the first he recognized the import of the message. There was no humor in her Golkos features, and certainly none of the confidence his latest reports should have given her.

‘Grand Admiral, we are betrayed,’ she said stiffly. There were more words, but Khandar heard no more of them, he didn’t need to; the first sentence was enough explanation. Instinctively he knew what had occurred, even as he feared it would. As Shekar kept speaking, her voice growing more insistent, Khandar drifted in his own thoughts.

‘I had hoped to be wrong about my own suspicions, but I face an equally clever adversary. Alexander would no more miss this opportunity than I would. He has cut to the heart of our weakness: the very impossibility of a truly united confederation. What is to be done, therefore, must be done by myself alone; as I always thought it would be.’ Absently he cut the connection in the midst of Shekar’s monologue and called his guard. A troop of grim Golkos warriors met him outside his quarters. Without a word he strode down the battleship’s main gallery to the berths of the Seer’koh. Without announcement he punched his personal override code. The door slid open. A warm musty odor of incense poured out of the dim chambers carrying with it the enveloping sound of the jungle. Khandar did not need to enter the chambers to see the grasping but still forms of Admiral S’kreen and her staff clutched in the hold of their ancient rite of death.

For a moment events seemed to overcome even the resolution of the Grand Admiral, and his strength failed him. The loss of the blunt, tenacious Admiral S’kreen was a blow to his spirit as much as his arsenal and it affected the Golkos more than he could ever admit. In a barely to be heard whisper he said, ‘We have both been betrayed, S’kreen, but it is I who must continue this struggle whether it is the will of my people or not.’

The ring of the ship’s intercom broke his thoughts. Khandar answered only to hear that the Seer’koh and other non-Golkos contingents of the combined fleet were reversing course without explanation. Calls were coming into the flagship from throughout the Golkos fleet requesting to know the Grand Admiral’s orders. Khandar stared at the image of his Captain upon the tiny screen as if he failed to comprehend the question. When the Captain repeated his query Khandar suddenly snapped at him, ‘What should we do now that our forces are decimated even before the greatest battle of the kicellia? Attack, Captain, attack! That is the order! If nine hundred Golkos warships cannot defeat one fifth their number and subdue Terra then we do not deserve to return as skulkers to our Homeworld. The future of Golkos is now! It is in our hands, and we shall not meet our destiny with our backs turned; refusing battle on the enemy’s soil in order to defend the last of our own. Our battle plans are unchanged, Captain. We are merely free of the rotting flesh of the Alliance carcass. The war between the Alliance and Terra is over; and the war between the Golkos and Alexander has begun!’ With a last burst of venom Khandar slammed his fist on the bulkhead, ending his connection and leaving a bloody smear on the metal.

He stomped back to his quarters, placing his guard without the entrance, and withdrew. Khandar remained in his quarters the remainder of the voyage, with only his computer simulations for company. He ran them again and again, trying new tactics and stratagems; attempting to calculate Alexander’s answering moves. The mercury hue of his eyes grew feverish with lack of sleep and isolation, but Khandar refused to leave or to take any messages from Golkos. In the first decurn the Homeworld hailed their fleet every tenth decurn. By the third decurn only two hails were received. Both went unanswered, and on the fourth decurn, only eight decurns from Terra, there was no hail at all. The only information received over the ethernet was a steady source of static emanating from the direction of Terra.

CHAPTER 34

New York was a silent grey skeleton. Terrans deserted the once thriving city, as they did every other major city on the planet. Only the ceaseless patrolling of lonely armored cars gave any semblance of hope that Terrans would ever return to their great cities. For these days of uncertainty, however, the planet’s sentients huddled in the forests and in the mountains; waiting out the coming storm as they had for so many thousands of years.

Yet it was not Terra alone that waited nervously for the climax of the Galactic war. The final days were tense throughout the galaxy. The coming conflict, narrowed in scope though it was by the dissolution of the Alliance, still looked to determine the future course of the Galactics. Indeed it could be easily surmised that the prospects of a Terran victory were now welcome, whereas the thought of a Golkos triumph, with its inevitable war of retribution against its former confederates, was considered the greater threat. Terra’s sober desires, which nevertheless hedged on Galactic sovereignty, were more desirable than a rampant Alexander. It was a marriage of convenience to be sure, but one that the former Alliance confederates congratulated themselves on. After twenty-five hundred generations of peace and stagnation the reality of Alexander’s threat, as proven at the expense of Syraptose and Quotterim, was quite enough. There was no need for war when there was a way out of it.

Alexander, during this time, limited his formal duties to finalizing and approving the peace accords with all the former Alliance states. He wanted the agreements complete as both a legal hedge against the states holding on to their final agreement pending the outcome of the Terran battle, and a calming effect on his own populace. The former was much easier than he expected. As his conditions required no ceding of any territory the states in question were only too happy to comply. Alexander’s demands that all planets without the Homeworld’s be open to trade and colonization were readily accepted, though on the condition that Terrans never number more than ten percent of the population. His linking of a federation to extend the authority of the present Galactic Senate was seen for what it was; a throw for Alexander’s legitimized hegemony throughout the civilized galaxy.

The Galactics accepted this as the right of Alexander’s power, but they did not agonize over it. Alexander may well hold sway over the Senate, but there were always the Chem to help keep him in line. If this could not be done politically by the Chem then it could be done quietly by the Chem Elder. It was widely known even at this early time that the marriage of Alexander and Nazeera was not simply a political maneuver, but rather a sincere expression of their mutual affection. That being true there was every confidence that the Galactics were well represented even beyond their Senate.

As to the Golkos there was little concern, though not none. The Golkos were a fiery race, and well able to give the Terrans a fight. The greatest fear on the part of the Galactics was that the Golkos might indeed be able to take Terra, if only temporarily. When Alexander’s fleets arrived home to a smoldering husk there was no telling what Alexander would do in retribution. Alexander was dangerous in the extreme, a fact no state bothered to debate; therefore, it was best if his energies were channeled in specific directions. An enraged Alexander was unpredictable and quite capable of placing the blame of his ravaged Homeworld upon the whole of the galaxy, not just the Golkos.

To this end there was some hope that even the Golkos might see reason and abandoned the war. What better way could they hope to end the conflict than after their victory at ‘Thermopylae?’ The Golkos could claim, for history’s sake if nothing else, that they forced Alexander to the bargaining table, and the Terran Overlord was just magnanimous enough in victory to allow them that boast. The entirety of this scenario was presented, behind the scenes of course, between the combatants, and initially there were signs of acceptance from the Golkos. No accord was ever drawn up, however, for the Golkos government lost all contact with their own fleet. There was no word from Grand Admiral Khandar despite Golkos efforts, seemingly sincere, to contact him. As the Terran fleets continued to track and engage the Golkos fleet on its headlong course to Terra all diplomatic efforts were cut off.

Even without the body of the Seer’koh fleet the forces at Grand Admiral Khandar’s disposal were sobering. The Overlord of the Terran Empire was under no illusions as to the intentions or the competency of his counterpart. Over the weeks of the conflict Alexander studied every engagement and every scrap of data on Khandar, and he was on the whole quite impressed with the character of the man. True, Khandar had a ruthless quality about him which was alien to the Terran, but on the whole he found Khandar to be steadfast, aggressive and flexible. Having a reservoir of those qualities himself Alexander did not underestimate his opponent; nor did he subscribe to the media view of Khandar as a reckless madman.

The media reported on all aspects of the war, and they displayed their usual maddening capacity for uncovering sensitive information. That did not concern Alexander overmuch, though it drove his military advisors to frenetic frustration. Alexander’s main concern was the media’s habitual art of supposition; wherein they attempted to fill the gaps of information with their own conjecture. In just such a manner did the portrait of Grand Admiral Khandar the destroyer of worlds come into being. It fed the hysteria of the moment to such a point that Alexander had to take a personal hand in ensuring the populace that sufficient forces remained about Terra to turn back Khandar and bring the war to a swift end.

Alexander’s assurances had their expected calming influence; despite his detractors, of which there were still many, Alexander was a powerfully romantic figure to the people. In times of crisis such leaders tend to be seen as the people wish to see them. If there were flaws in Alexander’s strategies the populace was more or less willing to ignore them; confident that so long as he was present in the battle he would find a way to victory.

Alexander was, all in all, quite proud of his citizens, but not so pleased with himself. They faced the coming crisis with fortitude and nervously constructive energy and so did he, but he agonized over what he saw as a potentially fatal mistake in his plans.

As he told Admiral Augesburcke in the moments after the fireship attack on the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets, ‘I could have ended it right here, right now. If I kept the 5 and the 2 here we’d have had enough to wipe them out.’

Augesburcke reminded him that it would have been an all or nothing gamble, but Alexander still let it gnaw at him. Still, in the end, all the defenses which could be built were ready, and Terra was as prepared as possible. Alexander, his tactical error no doubt in the back of his mind, took precautions against defeat. All Terran computers with the locations of Terran colonies had their positions wiped clean. Afterwards even Alexander did not know where they were. Each had the ability to monitor the ethernet, and should Terra’s survival be assured the colonies would broadcast their positions after the danger passed.

The next days went by with agonizing languor. Reports placed Khandar’s lead contingents less than a day away from the Terran system and Alexander spent a final afternoon on the float house at Pend Oreille. There was a deceptive calm on the lake, as often happens before momentous events. The final preparations on both sides having been made there was little to do but await the joining of the two forces. The Terran Overlord reviewed their defensive status that morning. The remnants of the Seventh Fleet, bolstered by the Hashimoto’s projects and the new dreadnoughts now numbered three hundred and ninety-three warships. The balance of the firepower rested in fifty-eight battleships and twenty-two dreadnoughts. The carrier conversions gave the Terran force a greater number of capital ships than Golkos fleet over thrice its size.

Admiral Konstantinov’s submarine ‘wolf pack’ was still engaged in an unrelenting assault on the Golkos fleet. They’d inflicted considerable damage, tallying another sixty-one Golkos warships either destroyed or forced out of superluminal. There were no losses to the submarines as the invaders refused to alter their course and pursue. As to the estimates for the Golkos fleet Alexander could be fairly certain that he still faced some eight to nine hundred-odd warships. The information from the rescued Quotterim put the original Golkos fleet strength at thirteen hundred and twenty warships, of which one hundred and twenty were battleships. Losses to the Terran fireships, harassment and the battle of Thermopylae shrunk the Golkos fleet by a full third. Alexander was fairly satisfied with the attrition of the Golkos. To cut an attacking force by such a significant fractionespecially in their capital shipsaffected not only its striking power but its morale, and while the prospect of facing nine hundred warships was grim it was a long sight better than the four thousand that advanced on Terra only a few weeks past.

These thoughts in mind Alexander retired to the deck after the morning military council, intent on enjoying the remainder of the day. The Sun was warm, but not hot, and a hint of a cool breeze kept him comfortable. The weather was as fine as could be wished for, and the scenery was spectacular. There was, therefore, no reason not to relax, but Alexander could think of nothing but the coming invasion. The initial Golkos squadrons were expected to enter the Terran system at half past midnight, Terran Zulu time.

Nazar, a close advisor in the entire affair, could not share Alexander’s pessimistic view. He was, in fact, very much looking forward to the encounter. He considered Grand Admiral Khandar’s continuation of the invasion bold but foolhardy. He pointed out that the Golkos currently held less than a three-to-one advantage in ships, explaining, ‘That number is dangerously close to the limits of Galactic doctrine. A four-to-one advantage is desired for any major planetary system to be attacked with reasonable success of capture. This is due, of course, to potent planetary defense systems. That ratio was available to Grand Admiral Khandar with the Seer’koh fleet at his side. Without his confederates the Grand Admiral is on dangerous ground. Even a three-to-one advantage is considered risky; but with Khandar’s current resources, and considering his past losses, an attack now is desperately rash.’

Alexander pointed out that the Terran strike fleets had a lesser advantage over the Syraptose and the Quotterim as Khandar had over himself. The comparison brought out a laugh from Nazar. ‘The Syraptose are not Terrans! Even the Quotterim, who fought bravely and intelligently in my opinion, cannot be consider on par with the Golkos or the Seer’koh forces. You have taught us a lesson in warfare, Alexander. At the moment Galactic doctrine is being rewritten by you. Khandar must assume that Alexander’s defenses are equivalent to his fleets in tenacity, unpredictability and capability. If he does not he is simply a fool. I can say, and with some authority, that Terra is easily the most fearsomely defended planet in the known galaxy. If Grand Admiral Khandar survives this I will personally question his sanity. Why do you think the remainder of the Alliance seceded en masse?’

‘There is another question which begs an answer,’ Alexander mused.

‘Oh, you know the answer, Alexander, you knew it all along,’ Nazar reminded him. ‘Why else send your strike fleets halfway across the galaxy? You had this all worked out in that head of yours, even to the breakup of the Alliance. I wondered why you didn’t attack the Golkos instead of the Syraptose and Quotterim, but I’m beginning to see. The Golkos are just malevolent enough to have considered continuing their offensive after the fall of Golkos, if for no other reason than revenge. They could have reached Terra with the continued support of the Syraptose and the Quotterim before your fleets could have done anything about it. The Alliance would have stayed together; none would have deserted the Golkos after such a catastrophe unless they initiated it by pulling out and making peace with you. That was not nearly as assured as the surrender of the Syraptose and the Quotterim; and you would be facing three times as many warships about Terra as you do now. Yet as things have played out it is obvious that no planetary system could hold out against a single Terran fleet. With two fleets out in space, who knows where, not one of Golkos’s confederates was willing to risk being the next target.’

‘Yet if the invasion of Terra were to be successful,’ Alexander countered.

‘Impossible! At that time there were already worries within the Alliance, despite the loss at Thermopylae. That defeat may have had as much to do with the Alliance dissolution as the horrendous losses the Golkos-Seer’koh were taking. I shall remind you of your own propaganda campaign, Alexander. The entire galaxy saw the death of the New Jersey at Thermopylae, and it shook them. It was a Terran defeat certainly, but the galaxy needed to know just how Terrans handled defeat. It was glorious, Alexander, glorious! It didn’t rattle you, it didn’t even phase you. The Terrans were the warriors of legend, and answered their defeat defiantly to the last. With the ensuing capture of two Alliance Homeworlds and the renewed battering of the Golkos-Seer’koh the rest was simple: there were none except the Golkos who had any confidence that the capture of Terra was even a possibility. We are creatures of procedure and protocol now, through inactivity, and peace if you will. To expect the Alliance to make a leap of faith in themselves was to expect too much. You knew all of this, of course.’

‘You give me too much credit,’ Alexander told her. ‘I suspected many of the things you’ve said and acted on those suspicions. But who can tell in this universe what will happen next? The rise of Alexander to power is a strange and unlikely enough event in its own right. I will not take his successes for granted.’

‘It does not matter that you do or not,’ Nazar told him evenly, ‘it is the galaxy which understands the destiny of Alexander. Your victories were written long ago.’

‘You take from me the glory of accomplishment,’ Alexander said under his breath, grumbling. ‘I have never believed in preordained fate. If the galaxy believes Alexander will conquer all then that is its concern, not mine. I will not relinquish what victories I gain through my skill or the fortune I make. I accept the universe as it is, with an equal amount of luck and opportunity available to all. I do not see Grand Admiral Khandar as a madman. He is a warlord. A warlord makes his name known through the passion of his art. Victory is what he seeks, and no victory worth histories name is achieved without risk. Does Khandar recognize the risk? Of course he does, but the prize, a victory over Alexander, is well worth the risk. We face a very real threat. Khandar is bold and worthy of his position. This will be a battle well worthy of the history books. There is no surety in my mind who shall triumph. I look forward to it.’

‘As do I, Alexander,’ Nazar smiled, his sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight.

The opening of the screen door brought Admiral Augesburcke into view.

The Admiral saluted. ‘Planetary blackout has been initiated, Alexander. The relay beacons have been activated and all squadrons of the Seventh Fleet are at their posts. The Iowa is waiting to take you aboard.’

‘Status of the Fifth and Second Fleets?’ Alexander asked, standing and straightening his uniform.

‘Two days and three days respectively,’ Augesburcke admitted. ‘They’ve been at emergency flank for a week now.’

‘They don’t want to miss the fight!’ Alexander smiled grimly, and he shrugged. ‘It is time to go, shall we?’ Alexander turned with Nazar and the Admiral, striding through the house and onto the dock. There was no media there, only a long line of soldiery shielding the Overlord and his party from sight. At the end of the dock an enormous platform had been built. Upon it sat Alexander’s shuttle, ‘Terra One,’ a modified 747 with its truncated wings and sash of gold and purple paint. Alexander led the way up the stairs. The door closed. With a hardly to be heard whine the leviathan floated into the air and then with a low growl it disappeared into the afternoon sky. In every window there was a Terran face wondering if perhaps they looked upon their Homeworld for the final time.

‘Our scouts have identified emissions from the Terran Homeworld, Grand Admiral. The coordinates have been disseminated throughout the fleet, and converging courses plotted. We are now in the prescribed position for your spherical envelopment of Terra. We are prepared to drop out of superluminal, Grand Admiral!’ Admiral Moltor advised the grim warlord who paced the bridge feverishly.

‘How many squadrons have reached the rendezvous?’ Khandar asked.

‘Thirty-one, Grand Admiral; eighty percent of the fleet,’ Moltor reported.

‘The remainders of a fleet that should total thirteen hundred ships,’ Khandar observed, ‘but due to the damned ferocity of these Terrans it is now little two thirds that. Blast it! When shall the remainder of the squadrons arrive?’

‘They shall rendezvous within the next half decurn, Grand Admiral. It is a victory in its own right that we have been this accurate. Never have Golkos warriors achieved such precision against such odds.’

‘Then we have much still to learn, Moltor!’ Khandar cursed. ‘Alexander, if you will remember, converged two separate fleets upon Syraptose and Quotterim undetected and simultaneously! After weeks in space they coordinated their attack within moments of each other. I had hoped as much from our own people in this desperate hour. Let us not waste time on our own shortcomings, however. Our latecomers will serve as an active reserve. Broadcast all of our battle orders on an omni-directional beacon. Our reserves are clear to engage as soon as they may. Give the order to power the weapons and drop out of superluminal!’ The screens of the Golkos battleship showed the streaking stars slowing to a dead stop. A tiny blue starlike speck rushed out of the background, swelling into a bloated blue and white world of water and mist. Craggy brown continental masses peaked from beneath the swirling clouds. It was a beautiful world, and seemingly helpless to stop the hundreds of lethal warships which now converged upon it.

‘Shields on maximum! Scan for ships! All squadrons prepare to enter bombardment orbits! Report!’

‘Scanning, Grand Admiral,’ Moltor replied. A concussion answered Khandar’s question, however, and the main screens showed the flash of weapons fire from a phalanx of the sleek black torpedo shaped Terran scouts which had harried the Golkos for the last two hundred light years. Dozens of them made their presence known immediately, but it was Khandar himself who first sighted the great silver dreadnoughts of Terra as they sped about the blue horn of their planet.

‘There they are!’ He cried gleefully, almost drunk with the moment. ‘I see you Alexander! Now bear the wrath of Khandar and Golkos! Grand fleet of Golkos proceed with the envelopment! Bombardment squadrons enter your bombardment orbits and fire at will! Attack squadrons engage the Terran Fleet. You have your orders!’

‘Confirmed Grand Admiral! It is the remnants of the Terran Seventh Fleet!’ Admiral Moltor informed Khandar. ‘There are two hundred and twenty-five ships of the line, with seven battleships. In addition there are ninety-three scouts.’

‘We have them!’ Khandar thundered. ‘Engage them, Captain. Fire at will!’

‘Grand Admiral we are receiving a hail from the Terran battleship Bismarck

‘Put it on!’ Khandar ordered.

The main viewer suddenly brightened with the unmistakable visage of a Terran Admiral. Silver haired and stern he wasted no time with pleasantries, his menacing bassoon voice growling. ‘This is Admiral von Richtofen. You are violating Terran space. In the name of galactic peace I give you one opportunity and one opportunity only to power down your weapons and submit to Terran escort. If you refuse I shall destroy you. There will be no further parley, there will be no mercy. Surrender and I shall be magnanimous. Decide as you must. Richtofen, out!’

‘I had hoped to see Alexander at the head of his Homeworld’s defense, Admiral von Richtofen. No matter, I shall root him out presently. This day Khandar shall walk upon the ashes of the Terran Homeworld.’ Khandar cut the link and turned to Admiral Moltor. ‘Concentrate all attacks on the Terran flagship! Commence immediate bombardment of the Terran Homeworld!’

Even as Khandar gave his final orders the two fleets came into firing range. Despite his numerical advantage almost half of Khandar’s fleet was entering orbit about the planet and ignorant of the Terrans. Khandar’s attacking squadrons were spread out with the intention of providing covering fire for the bombardment squadrons. The Terran fleet, however, hurtled themselves at Khandar’s flagship in a tightly knit formation, concentrating their firepower. As Khandar’s flagship formation met the Terrans their numbers were nearly equal, but the Terrans possessed an advantage in firepower. It was almost a reverse of their previous encounters, but foreseeable because of Khandar’s known objective: Terra.

The Nived Sheur glowed under the full broadsides of two flanking Terran battleships and their escorts. Khandar returned fire, lighting up the asymmetric shields of the Bismarck like the eerie auroras on Terra. The two fleets mixed for several moments, their formations melding in a confusing array of streaking metal hulks, plasma and blaster discharges. Such was the power of the Terran projectors and the skill of their crews at high velocities that the Seventh got the better of the first engagement, leaving several capital ships damaged and shaken. But as soon as the Terrans broke free of the first concentration of Golkos they found the remainder of the Golkos attack squadrons closing on them. There was no respite for recharging their weapons or damage control. The Golkos engaged them immediately and with greater effect. The order went throughout the Seventh to break up into their autonomous squadrons.

The breakup of the Terrans did not make Khandar’s task any easier, but it signaled a small success early in the engagement. The vaunted Terran firepower was now spread out, and with his greater numbers he could hope to defeat them through attrition by maintaining his concentration of force.

‘Excellent!’ He exclaimed, congratulating himself prematurely. ‘Alexander must now attack me incessantly with smaller numbers of ships. I can meet him with firepower enough to destroy him if he maintains his attacks. The battle is nearly won! My bombardment squadrons are even now in orbit. If Alexander cannot concentrate his fleet upon them it is only a matter of time!’ Khandar ordered the main viewer centered on the bombardment squadrons. The tiny specks of the four hundred ships swept gracefully across the blue and white expanses, as his attack squadrons engaged the Terran fleet overhead. Khandar watched anxiously for some sign of action, the bloom of blaster fire on planetary shields, the glow of burning cities, even the searing fire of the massive Terran planetary projectors. There was nothing. His attention shifted entirely from the cacophony of the fleet-to-fleet battle to the stillness of the planet. He watched and he watched, but to no effect. There was nothing happening. His fist slammed down in fury on his comm panel.

‘Blast it what is going on down there? Why aren’t you firing!’

‘Grand Admiral we can find no targets,’ came the shaky answer from the commander of the bombardment squadrons.

‘Explain!’ Khandar demanded.

‘Grand Admiral, our scans show no cities, no industrial complexes, no centers of civilization, nothing! There are no planetary shields, no projectors and no power sources. Our preliminary scans indicate the entire planet is devoid of civilized life!’

‘Impossible! Our position for Terra was estimated, but how could we be led astray? What is the source of the emissions we tracked here?’ Khandar asked Admiral Moltor vehemently.

Moltor went to a board and personally tracked and identified the emission source. It took a long moment, during which Khandar paced like a starving Tyrannosaurus behind his back.

‘Well, what of it?’ Khandar seethed.

‘Difficult to tell, Grand Admiral,’ Moltor told him. ‘With the interference of our own defense screens, the emissions of the battle, it is difficult to isolate such a small source of power.’ As if to give credence to his problems the Nived Sheur convulsed under the shock of another full broadside. Moltor lost his hold of the board and tumbled over a rail to the decking. Khandar was spun back, crashing spread eagle against the bulkhead. Fire sprang from beneath a panel, immediately followed by the acrid scent of the extinguishers. Khandar felt the sickening sensation of weightlessness for just a moment. It was long enough for him to float off the deck, but then the emergency inertials cut in and he came down with a jarring thump. On the main viewer Khandar watched the majestic form of the Bismarck float by in profilefirst the sharp prow of the nose, then the enormous turrets, the black holes of the guns pointing straight through Khandar. Following the big guns there was the menacing superstructure, the rear turrets and finally the graceful stern. Khandar was struck dumb by the vision, for the ship filled the screen. It sauntered by him as if on parade, unconcerned, and indomitable. The image filled Khandar with rage and he roared, ‘Fire, damn you, fire!’

The Nived Sheur gunners answered their Grand Admiral’s order, but the blaster fire merely splashed off the Bismarck’s shields; the projectors not being fully charged after their last firing. Khandar leapt down to the helm, personally directing the helmsmen to follow the Bismarck and ordering the entirety of the Attack Squadron to imitate him.

Fury gripped Khandar so completely that it took Admiral Moltor’s actually laying hands on his person to communicate with him. ‘Grand Admiral it is a trick!’ Moltor kept saying, but it was only after the Captain repeated himself three times that Khandar’s eyes showed some sign of recognition.

‘What is it you’re saying?’ Khandar hissed.

‘It is a trick Grand Admiral! The planet below is not Terra! The emissions are coming from a beacon satellite in orbit about the planet. They are obviously artificial.’ Moltor told him.

Khandar struck his forehead with the heal of his hand, ‘By the stars how stupid of me!’ He breathed. Silently he cursed himself, but then he pushed his failure aside and the clearness of his resolve returned to him. ‘An excellent ruse but let us make Alexander pay for it at the least. Continue to follow and engage the Bismarck with all available forces. Disengage the bombardment squadrons from orbit; have them join in the chase!’

‘As you command, Grand Admiral!’ Admiral Moltor replied.

The order was disseminated throughout the fleet and soon the entirety of Golkos forces were set to converge on the Terran flagship. Khandar walked slowly to his command chair and sat heavily down. He watched the fan tail of the Bismarck slowly recede in the viewer, the glow of Golkos firing glancing harmlessly off her rear shields as the range increased. The Terran ships were tougher, faster and more heavily armed than his proud but ancient Nived Sheur, but he refused to give up the chase. When the Terran fleet regrouped in front of his pursuing ships Khandar knew they would not continue the battle. Their ruse discovered the Terrans called a halt to their mission.

A final message came to Khandar from the ‘Bismarck’s’ Admiral von Richtofen. He told them, ‘Consider yourselves warned. I advise you to leave Terran space at this time; if you do not you will never see your homes again!’

Then the Terrans went to superluminal. Khandar watched them disappear, but still with a soldierly eye. He glanced at Admiral Moltor, but the Golkos shook his head.

‘Each squadron took a different direction, Grand Admiral, there’s no way to tell which, if any, are towards the real Terra,’ he said morosely.

Khandar sighed with resignation, but his orders were clear and determined. He brought together his Admiralty on the comm board. ‘Send a squadron upon each of the departure tracks we recorded. In addition send a squadron back to this planet for a thorough scanning. Alexander is just bold enough to bring us to his own planet and trick us into believing we’re somewhere else. We shall break up the remainder of the fleet by squadron and begin a systematic search of every habitable system within ten light years of this position. The search is to begin immediately. I need not remind you of the importance in finding Terra swiftly. If today’s skirmish is any indication then it should be apparent to all of us that it is unwise to await the return of the Terran fleets from Syraptose and Quotterim. We have two, maybe three decurns, within which to capture Terra intact. Your maximum efforts are required by me, and by Golkos. Is this understood?’ There were stern salutes from Khandar’s subordinates as each signed off. Within moments the Golkos fleet was breaking up again.

Admiral Moltor approached Khandar, who was gazing into the viewer watching his squadrons disappear. When, after a moment, Khandar noted him the Captain reported, ‘The damage to the Nived Sheur is not inconsequential but all systems are still operational in either primary, backup, or emergency modes. We can get underway at any moment.’

‘What are the losses to the fleet?’ The Grand Admiral asked.

‘Not overly significant, Grand Admiral,’ the Captain told him, handing a slim pad to Khandar.

Khandar perused it without emotion, counting off the ships. ‘Three battleships destroyed or too heavily damaged to go to superluminal; two heavy cruisers; seventeen frigates and destroyers. Roughly three percent, unless you consider that we used only slightly over half our forces actually attacking the Terrans. Then the numbers look more sobering. Any estimates on Terran losses?’

‘There are at least three Terran vessels observed to have been completely destroyed, and there are seven that are heavily damaged. Those vessels are still within this system. They have rendezvoused for mutual support. Grand Admiral they cannot withstand the firepower of the flagship squadron should we choose to attack them,’ Moltor told Khandar.

Khandar went over to the tactical hologram. The Terran ships in question had reformed in orbit about the planet. Standing by was a formation of a dozen Terran scouts, providing cover. Studying the display Khandar crossed his arms and said, ‘This is truly a war for survival. Alexander leaves his stricken ships behind to fend for themselves rather than waste his precious forces in a vain attempt to defend them. Even we have been forced into this. How many ships have we left behind Moltor, three hundred and fifty or so?’

‘Grand Admiral it would be a great victory to boast of to the galaxy and to our people,’ Moltor remarked. ‘You have driven the Terrans from a planet in their space and destroyed their defense force utterly!’

Khandar glanced at his Vice-Admiral with a hard eye. ‘There is no victory for us in this Moltor. Alexander gained what he desired: time. That we fought him to a standstill is the best I can make of it, and losing two ships to his one at that. Further along the path of glory I will not go. What fame is there in salvaging this deception by destroying defenseless ships and defenseless beings? I’ve enough blood on my soul as it is, Moltor. Besides, the Terrans take glory in fighting to the death. They rally around it. I’ll not give them any more martyrs. It’s Terra I want, not a few more ships and Terrans! Leave them be, and plot a search course to the nearest habitable system!’

‘As you wish, Grand Admiral!’ Admiral Moltor replied.

Alexander watched the battle unfold on the Iowa’s tactical hologram. He regretted missing the battle but he determined not to leave the Terran system until the war should be settled one way or the other. The Iowa squadron and the ‘new’ dreadnoughts and battleships guarded Terra during the battle, and although the outcome was in all aspects satisfactory it was a tense ten hours before the squadrons of the Seventh Fleet covered the four light years separating Terra from the ‘Beta Terra’ system. When all ships reported back Alexander convened a final council of war. Shortly the entirety of the Admiralty, to include Admirals Sampson and Cathcart on a secure Scythian psionic link and the Generals of the Terran Defense Forces were present, watching their Overlord intently. Alexander addressed them grimly.

‘I shall keep this short as at any moment we can expect Golkos scouts in our system. The first stage of our defense strategy has been successfully completed. We have by the action at ‘Terra-Beta’ gained a precious ten hours at minimum, and hopefully significantly more time for the Fifth and Second Fleets to return to system. Admiral von Richtofen, Admiral Konstantinov and the entirety of the Seventh Fleet and ‘Wolfpack’ forces are to be congratulated. The next phase of defense will be equally important in our efforts to further confound the Golkos. Doubtless the Golkos have had some success in tracking the superluminal signatures of our returning ships. Soon a Golkos scout force, probably of squadron strength, will discover our system. It is of the utmost importance that this scout force be annihilated, if at all possible, before it can send our position. This is a difficult task at best, and very likely the emissions of the battle will still be observed even should the Golkos fail to send a transmission. However, if there is a chance to further the confusion of our adversaries we should take it.

‘The final stage in the defense is, of course, the conventional confrontation within our own system. I do not have to belabor the meaning of success or failure here. You each have a thorough knowledge of the battle plan. The Iowa will continuously update the coordinates of our attack focal point. The Iowa squadron will concentrate on the focal point with the immediate support of the Bismarck squadron. ‘Enterprise’ and her twenty-one dreadnoughts will be our ‘hammer’ and act as a floating reserve lending muscle to our focal point or support to squadrons at risk. When the Nived Sheur is identified we’ll let the hammer fall and take out Grand Admiral Khandar and his command squadron. Let’s see how the body reacts when we chop off its head. That’s the core of it, ladies and gentlemen. Beyond that you are clear to accomplish the objectives of the battle plan as the situations warrant. Your firing solutions are your own, and you have the parameters for maneuver. Should conditions dictate you, of course, have the authorization to take whatever actions you deem necessary to achieve victory. That is a broad doctrine. Allow your initiative to use it for our advantage. One final reminder, all Terran based batteries will be concentrating their fire on warships entering the bombardment orbits, and secondarily on extra-orbit fleet focal points. The ‘Wolfpack’ under the command of Admiral Konstantinov is completely autonomous. I caution you all to be aggressive but to remember one thing: it will invariably get confused and crowded up there. Ensure that your gunners are targeting Golkos ships, and not submarines or missile launching spacecraft. We need to make every weapon count. Are there any questions?’ Alexander waited a moment, and when there were no queries he addressed his own most nagging question. ‘Admiral Sampson, Admiral Cathcart, please update your estimated times of arrival.’

Admiral Cathcart whose forces would arrive first answered, ‘Thirty-seven hours for the ‘King George V’ and the bulk of the Fifth Fleet; two hundred and eleven ships. The remaining ships have throttled back due to engine problems. Their estimated times of arrival range from seventy-nine hours to ten days from now.’

Alexander nodded, ‘Admiral Sampson?’

Sampson’s dark face looked dour. ‘I am afraid we are going to miss this one. Odin can lead one hundred-eighty seven ships in the Terran system no sooner than sixty-three hours from now. The Wisconsin and our follow up wave are still eleven days out.’

‘Continue your present course of action Admiral Sampson.’ At this moment Admiral Augesburcke whispered something in the Overlord’s ear. Alexander nodded. ‘The superluminal signature of a Golkos squadron has been identified. Good luck to us all. May God bless Terra, Alexander out!’

Alexander immediately turned to the Iowa’s tactical display, where Augesburcke was pointing out the position of the approaching superluminal distortion. Alexander saw the small pattern rapidly approaching the system from the direction of Saturn. ‘Are you sure they’re not a group of stragglers from ‘Terra-Beta?’’

‘No, all of our warships are accounted for,’ Augesburcke replied. ‘We’ve calculated their trajectory. If they come out of superluminal close to Terra then we can take them out quickly. If they’re cautious they’ll pop out somewhere on the periphery and accomplish a detailed scan. There’s not much we can do about that. It will take us about five minutes to engage in that case.’

‘They would be rash indeed to venture into a system at superluminal,’ Nazar told them. ‘Navigation at superluminal velocities is a precise exercise, and gravitational wells must be taken into account with exactitude. Galactic navigational systems are very capable of transiting star fields, but star systems require an exponentially greater amount of calculations due to minute perturbations of planets and their relative velocities. The Golkos can take this into account up to a point, but where they will have difficulty is your asteroid field, which they are even now approaching.’

‘The mass of the asteroids is so spread out as to be almost inconsequential,’ Alexander said.

‘It is not the overall mass,’ Nazar told him, ‘but the inconsistency of the gravitational field in that plane. Unfortunately, Galactic navigational sensors cannot pick up the small masses of asteroids until their gravitational influence is noted by fluctuations in the local gravitational field. At superluminal velocities the computers simply cannot filter out the rate of change in the gravitational field. The result is what we call ‘superluminal lock out,’ a phenomena which confounds the ship’s computer and causes an instantaneous drop out of superluminal. This places the ship at high velocity directly in the asteroid field, and locks out the ships superluminal capability until the navigational computers can be reprogrammed in a homogeneous gravitational field.’

‘Then we shall just have to wait and see how rash they are,’ Alexander remarked. ‘Admiral move some of our forces to a point adjacent the asteroid belt.’

Augesburcke sent the order, but after reading the information on his board he said, ‘They are on their way, but they won’t arrive for approximately three minutes. The Golkos will be passing the belt in approximately thirty seconds.’

‘It will have to suffice,’ Alexander replied, and they waited.

The superluminal signature took only seconds to pass by the orbit of Saturn and Jupiter, and then, as if Nazar was prescient several ships suddenly appeared in the center of the belt. In another few seconds the entire superluminal signature disappeared, and in its place were the codes for seventeen ships. The ethernet was immediately awash with calls from the vessels. They were not signals of discovery, however, but of distress. It was immediately apparent that the Golkos had not detected the asteroid belt until it was too late. A half a dozen vessels suffered ‘superluminal lock-out’ and were reporting significant damage, the remainder of the squadron dropped out of superluminal as a precaution. Their commander immediately came onto the ethernet to ascertain the status of his stricken vessels, but it was also apparent that his mission in the system was not driven out of his mind. As the cacophony of the Golkos problems flooded the ethernet Augesburcke reported that the flagship was beginning a thorough scan of the system.

‘It won’t take them long to pick up our power generators, radio silence or not. How long until our squadrons can engage,’ Alexander asked.

‘Still another seventy seconds,’ Augesburcke replied.

‘That Captain got right to it,’ Alexander nodded, sighing. ‘I suppose everything can’t work out just right. Very well, Admiral our forces may fire at will. Jam their transitions if possible.’

‘The range is too great,’ Augesburcke shook his head, and then he pounded his fist on the cons ole. ‘They have us, Alexander. I’m sorry.’

Alexander could now hear the urgent but calm voice of the Golkos commander as he transmitted a continuous beacon for his compatriots to home in on. The Overlord could not help but admire the courageous resolve of the doomed Captain as he reported the three Terran squadrons bearing down on his crippled ships. Alexander took his seat, and with a wave of his hand dismissed Augesburcke’s apology.

‘You are cleared for attack Admiral. Should surrender be offered allow them five minutes to evacuate their ships or destroy the vessels.’

‘Yes Alexander,’ Augesburcke growled, irritated with himself. Both Alexander and Augesburcke saw an opportunity missed, but as their ships rolled in on the outnumbered Golkos Alexander took it philosophically. He barely gave consideration to the drama of the small opening skirmish which they viewed on the main screens. The Golkos ignored the Terran hails for surrender even though they were outnumbered five-to-one and began firing as soon as the Terrans were in range. The Terran ships attacked the stationary Golkos squadron from three different directions at once. Even in this small fray and with their superiority in numbers the Terrans refused to show complacency. They whirled about the poorly prepared Golkos like dervishes, their projectors spouting flame. The Golkos were in the center of a maelstrom, and their haphazard return fire was patently ineffective. Within a few moments the first of the Golkos ships took a broadside after her shields had collapsed. The side of the mottled jade cigar imploded under the projectors and a series of bright flashes ripped sequentially across her right flank from stern to bow. Plasma began to emanate from her in bright blue and red streams. Then her drive imploded. The ship parted at the amidships, the remains of the bow spinning crazily though space. The stern of the warship, and the drive, were completely consumed in the conflagration.

The commander of the squadron ignored the doom of this first ship, instead, calmly directed the fire and formation of his remaining charges. Several of the Golkos warships were unable to rejoin on their battleship. Cut out from the covering fire of their tiny formation they fell prey to the small black packs of boats which suddenly appeared in the fight. The unfortunate stragglers found themselves completely unable to track or fire on the small, swift, and lethal submarines. Amidst a flurry of projector and torpedo fire from every direction they fired blindly and to little effect. In the space of five minutes the stragglers took a terrific pounding, and the flash of blasters on their shields changed from a steady glow to a wildly fluctuating cascade of light and plasma. There was no response to the calls for surrender, but when their shields began to buckle the life pods began to launch from the hulks. The submarines ignored the fragile life boats, allowing them to clear their stricken parents. When all were away that could be reasonably expected the wolves dispatched the carcasses.

The fate of the first Golkos squadron in Terran space continued along those lines. The Terrans with a numerical advantage of five-to-one dispatched the Golkos swiftly and efficiently. They could have waded in ship-to-ship and accomplished their goal, and the Golkos would have been more than willing to give them a fight, but it was not to be. The already damaged Golkos found themselves in the same predicament as their separated sisters. Drawn together as they were there was little opportunity for the prolonged engagement they desired. Still, they fought with resolution, and two Terran warships limped out of the fray with shields blown out or blaster banks overloaded. The Golkos had no chance to take advantage of their slight victories, however, as the deadly sphere of ‘Alexander’s Wheel’ closed tightly about them like a noose. The battle raged for only half an hour, until space swam with Golkos life pods, and an ancient battleship spun lazy and impotent, like the drowned carcasses of some great and once powerful bull now adrift in the swollen currents of the river. There were no calls for surrender, but the final act of the Golkos squadron, now bereft of their leader, was for two destroyers to disappear desperately into superluminal; leaving the field for who knows where.

When all was said and done Alexander sat back in his seat and reflected. ‘If that was any indication of what we’re in for then it shall be a momentous battle,’ he said. ‘Thankfully, these first engagements have gone well. That should serve to give the populace confidence.’

‘Speaking of the populace, Overlord, do you have time for a statement after this engagement?’ said a familiar mechanical voice. A small spherical probe floated to the left of Alexander.

Alexander grimaced at the sound, but nonetheless glanced at the probe. ‘What need have we for a statement, you’ve been broadcasting the situation from the bridge of the Terran flagship, what more could you want?’

‘While it is true that I have been granted unprecedented access to this greatest of Galactic conflicts in the modern kicellia I am still limited by my programming,’ the probe answered.

‘Of which I am thankful and the Golkos frustrated I am sure,’ Alexander replied. ‘I invite you to continue your observations. It is unprecedented that such access be given to the citizens of Terra, the Federation and the galaxy. Yet it is imperative, in my opinion, that the galaxy get a true vision of the direction it is taking. This is a crucial time for all Galactics. Terra has enacted peaceful accords with all civilizations, but for the Golkos; and I hope this puts to rest Galactic fears concerning Terran expansion. We simply want membership in your community, without favor, prejudice or fear. After this invasion is rebuffed I hope the situation will be settled to the satisfaction of all.’

‘Does that include the Golkos, Overlord?’ The probe asked.

‘Terra does not desire the enmity of any civilization,’ Alexander replied, ‘however; the Golkos have committed a grave offense against Terra, and are even now threatening the Terran Homeworld. My concern is the present, and I shall deal with Golkos problem accordingly.’

‘Then you are confident in your ability to destroy this Golkos invasion?’ The probe asked.

‘We shall see,’ Alexander growled, closing his fist slowly as if he had the entirety of the Golkos Empire in his hand. ‘Before this is ended I will stand upon the soil of Golkos and dictate my terms of peace!’

‘Thank you, Overlord that fits well within my parameters and the Galactic desire for a statement at this point in time’ the probe said and it floated away to an unobtrusive corner of the bridge.

Alexander stared after the probe with ill concealed irritation. Nazar approached him sporting a ghost of a smile. ‘I’d not intended to give the damn thing any sort of a sound bite,’ he confided. ‘Hopefully, this won’t get out. I don’t want Khandar to know Alexander’s been outmaneuvered by a artificial sportscaster.’

‘I was somewhat surprised that you agreed with my proposal to use the probes,’ Nazar said. ‘I must admit the motivation behind it was selfish. I desired all the galaxy to share in the glory that is to come.’

‘My motivation was purely empathetic,’ Alexander said. ‘I could not leave the citizens of Terra blind and deaf in this defining moment. I could not have stood by while history was made in the stars above me. At least my people shall see the progress of the war.’

Nazar sighed, ‘Now we wait, I suppose. Khandar is competent and aggressive, but he will need some time to organize his attack. After dispatching his squadrons to search for Terra he has a daunting task to regroup if he hopes to strike swiftly.’

Augesburcke stepped up to Alexander, handing him a data screen. ‘The geometry of Grand Admiral Khandar’s search, as provided by Konstantinov’s ‘Wolfpack,’ clearly indicates a spherical pattern of all the systems around ‘Terra-Beta.’ If Khandar wants to regroup and coordinate his attack he couldn’t bring the whole of his force to bear on us for at least twenty hours.’

‘Twenty hours, almost another day,’ Alexander mused. ‘It will gall him to wait that long, but I don’t think Khandar will order an immediate attack. Although it would save time, a piecemeal attack would force Khandar to give up his concentration of force in space. That is sacrificing a great deal, especially with our edge in tactics and firepower ship-to-ship. Still, things are tight for Khandar. He knows the Second and Fifth fleets are closing in, and once they arrive he loses all practical hope of capturing Terra. He may feel desperate enough to opt for a concentration of force over time; i.e. choosing to whittle us down with a continuous stream of fresh ships. His first waves would take a beating, but by the time all of his ships are present he may hope to have beaten us down through pure attrition.’

‘It is a risky proposition considering the superiority of Terran warships,’ Nazar noted. ‘Khandar would have to indeed be desperate to give up his numerical superiority. If he is only able to engage you with a like number of warships in each wave then I foresee he shall see each wave soundly defeated.’

‘I am inclined to agree,’ Alexander said. ‘As much as Khandar might like to order a complete attack I think he’ll pull back for a coordinated attack. He’ll hit us in a concentrated attack, an all or nothing throw. He must take Terra in one swift thrust. He has no other choice.’

CHAPTER 17

Crandal paced in the twilit room, puffing at his pipe. If possible, he seemed to have aged a decade since the failed second assassination attempt and his release by Alexander. His compatriots gained some small level of satisfaction at his concern. Crandal was fully aware of their humor. He’d not survived the political intrigues over for over forty years without being aware of the intents and emotions around him. He glanced at the large screen at the end of the room showing the Terran broadcast, and then back at his companions.

‘Your amusement is premature, gentleman,’ he told them. ‘Our setbacks have played into our hands. Alexander is shortly to win this war for us, thereby handing us a vast galactic empire with no true enemies.’

‘Your view of the situation is replete with its legendary optimism,’ his large counterpart said from behind a cigar. ‘We stand on the precipice of losing not only a war, but a civilization. The Golkos fleet is hours away, and we all know the tally of the numbers. It is too late for recriminations. What are our options should the Golkos take Terra? Of what good are our Galactic contacts? Certainly it must be said that even if they take Terra we have two fleets converging on the system. If the Golkos take Terra I don’t think they’ll hold it long enough to do anything but raze it. Do we have any pull with Admiral Sampson or Admiral Cathcart? Can we broker a deal between the Golkos and our Admirals for a peaceful handover?’

‘Unfortunately Alexander, behind the scenes of course, has taken a very active role in purging his fleet of politically oriented officers,’ Crandal informed them. ‘Only last week Alexander sacked a general he’d known in his former existence. I’m told he spotted the man in a briefing and proceeded to rip the rank from his shoulders quite emphatically. To date ninety-seven general officers have been relieved of command, many of whom had files in our organization. Their replacements are often disgruntled, aggressive, ‘warrior-types.’ As such I am afraid our influence with the military is nil. Therefore, our best course of action is patience. The worst case scenario is obviously the Golkos capturing and razing Terra. Although even in that eventuality we are left in a position of advantage.’

‘It is true that we control every facet of significant technology on the planet, even now,’ the large man agreed, though somewhat dourly. ‘We will control what industry remains, and we already control what industry we’ve exported to the colonies. To that extent we shall be in an advantageous position to rebuild our civilization.’

‘We shall also have available to us the largest fleet of warships in the galaxy, bar none,’ Crandal reminded them. ‘Without the support of their former allies the Golkos will be outnumbered by the returning Terran fleets which will be eager for revenge.’

‘It is possible that under such circumstances we could orchestrate the use of the fleets to destroy Golkos, or better yet cajole the Chem to do it for us,’ Edgar mused. ‘The Chem and the Golkos are age old adversaries; at least they were in the old Galactic age. What better way to destroy or weaken our only potential adversaries than to set them at one another? Certainly the Chem would consider the death of their Elder’s spouse at the hands of the Golkos cause enough for war? Could we put the scenario to our Galactic friends?’

‘An intriguing possibility, especially after the abandonment of Golkos by her former allies,’ Crandal replied. ‘There can be few states which do not fear a Golkos victory more than a Terran victory at the moment. Should the Golkos raze Terra and somehow escape they would no doubt return to the Galactic community with ideas of revenge and retribution. I think it would be quite easy then to have the Galactics talk their Chem friends into waging their war for them. The Chem are frankly chomping at the bit to go back to their old ways. I’ve watched Nazar of Chem, who is as reasonable as those people get, and he has blood lust in his eyes. I think that the Chem would readily bear such a burden.’

‘That would leave us alone with the resources to rebuild our empire as we saw fit,’ the heavy man asserted. ‘That’s not a bad assumption for a worst case scenario.’

‘Hopefully Alexander will hand us the empire we desire intact,’ Crandal said, ‘but even if he does not it will come full circle, one way or another, into our hands.’

Only one year ago the galaxy knew a similar silence. As the Chem and Terran fleets converged for a titanic battle which was never to occur the galaxy watched and waited. Now there was the same nervous boredom, the same frustrating inaction and the same unrestrained imagination. The feeling was the same within every being who waited for the final attack on Terra, but it was worse in the fleets. Ten hours passed since the Golkos squadron was destroyednothing. Twenty hours passed and Alexander, after a brief but inconclusive respite, refused to leave the bridge of the Iowa. Twenty-four hours passed and even Alexander began to wonder whether Khandar might indeed have fled the system; retreating to Golkos with the realization that his goal was unattainable. After twenty-five hours Alexander almost believed that was what had happened. Only twelve hours remained before the Second Fleet would arrive in strength, making Alexander’s position unassailable. It was at this point that Alexander stood upon the bridge of the Iowa and announced to his fleet and his defense forces to man their battle stations. Time, he knew, worked in strange ways. It betrayed Bureel to his death and the loss of an empire. It betrayed the Alliance in its dallying throw to destroy the upstart Alexander. It even betrayed Nazeera into thinking that the Terran fleet before her was as ancient and experienced as her own. Time, in Alexander’s opinion, had no less love for himself than anyone else; therefore it would betray him at this moment when he needed it, if he allowed that to happen.

Alexander’s prescience was cemented within that hour. The sensors on Luna were the first to pick up the Golkos superluminal signatures. Within fifteen minutes the entire Golkos fleet, over eight hundred ships, dropped out of superluminal beyond Neptune’s orbit, apparently Khandar did not want to duplicate the difficulties of his scout squadron. They advanced as a single formation, no longer feigning envelopment. Their purpose was clear: to smash through any Terran opposition with sheer weight and firepower.

‘There are eight hundred and forty-seven warships, Alexander,’ Augesburcke reported. ‘The Golkos are arrayed in a single formation, but it is one they have not used before.’ The Golkos ships appeared on the tactical hologram, and Alexander got up to have a closer look at it. Khandar placed his ships in a deep ‘X’ formation with ten ships on each leg and twelve rows in depth. It was a three dimensional formation roughly as deep as it was wide. Alexander studied it for a moment, and then ordered the fleet ahead at full impulse. Augesburcke initiated the command and the Iowa moved imperceptibly forward. When all was to his satisfaction he reported, ‘We should be in firing range in slightly over eighty-three minutes, Alexander. We’ll intercept them approximately abeam the orbit of Saturn, and slightly over one million miles from the Saturnian system.’

‘That should provide a dramatic backdrop for the battle,’ Alexander commented. Then he turned his attention back to the Golkos formation and asked Nazar for his opinion of it.

‘I have not seen this particular formation in my experience; however, it does remind me somewhat of the hollow cube Khandar used against you on the frontier. He has fewer ships now, but I do not doubt the intent is the same; i.e. to maximize his firing power on attacking warships while providing covering fire for his own vessels.’

‘I am inclined to agree,’ Alexander nodded, pointing out the various features of the formation. ‘This formation, I’ll call it ‘Khandar’s Cross’ for lack of a better term, is simple yet elegant in its functionality. It is not designed for offensive firepower such as the Chem cone or for static defense/offense as is the Galactic cube. What Khandar has devised is a moving formation which is especially defensible. His goal is simply to punch through to Terra with the least amount of damage. He’s given some thought to this. See how each leg provides covering fire for the adjacent legs? If you try to attack the core of the formation along the center axis, where his flagship almost certainly is, then you must enter inside the vertex of the planes. In such an attack you end up being caught in a crossfire between the planar formations; bombarded at closer and closer range as you advance upon the axis. The weak points are the bow and the stern, and the periphery of the formation. In each case you are still subject to a crossfire, but at least it is at extended range. If we limit our assault to the bow and stern we only come under fire of the forward and aft projectors. Admiral Augesburcke, we’ll keep with our basic plan of attack with some minor modifications. Advance along the forward axis of the cross. The fleet will provide shielding for the missile carriers. Hold their fire as long as possible and then launch the nukes along the axis. That is the greatest concentration of ships and the least concentration of firepower. The nukes will be our first surprise for the day. I want to hold the dreadnoughts back for now. If the Golkos still believe we only have seven or eight battlewagons left then by all means let them believe it. We’ll show them our muscle a bit at a time. We’ll take the carrier conversions to beef up our squadron firepower, Admiral. Keep the dreadnoughts in orbit around back side of Terra. I want their appearance to be a surprise to Khandar. Meanwhile, the conventional squadrons will take a position on the bows of the cross and keep up a continuous fire. The conventional squadrons will make wheeling attacks in the bow and stern of the formation. Advise all commanders to avoid positioning themselves between the planes of the formation.’

Augesburcke nodded, but then said, ‘Alexander, the one thing we don’t know yet is just how fast they are. We’ll keep track of their sublight speeds and compare them to our own. We are going to need a significant edge in speed to accomplish a three dimensional wheel maneuver. If they’re too fast for us we may have to simply form a line and attack broadside to broadside until they reach Terra.’

‘That’s a distinct possibility,’ Alexander admitted. ‘In that case we’ll form single lines standing off each plane. Then we should still have a concentration of force over them in that position and we can stand off far enough to negate the crossfire.’

‘Very good,’ Augesburcke said simply and he issued the necessary orders.

Alexander returned to his seat. ‘Well now we wait. This is always the damnedest part of an engagement. Good things come to those who wait.’ The next hour dragged by. There was no communication between the adversaries, but slowly they drew together as if unable to resist some strange force of fate. Alexander spread his squadrons to reflect the tips of Khandar’s Cross, and the axis. The Seventh sailed out to meet an enemy four times their size, but they it was spearheaded by the most renowned names in naval history: Iowa, Bismarck, Iron Duke, West Virginia and Graf Spee. Between the conventional formations were the missile carriers. Completely bereft of the grace and beauty of the naval warships the spidery rigs were purely functional. They were unwieldy and dangerous, possessing only an underpowered sublight engine and minimal shielding. Despite their drawbacks as vessels they bristled with hundreds of nuclear tipped ICBM’s; the bulk of the cold war arsenal.

As they drew within visual range the fleets seemed almost benign. Fifteen minutes out Alexander hailed the Golkos. Grand Admiral Khandar appeared on the viewer.

‘Hail and well met, Alexander. It is to begin at last, the defining battle of this age. I salute you, and wish you a glorious defeat.’

‘You are somewhat premature, Grand Admiral. Yet in the interests of Galactic peace and amity I offer you one final chance to turn your ships about and proceed under escort to Golkos.’

‘What, and throw away the opportunity history presents? I think not, Alexander. There is but one chance to stop your career. I will shoulder that burden though my brethren ignore the responsibility; and in the end it will be I whom the Galactics remember!’

‘A determined point of view, Grand Admiral, yet I remind you one last time of the obvious: you are in Terran space. Once pushed to the throw I shall not stop until all is completed. I shall not allow a single Golkos warship to arrive home to their empire. Whether it is the task of the Seventh Fleet, the Second, or the Fifth the conclusion to this battle is set, and nothing you can do will change it.’

‘Show me such resolve when Terra withers under my guns!’

Alexander’s eyes narrowed and his voice dropped an octave. ‘The Golkos have fought with honor and skill thus far. Let this end on that note. Do not make me destroy you, Khandar.’

‘I make ready for your worst, Alexander!’

‘So be it. I wash my hands of all mercy. Have at you then!’ Alexander closed the connection. There were no more hails. There were no more threats. There was nothing. Alexander growled at the enormous bridge screen, watching the Golkos fleet grow larger with each passing moment. To the left of the formation the huge yellow and white ball of Saturn hung like a golden snowball; the brilliant rings splendorous beyond imagination. Alexander could not help but stare. In a low voice, meant only for himself, he said, ‘You know, I’ve always held that planet as my favorite, but with all the time I’ve spent in space this last year I have not seen Saturn and her rings once. I am thankful that, whatever happens, at least I have seen them.’

Nazar’s brow raised in surprise at Alexander’s comment, especially at such a time. He could be strangely sentimental, he knew, but this was hardly the moment for it. Still, the comment seemed to drain the anger from the Overlord. What it left was the ice cold adamant which made him so deadly. Any further inspection of Alexander’s thoughts was interrupted the sudden blooming of hundreds of white and orange flowers on the flanks of the Golkos formation. Plasma glowed upon their shields as they absorbed blaster and torpedo fire from some unseen source. The attack was continuous, but the Golkos only fired back sporadically, like a harmless laser light show.

‘It seems Admiral Konstantinov and his ‘wolves’ are determined to draw first blood,’ Alexander smiled. ‘The man is irrepressible. I sincerely hope he survives this day.’ He turned to the Admiral, ‘How long until we are in firing range?’

‘We are just closing within two million kilometers of the Golkos, Alexander,’ Augesburcke informed him. ‘Our estimated time of contact in slightly over five minutes at this rate of closure.’

‘Their speed,’ Alexander asked.

Augesburcke shook his head, ‘point eight-three ‘c,’ standard full impulse. It’s only slightly below our own speed. We don’t have enough advantage over them there.’

‘No doubt as Khandar hoped,’ Alexander said. ‘Very well, prepare to engage in linear formation. Admiral Augesburcke if you will ensure everyone is properly assigned to a wing let’s set ourselves up for a reversal and prepare to engage.’

Admiral Moltor received the status reports from his officers and approached Grand Admiral Khandar. The shudder of the Nived Sheur under the concussion of the Terran torpedoes barely registered as he handed the Grand Admiral a data screen. ‘The scans of the Terran Homeworld, Grand Admiral,’ he said.

Khandar took the thin metal sheet and studied it. As he did so he asked Moltor for his impressions.

The Admiral had at least impressed Khandar as a capable officer, and as such even the dark shadow of a Terran scout flashing across the Nived Sheur’s bow caused him no consternation. ‘Fire all forward projectors!’ He ordered before answering the Grand Admiral. The fire was not meant for the Terran ship, but for the mines the Terrans had a nasty habit of laying in their wake. Two bright flashes at very close range flooded the screen and rocked the ship. Their effect was minimal, having been destroyed at a safe distance. The Golkos were learning, and their responses forced the Terran scouts to lay their mines increasingly closer to their targets. So close did the Terrans dare to pass that on more than one occasion the Nived Sheur witnessed violent collisions between combatants. Each time the small Terran ships took the worst of it, but it did not stop their attacks.

‘The Terrans are quite belligerent, whether they are in their system or out of it aren’t they?’ Khandar ventured stoically. With a wave of his hand he expressed his wish for Moltor to continue his report, never taking his eyes off the data screen.

‘Grand Admiral we have detected five planetary projectors on the surface, and twenty smaller sites. We have yet to scan the far side of the planet, so our data is limited to sixty-five percent of the surface thus far. We project, however, that the entire defense may be comprised of between eight and ten planetary projectors.’ He straightened and turned to the Grand Admiral, admitting, ‘It is a significant number.’

‘Indeed it is,’ Khandar said simply.

‘Initial estimates for neutralizing the planetary shields are fifty-percent Grand Admiral, discounting the activities of the Terran fleet, of course.’ When the Grand Admiral stared at him, Moltor apologized. ‘The simulation computer gives us only a fifty percent chance of breaching Terran defenses. However, if we are successful it will take at least a decurn. This is coincidental with the estimated arrival of the Terran Second Fleet,’ Moltor reported.

‘It will be unnecessary to neutralize all the planetary shields,’ Khandar replied, moving to the tactical hologram. He punched up Moltor’s scans and Terra hovered before him. He pointed to the continents of North America and Europe and said, ‘Your scans reveal these areas as those of highest industrial concentration. We will target the three shield generators covering these regions. If more detailed scans show a more target rich environment then we will change our plan of attack, but for the time being the bombardment squadrons will proceed against these areas. Is that understood?’

‘Yes Grand Admiral,’ Moltor answered.

Khandar switched the hologram to center the view on his own formation of ships. The cross was still intact, taking only minimal damage from the Terran scouts. The Terran battle squadrons could clearly be seen approaching the Golkos in a five-point-formation. Khandar studied the Terrans for only a moment before taking his seat. ‘Hold your course and speed,’ he said over his comlink. ‘Prepare for planar rotation on my order!’

Moltor approached Khandar again, highlighting the center of the Terran formation on the tactical hologram. ‘Sensors have finished categorizing the Terran squadrons, Grand Admiral.’

‘And?’

‘The numbers are more than our previous tally of the remnants of the Seventh Fleet, the difference being the count of battleships. Alexander must have held the balance of his capital ships in reserve. We now count a total of fifty-four battleships in their squadrons, Grand Admiral.’

‘Indeed? So he was not as weakened as he would leave us to believe. That gives the Seventh a significantly greater lethality, but not so much as to tip the scales, Moltor. It is an unpleasant surprisenothing more.’

‘Yes, Grand Admiral. However, scans also indicate a curious feature in Alexander’s center. There are seventeen large but unidentifiable vessels.’

‘Still another of Alexander’s surprises, no doubt.’ Khandar growled. ‘He shall need them. Even with his extra battleships the Seventh Fleet cannot stand long with us even under the cover of their planetary projectors. What do the scans indicate concerning these vessels?’

‘Visually they appear to be nothing more than skeleton ships,’ Moltor frowned. ‘Scans are indeterminate, Grand Admiral, although they do appear to be carrying a large complement of torpedoes. The nature of the torpedoes is impossible to determine through the Terran shields.’

‘Very well, make every effort to identify the Terran weapons before we find out the hard way. Flank ahead!’

The two fleets closed and firing commenced in earnest. The range shrank and Khandar became convinced that Alexander meant for the Terran center to smash straight through the Golkos axis. He stood to issue his orders, but the Tactical Officer interrupted him.

‘Grand Admiral! The center formation is launching a salvo of large torpedoes! There are approximately one thousand seven hundred weapons. Initial scans identify the warheads as some form of heavy element weapon, specifics unknown. The Terran center is breaking away from the formation!’

‘Shields at maximum, fire at will,’ Khandar ordered calmly, stepping to the tactical hologram. The immediate concern of the Terran squadrons was replaced by the mystery of the missiles.

The bridge screen of the Nived Sheur revealed a hail of projector fire converging on the Terran missiles. Plumes of superheated gas signaled the destruction of many of the rockets. Khandar glanced at the tally of incoming weapons, noting with satisfaction that their numbers were halved in the first few moments. The scan of the debris, which Khandar read from the data screen below the hologram, brought an expression of confusion to his stern features.

‘Unshielded, chemically propelled missiles?’ he asked aloud, turning to Moltor. ‘What a strange weapon to have in their arsenal! Moltor have the scans identified the warheads?’

‘No Grand Admiral. There are traces of heavy radioactive elements, but their purpose is unknown. The Science Officer is conducting an in depth analysis,’ Moltor informed his superior.

‘Tell the Science Officer to redouble his efforts!’ Khandar growled. ‘I want to know what this weapon is!’

‘Yes Grand Admiral!’ Moltor bowed, and he hurried off.

Khandar turned to the screen in time to see the next Golkos salvo dispatch the majority of the remaining missiles. With some agitation he shot his glare to the tactical hologram, which automatically tallied the threats, flashing a much smaller but still significant number below the threats.

‘Damn!’ He cursed, pounding his fist against the armrest of his command seat. ‘This makes no sense whatsoever! Radioactive elements are far too unstable to be used for a matter-anti-matter weapon!’

Khandar climbed back into his seat. After experiencing the Terran fireships he had no illusions as to the destructive ingenuity of the Terrans. He shot a look of frustration towards Moltor, who was still in conference with the Science Officer. The tactical hologram showed the missiles approaching the axis of the formation, and Khandar decided he could wait no longer. ‘All warships hold your fire; shielding to emergency maximum!’

The firing ceased, and the lights on the Nived Sheur dimmed as all available power went into the shields. Khandar clutched his armrests until his nails dug into the padding, waiting for the inevitable explosions. He did not have to wait long. The forward screen illuminated the tiny gleaming needle of a missile. The screen blanked in a blinding white flash of light. The Nived Sheur convulsed sickeningly, shaken to its core. Fire sprang from beneath bridge panels. Shouts and screams came from Golkos thrown across the bridge, or seared by exploding panels. The metal skeleton of the Nived Sheur groaned and shrieked; shaking so badly from the now continuous detonations that only her structural integrity field held her together. Khandar roared aloud in rage and doubt, riding out the storm in his command seat, but fearing that his flagship had been mortally wounded. Then, finally, the shaking ceased and the sounds of a dying ship faded away to a distant hum. The emergency extinguishers hissed, and the circulation pumps cleared the acrid air of the bridge. Lights flickered only to return at standard strength. Suddenly the Conn was awash with hails from stricken ships and those ships that survived the catastrophe. Khandar’s desperate eyes sought the tactical display. It took him only a glance to see that his formation was relatively intact, but it took a longer, more nerve wracking moment, before he realized that the damage to his fleet was far less than he feared.

Most of the destruction occurred along the central axis of the formation where there was the highest concentration of ships. In this region there were twenty ships, a full squadron, now drifting and helpless. He’d feared worse after the Nived Sheur took a direct hit, but the news was not all good. Another sixty ships took severe damage. Most were saved only because of Khandar’s last second order to boost their shield strength. The ships were still under power and their weapon and defense systems were still active, but there were reports of massive numbers of casualties in the portions of the ships closest to the blasts. The Nived Sheur was no exception. The lower three decks of the bow were rendered uninhabitable by radiation, and the casualties in those areas were frightful. Moltor lurched across the rocking deck with a comprehensive report.

‘The Science Officer has analyzed the weapons, Grand Admiral. He deduces that they are a form of fusion explosion triggered by the use of the radioactive element 97-2. That is the cause of the radiation contamination in our ships, and our casualties. The force of the explosions themselves is somewhat less than matter-anti-matter torpedoes but the high levels of radiation caused massive fluctuations in our shields which led to localized breaches. Fortunately we had enough power, barely, for the structural integrity field to prevent hull buckling. However, our forward projector batteries are currently useless. It will take some time to decontaminate the stations.’

‘Nuclear? Who would have thought to build a nuclear type weapon?’ Khandar grimaced. Shaking his head he admitted, ‘Moltor the most difficult task in battling these Terrans is not their technology or their prowess; it is dissecting how these people think. How do you fight beings that imagine the unimaginable and then put it to use?’

‘With courage Grand Admiral!’ Admiral Moltor replied defiantly.

Khandar nodded and smiled, even deigning to lay his hand upon the officer’s shoulder. His eye turned hard, however, as the tactical display aroused his attention. ‘Well said, Moltor, but we shall have to put that courage to immediate use. The Terrans will not wait upon us. Here they come.’

Like eagles swooping upon their prey the Terran battleship squadrons rolled in on the exposed periphery of Khandar’s Cross.

‘Bring them on in Admiral,’ Alexander ordered as the ICBM’s unleashed their lethal payloads upon the Golkos. The Iowa led her squadron, now in a linear trail formation, down upon the edge of one of the Golkos planes. In this position the Golkos ships themselves shielded the Terrans from other Golkos vessels in the plane. The Terran squadron also gained a numerical advantage at close quarters. Alexander paid close attention to his tactical display, watching the progression of their closing maneuver, and ascertaining the damage done by the ICBM’s.

‘It’s not as bad as we hoped, but it’s not insignificant either,’ Alexander grumbled concerning Golkos damage. ‘With the power of that arsenal I had hoped to take out more than twenty ships. That doesn’t bode well for our other nuclear based attacks. On with the war, though. Admiral you are cleared to fire when in range.’ Alexander felt rather like a spectator during that first portion of the engagement. The stars swept by the screen until the line of Golkos warships on the razor’s edge of the formation came into view. As if it were a signal he could see the entire line of warships fire a simultaneous broadside at his fleet. The Iowa rocked gently from the hits, but her own guns spouted fountains of superheated plasma in return. In the space of a moment the fleets were engaged on all fronts. The fire was continuous. The Iowa deflected the blaster fire of her immediate adversaries as well as more distant and ineffective fire from scattered elements of the other planes. True to Terran doctrine, however, she locked herself in a gun duel with the largest of the Golkos ships in her immediate vicinity. Much of the Terran advantage in maneuver and targeting was lost in the relative static nature of the battle, but the Terran warships with their rotating turrets could still bring more weapons to bear than their adversaries, and these weapons were far more potent than the Galactic standard. During the first few minutes of the battle the Terran firepower was telling, though not overwhelming. Just as the Terran warships were beginning to see results of their gunnery duels the Golkos reacted.

Alexander instantly recognized Khandar’s intent. Khandar was shifting the lines of his ships out of their planes to the negative and the positive with respect to the Terran linear formation. He could see the Golkos lines beyond the periphery of the plane climbing or descending into position, bringing themselves into the field of fire. What was even more apparent was their convergence around his linear array. If left to themselves the Golkos would accomplish an envelopment of each of his formations with the corresponding plane of ‘Khandar’s Cross.’

‘Excellent Khandar,’ Alexander admitted. ‘You’ve devised a simultaneous four way envelopment. He forces my hand. We don’t have the necessary speed to maneuver, and we cannot stay and take advantage of the damage we’ve inflicted. Very clever, but I’ll not be chased away so quickly, not yet. Admiral continue to fire at our selected targets until I give the order. On my mark, I want all elements to make a echelon turn towards the original center of their cross formation, cutting through the enveloping plane. Khandar will then want to reverse himself, seeking to envelope our entire fleet. He’s already proven his ships can handle difficult maneuvers, but I’ve a hunch he had to do a good deal of brow beating to accomplish it. Our mode of attack was foreseeable. I think our next move will be rather unexpected. Let’s see how they think on their feet. Maximum jamming on our reversal. Let’s give them some operational difficulties.’

‘Aye, aye Overlord!’ Augesburcke grinned.

The Golkos continued with their four separate envelopments, and Alexander allowed them to progress to the point where the Golkos equaled his firepower. The wait was worth their while as the Iowa used the extra twenty minutes to finally penetrate her adversaries shields. One final broadside erupted into the unshielded stern, and enormous sections of the battleship’s hull sheared off spilling debris into space. Three other Golkos warships suffered similar fates, although Alexander also lost a cruiser and a destroyer in that time. He waited until he could feel Grand Admiral Khandar’s wonderment at his inaction. Then he gave the order. Immediately the Terran squadrons came hard about, cutting through the lines of the Golkos and rejoining in the center of the formation. The Golkos planes now found themselves enveloping empty space. A flurry of communications traffic weighed down the ethernet, but amidst it was a fusillade of Terran static. The Terrans had learned that the superluminal engines created a virtually impenetrable sea of static in the local area when the rate of change of power levels rose above a threshold figure. Normally this occurred during transition to superluminal as a ship’s superluminal field began to form in space. The phenomena was well known in Galactic circles; known as ‘superluminal interference.’ The Terrans found this otherwise insignificant phenomena to have a very useful military application. As soon as his ships broke through the Golkos line Alexander ordered them to ‘rev’ their engines. The ships surged their engines allowing their power to form the beginnings of a superluminal field in space. The result was a bombardment of static throughout the region which blanketed all transmissions. The Terrans were prepared for this, but the Golkos were caught completely off guard. Golkos ships and squadrons broke formation; some trying to follow guessed at directives, some simply staying put until something intelligible came their way. The end result was a fractured formation; and parcels of ships separated from the main body. Alexander did not wait, nor did he need to issue orders. The Terran ships swiftly pounced on the isolated Golkos like sharks on a struggling swimmer.

Alexander watched the spectacle with ill concealed satisfaction. At length he turned to Admiral Augesburcke and nodded, saying, ‘Admiral, I think now is the time for the ‘Starship Enterprise’ and her entourage to pay her respects to the Grand Admiral!’

The emotional swing in Khandar was immense. From satisfaction as his planar rotation almost succeeded in enveloping Alexander’s squadrons; to suspicion as Alexander’s forces put themselves in a seemingly dangerous position within his own formation; and finally to rage as he found himself unable to complete the envelopment due to Terran communications jamming. The realization of what Alexander was doing, and his own inability to stop it drove Khandar into a rage. Helplessly he watched as squadrons became detached from the formation. Of these most were following Khandar’s bidding through intuition and experience, but they counted on their comrades to make the leap of faith and follow them. To most Golkos commanders, however, initiative was a foreign habit and a dangerous one. They let their comrades go while they followed tradition and awaited orders which were impossible to receive. So it was that Khandar lost a good portion of his most able commanders in the deception, and all he could do was to sit back and watch them be destroyed.

The Grand Admiral swore amidst the static of his communications, and just when his well laid plans were on the point of unraveling Admiral Moltor shook him on the shoulder. Khandar followed Moltor’s gesture to the main viewer. There was Terra, finally. The blue and white marble, so tantalizingly close, beckoned like a pyre. Then movement caught Khandar’s eye. Around the bright limb of the planet the bridge cameras centered on a growing knot of ships. There were not many, another two dozen at first glance, but their presence size and shape captivated the Golkos. Even without the aid of scanners there was no mistaking the identity of the ships; they were too huge, too terrifying, too visually destructive.

‘Grand Admiral, there are twenty-two battleships in that formation, and they are of immense size.’

‘Alexander’s super-battleships revisited, only now in truth,’ Khandar sighed, for the moment deflated by the newest surprise. He could find nothing to say, nothing to rant about. It was as if Alexander led him on to his own Homeworld only for the sport of chipping away at the grand visage they’d built of themselves. So it seemed, for though the numerical superiority of the Golkos was still intact there was an agonizing doubt on the brow of every member of the Golkos fleet. The formation of dreadnought solidified that doubt. They barreled straight through the Golkos fleet pounding everything in their path. Several of Khandar’s battleships shuddered and burned, leaking long glowing streams of plasma after failing to repulse the massive broadsides.

Khandar was aghast, but somehow, incomprehensibly, the dreadnoughts missed the Nived Sheur. Apparently, they mistook her sister ship the Geurna Ka for the fleet flagship. The dreadnoughts waded into that squadron and pounded it into dust. It was terrifying, and Khandar very carefully maintained radio silence during the massacre.

Khandar’s saving grace was, of all things, Terra. Even separated and outnumbered it took time to dispatch a battleship or a cruiser. Thus, though Alexander was presented with an enormous opportunity and he leapt upon it full stride he did not have the time to take full advantage. He was unable to destroy the separated squadrons to completion, or even to their majority before the Golkos entered the Terran system. Still, as it was Alexander’s doctrine to target the capital ships the Golkos lost more proportionally than the numbers dictated.

The arrival at Terra salvaged the situation for Khandar. His Captain’s all had specific orders and objectives, and they no longer depended on his guidance. He placed a single short call for his fleet, assuring them that he survived, and executed the final phase of his plan. ‘Proceed with the bombardment of the Terran Homeworld. On to victory!’

From the conglomeration of struggling ships both the Terrans and the Golkos proceeded on to their specific missions, and for a moment some order was found. The Golkos bombardment squadrons sped for their preordained orbits, as the covering squadrons regrouped overhead. The Terran squadrons hounded their quarry for as long as they dared, but as the Golkos approached the Terran minefields the squadrons regrouped as well for their continuing attacks. A strange momentary lull came over the battle. For a few moments there was no firing, no jamming; just the hundreds of ships maneuvering for the final phase of the battle.

CHAPTER 18

‘The Golkos have divided into two forces, Alexander,’ Augesburcke reported. ‘One is entering orbit around Terra while the other is reforming above them.’

Alexander stepped up to the tactical hologram and with a slender pointer selected one of the Golkos battleships in the latter formation. ‘We missed him. It will take some time to identify the Nived Sheur, Khandar’s flagship. Until we do the focal point of our attack will be the highest concentration of Golkos capital ships outside the bombardment orbits. The ‘Big E’ will take charge of our attack squadrons and engage and destroy the Golkos bombardment fleet. The ‘Enterprise’ and her dreadnoughts will maintain support our attack on the Golkos covering fleet. We need to keep the Golkos off the back of our B-52’s and fighter-drones, and give them a chance to deliver their payloads. Inform the pilot’s that they are cleared in. All planetary projectors on Terra are cleared to fire at will.’

Admiral Augesburcke hit a single coded switch, sending the Terran defenses into full motion.

‘Ladies and gentlemen here we go.’

Beyond the terminator, for the moment out of sight of the Golkos bombardment squadrons, two hundred and twenty-three ‘Stratofortress,’ ‘Bear,’ and ‘Vulcan’ bombers hung in space awaiting orders. Each of the bombers carried up to twenty nuclear tipped weapons. Above them a similar number of fighter-drones waited. Though the fighters carried but a single nuclear charge their purpose was to ram, and hopefully detonate the bomb at close proximity, or if possible within the Golkos ships. In the lead B-52 Colonel Johnny Page waited impatiently for his name to be called. As had every member of the Terran defense force he had the Iowa’s battle-bridge frequency tuned up. It was an idea uniquely his own, sprouting from his days as one of Alexander’s advisors. His thinking was that the overall situational awareness of every member of the defense force could be heightened immeasurably if they saw what Alexander saw. That would allow them to act with some reference to the overall scheme of things and act all that much quicker to opportunities. As Alexander depended upon the initiative of his troops he fully embraced the idea, and even expanded upon it.

Within the nerve center of the Iowa, and every command ship in the fleet, there were etherlinks set up to receive the battle-displays from every other squadron and contingent in the operation. Only the most hard-bitten and trusted officers were assigned to coordinate the information from these nerve centers, as it was their responsibility to pass on crucial information to Alexander on the bridge. Many of these officer’s came from what became known in the military as Alexander’s ‘warrior’ list. It was a list of people who had won Alexander’s admiration and respect in his previous military experience. It was definitely a kudo to an officer’s career to be so considered, and certainly much more advantageous than being on the ‘gallows’ list. If Alexander remembered those whose qualities he appreciated he also recalled those political and bureaucratic officers whose talents, he thought, were detrimental to the cause. Alexander had those individuals tracked down and either put into positions of responsibility or relieved of them, depending on his opinion. There was very little argument either way.

General Page, who had flown B-52’s with Alexander, felt himself fortunate indeed to be suddenly rescued from a dead-end desk job at the Pentagon, promoted and assigned to Alexander’s staff. From there he was quickly put in charge of his own brain child, serving as Alexander’s SCO, Strategic Coordination Officer, on the Iowa. It was a prized position, and Page appreciated the opportunity. As soon as he had the system working to his satisfaction, however, he asked for a different assignment. Being tucked away in the bowels of a battleship, however prestigious, was simply too far from the fight.

Alexander of all people could understand Page’s desire, and he promised to think about it. As he told Page at the time, ‘I’ll look around and see where you might be most suited Johnny, but I’ll tell you right now you’re too valuable to me where you are to just stick you in the trenches. If I hear of something, though, I’ll let you have first crack at it.’ Page agreed, and for the next several weeks he slaved at his job, tinkering and improving. When Alexander turned up during one of the Colonel’s innumerable battle drills he knew his opportunity had come, and that Alexander was not happy about it at all.

‘Johnny, something’s opened up,’ Alexander told him, and he put his hand on Page’s shoulder. Alexander was silent for a moment, and he didn’t take his old comrade’s eyes for quite a while. Page wondered what was up, but Alexander finally looked him in the eye and told him, ‘I know I told you I’d give you first crack at something, but I’m afraid what we’ve worked out has your name written all over it. It’s dirty Johnny, really dirty. I’ll tell you up front I don’t think many of you will come back.’ Then Alexander told Page of the plans for the B-52’s. The idea, when fully explained, was a tough one; and it almost turned Page’s coal black features as cold white as Alexander’s. In the end, though, he simply saluted and smiled.

Page looked around him at the mass of bombers. Despite his predicament he could not help but grin. They were his babies, and it was time to do a job. True the situation was even more desperate than Alexander had envisioned. The bombers only defense was their small size and speed. Since they carried only minimal shielding the bombers had to make their runs as fast as the pilot’s dared. Full impulse was out of the question as there was no way the pilots, or the computers, could navigate through formations of ships at those speeds. Furthermore, the bombardiers needed time to target and launch the weapons. There was no time to automate the systems, and the attempts they’d made thus far fell far below the capabilities of Terran-computer hybrid systems. Therefore, the bombers carried an extra crewmember to handle the weapons. Further complicating matters was the actual time it took to get the weapons away. The bombers started their runs at a range of one thousand kilometers, out of range of all but the biggest projectors, and slowed to a sobering eleven kilometers per second when within a couple hundred kilometers of the target and finally to about five hundred meters per second for launch. Even so the actual attack run lasted twenty seconds at most. The maximum number of weapons the bombers could release during that time was two. This meant a necessity of four runs for the ‘Bears’ and ‘Vulcans,’ and a staggering ten runs for the B-52’s. Each run meant the bombers had to endure ship-to-ship fire, collision and negotiating their own minefields and planetary batteries. There was no safety margin built into the attack profiles or the rules of engagement. Results were all that mattered.

Colonel Page could appreciate Alexander’s reluctance to send an old friend on so hazardous a mission. Alexander, who was single at the time Page knew him, volunteered to sit alert for Johnny every Christmas and Thanksgiving so Johnny could be home with his family. Alexander then enjoyed post holiday dinners with Page, his wife and three daughters. It was a tough thing to command, but both Page and Alexander knew it and understood its priorities. When General Page saw his panel turn red with the alert warning he simply kissed the picture of his family which he always carried on the glareshield. Then he pressed his mike switch.

‘Alright this is the big show; let’s not disappoint the home crowd! All bombers follow me!’

When Page led the bombers around the terminator the entire panoply of battle opened up to his eyes. The massed Golkos bombardment squadrons were already opening up on the planet below. The enormity of the Golkos fleet was such that at any one moment Page could count fifty or more projectors firing on specific points on the planet’s surface. The planetary shields over North America pulsed and glowed as they absorbed the innumerable hits. Streams of plasma leapt from the clouds to stab at the warships above. There were fewer of these, two to three at the most at any moment, but they were obviously far more powerful than the ship based projectors. Even at this early stage Page could see several Golkos ships staggering beneath the weight of the projector fire. Adding to the conflagration was the staccato fire from the asteroid batteries. Like machine gun tracers they sprayed the Golkos fleet from above, cutting through invader’s dorsal shields with telling effect. It seemed an eternity before the surprised Golkos diverted power to deflect this unexpected attack. Just above the orbiting Golkos, Page could see the remainder of the Golkos fleet and the Seventh Fleet locked in battle. The Golkos hovered over their charges, but the Terrans maneuvered in wide swinging arcs, engaging and breaking off continuously. It was an awesome sight, and there was so much blaster discharge that fireworks paled in comparison. Soon a dim veil of red and blue plasma congealed over the space field, like powder from some ancient land battle.

‘Here we go! All wings engage attack profiles! Good luck!’ Page ordered, throwing the throttles up to the attack gate. He glared into the screen on his cockpit console which offered him a variable telescopic view of the path ahead. Without computer guidance he had to pick and fly his own path far in advance. The controls at such speeds were far too sluggish to effect quick maneuvers, so it was imperative that he choose a free path through the target ships as far in advance as possible while still maintaining the required firing parameters. Page chose his route and held the yoke firmly on course. ‘Take that big bastard low on the left and the cruiser above!’ He ordered, as the ships bloomed in his scope. He switched the magnification to a lower scale, and then still lower. Ducking, dodging and weaving like a race car on ice Page fought to maneuver the unwieldy spacecraft through the most hazardous maze imaginable. Finally the window opened and the nose pointed at the battleship. In the frantic melee of light and eerie silence he locked his course.

‘Steady!’

Plasma streamers wove around the B-52 in a deadly intoxicating dance. The ship bucked and shook, but it stayed the course.

‘Steady!’

A huge flash of light blinded the displays, and Page involuntarily turned his head away, but his hands gripped the yoke firmly. When the glow faded the battle scene returned. The battleship loomed, a huge rounded tube of mottled steel and ugly blaster projectors. It pounded away at the planet below.

‘Missile away!’ called the bombardier.

‘That’s one!’ Breathed page, pulling up over the dorsal spine of the shark nosed Golkos battleship, and then ducking beneath an escort. Immediately he was in the center of the formation, surrounded by the alien leviathans, and innumerable blaster streams both friendly and otherwise. He fought the urge to ram, instead sighting his course on a small patch of stars beyond the maelstrom.

‘Number two’s away! You’re clear Johnny!’ The bombardier called.

Page jammed the throttles past the attack gate, and the bomber lurched forward. Suddenly he was in a tunnel and the enormous Golkos ships passed by all around him, like ghost ships riding the winds of a hurricane. They rushed by too quickly for him to focus, and his eyes darted uncontrollably at the flashing rust torpedoes. Blaster plumes surrounded him, buffeting the bomber and blurring his screens. It was too fast. He simply could not take in all the sensory input at once. His fists gripped the yoke harder and his teeth ground in his skull. Space turned completely white, and for a moment everything disappeared. Then suddenly he was through the plasma cloud and in the midst of the whirlpool again. Desperately he sought for a visual cue; a debilitating vertigo gripping him. There was too much, too fast; but then he caught that tiny patch of stars again. He grasped it with his sight like a drowning man and willed his ship to it. He found the safety of the tunnel again, steadfastly ignoring the blurred visions of the enormous alien warships as he flew by them. Lights and explosions danced all around, and shock waves shook the B-52’s frame wildly; but all he saw was the faint patch of stars. The eternal span of time ticked away like drunken drums in his head and suddenly they shot out of the battle and into the blackness of space.

Page pulled up and around the planet, returning in a few moments to the relative safety of the opposite side. He breathed again. The adrenalin rush faded, leaving him feeling like he’d flown a ten hour mission. He closed his eyes, now wanting only to land and go to sleep, but the crackling of battle over the ethernet said otherwise. Wearily he punched his comm switch.

‘All bombers prepare for the next attack run!’ He bellowed. Then softly, only to himself, he whispered; ‘Only nine more and you can go rearm, Johnny!’

Doggedly the battle dragged on through the Terran day. As the terminator swept across the Americas the Nived Sheur rocked; her shields absorbed a full broadside from yet another Terran battleship squadron. Grand Admiral Khandar doggedly ignored the flickering lights, the acrid smoke and the flurry of the medical techs as they pulled burned crewmembers from their shattered panels. His one goal at the moment, his only goal, was to try and keep pace with the Terran battleship on his screen and trap it within the crushing arms of his fleet. The initial confusion of the melee settled into a cauldron of seething combat. Here and there individual engagements flared, as pieces of the Golkos fleet became entangled and separated from the main body. These elements could not realize their mistake at first, bent on pursuing stricken Terran ships, but the end result was always the same. Rarely were the Terrans so wounded as they seemed, and when the Golkos advanced beyond the covering fire of their fleet the Terrans would turn upon them. The brave Golkos showed no dismay at this sudden turn of events, but soon found themselves engaged not only with the Terran capital ships but surrounded by an angry swarm of the damnable Terran subs. The Terrans seemed to have a knack for noting any sudden weakness of the Golkos, and more ships would join the slaughter on their own initiative. To make matters worse Khandar couldn’t respond in kind. Grand Admiral though he was Khandar was helpless to react. The Golkos were simply not flexible enough in either execution or initiative to deal with the impulsive and aggressive Terrans. Even now his tactical hologram was centered on a doomed packet of twenty of his ships cut off from escape. He could not help them, and they could no longer help themselves. The morbidity of it drew a wry twist upon his lips, showing sharp canines biting down and drawing his own blood. With the sobriety of a commander he accepted that their loss would at the very least bleed the Terrans, and bring them one step closer to ultimate triumph.

Almost as maddening were the Terran heavies. The squadron of Terran dreadnoughts did not disperse into the Terran squadrons after their initial rush through the Golkos fleet. Rather they stayed together in a potent hammer of devastating firepower. Alexander used them as a mobile and deadly reserve. Any time one of his squadrons got into trouble there were the heavies to extract them and turn the momentum. Five times in the first tenth of a decurn Khandar watched his superior numbers isolate a Terran squadron, but as soon as the ‘Enterprise’ and her sister ships arrived the tide turned decidedly and irrevocably. The Golkos had nothing to stand against them. Khandar had no choice. The heavies were wreaking havoc on his covering fleet and from all reports his bombardment fleet was being effectively repulsed. Alexander’s strategy was working to perfection. The planet could defend itself admirably, and the Seventh Fleet was using Alexander’s hit-and-run attack mode. Theoretically the Seventh could hammer away at Khandar’s forces without coming to grips with his superior numbers. Terra and the Seventh would fight a running fight, jabbing at Khandar until the firepower of the Second and Fifth could arrive to finish him off. Khandar was in a quandary. He could not maneuver with the Terrans, and he could not overwhelm them in isolated packets. Khandar needed to centralize the battle. Only then would his numerical advantage come to bear. Strategically the decision was a sound one, but it would work only of the Terrans wanted it to.

Khandar’s view returned to the main screen where he watched a Terran battleship slowly pulling away. A hail of fire followed her and her consorts, but the Terrans likewise fired in response with their rear turrets. Khandar bit back a curse. They would get away again! The damned Terran style of fighting kept his gunners busy and drained his shields. They, on the other hand, due to their superior speed and their use of maneuver, had the distinct advantage of disengaging for as long as it took to recharge their capacitors and accomplish battlefield repairs. As it had in the past the Terran maneuvers were showing distinct advantage in combat. Unable to alter the course of the battle in space Khandar hailed the commander of his bombardment force. The grim hologram of Admiral Jekruul spoke otherwise.

‘It has been difficult thus far, and I beg to report we have made little headway against the Terran shields,’ she told him grimly. ‘The planetary shields are greater in number and significantly more powerful than any we have experience with. It will take some time to get through them. The Terran planetary projectors are also significantly more powerful than we anticipated. A battleship or cruiser can absorb one or two simultaneous hits, but the Terrans are quite adept at fire control. I’ve lost six of my battleships to coordinated volleys. One moment they were there and the next they were gone. We are also facing significant nuisance fire from smaller batteries. In itself it is not overly dangerous, but the secondary fire is just potent enough to prevent us from recharging our shields in between volleys. Beyond these conventional defenses the Terrans are using extremely small ships to make torpedo attacks on us using the same form of fusion weapons we experienced upon entry to the system. We have decimated the attacking forces, mostly through blind volley fire from our secondary batteries, but we have taken damage. Some of these small vessels have foregone torpedo attacks and proceeded to ram our ships. The Naghat took a suicide attack to her bridge. She should have survived it Grand Admiral, but the Terran was apparently carrying a fusion bomb. Once he penetrated her hull she was literally consumed in a fusion fireball. In addition we have taken extensive damage from Terran fusion mines. They are extraordinarily plentiful, and nearly undetectable. Our sensors are nearly useless against objects so small with all the interference and debris of the battlefield.’

Khandar kept a tight rein on his temper, telling her, ‘I appreciate the difficulties you are facing Admiral Jekruul, but this is war in all its terrible splendor. We are trying to deprive the Terran race of their Homeworld, and they are fighting us with all of their strength. That is the challenge. Persevere, Admiral. Fight their ferocity with equal fortitude, for if we do not, if we fail here, then it will be our people who fight to the last in defense of our homes.’

Admiral Jekruul bowed her head sharply at the unnecessary reminder, assuring her commander, ‘You shall have all of our efforts Grand Admiral!’

‘I expect no less,’ he told her, ‘now what is your situation?’

Jekruul snapped to rigid attention and reported, ‘Terran shields are still holding, Grand Admiral, but we are concentrating our firepower on a single shield generator on the lesser continent in the northern hemisphere of the planet. There we see the highest concentrations of industrialization on the planet, but the Terrans have for some reason not concentrated their shielding there. The shield generators blanket the planet homogenously, and therefore this area is relatively weakly protected. We expect to penetrate the shielding in one half of a decand. Fully one third of the planet’s most advanced industrialized areas will then be at risk.’

‘That is a logical strategy, Admiral, you may continue with your attacks. What are your losses thus far?’ Khandar asked.

‘Fifty-seven warships, thus far Grand Admiral, of which six are battleships,’ Admiral Jekruul answered.

‘At your current attrition will you meet your projections against the Terran shields?’ Khandar asked.

‘No, Grand Admiral,’ she answered truthfully. ‘Excuse me, Grand Admiral; elements of the Terran Seventh Fleet are now engaging my squadrons!’

Khandar punched in Jekruul’s bridge viewer just in time to see a Terran battleship spiral down beside Jekruul’s flagship Lur-Shenur. The Terran was amazingly adept for its bulk. Like a playful leviathan it set its sight on the Golkos battleship and proceeded to barrel roll towards her prey, all the while training all nine of her huge forward guns on the bridge of the Lur-Shenur. Upon completing her roll the Terran battleship unleashed a full volley on Jekruul’s ship.

Jekruul grasped the arms of her seat as her ship rolled under the concussion. The Lur-Shenur returned only sporadic fire from her main batteries, most of her effort already being spent on the Terran shields below. Jekruul braced for the inevitable volley from the rear turrets of the Terran battleship but as she passed, the name Rodney emblazoned on the fantail, she was relieved to see the Terran had no aft turret. All of her firepower was concentrated on the fore of her deck.

‘An interesting if rather ungainly configuration,’ Jekruul noted as the Rodney performed another barrel roll and sailed off to recharge her capacitors. Turning back to Khandar she straightened and said, ‘We now have elements of the Terran Fleet to deal with. You see my situation, Grand Admiral. We will succeed, I assure you, but it will take time.’

‘Time is a luxury we cannot afford, Admiral Jekruul. Dire actions are required.’

‘I understand, Grand Admiral,’ she replied soberly, and then she saluted. ‘Glory to Golkos! Glory to the Empire!’

Khandar paced away from his chair, noting that another battleship squadron was slicing through the Golkos formation, spraying fire and destruction. The Grand Admiral watched impassively as the huge Terran battleship floated lazily through his formation trading bright volleys of lethal fire. As he gazed with professional interest at the strange ship Admiral Moltor approached him. The Grand Admiral nodded absently, signaling that it was alright for Moltor to report.

‘Grand Admiral, we have just received word that Admiral Jekruul has transferred her flag to the light cruiser Muwoc. However, her former flagship has suffered only minimal damage.’

‘An interesting decision,’ Khandar acknowledged. ‘Put the Muwoc on the main viewers!’ This was done, and the rusted shark appeared in the center of the bridge viewers. She left the security of her fleet and drifted down towards the planet, shining against the darkness of the Eastern Seaboard. Her slender bulk gleamed like an orange sliver against the nighttime backdrop that was Terra, but just as swiftly her silhouette cut a dense hole in the swaths of colored plasma which splashed off the planetary defense screens. Her shields glowed now red, now gold from the impacts. Hulks and debris drifted by her, victims of the stalwart Terran defense, but she floated lower and lower towards the surface, unconcerned.

Moltor listened with agitation to a report from his First Officer, and without wait reported it to Khandar. ‘Grand Admiral the Muwoc’s superluminal engines are coming to power!’

‘That would be the way,’ Khandar mused, and they all watched the Muwoc’s nose dip towards the planet’s surface. It was almost gentle, the great ship’s fall, and in so being it escaped the notice of the planetary batteries who thought it just another stricken ship. The Muwoc continued her final descent, and fifty miles from the planet’s surface she came in contact with the shields. She stopped at the unseen barrier, but even the bridge viewer could pick up the struggle that now took place. The Muwoc did not skip from the barrier as did the other hulks; she buried her nose in the energy screen and tried to muscle her way through. Slowly she made headway, her own shields glaring a ruddy gold in their effort. The ‘Muwoc’ shuddered visibly, far beyond the capacity for her inertial dampeners to overcome, and she hung there for a long terrible moment. Finally a blinding red beam stabbed up through the clouds, searching for the ‘Muwoc.’ In the blink of an eye the Golkos warship shot through and disappeared into the mists, leaving the Terran projector fire quivering like a rapier which overshot its mark, conscious of the fatal implications of its misstep. A ruddy glow erupted underneath the cloud cover, and the shock wave was shortly visible, radiating outwards ever so slowly from the epicenter of the explosion. A deadly stillness followed.

The entirety of the Golkos fleet watched the cataclysm unfold, and in the end the silence was broken by a single report by a simple sub-lieutenant: ‘Sir, the Terran shield in the northern subcontinent is down.’

Grand Admiral Khandar smiled. ‘Now let Alexander comes to me! Put me on an open channel, Moltor. Let Alexander know where I am. To all Golkos warships, this is your Grand Admiral; victory stands a quiver before us. All ships concentrate their firepower on the exposed Terran subcontinent! Commence the destruction of the Terran Homeworld!’

The stars wheeled sharply, and the planet swam into view. The main viewer of every Golkos warship showed the same target, and in each the same sight could be seen: Golkos warships already in orbit pouring fire onto the unshielded hemisphere of the Terran Homeworld.

‘Alexander! The shield generator on the North American continent has been destroyed!’ Augesburcke exclaimed. The resultant scowl from the Overlord of the Terran Empire demanded embellishment. The blood drained from Augesburcke’s now white face as he told him, ‘A Golkos cruiser made a suicide attack through the planetary shields. The gunners didn’t realize it was a calculated attack until too late. The entire North American continent is unshielded!’

Alexander scowled, but his hesitation lasted only as long as it took to punch his fleet wide communications switch. ‘This is Alexander to the Terran fleet. All ships are to immediately engage and destroy the Golkos warships in orbit around Terra!’ Then he turned to Augesburcke. ‘Admiral, I want every ship that can fire a blaster on those Golkos ships. We’ve got twelve hours before the Second Fleet arrives, and we cannot wait while the Golkos pound Terran cities to dust. We’ll bleed them dry, even if we’re not around to witness Admiral Cathcart’s annihilation of the remainder of the Golkos fleet!’

Augesburcke recognized the fever in his Overlord, but he nonetheless approached his command chair with firm resolve. Alexander’s eyes narrowed, daring his most trusted military advisor to talk him out of his course of action. The Australian would not be dissuaded.

‘Alexander, as second in command of all Terran forces it is my duty to request you to transfer your flag. This assault will almost assuredly result in the destruction of the greater part of the Seventh Fleet. Cathcart will be here in under twelve hours. It is my duty to hold the Golkos at bay until that time. I have the heavy cruiser Astoria standing by. Transfer your flag, Alexander, and lead the counterattack yourself when Cathcart arrives. Allow Terra the benefit of your leadership in our final victory.’

Nazar stepped up to his brother-in-law.

‘Alexander, listen to what your Admiral is saying, it is not necessary for you to die a warrior’s death now,’ Nazar added soberly. ‘Were the death of the Terran race imminent then you should fall with your people, but you have seen to your final victory. The Terra which survives this war will need the guidance of Alexander, not the martyr.’

Alexander stewed on their words, staring off into space as if his mind wrestled with itself between what was logical and prudent, and what his instincts felt. At length he raised his arm, motioning the spherical metal probe to his seat.

When the probe arrived he told the Communications Officer to open all channels and allow all transmissions to leave the Iowa unsecured.

‘That’ll highlight us quicker than a neon sign in the middle of the Outback,’ Augesburcke reminded his Overlord.

‘Exactly Admiral, thus far we’ve had no luck finding the Nived-Sheur. Maybe Khandar will have better luck finding us.’

The probe floated speedily to him and Alexander told it, ‘I relieve you of your programming constraints. You may delete all censorship requirements. I want these hours to pass unhindered to the galaxy. Terra stands at a precipice. We have assured our final victory, as the remnants of the Golkos invasion fleet cannot hope to escape annihilation from my approaching Second and Fifth Fleets. Yet the Golkos are here in strength to threaten Terra. Let our resolve be a lesson to any who threaten Terra or her peaceful neighbors. We did not ask for war, but war was nonetheless brought upon us. We shall finish it, regardless of the personal consequences. Now be silent and witness the battle for the rights of Terran space, and the future of the galaxy!’

Alexander rose from his chair, and with Augesburcke and Nazar in tow studied the tactical hologram. ‘We can no longer afford our hit and run fight. This must now end. The key is Khandar. If we can find him we can end this.’

Captain Thomas interrupted him, ‘Overlord! Grand Admiral Khandar just gave the order for all Golkos ships to enter bombardment orbit. The order came over an open channel. We have the location of his flagship the Nived Sheur!’

A single battleship in the hologram obediently glowed red not two thousand meters from the Iowa.

‘There you are Darius and right next door too! We’ve been trading punches all along and never knew it! Gentleman let’s strike the head off this snake! The Enterprise and her dreadnoughts are to join on the Iowa and the Bismarck squadrons and strike at the Nived Sheur. It is time to pull alongside their flagship for the final confrontation. The Big E shall lead all remaining squadrons in an immediate attack on all enemy warships in Terran orbit. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, Alexander,’ Augesburcke nodded, adding, ‘we’ll make this one for the history books!’

‘We’re not done yet, Admiral,’ Alexander growled, ‘When the last Golkos ship perishes in flames we shall still be standing, I swear it!’

Augesburcke took the eyes of his Overlord. ‘What shall I tell the Astoria?’

Alexander sighed, ‘Pull us back a bit, Admiral, and tell her to come alongside.’

‘Grand Admiral, three Terran squadrons are closing on the Nived Sheur! The heavy battleship reserve is joining on Alexander’s flagship!’ Admiral Moltor reported.

‘Just as he promised! Finally Alexander himself comes to me!’ Khandar exclaimed, turning sharply from the main communications board. He’d just watched Alexander’s broadcast to his fleet, and now he seethed with anticipation for the programmed Terran response. His eyes glowed with the realization that the initiative was now his. Khandar, not Alexander dictated the battle. The Terran Overlord was now forced to throw himself at the strength of the Golkos fleet, and Khandar was determined to hold the advantage until it should end the Terran’s fantastic career. He settled comfortably, confidently, into his seat. His brows knit with pent up excitement he had to fight to control his glee. Forcefully, but without hurry, he ordered, ‘Allow him to close unhindered, then close the trap about them! How many ships have they?’

‘There are only forty-three warships including the Iowa, Alexander’s flagship, Grand Admiral. However, over half their number are battleships or heavy-battleships. Our count is three standard battleships, nine heavy cruisers, assorted destroyers and frigates, and twenty-two Terran heavy-battleships,’ Moltor said. ‘We cannot equal the firepower of his capital ships, Grand Admiral, even with our advantage in support vessels. We must divert at least some of the attack force to defend the flagship, or we face swift annihilation!’

‘Very well, Moltor,’ Khandar relented. ‘Have the Kundoor, Har-took, Plom, Jernak and Gerod squadrons rejoin on the Nived Sheur. All other squadrons assume bombardment orbits.’

‘The bulk of our covering force is already entering orbit, Grand Admiral. The remainder of the Terran fleet is engaging our orbiting warships even as we speak. They are engaging ship-to-ship, Grand Admiral, and foregoing their usual maneuvering. Although our bombardment squadrons have taken heavy losses we still retain a two-to-one advantage.’

‘We have them!’ Khandar nodded, settling further back into his chair. In short order two distinct battles developed. One hundred and twenty kilometers above the planet the Golkos and Terran fleets fought toe-to-toe amidst blaster streams from the planet and the nuclear detonations of mines and torpedoes. Fifty kilometers above them the Nived Sheur prepared to face the Iowa. The ‘Enterprise’ and her dreadnought hammers rushed to the aid of their Overlord while a halo of Golkos battleships likewise sped to the aid of the Grand Admiral.

Khandar strode to the main viewer, relishing the slow but steady approach of the mighty Iowa. The Terran battleship hesitated initially, and Khandar almost asked aloud what Alexander could be thinking. Then the heavy cruiser beside the Iowa shuddered with a direct hit. She veered off and a Golkos battleship shouldered its way between the two Terrans. The Iowa and her cruiser let go broadsides at point blank range, bracketing the interloper. The bold, but aged battleship, gave in. Her shields imploded and she went up in a blinding flash of light. The Iowa’s shields glowed under the firestorm, but they held. The shields of the cruiser flickered, and jets of flame penetrated. The cruiser stayed intact, but ran drunkenly away from the fight with two thirds of her superstructure burned away. Khandar simply shrugged. The Iowa shook off the sting and seemed to find her resolve again. She set her course for the Nived Sheur.

The Grand Admiral showed none of the tension which gripped the bridge crew as they watched the enormous Terran flagship pulled ever closer. The Iowa held her fire as well, as if realizing that this was the final decisive battle, and wishing to wait until the highest pitch of drama could be reached. Around the two ships battle was already joined, and Terran and Golkos warships traded deadly volleys from their blaster projectors at point-blank range. The violence of the light show was as incredible as it was chaotic, but nothing disturbed the two behemoths. They sought each other out as two champion fighters, resolved that one and only one should remain standing.

The agitation of the bridge crew was palpable as the broadside cameras revealed the Terran monstrosity appearing alongside, the impossibly huge barrels of the guns pointing directly at them. Closer and closer they came, and every member of the bridge crew knew with a certainty that no shields could repel firepower of that magnitude at such close range. Still they closed; the black holes of the muzzles were no longer objects of fascination; they were pits from which only death could come. So distracted was Khandar and the Nived Sheur that none noted another ship on the point of crossing her bows. Like the Iowa it was a battleship, but upon its decks amidst crimson and black was an enormous Maltese cross surmounted by a bird of prey; the ancient blazon of the Imperial German Navy.

‘Emergency power to the bow shields!’ Moltor cried, being the first to ascertain their danger. He rushed to Khandar’s side. Khandar started violently at the Admiral’s warning, immediately recognizing the trap, though too late to prevent it.

‘The impudence! To distract me with his own body! What a fool am I to be crossed at the bows! Bloody Hell, Alexander, will you not even give me the honor of dying at your hands!’

Khandar’s fist spouted blood as he pounded the console, ordering every battery of the Nived Sheur to fire. It was far, far too late. In deadly unison the eight main blaster projectors of the Bismarck bloomed along with each of her secondary batteries along her port flank. The Nived Sheur’s visual screens dimmed in the face of such energy, but they revealed enough to make veterans cringe behind their boards. A brave destroyer Captain saw the danger to his flagship and dove his vessel in the face of the ‘Bismarck’s’ fury. The small warship lost its shields instantly in the cataclysm. The stunned crew of the Nived Sheur watched the destroyer vaporize, and the battleship projector beams pass through unhindered. The projector fire overwhelmed the bow shields of the battleship. They buckled, allowing washes of unfettered energy to score and burn the conical prow to a blunted stump. The flagship lurched as if she’d struck a reef, and the groaning of tritium plates reverberated along the length of the hull. The bridge was in a maelstrom of sound and motion, and for a moment it seemed as if the very ship would come apart. Galactic warships were designed to withstand bombardment, but the Bismarck crossed the Golkos bows by scarcely a three hundred meters before she opened up.

‘Fire damn you! Fire all batteries!’ Khandar roared as he clutched bridge rail.

The Fire Control Officer stabbed at his board, but his eyes registered only the mighty guns of the Iowa as they finally flowered. The Nived Sheur responded just as the raging torrent reached the Golkos shields. The Fire Control Officer’s board erupted in his face. Blue bolts of plasma writhed up his arms and clutched at his chest, and then he disappeared in an exploding cloud which consumed a full span of the Nived Sheur’s weapons board. His corpse, still burning, cartwheeled from the cloud as the Nived Sheur’s gravitational generators failed. Khandar watched the board disappear, mouth agape. The visiplate image of the Iowa’s broadside hung in the smoke for an instant like an apparition. Then the battleship melted from sight in a flash of heat and light. A blinding arc of flame opened a crack along the bulkhead, hypnotically drawing Khandar’s eyes to the wound. The crack widened and suddenly there was a rush of molten wind and a flash of blinding light. A moment in time disappeared, and Khandar saw the bridge from afar. Like an egg cracked in a tumult and then cast into the flames. The bridge was a mausoleum, shaken to distraction by the tremors of the Underworld and then loosed into the cold tomb of space. When his sight returned he found himself standing amidst the wreckage frozen on the bridge, looking amidst the horror for some sign of life. After what seemed an eternity a hint of motion caught his eye, and he looked up. Through the soft focus of the bridge’s emergency force field Khandar watched the silver belly of the Bismarck blotting out the stars.

Johnny Page glanced over his shoulder at the remains of his bomber fleet. Sixty three ships, barely twenty-five percent his original force, now gathered on the far side of Luna after rearming. Their part of the defense should have been over, but the desperation of the Terran situation demanded every available resource. The loss of the North American shields, and shortly thereafter the African shields, spurred Page, and every Terran, to their utmost. The Cradle of Civilization and the New World were even now under relentless bombardment, and each moment meant another bomb, another blaster stream unleashed upon an unprotected planets cape.

‘All ships to me,’ Page ordered. ‘We’re going in hot, and we’re going in fast. You know the game now, but it’s going to be even more dicey. Every Terran ship we can spare is mixing it up with the Golkos in orbit, and the planetary guns are shooting at every Golkos ship that moves, regardless of our position. Get in there quick, release as late as you can and get the hell out of there! Now let’s go to it!’ Page muscled the blaster scarred B-52 around the shoulder of the Moon and shoved the throttles up.

A glaring, ‘yee-hah!’ erupted from his exuberant bombardier. A young man of twenty-seven from Alabama, the boy was happily excellent at this sort of thing. In the general’s opinion the kid was simply too new to this to be scared.

‘Ignorance is bliss,’ he muttered, but then asked, ‘Johnson, boy, you got me a target?’

‘Right you are boss,’ the bombardier smiled, hunched over his screen. ‘We’re running out of fat cats, but there’s a big bastard over New York way whose taken some hits. I’ve got him centered if you want to finish him off.’

‘Let’s get him!’ Page answered, and immediately a crosshair appeared on his heads-up-display. ‘Centered!’ Page said simply, and he began his eleventh run of the day. Page was now used to the pell mell maniacal frenzy of the space torpedo run, and he was now veteran enough to be aware of what was going on about him. He was surprised at the activity that surrounded him, as this time the scene was mightily transformed. In their earlier attacks the bombers were met by a hail of fire from the Golkos secondary batteries. This danger was conveniently absent now, as the Golkos were fully engaged by Terran warships as well as planetary projectors. The bombers now hurtled virtually forgotten into midst of the melee. The chief dangers now, and they were still extreme, were collision and absorbing fire meant for someone else. They were, in a way more worrisome to Page. He didn’t mind so much being shot down, to borrow an inexact term, but he certainly didn’t want to go down as the victim of a collision or an accidental hit.

‘One missile Johnson, one only!’ Page ordered against the buffeting of the ship through the war torn space. ‘We don’t have time to go back and rearm. We need to make each shot count!’

‘One missile, one ship, you got it boss!’ Johnson acknowledged. Warships sped by their windows at dizzying rates. The clock blinked redly.

‘Standby! Hold her steady! I got him, I got him, missile away!’

A glow out of their right window announced the ALCM launch. The missile, already benefit of the B-52’s velocity, sped away from the bomber as its Scythian thruster gave it increased impetus. Page hauled back gently on the yoke and banked away from the weapon, shooting for his exit gate and creating the precious gap of distance between himself and his deadly messenger. There was so little time to get free, and even as he settled the aging giant on her escape course the familiar flash and turbulence of the ALCM shock wave signaled a strike.

‘Impacted her shields,’ Johnson reported, assessing the strike through his cameras. Patiently they waited for the glow to die down so they could see what lay beneath. The clouds of plasma dissipated quickly enough so that Johnson could report. ‘She’s still intact, though I see some superficial damage. Hold on, we must’ve taken her shields out! An ‘Alpha’ class sub is diving in on her! That’s it baby, bring it on home! They’re finishing her off! Scratch one battleship!’

‘Nicely done, Johnson,’ Page sighed. ‘Let’s bring her around again.’

Admiral Sergei Konstantinov could hardly complain about the action he’d seen this day. It more than made up for all the weeks of frigging around and shooting blindly into space.

‘Bring her hard about! Fire all tubes as we come to bear! Let’s finish that bomber’s work for her; I’ll not have them catch their breath!’ The orders came sure and sharp, but with the hours of the battle dragging on even Konstantinov felt his frenetic energy on the wane. The Gagarin rolled in on the stricken battleship like an angel of death. Blaster fire poured into the helpless amidships of the battleship, blowing huge voids in the skin and melding deck, skin and ribs into a mindless jungle of twisted metal. Konstantinov’s gunners were adamant in their aim, not random. Under the fused decks were the powerhouses of the ship: her engines. Their blasters burned into those cavernous halls buried deep in the ship’s bowels and Konstantinov rolled his head with pleasure as a golden aura pushed its way outwards from the dying ship.

‘Ah, now isn’t that a sight to see; like sunrise in the South Pacific! Nice shooting, you B-52! I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but nice shooting! Chalk us down for half-a-one First Officer. We’ll share that with our comrades in arms!’

‘Aye, aye sir!’ The First Officer agreed, but then he informed Konstantinov, ‘Sir, the Iowa is taking quite a beating. We’ve been monitoring the battle above. It started favorably, but over the last two hours the Golkos numerical advantage has begun to tell. The Iowa is surrounded with only half her squadron remaining. The Bismarck and the dreadnoughts have joined her about the Golkos flagship, the Nived Sheur, but all have suffered heavy damage. The Golkos flagship is just about dead in space, but the Golkos have many more support ships.’

Konstantinov closed his eyes. ‘I have my orders direct from Alexander himself,’ he said.

‘Admiral, reports indicate that the Iowa has been boarded,’ the First Officer added.

Konstantinov cut him off, ‘We have our orders!’ He said, adding somewhat more soberly, ‘Let us have faith that Alexander knows what he is doing.’

The fight had long since deteriorated into a slugging match. Gone were the deft maneuvers Alexander so admired. All that remained was the order to fire at will at everything which moved or showed even the remotest sign of life. The Iowa led three other battleships, thirty-seven ships of the line, and twenty-two dreadnoughts into mortal combat with the Nived Sheur and the one hundred and eighty-nine Golkos ships, of which twelve were battleships. The odds were even at first glance, but for the seven Terran cruisers which started the fight there were sixty-one Golkos cruisers; and for the thirty destroyers and frigates there were one hundred and seventeen Golkos ships. The blow dealt by the Bismarck and Iowa to the Nived Sheur at the onset of the engagement changed the face of the battle immensely. What at first appeared to be a face off turned into a fight for the corpse of the Golkos flagship. The Nived Sheur still lived, though by the intensity of her few remaining batteries it was by a thread. It was obvious to all that the Golkos flagship would never leave the Terran system under her own power. Her mains were down, and her feeble fire was merely to assure all that she would not surrender. The Nived Sheur was a stalwart but barren lady. She no longer had teeth, but she would not, could not retreat. Her consorts risked all to save her, and suffered greatly from dangerous efforts to somehow extricate their Grand Admiral from the floating coffin of his flagship. The Golkos battleships were the first to wade in, but one by one they died under the superior firepower of their Terran adversaries. When only a handful of Golkos capital ships remained the destroyers and frigates took over the fight. To their credit the Golkos captains threw their overmatched vessels relentlessly at the huge Terran ships. The fight turned into a swarm of Golkos destroyers and frigates stinging the titanic Terran ships. It was a testament to Golkos courage, and after some time it began to show success.

That the Terrans suffered immensely from the innumerable Golkos guns was obvious, but what was equally plain was the stubbornness with which the Terrans died. The thick tritanium treated steel of the Terran warships was many times the strength of the thin skinned Galactics; designed as they were to be almost wholly dependent on shielding. When shields failed the Terrans fought on when their Galactic counterparts broke up. Still, the Terrans took an enormous pounding. Four of the ‘Enterprise’s’ turrets were quite literally blown off her deck. Bereft of all but one of her main batteries she became a ram, burying her sharp Terran prow into the midsections of one after another Golkos ships. At long last, when her remaining guns were gone and rampant streams of energy spewed from her ruptured bowels, the ‘Enterprise’ could not withdraw her battered ram. She floated, impaled on the dying wreck of a cruiser; a twisted monstrosity of steel trading flickers of flame with her torn prey.

The Bismarck lived in brief glory only to die again. Transfixed between eight cruisers and innumerable destroyers she traded fire for almost two hours, destroying twelve of her foes before finally bowing out in a pulsing cloud of fire and plasma.

The remaining combatants, surrounded by glowing gas, derelict hulks and a swarm of life pods, continued to wrestle. Like exhausted boxers they leaned upon each other’s shields, clutching closer in their efforts to score a final fatal blow. Relentlessly they pounded each other. Wheezing and grunting, their projector fire now bright with patience, now dim with desperation. Shields fluctuated visibly under overloaded generators and drained engines. Yet no one stopped. No calls for quarter were heard, none were asked for. Lifepods clawed beyond the fringes of the battle. With nowhere to land the survivors milled aimlessly, conserving energy and awaiting the outcome of the slaughter.

Over the last two hours Alexander had no opportunity to issue orders, follow the battle or see to anything but his own survival. When the Astoria rolled away out of control approaching Golkos battleships cut off any chance of extracting the Terran Overlord. Alexander refused to allow the Iowa out of the fight. With the North American shields down and then the sudden loss of the African shields he could not afford to lose the Iowa’s firepower. In short order the battle turned into a scrum. There was no room for maneuver. The Golkos hovered over every metropolis their scanners could find. Terran warships threw themselves at the invaders with reckless abandon. Numbers, size, damage; nothing mattered. It was a slugging match with no élan, grace, glory or quarter. The battle became static. Then the first boardings began. It was strictly a Golkos offensive, as the Terran fleet was not equipped to reply in kind. Still, it was not altogether unexpected, and a healthy contingent of marines waited upon each vessel for just such an occasion. Alexander ordered Admiral Augesburcke to the battle bridge. No sooner had the Admiral checked in than the first announcement of a boarding on the Iowa took place.

He was back in his own tiny world of red fury; the hand-to hand fighting on the Iowa was not so much savage as it was extreme. Although his commanders begged him to take shelter in the battle-bridge Alexander refused to leave. Nazar would not leave his friend and brother’s side. He informed a crusty Alexander that to do so would forfeit his honor and the love of his sister. The Terran Overlord left it at that. The Golkos boarded the Iowa from a score of ships, and while the remnants of the Iowa and Bismarck squadrons pounded the attackers mercilessly they could do little else. The Terran fleet had no boarding pods. The Iowa and her Overlord where quite alone.

Alexander’s worry had always been his soldier’s brevity of training for space borne hand-to-hand combat, especially when the inevitable occurred and the gravitational generators failed.

He needn’t have wasted the energy.

The Terrans took to their blasters and knives with a relish of ferocity their ancestors would have smiled at. Their planet was in peril, and all of Terra rose to the occasion. It was not so much heroic as it was desperate; it was not so much glorious as it was bestial. The Iowa became the focus of the hard cold reality of existence, and the endless struggle to perpetuate the species. Eons into the future neither the Terrans nor the Golkos would leave a trace to tell the universe that they ever existed, but here and now they fought for every last breath of their civilization and their species. Blood smeared bulkheads on the most powerful battleship in the known galaxy. It bore a testament to the will to live, and though the Terrans were the more terrible the Golkos were the more numerous. Just when the ever shrinking number of Terrans would clear the bridge of invaders a fresh surge of Golkos would erupt from the torn corridors. Several times in the last hour the Terrans were surrounded, gathering in a small kernel in a corner of the bridge. Just at the point of final defeat a sortie from the bowels of the Iowa would change the tide. The battle for the bridge was the rallying point of both forces, and from everywhere on the ship the call to a last stand drew any being with breath left in their body. The bridge was a dying place, devoid of all but the red emergency lights, the staccato discharges of plasma, and eruptions of blasters. The wan illumination made it all the more ghoulish and confusing. Venting gases mixed with blood globules, floating bodies and torn equipment. The only sign of life on the bridge was the red number counting down in the corner of the main screen: the chronometer which foretold the arrival of Admiral Cathcart and the Fifth Fleet.

CHAPTER 19

The bridge of the ‘King George V’ was as silent as the grave. Admiral Cathcart was stolidly planted in front of the bridge’s main viewer. There were no targets in the field, no enemies, only the endless movement of the stars. Slowly, ever so slowly, the chronometer counted down towards zero. There was no great anticipation of its ending, only a lingering sense of dread. No communications had been intercepted from Terra in over an hour. The most telling source of data, the Chem probe on the bridge of the Iowa stopped its transmissions suddenly in the frenzy of the hand-to-hand combat on the bridge. As grim as was this development there were no clarifying announcements from the Golkos either. There was, in fact, nothing at all. Whereas two hours past the ‘King George V’ intercepted the faint but audible cacophony of battle now there was nothing but a crackling ethernet. Where Terra once existed there was only an endless sea of static.

That the rest of the known galaxy listened just as intently was completely lost on Admiral Cathcart. Restlessly he began to pace the bridge, grumbling and cursing to himself. So intent on his own dark thoughts was he that the Captain of the ‘King George V’ had to approach and inform him that they were at long last home. The ‘King George V’ was ready to drop out of superluminal with her fleet and enter the Terran system in force.

Cathcart nodded, approving the order, mumbling, ‘Now to see how much ‘home’ we have left.’

They dropped out of superluminal outside the orbit of Saturn and proceeded with all possible speed past the graceful world, within the confines of Jupiter, and thereupon into the interior of the Terran solar system. As the fleet approached the twin planets of Terra and Luna there was a marked change in the system, even at long range. Vibrant clouds of plasma swirled around the blue and white orb. Veils of active discharge pulsed against the darkness of space; punctuated by glowing clouds within clouds, and violent arcing from cloud to cloud. Streams of golden gas roiled with intense radiation, setting auroras dancing in the atmosphere. Closer still they pressed, not yet daring to hail the Homeworld. Finally the planet filled the viewer. Innumerable points of ink transformed into savagely twisted wrecks, tumbling against bright cloud cover of the daylight atmosphere. Terran ships floated lifelessly next to Golkos ships, all silent, all seemingly dead. Nothing moved. No one called. The ‘King George V’ passed within the orbit of Luna, and into the Terran system proper. Now they could all see the glows upon the planet’s surface, unmistakable even to the novice; that strange golden radiance of the crust after a blaster bombardment. It illuminated the eastern and western coastlines of North America, and choice spots of the interior. As the nighttime African continent swung into view the Cradle of Civilization, Cairo, Bagdad, and the Arabian peninsula throbbed with that deadly radiance of death.

‘Hail Terra,’ Cathcart ordered, almost silently.

‘Nothing but static sir,’ he was told, the communications officer said. ‘There is a tremendous amount of radiation in the system. I expect its disrupting all communications at this time.’

‘The entire Cold War stockpile went up in a few hours I expect,’ the Admiral mused.

‘Sir the only scanners working are the visuals,’ the Captain added. ‘Everything else is affected by the radiation.’

‘How many ships are ours?’ Cathcart asked breathlessly.

‘Hundreds, I think. It is really impossible to tell, Admiral,’ the Captain told him.

‘What about the planetary shields, are any of them still up?’ He asked.

‘We’re picking up fires from North America and Africa. They are extensive, but I won’t know more until we’ve analyzed the planet, sir,’ the Captain replied. ‘I can’t see any evidence of blaster bombardment in Europe, Asia or South America. Nothing is certain, however. At the moment I don’t have any answers because we have little or no data.’

‘Very well, put the fleet in a fifteen hundred kilometer orbit,’ the Admiral ordered. ‘That should keep us out of harm’s way with the minefields and all. Get every available man on the visual telescopes. Dispatch our frigates and destroyers for a surface search of the planet. I want to know what’s left of our world Captain.’

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ the Captain saluted.

The ‘King George V’ led her fleet into orbit around battlefield Terra. It wasn’t long before they discovered that even ship-to-ship communications were impossible at the moment due to the radiation fields. Fortunately the source of the problem was obvious in its nature, and with typical Terran adaptability the fleet fell in behind their flagship. They ran with shields at minimal which was enough to protect them from the radiation. To communicate they fell back upon an ancient discourse: Morse code flashed by secondary projectors.

The immediate concern, the Golkos invasion fleet, was settled within the next few hours. The destroyed hulks of Golkos ships were accounted for, within ten percent, in orbit around Terra. Of those viewed none showed any signs of life. A similar fate, apparently, befell the defending Seventh Fleet.

‘It looks as though they annihilated one another,’ Cathcart whispered, thoroughly defeated.

‘The numbers of wrecks we’ve spotted are consistent with the numbers of the Seventh Fleet after the battle of ‘Thermopylae,’ and our projections of the Golkos fleet, sir.’

‘My God, my God,’ Cathcart could only lament.

‘The good news is that the planetary shields are largely intact. Bombardment damage is limited to North America and the African continent. There is one more thing, sir,’ the Captain started again, but then stopped.

‘Go on,’ the Admiral required, though without any desire to hear what was next.

‘We believe we’ve found the Iowa, sir,’ the Captain said lowly.

‘You believe? You don’t mean it’s completely destroyed do you?’ Cathcart asked, standing bolt upright from his Conn.

‘No sir, but she’s in a pretty bad way.’

‘Is she intact enough to tractor out of there?’ Cathcart asked, gaining some of his energy back.

‘Our ships seem to be made of pretty stern stuff, sir, by the looks of it. I think we can haul her out in one piece!’

‘See to it, Captain! I want half the fleet to begin salvage operations immediately. Bring the Iowa and all other ships out beyond the radiation. Put them in geostationary orbit on the dark side of the Moon. That should keep them within the immediate vicinity of Terra, but shielded from the radiation. Begin rescue operations at once! The remainder of the fleet is to stand to and provide cover.’

‘Yes sir!’ The Captain jumped to it, and in short order Cathcart could see for himself Terran warships dragging their stricken brethren from the battlefield. As this occurred the first reports from the surface sweeps arrived. They were short and concise, owing to the constrained nature of communications, but before too long a reasonable picture of Terra emerged.

The vast majority of damage was absorbed by the North American continent. There was extensive damage to nearly all the industrial cities in the Midwest and along the Eastern Seaboard. Inland Chicago, Detroit and Dallas had disappeared. Los Angeles was a seething cauldron, the entire city returned to the sea. The entirety of the Eastern Seaboard was consumed in golden flames. Fortunately, the shields over Europe and most of Asia were still intact. In Africa, however, every major metropolis from Cairo to Johannesburg lay in ruins. The news was sobering, but not disastrous. The planet’s atmosphere thus far protected the population from the rampant radiation now in orbit, and there was foresight enough to evacuate the major cities prior to the attack. Communications on the planet’s surface were disrupted, but not to the extent they were in orbit, and the command structure was still intact. Thus, in relatively short order the planetary defense force informed the scouts of the Fleet all the particulars of the battle. Most of the survivors of the battle landed their lifepods in North America, and their account fleshed out the picture of the two fleets battling to the death. Yet of Alexander they knew nothing. They, like the ‘King George V’ and the galaxy, lost all communication with Alexander and the Seventh Fleet when the Iowa died.

With this sobering news Cathcart ordered the ‘King George V’ to escort the wreck of the Iowa to the dark side of the Moon, where an immediate rescue operation could be undertaken. Crews were promptly dispatched in shuttles with space suits to make a thorough inspection of the ship. As the ‘King George V’s’ sensor arrays were no longer overloaded by radiation they were able to direct the crews in short order to possible life signs. Under the desperate constraints of time and necessity the genius of Terran invention came to the fore. The gaping wounds in the Iowa’s hull were obviously impossible to seal, but the vacuum within made rescue equally difficulty for those trapped. Engineers quickly rigged force fields which allowed them to create temporary airlocks within the ship. Shuttle’s docked at intact airlocks and then created pressurized pathways to sealed chambers. It was grueling, dangerous work, but within the hour they were close to reaching the battle bridge of the Iowa. The was still no sign of Alexander or Admiral Augesburcke.

‘This does not bode well,’ Cathcart told ‘King George V’s’ Captain. ‘We’ve heard nothing of Alexander. The Iowa’s bridge is almost completely destroyed by the look of it.’

The Captain was about to reply in kind when the Communications Officer suddenly interrupted, exclaiming, ‘Admiral! Captain! I am picking up a transmission from the ‘Iowa!’

‘What?’

‘Sir, it’s on the Galactic emergency ethernet channels. It’s Alexander!’

‘Put it on!’

The ghostly image of Alexander appeared. Behind him floated Terra and the stars through a jagged rift in the Iowa’s hull. Alexander was bloodied and defiant, but the soft focus of his features told all viewers that he was relying on the emergency life support field in his armor to protect him from the vacuum of space.

‘… from the pyre of Terra I spite all who would be our executioners. Learn the lesson of this defeat well and hold it close to your bosom, for you dare not push me to repeat it! The Golkos attack on Terra was doomed to failure from the start, yet Golkos did not heed my dire warnings. Now my prophecy is culminated in reality. The final Golkos warship has surrendered in the only manner possible, or acceptable: with its destruction. Thus falls the last of Terra’s foes, and if the galaxy is willing, thus is quenched the greater fire of Alexander’s anger. Yet what remains? For some of you the path from war has led to newfound friendship with Terra. Your choice shall not be ill founded. Though you have all, to some extent, been the bearers of misfortune for Terra in this hour I will not renege on my words, or the sincerity with which Terra views our various accords. The war of Terra and the Alliance is now drawn nearly and completely to a close. There remains only the matter of Terra and Golkos. This too will shortly be settled. Terra has emerged from this war with blood upon her lips and orphans at her breast. For that injustice there shall be a reckoning. Whether Golkos yields or whether Golkos resists is her decision. Either way Alexander will come to Golkos and he will walk upon her soil. It is up to Golkos in what manner this may occur, but by the behavior of Golkos she has dictated that Alexander shall bear the countenance of conqueror. Be his will malicious or benevolent is still for Golkos to decide.

‘As for Terra’s other neighbors I say it is time to put these troubled days in our past. There is a future out there to grasp if we will just lay hold of it. Terra will be a willing partner in ventures with its neighbors, as an equal, and not as a state of dominion. There is healing to be done, and in this time it is the wish of Terra that all peoples within this small region of a vast galaxy recognize and respect one another with sincere equality. The word of the gentle Quotterim should bear the same weight as that of the bold Terran, or the honorable Chem. That, if anything, is Alexander’s view of our galaxy in the aftermath of war. If we cannot improve the standard by which we all exist then our suffering in these trying times shall have been in vain. War is too terrible a price without some greater effect to our future. Though it is waged by necessity, and different reasoning, it is my opinion that we must take its aftermath and shape our worlds to the better. I hold this true for all worlds in our community, even to the Golkos. Though there is at this moment bitter blood between our people’s time demands that it will not always be so. Therefore, even in victory and strength, even in the face of my own past words, I shall not necessarily seek cataclysmic retribution. Though I view our cause as that of the victim the same event through different eyes can be either equally innocent, or equally guilty. Golkos shall not perish by my hand, nor shall its institutions dissolve by my wish. Golkos still, as ever it has, guides its own destiny though it stands on unsteady feet. As for Terra, she demands some answers, she celebrates her freedom but she does not rejoice in her victory.’

The communication ceased.

‘Hail him’

‘Nothing, Admiral; there’s nothing but static. Admiral! The crews have reached the battle bridge of the Iowa. They have Admiral Augesburcke, sir!’ Fifteen minutes later the Admiral’s were shaking hands on the Iowa’s bridge.

‘It is a damnable thing to leave the bridge in the midst of battle, Admiral Cathcart, and I’ll never live it down. What’s the word on Alexander? It’s no good if we lose our Overlord after the battle is won!’

Cathcart was about to update Augesburcke on the status of the rescue, but before he could reply the Captain reported that Thor and the Second Fleet were dropping out of superluminal beyond Neptune. Admiral Sampson was momentarily on the ethernet and proceeding at full impulse to Terra.

Cathcart nodded and turned to Augesburcke, suggesting they add the muscle of the Second Fleet to our their own rescue efforts.

‘By all means, Cathcart, let’s get our ships out of there. As for ourselves I want to find Alexander.’

‘Admiral! There’s another message from Alexander!’

Cathcart turned to Augesburcke, saying, ‘We picked up a transmission from Alexander a short time ago. It was transmitted from within his suit, possibly from the bridge of the Iowa. We did not get a response to our hails, however.’ They turned to the main viewer and watched Alexander’s message. Cathcart shook his head. ‘No, it’s the same transmission being replayed. He must have programmed it for retransmission. It is possible he’s still alive, sir, but all the rescue crews are tied up on the interior of the Iowa. Our scans show the bridge has no emergency force field. If there is anyone still alive on the bridge they must be using the sustaining field in their suit. The fields are designed for a maximum of four hours use. If Alexander is up there he must be pretty low by now. Unfortunately, the route to the bridge is all but impassable. The only other option is to drop off a crew with a shuttle and send them over the hull. That’s still half an hour away.’

‘That’s not acceptable! Suggestions?’ Heavy silence met Augesburcke’s demand.

On the bridge of the Iowa Alexander floated out of his seat and into the darkness. As if to highlight the finality of the moment all power on the bridge now failed. The Iowa was cold and dead. The only light within came from the open wound in the bridge’s bulkheads. He was completely alone. Even Nazar was gone. The redoubtable Chem was torn from his side when the bridge’s bulkhead breached. The last the Overlord saw of him was the lanky frame spinning into space. It was a difficult loss, but beyond was the loss of Terra. When last he knew both North America and Africa were aglow with the hellfire of blaster bombardment. What the outcome of the battle was he could only guess. To this end he made his way to the gaping wound which cut the bridge diagonally through the port bulkheads. There were stars beyond, and as the air grew stale in his sustaining field he looked to them for comfort. So many things left undone, so much to experience, but for Alexander time was growing short. There were no more emergency power packs left on the silent corpses, and the light bar on his wrist now dipped from amber to red. Ten minutes or so, he estimated, no more.

He watched the stars for a time with real regret, disappointed that he did not at least get one last view of Terra. ‘Funny,’ he whispered to himself. ‘I spent all my life looking away from Terra to the stars. Now at the last all I really wish for is one final look at home and a last goodbyeironic.’

The metal was cold under his hand, but otherwise he was very much bereft of feeling. There was a peace in Space, and he thought, half against his will, that this was not at all a bad place to die. At least he would die on the deck of a fighting ship. Alexander watched the slow wheeling motions of the stars for a time, ignoring the warmth of the atmosphere in sustaining field. He faded in and out, almost thinking that he caught the limb of Luna in his fading sight. He corrected himself. It must have been Terra under a silver blanket of clouds; it was far too close to be Luna. Yet weren’t those craters he just saw? Hot flashes and tingling in his fingers announced the onset of hypoxia, and he shook his head. The cobwebs would not clear. He growled to himself. Alexander knew what was next. Some people got giddy when oxygen starvation hit them; he just got nauseous and irritable. A hell of a way to go out, he thought, ruining the stunning view outside by being sick. He hoped he wouldn’t retch. Would the sustaining field contain his own vomit? That would be the last straw. The color of the world disappeared into a hazy canvass of greys, like some bad piece of modern art. He closed his eyes, trying to bring them back into focus, but when he thought to open them he saw nothing at all. Cursing, Alexander tried to force himself to move, but nothing happened. Then the atmosphere in his lungs cooled noticeably. Blinking, the color and definition of the world returned with sudden clarity. He snapped back to full consciousness, feeling hands on his arms. A silver portal slid open before him, and his felt the hardness of decking underneath his knees. His eyes lifted and there was the smiling face of Augesburcke, hand outstretched.

‘It seems I’m always bring you back home, Alexander. Welcome aboard, Overlord!’

CHAPTER 20

It was a bright day in St. Joseph, Kansas, when Alexander stepped out of the shuttle at the airport. The Golkos bombardment spared the small city, and by all indications the only scar of the previous afternoon was the grey pall overhead: the smoke fed by continental fires. The quiet victory of the day was unfortunately lost on him. A car took the grim Overlord of the Terran Empire to a place he’d been many times before.

Nazar looked around with interest. It was the Chem’s first time outside a major Terran city or military installation. The sight of the stately homes of the museum district overlooking the meandering river was quite enough for him to forget the luck of being plucked, Quotterim-like, from space by the inimitable but now one-armed Admiral Konstantinov of the Gagarin.

‘I’m getting good at fishing for aliens!’ The Admiral snapped when they brought Nazar aboard. The rupture of a plasma conduit on the bridge cost Konstantinov his left arm and left him with painful burns. He refused to leave the bridge to be tended to, and the surgeon cut off the tatters of the limb as Konstantinov ordered the Gagarin’s final salvo of torpedoes into the belly of the Nived Sheur. The torpedoes broke the Golkos flagship in two, after which Konstantinov fainted. When he came to he was still on the bridge and all that remained of the battle was the flotsam and jetsam of the fleets. He’d fired the final shot in the battle for Terra.

Alexander’s car stopped in front of an imposing brick edifice. Almost absently he said, ‘The last time I was at Corby Mansion was for dinner. Johnny bought this place twenty-years ago for a song. We all thought he was crazy. It was built last century, and was once a grand place, but when Johnny got it there was nothing left but the shell. He and Jeannie put ten years of blood and sweat into the place, room by room. He brought it back. Johnny always talked about retiring here …’ Alexander’s voice trailed off as the car rolled to a stop. He got out heavily, climbing the steps like a condemned man. Halfway up the door opened. Jeannie and the kids appeared. The kids, oblivious to the meaning of Alexander’s visit rushed down the stair to meet their ‘Uncle Alexander.’ Alexander picked them up, all three in a bundle, and carried them into the drawing room. Jeannie, knowing full well the look on Alexander’s face, let the children say their hellos. Finally she extricated Alexander from their embrace, and the kids promptly turned their attention to the strange figure of Nazar.

‘You’re a Chem, aren’t you?’ asked Jeanna, the eldest, but still only seven. ‘I know the Chem, the Scythians, the Golkos, all of them. You’re one of our friends aren’t you?’

‘Yes I am,’ Nazar smiled.

That was as much as Jeannie could take. She hustled the kids away. When they were out of the room she shut the door. Standing stock still, a graceful hand steadying her lips, Jeanie’s eyes started tearing. Slowly, painfully holding it in, she gazed about the room. Her voice quivered, at the verge of breaking, but she’d rehearsed this moment, these feelings a thousand nights before. Wistfully distracted with a facade of control she told them, ‘We had a dinner party here just last week. Everyone from Johnny’s squadron came, and old friends from the other squadrons. We traded stories, memories, hopes and fears. Johnny decided to have another party when it was all over, you know, in keeping with tradition. It was wonderful, but behind all the faces there was that same question: who would be at the next party? Johnny said it would be rough, but somehow I never thought he would be the one left out. I don’t suppose he would have stayed on Terra, even for me and the kids.’

‘I couldn’t spare him Jeannie. I wish that I could have.’

‘I know Alexander. Johnny was terribly afraid that you’d take him out before the fight. That worried him more than anything else.’ She stopped at the fireplace mantle. Reaching up she cradled the family portrait, a ghostly smile paling her face. Her eyes flashed with angry fragility at the picture next to it: Johnny’s portrait in uniform. Her words were biting in that moment, but they trailed off into simple sadness. ‘I suppose I must be the commander’s wife one more time and host the damn party anyway. Put up a brave front for all to see and all that crap! Johnny would call it ‘therapy,’ and, well, I suppose he’d be right. He’d be the first to tell me to think of my duty; to keep busy and be useful. God knows there must be others in the wing that’ve lost it all this day. I can’t let them down. Can you get me a list of names, Alexander? I’ll handle the rest.’

‘That’s a very brave thing to do, Jeannie, but,’

‘Alexander I need to do this, just give me the names and I’ll get a hold of the spouses. Please, Alexander.’ She pleaded, as now it was her only thread to control, and her only shelter from unfettered grief.

Alexander stepped up to her and grasped her shoulders. He took her eyes. ‘There were a lot of good people under Johnnie’s command yesterday, Jeannie, and some very close friends. None of them came back.’

‘What are you saying? Alexander, some of them must have made it,’ she whispered, the shell of control crumbling.

‘Jeannie, no one made it back. We lost them all.’

It was then that grief finally hit her. Sobbing, she collapsed into Alexander’s arms.

Back aboard Thor, Alexander finished the last of the evening reports. The business of tallying the dead, the dying and the missing was all but over. It was grim reading. The Seventh Fleet was all but annihilated. The submarine ‘wolf pack’ suffered ninety-five percent losses. Of the Terran Defense Forces none of the bombers or their crews survived. With the North American shields down and his bomber force down to thirty planes and no missiles, General Johnny Page led his tiny group on one last run. He plowed his crippled B-52 into the vulnerable bridge of a Golkos battleship as it pounded the Midwest. All of his remaining bombers, every one, followed his example. In all, the space borne forces of the Seventh Fleet and Terran Defense Force lost over ninety-eight percent of their ships. Of the one hundred and fifteen thousand soldiers and sailors that shipped out of Terra in the Seventh Fleet only one in ten survived. Fortunately, the casualties on Terra herself were significantly less, and wholly out of proportion with the damage inflicted. Due to timely evacuations and the Spartan defense Terran casualties were actually less than a tenth those of the fleet. Still, over two hundred million people were left homeless and under conditions of the most primitive services.

Alexander shut off the red numbers on his screen and shook his head. He turned to the intercom and asked he communications officer to establish a secure link to the Chem Elder. In short order Alexander had the beautiful face of Nazeera glowing at him.

‘Good evening, my dear, and how is life in the quiet section of the galaxy?’

‘Considerably better than you look, my love.’

‘That is better than I feel.’

‘Indeed, then it is a good thing you are victorious. I would not wish to look upon your defeated visage since victory is so grim.’

‘Just reflections and regrets, my dear; I’m certain they’ll pass soon enough.’

‘Perhaps, but I’m proud of you just the same.’

‘And why is that?’

‘You overcame the universe, my brave conqueror. You are a laurel to me and a legend to all others. You have returned glory to our galaxy.’

‘Funny, it doesn’t feel so glorious at the moment. Actually, I could use a good dose of advice right now, my dear. I have now come to the most difficult part of this whole unlikely saga. Wars are easy to wage but it’s the living with the aftermath that’s trying. Even victory is little balm. Now is the time for politicians. Is there room for warriors such as you and I, or we now superfluous? Chem has a system and a tradition of warrior-rulers. Terra’s tradition is much less kind on beings like us, and much more damning for those of us who wear out our welcome. Yet what of it, am I to rest on the laurels of my victories then for the rest of my years? Or are those days beyond need? Perhaps, my dear, this is the last act in the violent scene of this drama. It could be said that this is the beginning of a new era of peace in the known galaxy. It is to be hoped it will be filled with more vibrancy and growth than the past thirteen millennia, but with the same luxury of peaceful coexistence nonetheless. That shall have to be my hope.’

‘The Chem would celebrate that, Alexander, and seek to promote it with all our strength.’

‘We all depend upon the Chem for such an age,’ Alexander told her, as a Galactic, ‘for the Chem are the moral standard by which honor and courage are measured. Terrans are still too young and inconsistent to be held as a measure of merit and other peoples are too self indulgent. If the Galactics are to grow and enjoy true prosperity and trusting peace, we shall need the constancy of the Chem as a guide.’

‘That the Galactics have, Alexander, yet what of the Golkos?’ Nazeera asked. ‘The Galactics are now aware of the volcanic expectations of the Terrans, and may well follow into the frontiers the Terrans and the Chem open to them. Yet behind all will be the ancient and vindictive Golkos. Will they be humiliated, if not trodden upon, and thus be the mold which grows within the fabric we weave? A new and more far sighted Galactic community is a bold goal for a conqueror, even an Alexander, but to leave a malignant and vengeful foe out of the foundation of such a structure is to leave it open to rot and eventual decay. Do not doubt that a vengeful Golkos will remind Alexander’s newfound friends in the galaxy that this friendship was coerced. At length benevolence and a magnanimous heart can seem vain and glorious to those who lost even a tithing of sovereignty in the issue.’

‘That is why I open my mind to you, my dear. You stir the voice of reason which the clouds of war too quickly mask. I had similar intentions, but could not quite get myself decided as to which way or how far to go. You have clarified the matter appropriately. Very well then, I suppose I must address the Grand Admiral, and take advantage of the opportunity providence provides us. It will not be the easiest task I have accomplished. I must persuade him with words over his natural resentment, but it may be possible. I think. It is necessary if we are to have a Golkos with whom we can work.’

‘Well you’d best think fast, my love. If you mean to have dealings with him you’d best consult him. When he realizes he is captive by Alexander he will have little thought other than the swiftest and most assured way to suicide.’

‘He has seen no one other than our own Chem physicians.’

‘That will buy you time, my love, but I would not count on it. They are intelligent and suspicious. It will not take him long to ascertain his position, and when he does he will be swift in his self judgment.’

‘Then I will see him presently,’ Alexander told her.

Khandar’s first waking thoughts were of intense dismay. The very fact that he was alive was a severe blow. His last memory was of the battle-bridge of the Nived Sheur where he’d retreated after the destruction of the main bridge. The cave-like chamber offered no reprieve, however. Though the Terrans disdained to board the Nived Sheur and the bombardment continued unabated. Soon the metal walls shook so terribly about him that he was certain the ship would fly apart at the seams. A final cataclysmic concussion of sound signaled the end of the Golkos flagship, and Khandar’s consciousness faded into darkness. He could not know that he alone of the command staff survived when a Terran rescue team breached the hard kernel of the battle-bridge.

His next recollection was of a Chem attending to him, then more darkness. When his senses finally returned to him fully it was within a white room. He was held within a restraining field, and the tingling sensations over much of his body told him that he’d indeed been tended to.

‘Probably for burns, and broken ribs,’ he surmised aloud from the feeling. The vocalization triggered the opening of the single bulkhead door and a Chem promptly entered. The presence of the Chem confused Khandar, but the fashion of the door made his predicament quite apparent. No Galactic spaceship had doors contrived on primitive hinges.

‘So I am on a Terran ship and you are my keeper?’

The Chem cocked her head without concern and placed a chair next to Khandar’s bed. She did not, however, sit in it. Instead she ran a small scanner over him, glancing at the resulting displays on the wall mounted visiplate.

‘You are mending tolerably well, Grand Admiral, I think you may take a visitor. The restraining field should no longer be necessary.’ She punched a switch on her scanner. A barely audible hum disappeared in Khandar’s ears. Then, moving to the door she nodded and left.

The door remained open and empty for a moment, prompting Khandar to involuntarily move towards a sitting position, a half lucid idea of escape on his mind. Then a broad figure filled the doorway, a figure not only taller but much more powerfully built than the Chem. Green gem-like eyes stared out from under stern brows, and across the powerful shoulder and chest of the man was a Banthror sash. Alexander! The intake of Khandar’s breath was a sharp hiss, but the Overlord of the Terran Empire deigned not to notice it. Alexander closed the door and walked without concern to the chair. He carried a dark bottle of ruby liquid and two crystal glasses in his hand. Alexander stood at the bedside for a moment, studying his foe, his head slightly cocked to the side in interest.

‘It’s amazing how little even a hologram captures a person. Though I recognize you, Grand Admiral, I must say the image is little like the man.’

‘Indeed? Your holograms must be of surpassing low quality, Alexander, if you mistake me for Khandar. I do not mean to disappoint you, but your prize is somewhat less lofty than your aim. I watched Khandar die on the bridge of the Nived Sheur. You used yourself as bait and so allowed your battleship to cross our bows. A risky tactic, but you must have known Khandar well. His madness clouded his judgment, and ours.’

‘An understandable ploy, Khandar, but quite unnecessary mind you.’ He paused a moment to allow the Grand Admiral to register the meaning. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not my intention to lash you to my chariot and parade you before the citizens of Terra. You are of far more use to Terra and Golkos than the object of hatred and ridicule. You fought well, and Alexander recognizes the glory that brings us both. I would trade that glory to have my Terra whole again, but some things are beyond my power. Other things are not, but the manner in which I accomplish them depends on others. That is why I am here.’

Khandar grunted involuntarily. His first thought had been to leap upon the Terran Overlord and grapple with him. From what he knew of Alexander from Pantrixnia and what he now saw there was no illusion as to the outcome of such an adventure, but it would be a glorious death indeed! Somehow, though Alexander’s manner disarmed him. He reconsidered, partially through unquenched curiosity, and decided to pursue the present encounter somewhat further before irrevocably terminating it.

Alexander acted quite unaware of Khandar’s murderous intentions, instead seating himself and proceeding to pour wine into the two glasses. ‘My Chem surgeons tell me that wine is quite healthy for your physiology. Besides, death by poison is a poor death indeed for a warrior.’

Khandar took the drink, suspiciously beetling his brows as he did so.

Alexander took no note, telling him, ‘I was fortunate to find this aboard. It’s a Beaujolais from France on the European continent, an area I was happy to find untouched by your bombardment.’

‘I am sorry I couldn’t disappoint you there,’ Khandar replied, being drawn involuntarily into the conversation.

Alexander’s brow rose, along with his glass, but with a frosty smile he toasted.

‘To worthy adversaries!’

Alexander savored a slow sip of his wine, eyes piercing Khandar over the rim. Then he drained the glass in a single draught.

Khandar could find nothing to complain of by Alexander’s action, and on some gut level he actually approved of the Overlord’s manner. He followed Alexander’s example.

‘Excellent!’

The Terran smiled, and after refilling his own glass he refilled Khandar’s. The Golkos, somewhat taken aback.

‘Do you always treat your vanquished foes with such courtesy?’

‘We are singular beings, Grand Admiral, each with our duty to our empires and our worlds. We seek glory and acclaim. We admire courage and steadfast determination. We would give all for our worlds. I can respect such an adversary, and yes, even share a drink with him. Beyond that, however, is a commonality. We would perhaps understand one another better than your politicians would understand me.’

‘Is that why I am still alive?’ Khandar asked, his eyes narrowing. ‘Am I to be Alexander’s emissary to Golkos now in exchange for my life? I do not know how Terrans view honor, but this seems to me inconsistent with our assumptions. Golkos warriors do not sell their souls so cheaply.’

‘You misunderstand,’ Alexander said gravely. ‘I do not ask you to sell out Golkos on my behalf, but to save it on your own behalf. Let me be blunt. Golkos, for its own reasons, has attempted to destroy Terra and the Terran Empire. I have defeated your fleet to the point of annihilation and now it is my intention, in due time, to proceed to Golkos and complete my conquest. However, despite your apparent information, Alexander never desired war with Golkos, yet when war came I pursued victory with the same relentless passion which you yourself have displayed. I shall finish what others started, for revenge, and for practicality.’

‘Revenge? I suppose we have given you cause enough or that with the razing of your world. If that is so be content to take your vengeance out on my person, for it was my military policy to press the attack on Terra when the Alliance disintegrated. It was my inclination that the Golkos civilian government would possibly have settled the affair then and recalled the invasion. We refused their hails. Therefore, if it is revenge you desire, Alexander, take it out upon me. You have already completed half your revenge by taking me alive. I am quite certain your ingenuity can find a way to complete the task most admirably.’

Alexander stood as if irritated by Khandar’s remark, and he said sharply, ‘I do not ruin brave and competent people with insinuation and innuendo. I know all about your opinions, Grand Admiral. I do, in fact, know more about you than you can guess. You left thorough logs. I bear little love for you after your razing of my planet, but I do not blame you for what you did. That was Alexander’s failing. It was I who could not defend my world, and it is I who shall have to live with that inadequacy. That is not the revenge I spoke about, however. My revenge is harbored against the execution of Terran civilians in Golkos prisons, not against the unfortunate acts of war which ensued at a later time.’

‘The replaced Terrans?’ Khandar exclaimed. ‘Then you were serious all along!’

‘Indeed I was,’ Alexander said simply.

‘Incredible!’ Khandar breathed.

‘I will not ask you who were responsible, like as not you’ll tell me as ranking commander you must bear the burden,’ Alexander said, stopping to sip his wine. ‘Nor will I dishonor you, or myself, with interrogation. The responsibility for such a reprehensible act clearly lies in the upper echelons of government, which I will deal with when I come to Golkos. I do not ask you to understand.’

‘That still does not explain what you want of me.’

Alexander’s tone was weary, and he sighed as if realizing his own shortcomings in this meeting. ‘I do not know that I want anything of you Grand Admiral Khandar. What I want is far beyond any individual’s ability or functions, even my own.’

Khandar recognized the impasse in Alexander’s mind, but for himself felt suddenly lifted. In a moment Alexander’s intentions towards Golkos crystallized. Far from the glory mongering conqueror Alexander had very specific, and what was most poignant to Khandar, limited objectives on Golkos. Let Alexander take his revenge out upon the civilian government! Khandar was just ruthless enough to relish the implications. He suddenly saw Alexander as a much more pragmatic conqueror than legend, and fear, reserved for him. He already succeeded in striking accords with empires his mighty fleet could have easily conquered given time, and why? The solution struck him smartly between the eyes: it was altogether one thing to conquer and another to administer. Even Alexander could not hope to keep the known galaxy under his sway through might alone. All of the Terran fleets could not hope to impose Terran rule on the galaxy. Even the breadth of the Golkos Empire would cause a drain on Terran power. Alexander, of course, knew all of this. The quintessential conqueror, he knew his limitations as well as his abilities, and his plans for the Galactics were based upon every bit of intuition and knowledge he possessed. Khandar now understood Alexander, the Alexander he thought he knew, quite well indeed. An astute general in his own right he also saw the advantage for himself without any loss of honor or face.

‘You mentioned a practicality to the conclusion of this war,’ Khandar said, as Alexander had momentarily withdrawn from the conversation. As he hoped it drew Alexander back to the subject.

‘Yes, a practicality beyond the present day structure of the known galaxy,’ he explained, almost as an afterthought. It was a concept so basic to his thinking he shouldn’t need to clarify it. ‘There is no advantage to constant warfare amidst the empires, and there is even less advantage in supreme power. The fabric of the known Galactic empires must change with the entry of Terra, but it need not change radically. Accords need to be bilaterally advantageous in the long run, even if military coercion is their original witness. This I have accomplished with the exception of Golkos. Golkos is the only empire which as of yet may face true conquest. The power of Terra was so far beyond the Syraptose, the Quotterim and their peers that they are satisfied to have resisted as they could and come away with their sovereignty. The Seer’koh, well they are a matter of reason I admit I did not count on. Golkos, however, is an entirely different matter. The Golkos are strong and proud minded, but like Terrans they are controlled by their emotions. Should I raze the Golkos Homeworld, even in response to your initiation I should build the coals of resentment for the next twenty generations. Golkos will harbor its hate and betrayal for Terra and all her neighbors, spending her energies to destabilize and cause mischief. Then one day when Terra’s glance is not so strong she will rise again. The wheel of vengeance will repeat itself. This wasteful calamity I must prevent here and now. I need a strong Golkos, but I also need a reasonable Golkos. Golkos trodden upon and humiliated serves me no purpose whatsoever.’

‘Though you may not realize it, Alexander, Golkos is not so set in its ways. You seek revenge and reason. Both may be practically acquired through honorable means without a great deal of effort on your part. It is quite likely, Alexander that your vengeance will not be waiting for you’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The Golkos are indeed a proud and passionate people, and they hold their representatives to a stern accounting for failure. Undoubtedly, when the Terran fleets enter Golkos space they will recognize the folly of the current government. They will renounce the August Body and take their own accounting in a strictly Golkos manner. The new government will then prepare to meet you when you land. With the correct amount of persuasion they could be guided to seek similar terms to those already offered to the remainder of the Alliance. Such will be their hope, but not their expectation. Should you deal with them rationally, and in a manner consistent with the rest of the Alliance, then no doubt there will be much relief and little resentment. Future relations with Golkos will, of course, depend on Terran consistency.’

‘What of you, Khandar? Won’t your reception be chilly? Will you be considered part of the problem and not part of the solution?’

‘In all actuality, no. To the Golkos I am by definition the instrument of policy, not the maker of policy. If I fought well then I will be acclaimed for a courageous struggle against overwhelming odds.’

Alexander smiled, pouring the remainder of the wine in their glasses. ‘Grand Admiral Khandar I believe you have a long and fruitful career ahead of you. I don’t believe we shall ever trust each other fully, but respect goes a long way towards peaceful coexistence. I will set foot on Golkos this once, but even then I shall not trod on Golkos sovereignty. There shall be other issues, I am sure, which are best handled by the Golkos themselves. If your vision is near to the mark then we are at an understanding.’

‘It is to be hoped that my people will recognize my efforts for what they were,’ Khandar said evenly.

‘That will not be difficult, Khandar,’ Alexander told him. ‘There is nothing on the Galactic ethernet but the war and its climactic conflict about Terra. It was a terrible battle, Grand Admiral a horrifying, terrible, glorious battle. I hope I never see it’s like again.’

‘You honor me, Alexander,’ Khandar said sincerely, bowing his head.

‘It was an honor to fight you, Khandar; pray don’t let it happen again.’

‘I think, Overlord that war with Terra in the future would not be to our advantage. I think our energies would be more constructively used elsewhere.’

‘That would be mutually beneficial. I’ll be in touch, Khandar. I’ll wager this is not the last time we share a glass of wine. Good night!’ Alexander told him, and then the Terran Overlord left the room. Khandar laid back in is bed and fell into the first restful slumber he’d had since they entered Terran space.

CHAPTER 21

Alexander spent the next week on Terra touring the devastated areas of North America and Africa, reassuring the populace, making presentations to the heroes of Terra’s defense, and making plans. Now that the threat to Terra was over it was possible to spend time on such things and slow down the frenetic pace of survival. Alexander ordered all possible resources to be used to provide aid and comfort. The salvage and rebuilding of the Seventh Fleet was put off indefinitely so that the full attention of the Second and Fifth fleets could come to bear on the troubles at home. The continuation of the war with Golkos could wait on Terra’s convenience. Without a fleet the Golkos were no longer a threat.

If the Terran losses were difficult to bear the Golkos defeat was catastrophic. Golkos began the campaign with over twelve hundred ships and almost three-and-a-half million soldiers and sailors. In addition to her crews each Golkos warship carried a full complement of ground troops destined for the occupation of Terra; over three million of them. Many ships were wrecked along the route to Terra, stranding their crews in deep space. Still, by battle’s end eight hundred and sixty-three Golkos warships drifted lifelessly in Terran orbit. Of the mighty Golkos fleet only an even score ever saw their Homeworld again. Of the crews many thousands were taken captive, having escaped their ships in lifepods, but still only one in one hundred who left Golkos ever returned. Even in comparison to the Terran World Wars the casualties were sobering, but to a galaxy with thirteen millennia of peace just shattered the wholesale slaughter was terrifying. To the fatalistic Golkos the reality of the loss of their entire fleet was a blow too swift and crushing to be borne. The very fact that two Terran fleets remained unfought brought an immediate air of panic and betrayal to the empire. Grand Admiral Khandar knew his people well. Within a fortnight the entirety of the Golkos civilian government had been arrested, tried and executed under the most ruthless of Golkos courts. The new government contacted Alexander with overtures of peace, fearing that the dreaded Terran fleets were already approaching the Terran-Golkos frontier on their way to the now undefended Homeworld.

Alexander accepted the overtures conditionally, and sent overt word recalling his fleets. He told the Golkos that he still had every intention of coming to their world, but in the interests of galactic peace he would give the Golkos several Terran months to get their house in order. In reality Alexander needed the time for his own purposes. The warships of his remaining fleets were in sorry need of overhaul after months of hard driving. He had a planet and a people that needed healing and rest. Therefore, he saw to both before finally bringing the Galactic war to a close.

Alexander spent the majority of this time not in his float house on lake Pend Oreille but in Roma, the new home of the Terran government. There was simply too much work to be done for Alexander to take a break, and truthfully, although the people of Bayview were proud to call Alexander their own they had become somewhat distressed at the changes in their tiny community since the rise of the Overlord of the Terran Empire. When Alexander came for even a weekend the machinery of the government came with him, swallowing the hamlet in a sea of trailers, temporary houses, and the like. Therefore, politely but firmly the natives of the formerly pristine hideaway requested that Alexander find some other place to conduct the affairs of state. The Overlord of the Terran Empire was loathe to leave his beloved Pacific Northwest, though he had a plethora of offers, and after some contemplation he thought it was wise to be somewhat closer to a metropolis. With New York now a smoldering island of slag, and Washington DC too American, Roma was the obvious choice as its successor, and Terra’s principle seat of government. Alexander wasted no time in removing himself to Italy. From the great room of an Italian villa outside the city the pastoral countryside of Tuscany was a perfect canvas for the setting Sun. Alexander cradled a Beaujolais, pausing to look out upon the hills, an expression of reflection in his eyes.

‘The afternoon rain has given us a glorious evening, my dear’ he told Nazeera over their secure ethernet connection. He opened the doors to the deck, breathing deeply the clean fresh air which rolled into the hall. ‘How I wish we could sit out on the veranda and watch the stars come out!’

Nazeera shook her leonine head with a feline smile. ‘You forget my husband that Chem is considerably warmer than your world. Such a chill as you have this evening may not seep through Alexander’s thick hide, but I am cold to the marrow just watching it. Your afternoon showers are not for me, I think. At least on Chem the rains are warm.’

‘Sorry, my dear, I forgot myself for a moment,’ Alexander said closing the doors. He sat by the hearth. ‘At times I forget we were borne of different planets, and different cultures. I lump everyone into a common base of experience, my own. It is a failing I think will get the better of me one day.’

‘It is a strength, as I see it,’ Nazeera disagreed, sipping at the Chem equivalent of wine. ‘It may be an oversimplification of your mind, Alexander, and it could indeed lead you to trouble, but at the moment I believe your monochromatic view of the known galaxy is a strength. You are the leader of your people largely because you alone understood the Galactic situation. You thought like a Galactic. You did not allow prejudice or ignorance to keep you from dealing with Terrans and Galactics equally. Yet you’ve grown beyond that. Farther even than I, with a somewhat biased view, could have imagined. Oh, I have always believed you could conquer the known galaxy militarily, but I never knew that you could win it. My dear Alexander you now think more like a Galactic than any Galactic I’ve ever known. You think of us as a community, not as thirteen different empires each striving in their own self interests. I almost believe you would put the fate of the neighborhood on an equal footing with your own people.’

‘I do, you know,’ Alexander told her, surprising even Nazeera. Now it was his turn to amplify. ‘My reasoning is mixed with a myriad of factors my dear, and doubtless you’ve heard me ramble on about them before. I won’t tax your patience with my philosophy. The crux of the matter, and the basis for all my dealings with the former empires of the Alliance, is a symbiotic relationship between Terra and her new found neighbors. Terrans, by all accounts of history are as poor slave masters as we are slaves. Terran dominion of the galaxy is then as farcical and tragic a scenario as Golkos or even Chem domination of Terra. Such scenarios inevitably lead to destabilization and disaster. The only reasonable alternative is symbiotic relationship. That being the obvious solution then by all means I must view all Galactics as equals, and somehow I must get my people to believe that.’

‘Is that so difficult?’ Nazar asked.

‘My dear, even to this very day there are Terrans who believe themselves superior to their brethren because of the color of their skin, or differing religious beliefs, or any number of stupidly nonsensical reasons,’ Alexander told her soberly. ‘While we have such energy coupled with such detestable ignorance we are a very dangerous race. To others as well as ourselves.’

Nazeera was surprised by the force in Alexander’s voice, especially against his own people. He simply nodded with those glittering eyes and smiled. ‘My dear you do not yet know your danger. Those imperfections in our character have led us to the precipice more than once, and they led the Chem and the Alliance to the brink of genocide. Who is to say that I was wrong for stopping you? Only history will tell. I have, it is true, a complete and contemptuous hatred of our arrogance, our prejudice, our disregard, and our greed. I would, in all honesty, rather see Terra destroyed than see her pollute the universe. Yet I cannot remember our failures without recalling our triumphs. Our greed is only surpassed by our capacity for pity and self sacrifice. Our ignorance is matched by our benevolence. Our prejudice and hatreds are exceeded only by the nobility of our ideals. Our arrogance concedes to our compassion; our pettiness to our dreams of grandeur. I fear our galaxy is in for a rough ride until my fellow Galactics can bring their Terran brethren through their adolescence and into adulthood. For better or worse you are stuck with us. We must therefore strike a relationship that is as mutually beneficial as is possible.’

‘How different galactic history would be if you were, in all aspects, the Terran Alexander the galaxy expected, and not the Galactic Alexander we all needed,’ Nazeera told him.

‘We shall see, my dear,’ Alexander said, and he turned a weary eye to his wife. ‘The difficult part remains. Wars create heroes, but more often than not it is peace that destroys them. Maybe Crandal should not fail. As Lincoln I would be revered in death. My memory may be more powerful than my living voice, and my dead hand may be the stronger.’

‘Alexander you cannot be serious!’ Nazeera protested.

‘Don’t worry my dear,’ Alexander calmed her. ‘I have too stubborn a regard for this life to leave it placidly. Especially when your embrace awaits me! I will attempt to ride these waters, but I will be honest with you, I fear them more than all the fleets of the Alliance and the Chem put together!’

Crandal looked the Hrang in his Terran eye, a quiet touch of confidence in his smile. He puffed at his pipe as they stopped beside the reflecting pool. The Mall in Washington D.C. was almost completely deserted. This was hardly surprising. Only three days earlier the Golkos bombardment of the city was commencing in earnest. A third of the city was fused into slag; concrete, steel, marble, it didn’t matter to blasters. The bulk of the city, however, was saved by the fanatical defense of the Seventh Fleet and the Terran Defense Force. Washingtonians watched from the farms of Virginia and Pennsylvania as the Seventh Fleet and the Golkos annihilated each other. Initially the battle was a Fourth of July fireworks display; fantastic even in the full light of day. As the terminator swept over the capital the battle peaked to a mighty climax, and then faded until only sporadic flickers and pulsing glows swept the heavens. The night was peaceful now, even as it had turned three nights ago. Yet the Terran sky was different. Strange clouds still glowed blue and red, too dim for the daytime sky to reveal, but too bright to be missed at night. Then there were the hundreds of new ‘stars.’ New satellites whirling about the planet as bright sparkles of light. In the night the hulks of the destroyed invaders became brilliantly beautiful.

‘We have over twenty thousand Golkos prisoners on Terra now and the only fleet in the galaxy worth mentioning,’ Crandal informed his contact.

‘Alexander has the prisoners, and the fleets,’ the spy corrected him.

‘A technicality that shall be corrected in the coming months,’ Crandal smiled.

‘You seem remarkably confident, Crandal. Do you truly think it possible that you can remove Alexander from power and from life after the entirety of the known galaxy has failed?’

‘Do you prefer the Overlordship of Alexander be extended to Hrang?’

‘Certainly that is not the agreement we came to with Alexander when we signed the peace accords.’

‘Do you then trust Alexander?’ Crandal asked, a biting tone of reproach entering his voice.

‘Should we trust you more than Alexander? After all, Crandal, it is you who are being treasonous, not Alexander. What assurances have we that you, considering you are successful, will not turn the Terran fleet back upon us? Betraying us as you have Alexander.’

‘A reasonable question,’ Crandal smiled, though with no sense of humor in the grin. His teeth showed like those of a skull, causing the spy to turn away. Crandal emitted a short barking laugh. ‘My talents, considerable though they are, do not extend into the military arena. Alexander, whatever other quarrels I may have with him, is quite capable at the helm of a fleet. Let me remind you of the genesis of the Alliance, and of our little conspiracy. All of this is based on the negation of Terran aggression. I am no conqueror. I can cajole the military to defend our own, but certainly nothing more. Even in this day and age a military needs a charismatic leader to follow in a war of aggression. By removing Alexander I cripple Terra’s offensive capability without affecting her defense. That subtraction of the Terran threat should be ample fuel for my logic.’

‘You make a palpable point, though I discount any selfless motivation on your part. You are quite possibly the worst sort of Terran for such a position, Crandal: power hungry, malicious and self righteous. Alexander, on the other hand, is audacious but noble. Even the populace of the galaxy, forced into war with him and cajoled into peace, nevertheless reveres him. You are as detestable as Alexander is enthralling; but you are right. You are no leader. You are only a power mad traitor who stumbled on providence’s path, and as such you are a danger only to your own people. Alexander is, quite probably, a boon to Terra; but to the galaxy he is dangerous, even in magnanimous victory. Do not worry about your precious plans, Crandal. We have soiled our hands in our own fear, even in this time of reprieve. We shall not foil your project, as much as we abhor it. With your triumph we take the heart out of your fleets, and the genius from your designs. Terra shall be a harmless giant we shall leave to herself.’

‘You mean to me,’ Crandal corrected.

‘Yes, to you Crandal, and strange as it may sound I find pity for Terrans in the prospect. To have a people overcome a galaxy, against all odds and rationality, and stand at the pinnacle of their success with all the universe before them and then watch them sold into slavery by their own inherent greed; it is a story of tragic proportions.’

‘I think you take an unnecessarily dim view of my tenure. I shall bring order to Terra, even as we originally intended. There shall be newfound prosperity. A completely new world. Alexander shall always have his place alongside Lincoln, Churchill and the original Alexander. I shall one day be forgotten, but the empire I administer shall last beyond me, and possibly beyond the memory of Alexander.’

‘Say what you will, but very few empires built upon blood spout aught but blood. That is not my opinion, but the opinion of one million years of Galactic history. That is also, if I remember correctly the opinion of Terran history. I do not expect you to listen. All you will hear is what you want to hear: that we shall not interfere. We shall not. Regardless of the consequences.’

‘That is all I wanted to know.’

‘Then you have some time to wait. From our reports Alexander will not set out for Golkos until two of your months have passed. The journey to the Golkos Homeworld is not short.’

‘I’ve been obliged to wait two and a half decades longer for this than I originally thought. I’ve the patience to wait a bit longer. Alexander still has some domestic battles to fight on my behalf.’

The spy simply shook his head, handing Crandal a plain black attaché case.

‘That’s it?’ The Terran asked without opening it.

‘That is all you need to activate your psionic projector via etherlink.’

‘Is there anything else I need to know of?’

‘Such as what? The formal surrender ceremony of Golkos will undoubtedly be carried by all major ethernet channels. All you have to do is watch. When you see the situation you desire you send the etherlink pulse. It will activate the psionic amplifier placed in Alexander’s armor. You best know the capabilities of the amplifier, but whatever the reaction we shall be swift to blame the Scythians. I see no great difficulty.’

‘Is there a time delay in the Galactic transmission that needs to be taken into account?’

The spy made it clear that such a question was so ignorant as to be unworthy of response, but he said, as to a child, ‘Not more than a hundredth of your seconds. This is energy not matter your transmitting.’ Then as if fearing another such question would shake his resolve further the spy disappeared into the Mall, shaking his head.

Kvel Mavek pushed the lighted switch at her panel, unlocking the door to her office. It was good to be back on Kempec. The days of looking over her shoulder for Golkos assassins on Roma were over. She was home and she had brokered peace between Alexander and her world. Now only one thing remained. It filled her with consternation and doubt, but it had to be addressed. Her door slid open. Mavek’s glittering, doubtful eyes rose to see the Supreme Mystic enter. The Mystic bowed and silently took a seat. Once the door slid closed Mavek activated her security screen. She wasted no time in coming straight to the point of her disquiet.

‘Mystic, some time ago I enlisted your aide against my own better judgment in order to facilitate the Terran assassination of Alexander. Although two of the three opportunities have passed by with failures the final attempt has me concerned. The culmination of events now leads me to believe that the assassination of Alexander may well have grave consequences for all of Kempec. Is there a way we can undo what we have done so that this final window of opportunity either does not take place or is doomed to failure?’

The Mystic smiled, ‘Is it not always the way, my child? We seek our fortunes through the eyes of emotion, and it is only when it is too late we realize our dreams are but facades in the world of reality. When we ask with a heart filled with fear and prejudice we never see what is truly important. When finally we realize our folly the reality we create through our dark emotions is upon us. What is set in motion is set. There are times and places where the timeline may be affected, but now is not one of those times. The fate of Alexander is irrevocably fixed, and nothing can now change the encounter on Golkos. All timelines intersect at that locale now. There is nothing I can do for you.’

‘Can we warn Alexander, search out the assassins, anything?’ Mavek asked desperately.

‘That would not affect the timeline,’ the Mystic told her. ‘Alexander has set his course and nothing will sway him.’

‘Then we are lost,’ Mavek lamented.

‘That is the prejudice of your eyes which see things through the filter of emotion, but for that you cannot be blamed. You have been deceived my child, and for that deceit I must take the blame.’

‘What do you mean?’

The Mystic took a deep breath, stirring uncertainly. Finally she said, ‘I was determined to reveal all to you when things could no longer be changed. Such is our place in the timeline. Kvel Mavek I told you the truth concerning all of our visions of Alexander, his ascendency, the darkness which follows his assassination, the dissolution of the galaxy as we know it after his fall. You were troubled by these truths, but they failed to alter your intentions. This resolve disheartened the Mystics to such an extent that we took a grave risk. We supplied you with the times and places for three assassination attempts upon Alexander faithfully; but the occasions we gave you were already predestined to failure. Moreover, we chose the events in such a way that they would expose and eventually destroy those that were a danger to Alexander. Therefore, the Hrang unknowingly supplied Alexander’s enemies with the time-place events which would assure their own destruction and Alexander’s domination of Terra, and consequently the known galaxy.’

‘You could purposefully identify the times and places for such opportunities to fail?’

‘As easily as we could estimate those which had a great probability of success,’ the Mystic replied, adding, ‘of course each instant in time is only a probability. Nothing in the Universe is certain. We did what we could, however, to foil the enemies of Alexander.’

‘I know this sounds incredulous after asking you to reverse what I had already done, an act you apparently took upon yourselves before I realized its necessity, but tell me why you took such a course of action?’

‘Kvel Mavek without the ability to see the visions which we have haunting our dreams you could not comprehend our decision. Let me reiterate what I told you and She-Rok of the Hrang. Not a single timeline absent of Alexander in our future results in the continuation of the galaxy or its peoples as we know them. The most fortuitous circumstances we envisioned showed the Kempec as a scattered race of vagabonds; driven from our Homeworld and forever in hiding from some terrible retribution. At worst we found no remnants of our race at all. Our civilization had disappeared from the galaxy.’

‘Such is the horror of Terran revenge,’ Kvel Mavek commented, but the Mystic shook her head emphatically.

‘No, such devastation is shared by Terra, Chem, Golkos and the rest of our Galactic neighbors, Mavek,’ she said sternly. ‘There is long and protracted war, and we unite against a foe from without, but to no avail. We are destroyed in total.’

‘I remember your warning now,’ Mavek said, her eyes closed in concern. ‘Alexander is not here as a conqueror, then, but to unite us. It is his destiny to face this foe.’

‘It is Alexander’s destiny to bring the Terrans into the Galactic community, and the Terrans will reignite the fire that kicellia of stagnation have allowed to wane. Alexander is leading his people into the maturity that we have relished, and awakening us to our lost youth. It is his spark which shall allow us the opportunity to survive the coming peril. We could not face the task separately and survive. Yet in all of our empires there is not one among us, even Nazeera of the Chem, to whom we would rally. Now there is Alexander. He is not so much a Terran as he is a warlord of Galactic myth. To him we can and shall look, and upon his shoulders place the burden.’

‘Can he bear such a task, can anyone?’

‘It is his destiny.’

CHAPTER 21

Golkos was a rusty world of rock and cloud. Vegetation clung with desperation to the pitted stone, forever stung by the teething sandstorms. Oceans and rivers were largely unknown to this inhospitable world, but for the short Spring which followed a long dry Winter. The warming of the planet melted the world’s glacial sheets and created annual deluges and floods. The greening of Golkos was a temporary reprieve from the hardships of life, but it was only a facade. The Golkos were a people shaped by their world; spare and harsh of mind. Even weather control did little to alter the planetscape or the people. The Golkos simply made the planets habits predictable, they did not bother to alter or even soften them. Such was the world around which Thor entered orbit with five hundred Terran warships at her heel. There were some who argued that the Iowa should be salvaged and that she should witness the surrender of Golkos to Terra; ending the Galactic War of the Thirteenth Kicellia. Alexander could not agree. He wished the Iowa left as she was, like the ‘Arizona’ at Pearl Harbor, as an immortal memorial to the titanic sacrifices that saved Terra. The concept struck a chord within the psyche of every Terran, and so it came to be. After several weeks of effort the space in Terran orbits was cleansed of the debris of battle but for the memorial. One hundred and thirty-seven kilometers above what was once St. Louis, the very spot in space where they died, the Iowa and the two main sections of the Nived Sheur floated. They were kept on station by automatic thrusters, but were otherwise unchanged. On a unique frequency the bridge tape of the Chem probe recounted the battle, ending with the monologue of Alexander. It was set to play endlessly.

None of the dreadnoughts were repairable without months in space dock, and with all else that needed to be done Alexander decided that the rebuilding of the Seventh Fleet would be postponed. It was not unexpected that he chose Thor as his flagship, and with his culminating mission being the surrender of the Golkos it was appropriate. Yet he did bring a representative of the Seventh Fleet to Golkos. The Gagarin followed Thor as the Overlord’s personal escort with none other than Admiral Konstantinov in command.

The entirety of the panoply was shown on the Galactic ethernet, and it was watched by no more intent an audience than Crandal and his cronies on Terra. An entire wall of their hazy room became the portal though which the balance of the Terran Fleets entered orbit around the Golkos Homeworld. A grave announcer reported every moment of the occasion as Alexander and Thor, with the Gagarin on her heel, lead one hundred warships in a slow descent to the capital. The foreboding sight of the flotilla must have filled every Golkos with a mixture of dread, awe and shame, but they came forth to the city square by the hundreds of thousands. The Capital stood atop a plateau, high above the now dry inland sea of Shea-Ops. During the rainy season great cataracts would plunge two miles over the Tanya cliffs, the highest waterfalls in the known galaxy, to become a vaporous shower upon the dry plains. The August City of Marcos sprawled to the edge of these cliffs, and the seat of government overlooked the gulf. Low and broad, built of immaculately squared stones with hard angles, the government chambers were inspiring in their simplicity. As was all the architecture of the city the buildings hunkered rather than climbed, and there was a rakish flavor to the design; lean, almost spidery. Little color other than native ochre freshened the city, yet it was meticulous in its geometry, and somehow each structure added with the next to the overall grandeur of the place. The new government drew itself up in yellow robes upon the steps of their chambers. Thousands upon thousands of citizens lined the square. A space was left before them, and upon this space a long red carpet was laid upon the instruction of Terran diplomats.

Over this scene Thor floated tranquilly, with the Gagarin overhead and the flotilla arrayed behind her. She sent no signal, nor made any move for some time. She simply floated there, allowing the Golkos and all the galaxy to have a look at her. After the wait became palpable two Destroyers detached themselves from the formation and descended upon either side of Thor. They hovered only a few feet above the pavement. Gangways swung down the sides and from each long lines of heavily armed Terran troops trotted. In single file down either side of the red carpet they advanced in perfect unison. The microphones picked up their boots as they hammered in step on the smooth stone of the pavers. A single sharp order brought the Terrans to a staccato halt. Another order saw them deploying small shield generators along their ranks. With a momentary hum the shields sprang up, transparent to the crowds, impervious to all else.

Finally, Alexander’s launch rose out of the forward smokestack, and flew down to the square. It landed abeam the slash of the red carpet.

‘I am happy to see he took precautions,’ Crandal murmured. ‘We wouldn’t want the Golkos to murder him now. There’s too much to do without having to deal with the desolation of Golkos in response! That would put a damper on things.’

‘But can our transmitter penetrate that shielding?’ Edgar asked.

‘Our Galactic friends assured me that etherlinks penetrate shields,’ Crandal replied, and then as if to assure himself he added, ‘How else would our ships communicate with each other during battle?’

‘Oh!’ grunted the heavy man. The glances of his companions made it clear that further interruptions were unwelcome. All eyes turned back to the screen.

The door of the launch slid open, and every Golkos, and Galactic, craned their neck to see the Overlord of the Terran Empire. There he was, Alexander himself, a powerful figure in purple, black and gold wearing the Chem cuirass and the clashing Banthror sash. The Sergeant at Arms met the Overlord at the launch and saluted.

‘Hail Alexander!’ echoed over the Golkos square.

Without hesitation Alexander strode out onto the surface of Golkos. There was no fanfare, indeed there was no sound. Each of the multitude could hear the ringing of Alexander’s boots on their pavement. The sound was hollow, foreboding. A small company followed the Overlord: Nazeera represented the Galactics, Admiral Augesburcke the Fleet and various other officials of the Terran Federation.

‘Excellent,’ breathed Crandal, ‘all three together. I could not have hoped that Nazeera of Chem would make that trip!’

‘But if the Chem should discover this! I wasn’t privy to a plot against the Chem. We’re after Alexander!’ Frank protested.

‘Weren’t privy? You cowardly fool! We’ve already involved her once, and this is far more subtle!’ Crandal spat at him like a snake, the stress of the coming moments swelling the vessels in his forehead to the breaking point. ‘Besides, who else but Augesburcke or Nazeera would have the intelligence and the desire to figure out this little plot? The rest of the Admiralty will be too busy fighting for Augesburcke’s job to care. Nazar of Chem will be too irate wishing to take his revenge on the Scythians, finishing what started this whole ordeal. We’ll become his bosom buddies by allowing him free passage in our space to hunt down the Scythians. No, this will do nicely. Now shut up and let Alexander do our work for us!’

When they returned their attention to the screen Alexander was already up the steps to the fore of the official Golkos party. In a predetermined exchange the consummate act of surrender was accomplished in front of a Galactic audience with immediacy and ceremony.

‘I, Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire come here as conqueror. Who meets me in the name of the Golkos?’

‘I, Surreptor Primax, Servitor of the August Body meet with you, Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire, Conqueror of Golkos the Aggressor.’

‘I am Conqueror of Golkos the Aggressor. Who speaks for that state?’

‘No one speaks for that state, Alexander Overlord; that state no longer exists. Golkos has prosecuted those who aggressed against the Terran Empire. Those who would speak for Golkos the Aggressor are dead or in Alexander’s care. We claim them no more. We recognize that state no more. Golkos the Aggressor is no more. Golkos of the Galactics speaks now for Golkos. I, Surreptor Primax, speak for the new Golkos. I welcome Alexander Overlord to Golkos as a Head of State, if such is befitting. Alexander the Conqueror will find no quarrel with us.’

‘Do you renounce the crimes of your past and submit to Alexander’s judgment?’

‘We all do.’

‘Give me the standard and the badge of Golkos the Aggressor.’

A steward and a guardsman approached Alexander. One bore the Golkos banner in black and gold, the other a badge. The steward kneeled before the Overlord and handed Alexander the badge. Alexander added the glittering symbol to the twelve already upon his breast. The guardsmen gave Alexander the standard. Alexander took it and raised it high so that the gold caught the ruddy Sun. All Golkos eyes followed their ancient banner.

‘Behold the banner of Golkos,’ Alexander roared. ‘It is forged in the blood and courage of a doughty people. It has seen victory and defeat in alien space, but in battle it was never tarnished by cowardice or base treachery. The insult of Golkos to Terra was forged with those who spoke for Golkos the Aggressor and not those who fought for them. Take back that which will always be yours. It cannot replace the lives you have lost, nor can it blot out the stain of dishonor for the lives of innocent Terrans lost in transgression; but it can remind you of the honor of their bones!’ Alexander thrust the standard back into the hands of the guardsmen, who bowed his head in acceptance. The steward and the guardsman backed away, standard dipped, returning to their stations behind the council.

‘Is Alexander Overlord then satisfied with Golkos?’ Surreptor Primax asked.

‘Is Golkos satisfied with the terms of the Terran proposal, and the tenets of the Galactic Federation?’

‘Golkos is satisfied.’

‘And does Golkos accept these terms?’

‘Golkos accepts all tenets and terms of the Galactic Federation. Golkos supreme sovereignty is limited to the worlds of Golkos proper; all other territories of the Golkos Empire are forthwith governed by Golkos under the tenets of the Galactic Federation and the Interstellar Code of Free Worlds.’

‘Golkos has freely submitted itself to inspection, and by your word, and the word of Golkos, swears that any and all detainees, prisoners of war, and records thereof of persons of any race have been released; under penalty of resumption of hostilities?

‘So does Golkos swear.’

‘Alexander is satisfied. Terra is satisfied.’ Alexander finished, and he turned on his heel. Purposefully he strode towards his launch.

The Galactic commentator began his expected litany on the ending of the Galactic War of the Thirteenth Kicellia, or the ‘Conquests of Alexander,’ as they became known. Little of this was noted by Crandal and his companions, however, as the man opened the briefcase. Nine pairs of eyes turned to the simple mechanism within. It was a grey box with a single red switch. Crandal glanced about the room with eyes like a fox.

‘Gentlemen, I give you the galaxy!’

He punched the switch. All eyes went to the screen and the image of Alexander, expecting some result. What they got was extraordinarily confounding for the single moment they held the image. Alexander wavered in their eyes as if a curtain of water suddenly separated them, but they could still see well enough to know that he walked upright, unaffected by anything. The realization hit them in the form of throbbing temples and a burning sensation within their craniums. Crandal was the first to note the disastrous implications. Viciously, but with seemingly little motor guidance, he stabbed at the switch. He missed. He couldn’t focus on it through the tides of red pain that suddenly engulfed the reservoir of his skull. His hearing turned to a dull roar shot through by high pitched wails and screams. As his shaking knees buckled that last vestige of courageous youth cursed at the squeamishness of his comrades. Then he realized the screams were his own. He was on the floor now, writhing uncontrollably, boiling from within. Finally the dam burst and a flood of warmth covered his eyes and swept away his thoughts. One final thing came to his sentient, quivering form: it was a sound borne from the outside world. For some reason it pervaded the ravaged parts of his dying brain and lodged in the last mortal kernel of his psyche. The sound was the voice of the Galactic announcer, and the words formed Crandal’s final sentient thoughts.

‘Alexander is entering his shuttle now, and returning to his flagship. He leaves behind a whole Golkos, and seemingly a whole and sovereign galaxy. Yet the galaxy we have known this age has passed away, and though Alexander returns as Overlord of the Terran Empire it is we, the Galactics, who understand the true extent of his power. Alexander has seen fit to leave us our civilizations, our governments, our history and our culture; but let there be no mistaking reality: as legends foretold, he is nothing less than Alexander Galaxus, Overlord of the Galaxy.’