Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy

by Christopher L. Anderson

  “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 torture—then 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 you—there, 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.

  Na
zeera 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 torture—not 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 p
ast 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.”