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 oil—and 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 coat—she 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 so—so 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 crimsons—all the colors of the vibrant Chem landscape.
“It’s amazing and beautiful—much 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 maturit
y, 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 this—we’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 us—even 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 galax
y, 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 women—the 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.”
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