“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 females—within 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 eyes—or 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 politi
cally.” 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 circular—obviously 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 tur
ned to the jungle.
Water must be his first order of business, and then shelter for the night—he 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.
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