Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy

by Christopher L. Anderson

  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 water—its 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 automaton—but 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 him—it 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 upward—Alexander 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 Nessie—it’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 third—it 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 youth—figuratively, 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 di
dn’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 host—in 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 scattered—this 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 hand—though 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 was—it 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 alone—if 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 left—at 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 do—to 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,” She–Rok 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 death—if 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 strategy—they 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 can—we 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.