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 all—no 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 Terra—and 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 name—you, 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 l
ost 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 audience—the 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 t
eeth. 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!”
Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy Page 6
