Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy

by Christopher L. Anderson

  A thin beam scorched its abdomen, and it beat the air with its forelegs. Alexander turned the gun on the next, and the next, and so on until each mantis had a taste of it. The insects, with much clicking between them, beat a hasty retreat. They gathered at the edge of his visual range, and then disappeared.

  Alexander didn’t like the look of the insects. They worked together and they were too numerous to beat back with a sword. With a greater sense of urgency he worked his way towards the crag. He’d not gone more than a hundred meters, however, when he caught sight of movement behind him. It was the mantises. This time they’d returned in greater numbers. Scores of the huge insects scuttled across the canopy at an alarmingly swift rate.

  Alexander’s gun was useless against such a horde. He headed for the nearest hole in the canopy. The mantises were scarcely ten meters behind when he came to a spot where he could see the forest floor. He didn’t wait but jumped through and caught hanging vine. The vine hung in a great loop thirty meters above the forest floor—he swung to and fro. Alexander made his way hand-over-hand away from the hole as quickly as he could. A quick glance behind did nothing to ease his nerves. As he feared, the mantises were scrambling out of the hole after him. Their articulated appendages made maneuvering upside down on the canopy as easy as walking.

  “I see you’ve found the Remvalix,” said a familiar voice, and another silver automaton floated by his right shoulder. “They are perhaps the most intelligent of the transplanted species of Pantrixnia, and they’ve claimed the canopy as their territory.”

  “Really,” Alexander grunted. He was too busy to comment further. He wasn’t going to make it to the trunk of the tree before the mantises caught him. He switched tactics, wrapping his left arm around the vine and drawing his knife. As the first mantis closed in he slashed at the vine. The vine parted and he fell just beneath the cut of a mandible.

  He fell ten meters before the vine jerked him up and swung him towards the tree, but not quite to it. Alexander swung back and forth in space, ten meters below the matte of the canopy and twenty meters above the forest floor.

  “You’re in a spot now,” the automaton told him. “Your present predicament looks fairly bleak; any ideas?”

  “One,” he gasped. He sheathed his knife and started to swing on the vine. He couldn’t reach the trunk of the tree, but five meters to the other side was another vine that hung straight down from the matte to just above the vegetation of the forest floor. The mantises were now gathering above his haven. One was quickly starting to come down the vine towards him.

  He took a moment to shoot it. It squealed and fell by him, crashing into the undergrowth of the forest floor. He did the same to the next mantis that dared the vine. This one flailed as he fell, reaching for him with its hook-like hands. A mandible caught his shoulder and only the raised lip of his cuirass kept it from sliding into and slicing through his exposed neck.

  Alexander holstered his gun. Fortunately the Remvalix were now wary of his gun. They skittered around the vine clacking excitedly; apparently, they didn’t want to give up on him, but they didn’t want to climb down the vine either.

  While they hesitated Alexander swung himself on the vine and launched himself into space. He caught the other vine several meters lower than he started. It jarred him, but he hung on. The mantis scuttled over to his new hanging spot intent on repeating their strategy, but before they could get there a thin dark shape shot out and caught one of them.

  It was a tongue.

  The tongue belonged to a ten meter monstrosity that lurched out from behind the trunk of the nearest tree. It hung upside down from great hooks that plunged into the tangle of vines and branches. The tongue drew the struggling mantis into its long tubular mouth where its jaws ground the insect to a pulp. No sooner had the first mantis disappeared then the tongue shot out again. The procedure repeated many times as the creature ambled towards the hole. The mantises fled back into the canopy, but it followed them; it poked its head through the hole it, adding a few more to its colossal stomach.

  Alexander made his way down the vine before the anteater, or whatever the thing was, decided to try him as well. He would take his chances in the jungle. There, at least, he could maneuver naturally.

  It was a severe blow to his hopes. The trees on Earth were man’s ancestral haven, but he should have expected as much. The Chem were clever, and it wouldn’t surprise him if every nook and cranny of this world had its own unique representative among the galaxies most fantastic carnivores. He returned to the forest floor with the grim realization that he could still see the burned tree of the clearing. His afternoon thus far included three close brushes with death in a hundred meters of travel. He was growing thirsty and tired; he’d yet to find water or a place of relative safety to hide.

  He was alive, though, and that alone made up for all his misfortunes.

  The automaton bobbed up in front of him. “That was another narrow escape, Alexander of Terra. Nazeera of the Triumvirate authorized us to use your given name during your adventures. You’ve been remarkably lucky so far. Do you have anything you wish to pass on to the many who are watching you now?”

  “My thanks to Nazeera of the Triumvirate for her noble gesture,” he said, moving on into the jungle. “I count myself fortunate to have had the honor to meet her. She is well worthy of your praise. I send her greetings, as I do all Chem but one.”

  “And who would that singular Chem you spurn be?”

  “To Bureel of Chem I send nothing but scorn and contempt for his cowardice,” he said harshly. “When I leave here I will return to Chem, not for conquest, but for Bureel. I repeat my challenge to him: Bureel you are a cowardly cur! I will meet you at any place, any time, and in any honorable manner. Will you satisfy honor? Upon your answer does the honor of all Chem rest before the eyes of their brethren on Terra. Yet will you or nil you, Bureel, one day I shall have the satisfaction of strangling the miserable life out of your wretched carcass! Then I shall have rid an otherwise august body of a worm!”

  Alexander stormed off into the jungle, leaving the automaton speechless before over fifty billion beings.

  CHAPTER 28: The Paper Tiger Grows Teeth

  It was three days travel from Chem to Pantrixnia, and during that time work on Terra progressed at a feverish and increasingly organized pace.

  Everywhere there was preparation, but the greatest hive of activity centered in Terra’s port cities. Scythian tender ships floated over the dry-docks. Terrans teemed by the thousands over the beached hulls of ships. Terran engineers worked side by side with Scythian engineers. They were, to be certain, awed by the technology and the reality of what they were trying to accomplish at first. The Scythians placated their charges in their desperation, but never expected the hodgepodge navy they were building would ever do anything but orbit Terra harmlessly.

  The Terran idea was surprisingly workable, but the reality of Terrans being able to adapt to the new environment of space was unthinkable—to the Scythians. The Scythian attitude, so justified during the first few frantic days, endured something of a change as Terrans soon grew accustomed to the miracle they created. Terrans morphed from obedient drones to the imaginative power and energy behind the magic they made.

  The turning point was the armament problem. For simplicity’s sake the Terran engineers had the Scythians mount the energy weapons in the “Iowa’s” turrets, which they found surprisingly well suited for the task. The ability of the guns to maneuver gave the Terran Fleet an advantage over the fixed blaster projectors found in all other galactic fleets. The power required by the blasters, however, proved to be a problem.

  The ship’s engines had more than enough energy for the purpose, but it required a daunting network of shielded conduits to transfer power to the respective weapons. The Scythians had no easy engineering solution, and suggested that the Terrans be satisfied with the appearance of a well armed fleet.

  That response was wholly unacceptable, so the Terran en
gineers tackled the problem themselves.

  The crux of the problem was size. The conduits were massive. Installing them required ripping the ship apart. There wasn’t enough time for that, so Terran engineers came up with a solution of their own. They mapped the nearest corridors from the weapons all the way back to the engine room. Then by sealing and strengthening them with another more concentrated tritanium bath they turned the corridors themselves into energy conduits. Conventional conduits connected the corridors to the engine junction boxes and the weapon transfer boxes, thereby getting the energy in the proximity of the projectors.

  The second problem was that of transferring the energy to the blaster projectors. The solution was another example of absolute simplicity. The projector spheres focused energy in a coherent beam manipulated by electromagnetic fields. Blaster capacitors fed raw energy to the projector spheres after they were charged up with energy supplied by the energy conduits through junction boxes.

  There was no way to maintain a connection between the blaster capacitor moving on the end of the projector sphere, the junction box, and the energy conduit—therefore, the Terran engineers simply removed the junction boxes altogether. They sealed the turrets into three separate chambers, one for each gun. An electromagnetic valve opened between the chamber and the energy conduit, allowing energy to flood the chamber and charge the blaster capacitors. The valve closed and the gun was free to maneuver. When the electromagnetic field around the projector opened the high energy plasma flowed from the capacitor to the lowest energy point in space; i.e., the energy well of the projector spheres. The projectors promptly funneled the energy outboard in an appropriate and devastating manner.

  The solution to the armament problem cost the engineers double the time they anticipated, but the Iowa experiment paid far more in dividends. By the time the Iowa was nearing completion a miraculous transformation occurred in the ship, and in the people who worked on her—what Scythians began Terrans finished.

  What Scythians considered impossible Terrans solved.

  The Terrans quickly took the technology for granted and put it to work for them. By the time the Iowa was ready to cast off Terran engineers were in charge of every phase of construction. The grand old ship gleamed with new life under the floodlights; it was a portent for what was soon to be a fleet of well armed modern interstellar warships.

  In the thirteen short days of the colossal Iowa experiment, Terra underwent a metamorphosis from a planet bound people into a race of fledgling galactic warriors. By midnight on the thirteenth day the Iowa would be in orbit. The construction of a Terran battle fleet was already underway, using the principles developed in the Iowa experiment. Engineers felt the next wave of ships could be completed in only nine to eleven days, and in a few weeks the process could be honed down to only a week.

  By time Scythian intelligence estimated the Chem Armada could enter Scythian space, Terra could theoretically mass over seven hundred warships able to meet them. They would comprise a rag tag fleet to be certain, but each vessel would be capable of delivering the most prevalent weapons in the known galaxy. Even the Chem would view the Terran Fleet with respect.

  In a gray office overlooking the dry-dock the Scythian Liaison watched the frantic work below, fully cognizant that in the space of two Terran weeks it had lost control of its charges. It was night, but floodlights illuminated the enormity of the Iowa and the army of dockyard workers swarming over her, getting her ready for her first flight.

  As if to further the Scythians’ new found concern the indomitable lines of the Wisconsin rose in the dry-dock next door, and beyond that were the Missouri, and the New Jersey. As the Scythian watched it listened with intense concentration to a transmission from the Scythian Council. It was disturbed. By all accounts the arming went remarkably well, but even at this early stage the Scythians were becoming observers and advisors, not controllers.

  The Terrans absorbed the data the Scythians presented them and disposed of the constant influx of supplies with a rapidity that confounded the Galactics. The Scythian theory of a “paper” fleet was rapidly melting away; it disappeared along with the Scythian hope that Terrans simply could not handle the paradigm change inherent with this incredible leap in technology. Less than a week after first contact with the species Terra already sprouted planetary defenses and now it was plotting its strategy for using a translight capable fleet of warships.

  The thoughts of the Council representative were upbeat, but still concerned. “We understand by your reports that the Terrans will be capable of a significantly greater response than originally anticipated. You have done well, Liaison, though, the numbers you quote have, I admit, alarmed some members of the Council. With seven hundred warships the Terrans could do quite more than just defend themselves.”

  “That is true, Council,” the Liaison answered. “It is the crux of my complaint. Even with the primitive vessels they are using as hulls their fleet will have relatively modern engines and weapons. As you know there has been very little real advancement in warship technology in the last two thousand millennia. There is, therefore, little or no difference in the performance of the Terran equipment and the modern fleets of Chem, Golkos or Seer’koh. I have complained that the Terrans needed only a deterrent fleet, yet they will accept no argument.

  “They informed me that if we wanted Scythia protected we would have to supply them with anything and everything they need.”

  “Inform them we are short of the necessary materials,” Council said.

  “Unfortunately our earlier negotiations gave the Terrans quite the opposite impression. We did not anticipate how quickly they could assimilate to their new circumstances,” Liaison told them. “The Council made the decision to arm Terra shortly after the Chem boarded our science vessel and took the Terran subject prisoner. The Terrans responded with amazing promptness. We already have several hundred thousand Terran troops enroute to our Homeworlds, and Terra sprouts defenses, rivaling those of any Galactic Homeworld. In less than a decand the Terrans began construction of their first warship. It will be ready for trials in less than a decurn. We estimate, at this rate that the Terran Fleet will number between seven hundred and nineteen and seven hundred and thirty-one vessels of various armaments.”

  “That is roughly three quarters the size of the Chem Armada if it sailed in its entirety,” Council mused. “How well are they armed?”

  “The vessel that will launch tonight will have a total of thirty-three blaster projectors ranging from level thirteen to level thirty-seven weapons. In addition there are provisions for two batteries of matter-anti-matter torpedoes.”

  “Incredible! That is in the same class as a Galactic battleship. How is this possible? Can we allow this to continue, even to buy the Terrans aid? Perhaps we can persuade the Terrans that a smaller fleet is practical. Can you slow them down?”

  “In their paranoid state it would only cause suspicion, which might have dangerous repercussions.”

  “Well, what about our request for Terran troops?”

  “The Terrans have already designated five million troops for transportation to Scythia, however, they demanded that the families be allowed to join them,” the Liaison told them. “Their argument is that if the Chem destroy Terra their race would survive elsewhere. I saw no counter argument to their logic.”

  “Very well, we understand the situation,” Council answered. “Continue as you are. Ingratiate yourself with our new Terran friends. Help them as much as you can. If we cannot keep them harmless we must direct their passions to the correct purpose. The Chem have sentenced the captured Terran to death on Pantrixnia. Make the broadcast available for distribution through Terran communication channels. Play this up as typical Chem justice. We shall make the Terrans hate the Chem.”

  “It is an apt suggestion. However, the Terrans have already accessed those Ethernet channels. They are fully aware of the Chem atrocity. In that respect, at least, we need not worry over Terran ingenuity. They are t
halamus driven, as are the Chem, and shall easily be turned against them.”

  “Very well, we shall pursue that avenue. Our goal must now be to ensure that if Terra indeed builds a fleet that she uses it against the Chem. Our cursory estimate is that in the aftermath of such a titanic battle neither the Chem nor the Terrans will be in any position to threaten Scythia. In their weakened states we shall be in a prime position to reap the predictable rewards.”

  CHAPTER 29: Another Fight for Survival

  Nazeera closed her eyes and allowed the slight hum of the anti-gravity disk to wash away the memories of the day. She leaned forward ever so slightly and the disk rose and accelerated. Crouching increased her speed and stopped her climb. She leaned to the left, turning that direction in a long curve. It took her around the tree cloaked finger of a ridge and into a misty valley.

  A gushing river churned beneath her, brown foam bubbling around the smooth chocolate backs of slick rocks—like the humps and knobs of half-submerged monsters. Nazeera drew her gun.

  She dialed the muzzle back so that the intensity indicator barely showed in the shadowy-misty light. The sound of a waterfall grew in her ears, and Nazeera followed the winding course of the river until she entered a circular amphitheater surrounded by thousand foot cliffs.

  A white lace waterfall fell down the slick stone into a lake about two hundred meters wide. The river left the lake through a cleft in the rock. Nazeera scanned the air. She wasn’t alone. At least a dozen brightly feathered birds as large as her but with wingspans four times her height, cruised the lake. Their cries and squawks echoed along the cliffs, filling the amphitheater with a raucous deluge of noise that vied with the roar of the waterfall. They were hunting for fish, and they ignored Nazeera. She smiled and pressed a switch on her wrist.