“If, as you suspect, the Scythians are arming a previously ignorant Terra then it may then be to our advantage to bypass the Terran system and strike directly at Scythia. I see no advantage in destroying a race seeking only to defend itself. If there is evidence of Terran preparations for aggression, meaning we’ve been right all along, we’ll have no choice but to destroy the Terran system while we can, and then move on to Scythia. Either way we shall teach the Scythians a painful lesson, and if necessary we will rid the galaxy of a dangerous tool by destroying Terra!”
“How shall we know for certain if the Terran lied and a Scythian-Terran connection exists? If the Scythians plan was to use them as mercenary troops, and their link to Terra is as ancient as they say, what will we find on Terra that will illuminate us?”
“Meaning an ignorant Terra may well appear similar to a guilty Terra,” the Elder said. “Both versions would be planet bound, but arming, and likely shipping out troops to Scythia for Scythian defense. The motive on the guilty hand would be a long-standing agreement between Scythia and Terra. The motive on the ignorant hand would be that the Scythians would not agree to arm the Terrans without a price. It is an important distinction. The Scythians, worms that they are, are the finest liars in the galaxy. How do you tell when a liar is lying? In this case the fate of a race hangs in the balance. I can see no clear-cut answer, Nazeera, except to continue on our present course. We shall prepare for war. Hopefully, our scouts will be able to provide us with definitive evidence, one way or the other.”
“So it is your opinion that the challenge of Bureel must wait,” Nazeera asked.
“Yes, absolutely,” the Elder nodded. “If our reports indicate that Terra is no threat to us or the rest of the galaxy I will allow the challenge of Bureel, loath though I am to see your house ended. I don’t see Bureel as being successful in that suit.”
“I will deal with that problem when it arises. Still, the delay will mean at least another ten decurns for the Terran on Pantrixnia,” Nazeera noted.
“A small matter considering the importance of everything else,” the Elder told her. “I’m not blind to your regard for the Terran, Nazeera. You’ve had a great deal of contact with him and his conduct is admirable. It will be all the more painful, and dangerous, if we find that this admirable character is wrapped in a package of deceit.”
“There is nothing in his memory patterns to indicate any such thing,” Nazeera reminded him. “He has a rather vindictive attitude towards the Scythians, and his memory patterns give him good reason for this.”
The Elder looked troubled, saying, “Memory patterns are powerful drivers in emotional beings such as the Chem, or the Terrans. The Scythians admit being able to repress them, but are they capable of manipulating them?”
“You think Alexander might be altered, and planted? That is giving the Scythians a great deal of credit for cunning.” Nazeera replied.
“How can we know? That is what we are faced with, Nazeera, uncertainty at every step. Alexander is making this a difficult and dangerous decision. It’s his potential I fear. From what he’s shown us he’d make a difficult adversary, just by his resourcefulness and prowess, but there’s more. You’ve already noticed in your personal contacts that he can be charming and persuasive. A formidable foe that is openly hostile, or at least predictable, is dangerous. A formidable foe that is neither is deadly. How do we answer this riddle? How do we read Terrans when by all the accounts of his own memories they cannot even read each other? They are to be feared.”
“There is that in them, Elder,” Nazeera said gravely, “but I trust my Chem instincts, at least as far as Alexander is concerned.”
“Well, then you will be perfect to lead the Armada,” the Elder told her. “If he is true then Terra will have nothing to fear from their cousins of Chem. If he is false then their many gods will not help them against your fury.”
“We may never know the truth of Alexander,” she reminded him. “A decand on Pantrixnia is a long time.”
“I shouldn’t wonder that by that time he’ll have the entire populace won over and calling for his return.” The Elder told her, and then he chuckled. “Don’t worry over the Terran, Nazeera. Give him a decand and he’ll make a pet out of the King of Carnivores!”
CHAPTER 36: The Frontier Life
The shadow turned out to be the entrance to the grotto. Once inside, Alexander sighed with genuine relief. He succeeded—he thought—in hiding his very real fears from Bob the automaton. To be honest, the encounter scared the crap out of him.
The Tyrannosaurus poked its nose into the entrance of the grotto, but that’s as far as it could go. Alexander slapped it on the nose with the flat of his blade. Rex retreated and feasted on the rest of the bear.
Alexander was too wound up to sleep for a long time. He built a fire and roasted some meat. The rest he cut into strips along with the snake meat and tried to smoke them.
When he was too weary to continue he dragged the bear rug into the bedroom. Then he put a pile of long branches and small trees in front of and over the opening. If anything came into his grotto it would wake him up as it made its way through the barrier—so he hoped. Then he dozed off.
Alexander awoke to a dazzling green light.
His first thought was the Scythians or the Chem, but then he realized it was just the sunrise through the green curtain of water.
There was a present in his living room; a fifty pound fish laid on the wet rock of the grotto. It wasn’t there by accident. There was a large semi-circle of teeth marks on the flank of the silver fish.
“I think I’ve made a friend,” he said, and then he sighed. “It’s a shame I hate fish.”
Alexander’s “house” was coming along nicely. It took many risky forays for him to get the wood and vines he required but when that chore was complete he started construction. He wanted to accomplish three things initially with his work: safety, comfort and food. The food was the easiest. There was plenty of game to hunt, but he didn’t need to—every morning he had fresh fish waiting for him in his living room.
For comfort he rigged a rude hammock, again out of small vines. He hung it in the rear of the grotto between two tripods of sturdy branches. He walled off his bedroom with sturdy branches. They wouldn’t keep a large carnivore out, but they’d slow it down enough so he could shoot it at his leisure.
His primary, and most challenging, problem was now that of safety. He needed something that would block entrance to the cave. Doors were the answer, but they were impossible to engineer, so he set about to build a barrier and gate. He cut logs thick as his leg with his sword and then lashed them together into a wall. He wedged one side of this wall into a crack at the entrance to the grotto. The other end was kept in place by braces wedged into the stone. He made the door of smaller branches lashed and woven together. When placed against the wall he braced it from the inside with logs. The first project took two days. The last took a good deal longer, but as Alexander soon learned he had plenty of time.
The grotto became the center of his new existence, and theoretically he’d never have to leave it. He had food, water, shelter and sometimes even company.
Nessie appeared every once and a while, poking her head through the curtain of water to see what he was doing. He threw her some bear meat and she seemed to like it. On his third morning in the grotto he woke up to find the plesiosaur snoring on his living room floor like an enormous seal. Thereafter, Nessie spent her nights sleeping in the safety of his grotto.
Still, as safe as his new residence might be compared to sleeping in the jungle it was as good as a prison. Therefore, even when he had projects unfinished, he left the confines of his haven and explored.
His explorations had their own rewards far beyond what he could have imagined in his former, duller life. The one adventure he recalled for the rest of his days happened on his sixth day on Pantrixnia.
Alexander now knew the land thereabout well. He returned to the Tyrannosaur’s can
yon, arriving just in time to watch the Tyrannosaurus wake from its afternoon nap. He sat down with his constant companion, Bob the automaton, on the edge of the cliff and watched. From his vantage point at the bend he could see both the waterfall and the jungle below. It was an awe inspiring view. The Tyrannosaurus looked very different in the full sunlight of noon, when the rays penetrated the high walls of the canyon. Its coloration changed, reflecting the magnificence of evolutionary perfection. In the shadows its hide disappeared into mottling bands of dark shiny greens. Yet now, revealed by the sunlight, the hide glistened vibrantly with an overall winter sea green cut with swaths of bright purplish banding. Alexander was enthralled. From his perspective there could be no argument. The King of the Tyrant Lizards was indeed the pinnacle of galactic creation.
The Tyrannosaurus was just stirring. Lifting its muscled bulk from its sun baked rock it stalked over to the falls and stood under the shower of water for a half hour, drinking deeply. When it left the waterfall it shook. Thus far he’d seen nothing new, but he was simply enjoying watching the leviathan. Then the Tyrannosaurus did something extraordinary. It stretched, and then started to go through the motions of stalking, lowering its head and raising it feet in exaggerated steps. It went back and forth in the hidden end of the canyon, stalking and pouncing.
Then it made a mad dash down the canyon, but it stopped at the bend and ran right back, leaping feet first into the pool. There was an enormous splash, and when it settled the Tyrannosaurus sunk into the water, alligator-like, with only it’s the top of its skull showing. It lay there, breathing silently, for several minutes. Slowly the massive head rose out of the water—a leering grin of teeth and scales.
It erupted from the pool and dashed back to the bend, only to again turn around and plunge madly back into the pool. Up to this point the entire performance was silent, except for the sounds of the enormous body bounding across the stone and into the water.
Alexander was mystified.
He watched the Tyrannosaurus repeat the same procedure in the pool, lifting its dripping head slowly out of the water like some ancient dragon about to pounce upon an unsuspecting knight. Again the Tyrannosaurus burst from the water and ran with incredible speed down the canyon. This time, however, it did not stop at the bend. It continued full force down the canyon and began to bellow. It leapt head first into the jungle roaring and bellowing.
The jungle exploded. Animals from kilometers around trumpeted and screamed in sheer unadulterated panic. Flocks of birds sprang from the canopy as far as the eye could see, their squawking adding to the already rising crescendo of the forest. The sound of trampled undergrowth, the shaking of the earth beaten under heavy feet, trumpets, honks, roars, and screams all preceded the bassoon bellows of the mighty lord. The Tyrannosaurus kept it up for a good five minutes. Alexander could occasionally catch glimpses of it in the forest, but it was primarily by following the aural catastrophe by which he kept track of the king of beasts.
The bellowing finally ceased and the Tyrannosaurus returned, leaving its kingdom in fear and confusion. Panting with obvious pleasure it stalked back up the canyon and placed itself under its waterfall. After another half an hour it shook, and went back to sleep, leaving Alexander in jaw hanging wonder.
Alexander finished the gates on his ninth day on Pantrixnia. His establishment in the grotto signaled the beginning of a relatively routine existence. Pantrixnia abounded with dangers, but Alexander was beginning to gauge the limit by which he could live. He could move about during the day with a reasonable amount of security, but venturing out at night was completely out of the question.
Alexander learned that the hard way after being careless enough to watch the Pantrixnia sunset from the ridge above the Tyrannosaur’s lair. It was a wondrous evening with the sky dying through crimson, purple, and finally a velvet black studded with jewels. There was no moon on Pantrixnia, and the heavy air allowed only the brightest stars to twinkle through; as soon as the sun slipped beneath the ocean, blackness overtook the world.
Alexander was only a half mile from his grotto, but it may as well have been the other side of the planet. He scrambled with difficulty over the ridge, which in places was dangerously narrow. During daylight hours the precipice was no great problem, but there was no darkness that equaled the night on Pantrixnia, unless it was the perpetual night in the deepest caves of the world. Alexander had been under the midnight of Mount St. Helen’s eruption and he remembered the eerie pitch of that world, but there the ash also absorbed all sound.
Pantrixnia at night was a symphony of a planet gone mad.
Alexander picked his way slowly over the slippery rock, ever mindful of the twenty to thirty meter fall on his right. He took enormous care, but was saved twice only by the clinging vines that hung from the slope to his left. The anxious moments occurred when he traversed two of the innumerable small waterfalls. Moss and slime coated the rock beneath his boots. The moss afforded him specious purchase at best, and on both occasions it gave way suddenly beneath him. In the first instance he suffered only from the face first fall to the stone, but the second time he lost all footing. He slid uncontrollably down the muddy rock until he caught blindly at a tangle of vines, his legs dangling into space.
“Third time’s a charm, Alexander, this is a mess of your own making! It does no good to be complacent about this place. It’s unforgiving to the stupid!” he said, berating himself after climbing back up to the trail. He persisted across the ridge. As he neared the ridge, sounds in front and behind brought him to a halt. In the gloom his inadequate eyes discerned shadows slightly darker than the shadow of the rock. They were roughly man size, and several were before and after him. Without waiting, he raised his gun, wrapping his left arm around a nearby vine. Blindly he fired a volley of shots ahead of him, being rewarded by the momentary sight of half a dozen wolf-like shapes barking and writhing under his fire.
He swung back to shoot those behind, feeling them nearing his unprotected flank, but too late. Just as he pressed the contact a heavy body slammed against him, tearing the vine out of his hand and crushing him against the rock. The creature was easily his own mass, and Alexander felt the breath forced out of his lungs as he crashed against the ridge. A slavering jaw closed about his armored arm, and he continued to fire blindly. There were grunts and growls, and the smell of burned flesh, but they dimmed as heavy talons raked his forehead. Then the ground beneath him moved.
He fought desperately and viciously, beating, firing, even feeling the heat of fur and blood between his teeth; then the ground gave way and they were in space, locked in a life and death struggle.
Alexander fell from the trail and into the inky darkness of the Pantrixnian night.
CHAPTER 37: Adventure to Exile
Somehow, fortune didn’t quite desert Alexander. The twenty meter plunge landed him on top of the beast, and its body provided a cushion for the impact. The splintering of bones beneath him and the popping of soft flesh signaled the end of the carnivore, and Alexander’s salvation. Dazed, but otherwise conscious and alive he staggered up, slipping on the mush that was now the carnivore’s corpse. As he reached his feet an assembly of howls broke all around him.
Blindly he fired in the most strident direction of the cacophony. Both blasters spat time and again, burning into the angry pack, but the beams began to dim almost immediately. In a moment’s time Alexander’s two blaster pistols were useless.
He drew his sword.
The carnivores were on him. He hacked and slashed at the shaggy shadows and gleaming eyes. Twice the beasts knocked him from his feet, but each time he forced his way up through the writhing tornado of blood, fur and teeth. Alexander instinctively returned to that inner world of red icy rage which served him through so many lives. It was rage at his stupidity, and an egotistical primal rage aimed at any creature that dared threaten his right to live.
Alexander’s strength burst forth like water through a dam and he shouldered his way through the
lanky shapes, slashing limbs, and spraying the canyon with showers of blood from his sharp Chem sword. He didn’t think. Time was too precious for anything but instinct in the melee. The fight whirled around him like a fog, but he saw every beast, knew every intended move and acted instinctively before necessity made it too late. Alexander reached a rhythm in his slaughter, where the cold calculation of the mind becomes a detached master guiding the body’s future movements and leaving the present to the flesh.
Then, just as terribly as it began, it ended. Alexander was alone in the canyon, with only the fading yelps of the maimed and defeated. Shaking the blood from his eyes he slowly came down from his mountain of fury. As he did so his senses expanded their range of attention, heretofore shortened to the immediate necessity of the battle.
The forest was alive with his raucous activity, and by the sound of it carnivores were searching out the battlefield, intent on the spoils. Alexander growled to himself, still angry that his complacency had landed him in such a spot. He didn’t have much time for self reflection; however, as once again he’d forgotten his location. The fight was only two hundred meters from the Pantrixnian Lord’s lair, and the enormous shadow looming at the canyon entrance was as unmistakable as it was unwelcome.
“Well, what do you want, Rex?” Alexander demanded, and not at all pleasantly. He shook his sword. “Don’t even think about it, I’m not in the mood; if you need a snack take one of these curs! I’ll not sleep in your belly tonight!”
Alexander grappled and then heaved one of the wolves down the slope at Rex, who growled menacingly at his tone and action. Still, the dinosaur did not charge, rather its dark shape, stunningly huge in the glooms of the night, padded forward to the corpse. It snuffed at it and then snorted. Another low growl emanated from the cavernous throat and suddenly those two meter jaws plunged down and plucked the carnivore from the stones like a doll.
Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy Page 27
