Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy

by Christopher L. Anderson

  “Are you well enough to travel?”

  “I shall have to be if the Armada Commander summons me,” he replied, and he followed them out of the room. They made their way down the corridors to the lift. Alexander walked stiffly upright, but each new blow to the ship sent a thrill of pain through his spine. The wound in his back was a long slash several centimeters deep and reaching from his spine around to his flank. It oozed blood, and now it began to burn. He packed the tail of the Banthror cloak over it and cinched his belt tighter. It was a Spartan remedy, but at the moment there was little else he could do. It was not the slash, however, which bothered him. Alexander knew his physical limitations all too well. His comparatively prodigious strength amongst the Chem would avail him little with his back the way it was. His active life taught him to play through the pain of torn knees, broken bones and battered limbs, but Alexander knew the debilitation of a damaged spine. It was the core of the Human machine, and now, in the midst of battle, his body was failing him.

  They reached a lift. It was a short agonizing flight to the bridge. The heavy doors slid open to reveal a surprisingly calm scene. The bridge was a dimly lit cavernous room. Banks of control boards curved along the bulkheads on either side. An enormous wrap-around visiplate dominated the far end of the bridge. It showed a star field dotted with innumerable ships. As dazzling as was the view from the screen most of the activity was centered around the raised dais for the commander. Nazeera was not in her seat, but rather paced a shallow path in front of and below her chair. At her feet and above her head were cylindrical constructions about a meter in depth that projected from the floor and ceiling plates. Within the five meters of air between the projectors was a spherical hologram of the immediate space around the Kuntok. The command ship was in the center of the hologram, and around it a myriad of ships swarmed. The Kuntok itself was highlighted purple, as were approximately half the ships around it. The opposing ships were highlighted yellow. The hologram was detailed enough to depict the plasma volleys between the combatants. Energy beams and torpedo salvoes crossed space, splashing on shields or ripping into hulls. It was a slow but deadly ballet, and all the more enthralling by the dazzling realism of the display.

  Alexander’s escorts led him to Nazeera. Patiently they waited until she noted them, and Alexander. Her glance at him was not devoid of emotion, but the strain of this new turn of events was evident. Her countenance twisted with anger when his escorts swiftly informed her of the assault on Alexander. She dismissed them to their stations on the bridge. They saluted and returned to separate niches in the bridge bulkheads. Alexander observed that the bridge had many such niches between each one of the bridge stations, approximately twenty in all. They were large enough to accommodate a heavily armed Chem warrior, and each one was occupied. The Chem sat on angled projections so that they almost stood within the niche, as if quick exit were a requirement. The warriors were situated all around the bridge so that there was no avenue left uncovered.

  Nazeera waved him over. She was speaking to a small visiplate, one of a dozen set in the base of the projector. When Alexander approached her she flashed a swift, strained smile. “Hello Alexander, I must say things have a habit of becoming quite interesting when you are around. I’ve sent for a surgeon, but I’d rather have you close to me, for a myriad of reasons, than in the infirmary. This is the most well protected section of the ship, and it was my intention to prevent an assault such as you’ve already overcome. Bureel, unfortunately, moved swifter than even I could have foreseen. We will at least prevent a re-occurrence.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Nazeera, you’ve got your hands full,” Alexander told her. “I think I may have done enough already.”

  Nazeera glanced at her displays for a moment, after seeing what she needed she gave several curt orders. Then she took a half step towards Alexander and grasped his hand with hers. “I am desperately busy, Alexander,” she told him earnestly. “This is not the way I would have liked to spend this night. Know this, however, and remember it: this civil war, for it is nothing less, had its roots planted over a kicellia ago when my ancestors ceased their belligerent expansion into the space of other civilized cultures. At issue is a question that has divided the Chem, and stunted our growth as a people. Alexander was the catalyst, not the cause. You reminded us of who we were with your strength and pride. That caused jealousy and anger in the hearts of those who yearn for glory. That they have seized on this opportunity is not your fault, but ours. This is a deciding point in the future history of the Chem. It is my hope that the example of Alexander, so similar to the example of my ancestors a kicellia ago, will allow us to end this in a manner that will promote our continued growth, and our greater glory.”

  She pushed him back towards the command chair and said, “Stay here while I work. The surgeon shall attend you shortly, but be prepared. We may very well be boarded. Are you armed?”

  Alexander nodded, masking his concern by patting his long knife.

  Nazeera smiled in response and returned to her station. Alexander leaned against the arm of the command chair. His admiration for the Chem woman mixed with his affection and provided a tonic that almost negated the pain of his injuries. He couldn’t ignore the sensation in his back, however. It was as if his bones were mechanized parts devoid of oil. They grated against each other, sending warning signals to his brain. Try as he might there was no comfortable position for him either standing or sitting down. His options were limited, regardless, as Nazeera’s chair, the only one in the vicinity, was not acceptable under any circumstances. He felt a very real need lie down and relieve all the pressure from his spine, but being who he was made that an impossibility.

  The staccato report from an adjoining bridge station interrupted him. Glancing to the hologram he saw a salvo of torpedoes heading towards the Kuntok. Nazeera’s sharp voice echoed over the speakers just as the salvo struck the ship. A series of heavy concussions rang through the hull. The Chem were able to brace themselves for the impact, but Alexander felt the support of his legs just disappear from under him. He fell awkwardly to the decking, and the blinding pain returned. His breath left him, and he gasped without success. A face appeared amidst the flashing spots that popped before his eyes. It was Nazar.

  “Alexander, can you hear me?”

  Alexander blinked until his sight cleared, but apparently it took some time. Unbeknownst to him the surgeon and her assistant were already working on him. He lay half on his side on the deck, and Nazar was now standing next to Nazeera, talking in hushed tones. He glanced around the bridge. There were some surprised expressions marking those Chem who met his eyes. He cursed himself. What had he done, blacked out? His back throbbed still, but there was no longer that ice pick of debilitating pain. He tried to get up, but several pairs of hands held him down. “Blast it, let me up, I cannot wallow on the deck like this!” he growled ferociously.

  “Half a moment, Alexander of Terra,” the surgeon told him, not phased in the least by his tone. “I don’t want you pulling the damaged sections of your muscle and hide apart before I finish phasing them. It will only take another moment. I cannot, unfortunately, do anything for your damaged vertebrae right now. The damage is somewhat serious. There is significant damage to the intermediate cushioning material, some misalignment and swelling. There appears to be some primitive repair work, Alexander, did you do that yourself? It certainly has done more harm than good. There, I have completed my phasing. Hold now, let us help you to your feet. I have realigned your vertebrae, put in a stabilizing splint and given you some medication. All in all you should be able to function. Later I will attempt a more permanent repair. How do you feel?”

  “Disconcerted,” Alexander retorted. “I appreciate your attentions, but I am certain that there are Chem warriors more deserving of your skills.”

  “Do not worry, Alexander of Terra,” the surgeon told him, reading his true concern. “The knife wound in your back left a sufficient amount of blood on the dec
k to vouch for your need of attention. I do not believe your reputation suffered from the incident. I would like to get you into quarters. What you need now is rest. When time is available I can see about reprogramming our regenerators for the damage to your back. Try to avoid any strenuous activity, if possible. I will now return to my duties.”

  “Thank you surgeon,” Alexander replied. The surgeon nodded and left the bridge. Alexander inhaled deeply. The sharp pain failed to appear. He felt better, much better. Whatever it was she’d given him it was not the cortisone shots he used to get. He felt better than he had before the incident. Nazar left Nazeera’s side and came up to him. With sincere concern he inquired as to the doctor’s findings. Alexander waved his concern aside. “I feel nothing but some discomfort now, Nazar. You have good doctors. There is no need to be worried over me. How goes your engagement?”

  Nazar shrugged. “It is difficult to draw any conclusions at the moment,” he said. “We’ve not had a space battle of this magnitude in the known galaxy since the Chem-Golkos war over a kicellia past. The rebel forces are attempting to concentrate their firepower on the Kuntok and Nazeera, but thus far she has maneuvered our armada so as to keep them from gathering. The first stage, the sorting out of who is who is over. We are nearly equal in strength. The second stage, the engagement as a whole, is just beginning.

  “What worries me is the news from the Homeworld. A member of the Triumvirate has defected, though we still have a majority in the Assemblage. The majority of the Guardian Armada in our Home System, however, has thrown its support to Bureel. Though we may have the popular and political support, Bureel has essential control of Chem. If the contingent of the Guardian’s Armada that is allied with Bureel overcomes the loyal forces around the Chem Homeworld then there will be a successful coup no matter the outcome here.”

  Alexander had nothing to offer. In the present engagement he was nothing but a bystander, which was perhaps best. His image had already been bandied about the empire by Bureel as the secret manipulator of Nazeera. The less he did, therefore, the better.

  Nazar then asked him, “is there anything you require? Nazeera would like to have you remain on the bridge if possible, but if your injuries prevent it I can send an escort with you to your quarters.”

  “That will not be necessary Nazar,” Alexander informed him. “Wherever Nazeera desires me that is where I shall be.” Nazar returned to Nazeera’s side leaving Alexander to watch the progress of the battle. The two sides arranged themselves in scattered clumps of ships. They were not rightly called squadrons, because they formed out of proximity to each other and not to a grand scheme. Bureel’s preparations for the rebellion were as thorough as they could be for so short a time, but the loyalties of each ship were sometimes decided on her own decks, and there was no opportunity to place his trusted minions in position for a quick decisive blow on Nazeera and the Kuntok. The opposing groups, having sorted themselves out, now maneuvered with exquisite sloth into firing position. Alexander could not help but to compare it to the ancient battle of wooden sailing ships. He was surprised. In his initial encounter with the Chem they tried to goad him into fighting by sending a ship rushing headlong at his flagship. That was a bold tactic, and completely inconsistent with the careful positioning he now witnessed. What movement there was took place slowly. The ships engaged at slow speeds, allowing their firepower to dictate the outcome. Maneuvering meant drawing power from the weapons, which the tactics of the day deemed unwise. So the battle, though it drifted through thousands of miles of space in the blink of an eye, seemed rather to crawl along at the slow pace of the leviathans caught in its web. Flashes of light erupted on hulls. Torpedoes streaked through the blackness. Here and there a ship spewed gas and plasma from some death blow. It was all somehow more benign and placid than he would ever have imagined.

  Alexander’s attention was drawn primarily to the converging squadrons around the Kuntok. As they closed volleys of torpedoes and energy weapons were exchanged. The ship shook anew with each hit. The Kuntok’s formation consisted of nearly one hundred vessels. Nazeera had the support of several hundred other ships, but these were scattered into five separate groups throughout the immediate region of space. Bureel’s forces were divided into seven distinct groups ranging from a few dozen ships to over a hundred ships in size. Three of those groups, nearly two hundred ships in all were slowly converging on the Kuntok formation. Nazeera had one other squadron in support, but it was only a dozen ships. The other squadrons were paired off, so despite her maneuvers Nazeera found herself at a distinct disadvantage. Over the next hour Bureel’s numerical superiority had a telling effect. The Kuntok rocked with torpedo and blaster fire. Damage reports came in from every part of the ship, but despite its fifteen kicellia of service to the empire the Kuntok fought on. Nazeera deployed her ships in a spherical screen with the larger ships spaced equidistantly in the formation. It was a defensive formation based on her smaller numbers. The advantage was that Bureel’s squadrons could not find a weak point. At every point of attack his own squadrons would face a withering fire from Nazeera’s battleships and cruisers. The Kuntok, a huge old battleship, could reach any point of the perimeter with long range blaster fire. In response Bureel’s squadrons formed into three cone shaped formations. The rebel cone formations penetrated Nazeera’s sphere, their common goal being to meet at the Kuntok. Initially the defensive perimeter of Nazeera had the better of the battle. For over an hour the slow moving attack formations took heavy losses. At length, though, the battered attack formations of Bureel penetrated deeply enough into the sphere of Nazeera. The remains of the foremost ranks entered a close range fight with the Kuntok itself, while the rear echelons began to form an umbrella around the flagship. The attack progressed at a slow but alarming rate over the next hour. The Kuntok’s huge blaster banks destroyed nearly twenty ships of Bureel’s advancing forces, but the ships which formed the base of the rebel cones now joined to create a sphere within a sphere. Nazeera’s perimeter was now outside the sphere of rebel ships, cutting her off from any support. The loyal ships in her own proximity were quickly destroyed, and a force of nearly twenty ships sped out of Bureel’s formation to attack the Kuntok. Nazeera sent full salvoes at the attackers. At such close range several ships disintegrated after absorbing hits from three and four blaster projectors at once. The immediate space around the Kuntok filled with plasma and debris, but the victory was short lived. The rebels forced their way into extremely close quarters with the Kuntok, but they held their fire, vexing Alexander. Bureel’s reasoning quickly became apparent. The warships launched hundreds of small spherical pods as they passed the Kuntok. The tiny ships were immediately met with a hail of blaster fire, but the majority of them made it through the weakened shields to the hull of the Kuntok.

  “Prepare for boarders!” Nazeera’s warning rang through the ship. It was followed by several metallic concussions on the bridge ceiling. Rings of sparks showered the deck from a dozen different spots. Nazeera drew a narrow curved sword and a long knife. “Chem warriors prepare to defend your ship!” she cried. A jubilant shout answered her, and the Chem in the bulkhead niches poured onto the deck. Even as the bridge crew prepared for the attack the laser cut disks of the hull fell clattering to the deck. Rebel Chem warriors, distinguished from the loyal Chem by a red scarf around their necks, leapt through the holes in the hull. Immediately there was a melee of whirling blades and grunting warriors. Alexander pulled out his great knife, almost half a meter of Chem steel. He moved towards Nazeera, intent on protecting the ship’s commander, but a contingent of rebels dropped between them. Nazeera and Nazar were already engaged with several rebel Chem, but the newcomers ignored their possible advantage when they spied Alexander.

  “Human, your name will add honor to my list of victories,” cried the foremost Chem. There were other affronts and jibes from two of her companions, but the result was all three advancing on Alexander at once. They were armed with slender swords and knives, out
reaching Alexander as well as outnumbering him. He did not bother to plan a response, but leapt forward to the flank of the three. He parried the down stroke of a sword with his knife and kicked hard at the Chem’s gut. Ribs cracked beneath his boot and the sheer force of the blow caused the Chem to lose his sword and knife. The rebel reeled back into a crowd of fighters, tripping several of them. Alexander swept up the sword and slashed across his body at the woman warrior. She attempted to parry with her knife, but he cut her across the belly anyway. The blade only slashed her armor, and she waded in angrily, deciding to come to grips with Alexander at close quarters. It was a mistake. She took away her advantage in speed and quickness, and the blow she landed on Alexander’s jaw with the pommel of her sword had no affect whatsoever on the Human. Her failed strategy left her flank open and Alexander ripped upwards with his knife. The air rushed from her lungs and she cried out as he lifted her a meter off the deck. Suddenly, a ringing shudder drowned out all sound, and the now familiar sensation of gravity disappearing announced itself. The Chem warrior tumbled upwards instead of back, her body freeing itself from his knife leaving a trail of congealing blood globules.

  Alexander’s stroke drove him back into the floor plates, and he carefully absorbed the momentum. As he anticipated, the Chem reacted by controlling themselves with jet boots. The rebels around him grinned evilly when they realized he had none. Slowly they closed a ring around him.

  Steadying himself on the arm of the command chair, Alexander swiftly surveyed the scene. There were sixty or seventy Chem floating around the bridge, including a dozen or so motionless corpses. His eyes caught Nazeera even as she spied him. Her expression showed her fear, not for herself, but for Alexander’s helplessness. He replied with a huge grin. Just as two rebels Chem jetted towards him he crouched and then shot away like a cannonball holding out a blade in each hand. The two rebels who sought to dispatch him instead felt the cut of his blades as he rocketed by them, leaving them howling.