Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy

by Christopher L. Anderson

  The Kuntok rocked amidst the crossing blaster streams in the core of the battle. There was so much confusion in the rebel ranks, however, that the Kuntok was no more a target than any other loyalist battleship. The "Khoor-Lhat was an entirely different matter. Dozens of warships were firing on her at any one time. Her shields glowed first silver, then gold, then a ruddy red. As the color changed Nazeera did not need her scans to tell her the old battleship was faltering. “Move the Kuntok alongside her Nazar, and prepare to board!” she ordered. Slowly the vast shark-like bulk of the Kuntok muscled its way through debris, rebel cruisers and destroyers, and the Khoor-Lhat’s own blaster fire to come side by side with the opposing flagship. They traded broadside after broadside, and though the Kuntok felt the burn of the rebel projectors it was soon apparent that the Khoor-Lhat was flailing away blindly. Turning to the Communications Officer Nazeera opened a channel and hailed the commander of the Guardian Armada.

  “Commander Beshlat of the Khoor-Lhat Nazeera of Chem, of the Triumvirate, addresses you!” she told him flatly. “You have fought bravely, but for a flawed cause. The folly of you lord has brought you to destruction, but your bravery may win back your honor. Transfer your allegiance back to Nazeera and to the Elder of Chem and see your house restored to its former glory!”

  A noble Chem appeared on her view screen. It was Commander Beshlat. “Faithless is he who abandons his flag for another in dark moments,” he told her. “I will not have the children of my house look upon their ancestor as a man who blew with the winds. You lack the weakness for which you were portrayed, bold Nazeera, yet I shall stay my course and defy you!”

  “An error in judgment can be overlooked,” Nazeera told him, “but the chance for such is fleeting. Take the correction I offer you not for your own gain but that of Chem, and the House of Beshlat.”

  The threat to his house was understood, and Beshlat hesitated for a moment. He was tempted, but finally, firmly, he said, “I stand by my word.”

  “You defy my honorable offer then? It will not be renewed.”

  “I do,” he returned with finality.

  “Then prepare to be boarded!” Nazeera spat and cut the connection. Pressing her ships comm switch she repeated the order to board the “Khoor-Lhat Turning to Alexander she said, “I must lead the boarding party. I wish you to stay here, Alexander, unhappy though I know it makes you. Be content that your inactivity is for a greater good than this slight and redundant glory.”

  Alexander took her hand and kissed it, “I am content with your direction, Nazeera. May you find glory and that swiftly!”

  “Brevity is the order of this attack!” Nazeera smiled, knowing full well Alexander’s meaning. Without further word she and Nazar leapt into the bridge boarding pod and were gone.

  Alexander watched and listened to the battle for the "Khoor-Lhat on the bridge monitors. The fighting was indescribably fierce on the battleship, but around it the space battle lulled into a standoff. The two armadas were of similar size and firepower, but Nazeera’s headlong attack gave her the edge. Now both sides bided their time until a final outcome on the flagship decided matters. It was not so much as the opportunity for battle was lost as it was interest. Nazeera’s competence in battle and her exuberant aggression against the Guardian Armada were doing much to denude the lies of Bureel. Bureel’s commanders had given their word and allegiance to a new master, and their sense of honor would not allow them to break their word, but their hearts were not in it. Nazeera displayed the ultimate in warrior spirit for all to see, and now the rebel commanders sensed their error. It was not enough to sway their allegiance, but it was enough for many of the warships of the Guardian Armada to tone down the aggression of their attacks. They fired and engaged to be sure, but they did not grapple with their enemies with the fierceness that victory demands. They saw a turning point, and so they, in turn, saw the fence and sat upon it; allowing Nazeera to dictate the outcome.

  More and more boarders climbed aboard the wallowing carcass that was the proud "Khoor-Lhat until the mighty warship looked as though it were covered by ticks. On the Kuntok’s bridge Alexander watched testily as the battle raged hand to hand, helpless to affect events. The battle dragged on, and the pitch changed several times as rebel forces boarded the "Khoor-Lhat in support of their flag. The ebb and flow of the combat was exhausting, yet finally Nazeera came to grips with Commander Beshlat. A circle of whirling dervishes surrounded them, but they seemed strangely immune in their own trial. Beshlat had the strength over his adversary, but he lacked Nazeera’s lightning quickness and her invulnerable desire. He fell with her sword through his heart. At the conquest the battle stopped all about her. Nazeera placed her bloody heel on the still convulsing chest of her vanquished foe and let out a banshee howl, crying “I claim the "Khoor-Lhat by right of conquest! Long may Chem rule!"

  A resounding roar surrounded her, and in that instant victory and Chem were Nazeera’s. Then a strident voice came over the board, from where could not be told, but it said, “Bureel’s Armada is dropping out of superluminal upon us!”

  From grasped victory the loyalists faced an immediate fight for survival. Nazeera’s Armada, certain of her victory once she gained the "Khoor-Lhat lost their opportunity to defeat the remainder of the Guardian Armada or at least put it to flight. If the Guardian Armada stood to in observation during the bloody boarding of the rebel flagship Nazeera’s ships did no more. Now with their lord in system and their numerical advantage still intact the rebels attacked Nazeera’s Armada with renewed energy.

  Bureel witnessed the fall of the "Khoor-Lhat over the ethernet, and its doom spurred him to take the risk of maintaining superluminal to the very last moment. More by luck than skill the rebel armada dropped out of superluminal almost in the midst of the fray. So close were they that the rebel forces turned Nazeera’s strategy against her. They made straight for the Kuntok and boarded her before Nazeera or her party could return.

  From stoic observer Alexander turned into an overactive participant. The rebels suddenly appeared from everywhere, and with the forces of the Kuntok already depleted the fighting swiftly grew grim. The Terran used his sword and knife exclusively, hacking and slashing with such resolution that blood and gore from his enemies splattered the cavernous bridge. Still, as loyal Chem after loyal Chem fell to the onslaught Alexander was forced by the melee into the bows of the bridge. He could not have told how many he killed, but his mind hearkened back to Stamford Bridge. Strangely the prospect of heroic death gave him no comfort, rather it revolted him. He had finished that lifetime, but in this life he knew somehow that his task was not complete. The fatality of his ancestors failed to lend him any comfort, and instead a raw fury for somehow being cheated of his destiny fed his thews. He hacked and thrust, kicked and struck forth, utterly overcome with bestial rage. He saw nothing that was not through a haze of pounding blood, and he recognized nothing but the need to rend and to slay.

  Time wore on in its slow but inexorable force, and though the Chem moved as cats in the night, they were clumsy and slow to his mind’s eye. He saw through their flesh to their souls, and he attacked them there as much as with his body. Only for an instant did his blood-rage give any inkling to a semblance of sanity. When the last loyal Chem had fallen and Alexander stood completely alone the rebels halted, hesitating. They licked their lips in desire for the glory of his death, but they feared to come within reach of his steel.

  “Who comes for the glory of the kill?” Alexander demanded of them, a small inspiration of strategy instilling him with the slightest of hopes. He glared at them, his breath heaving, his mouth frothing blood. “Who will bear the glorious mantle as Alexander’s slayer for all eternity? Which one of you dares spill your guts under my feet in payment for such an honor?”

  One Chem stepped forward to challenge Alexander for the sole right of claiming his name. Alexander leapt at him and his stroke went through the Chem’s parry to shear through shoulder and breast. Alexander stepped back
and pulled his gory blade free. “Which of you wants my name? I shall not give it to you. You must earn it! Earn it so that you might hear it sung in your honor the ending of the world!”

  Another stepped forward to be hewed down, then another, and another. Despite the beast that stood before them not one of the Chem could resist the temptation of that terrible risk. To be the slayer of Alexander was to be immortal. One after another they followed, until nine and ten crossed swords with him, and his adversaries themselves removed the bodies of their comrades so that they too could go to slaughter.

  Alexander knew none of it. His rage enveloped him as closely as his flesh. When Nazeera finally regained the Kuntok and swept the bridge of the remaining rebels Alexander did not recognize her. She and all with her held their distance, allowing the beast that was Alexander to stand panting amidst the mounds of dead. It was only when the Kuntok was safely in the depths of space again, her Homeworld relinquished in eventual defeat, that Alexander came down from that high mountain of wrath he built for himself. When Nazeera told him of the outcome of battle, of the almost complete loss of her armada all strength drained from him. He said nothing as the surgeon stitched his innumerable wounds. Alexander felt the loss as heartily as Nazeera, but he’d not yet come to the realization that through the loss he still lived. As he fell asleep in her arms, still silent in defeat, his ears finally defined his lover’s voice. Into the despair that should have been her own Nazeera whispered, “There is life here still, and heart, so there is still hope. While there is hope there is reason to live, and reason to fight on.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Admiral Augesburcke could not say that his homecoming to Terra was a pleasant one. A military man through and through the Australian had little use for politics or politicians, and unfortunately for him his duties on Terra kept him in the constant company of each. He missed the Iowa and its disciplined no nonsense routine. He enjoyed space, and it was somewhat strange to so dislike being planet bound. A year ago he could not have imagined any of this, and now he could not imagine being without it.

  Augesburcke was about to adjourn his daily CODOTS meeting when an aide handed him a message. The conference was uneventful, relatively speaking, as there was nothing they could do about the Chem situation but wait. The other matters of importance, the Scythian "rebellion" and the emigration fiasco were now in the Senate’s hands and out of CODOTS jurisdiction. The Scythian’s had not so much rebelled as withdrawn from the Galactic community. They ate and slept, but did little else. They certainly did not offer any assistance to their new masters, no matter the threats or offers. It was becoming a problem because of the sheer lack of understanding Terran’s had with their newfound technology. Reverse engineering took time when you didn’t understand the basic concepts upon which a machine was built. At the present there was no immediate threat on the horizon, but the newness of Terra in space made this event an important one.

  The emigration problem was of Terran making in its entirety. There were suddenly two hundred plus habitable planets in the Terran Federation and now every nation, religion, and philosophy wanted a planet of their own to colonize. The response of the Senate was mixed, but CODOTS, under Augesburcke’s leadership, was steadfastly against the idea. He feared a partitioning of the species just at the time when they were realizing a Human dream of unity. As a result of the uproar CODOTS was removed from the decision making process. The Senate debated the policy, but several nations threatened to withdraw from the Senate and strike out on their own if they did not get their own planet. An ugly stalemate resulted, and as a result no planets other than those with troops on them were being colonized. It was a tense time, but as CODOTS influence waned Augesburcke saw only darker days ahead. His brow furrowed as he read the note handed him. After reading the message twice, he told the council, “Excuse me, but I have just been informed that CODOTS is dissolved. The military functions have been absorbed into the Department of Defense, of which I’ve been named Chief, and all other functions will be divided amongst the departments and agencies reporting to the newly formed Federation Senate. I am also informed that the Senate will be voting for a Federation President this afternoon.” Augesburcke raised his brows and looked across at his colleagues. “Well, it appears we’ve become superfluous. I’ve a list of government assignments for all of you, if you’ll stand by, otherwise I will call our council adjourned, permanently. Thank you all for a job well done.”

  Faizah Sadat waited for the Admiral to storm out of the room and then left the table somewhat placidly. Her colleagues noticed her to be more withdrawn over the last couple of weeks and they were surprised to see her become an ardent anti-Alexander force in CODOTS. Her usual nature was as a decisive and very intuitive statesman. If there was a question as to her recent manner it was forgotten in the all pervading crisis. She gathered her staff around her and headed towards her office. Once there she sat silently behind her desk while her staff briefed her on every nuance of the Terran situation. She’d always been a demanding taskmaster, but recently her staff noted that her desire for information, especially information concerning Alexander, was insatiable. The briefing lasted several hours, with very few questions from Sadat.

  A merciful knock on the door brought the ceaseless droning to a halt. An aide got up and opened the door. It was one of Ms. Sadat’s colleagues from CODOTS. There was a broad smile on his face.

  “Congratulations Ms. Sadat, the Senate has just elected you the first President of the Terran Federation.”

  Sadat’s answering smile was one of enormous satisfaction.

  CHAPTER 10

  The silence in the Chem Assemblage was stifling. Even the Elder sat still as stone on his black anthracite throne, unwilling, and unable to alter the atmosphere. A tense expectancy hung like a vapor in the chambers. Something was about to happen which had not occurred since the bad old days of the Chem Empire. When the empire was young tyrants strove for the mace of the Elder. They slew each other over the title and blood flowed freely over the anthracite seat. Members of the august body of the Assemblage not in step with the new ruler, or too slow to foresee the sudden changes of fortune were shipped wholesale to Pantrixnia, or slaughtered on the floor of the Assemblage. It was a bloody time of upheaval and passion. The only thing that prevented the Chem from ruling the galaxy was the Chem themselves. They were feared and respected, as much by their own people as the other cultures of the galaxy. Those turbulent times faded with the strong hand of Terumaz. When she took the seat of the Elder thirteen thousand Terran years past it was over the heads of six other rival clans. She put down all rivals and left one strong voice throughout the empire. Instead of expanding, though, Terumaz permeated the empire with a sense of order and tradition. She made the Assemblage a body of constancy, inertia to the volcanic passions of her people. The Triumvirate was her final legacy, for it was from the Triumvirate that the orderly succession to the Elder took place. The Assemblage was a mixture of elected and hereditary officials, but those of the Triumvirate was chosen by tests of courage and wisdom. It was from this select group that the Elder placed the hopes and trust of the people. In a locked seal about the Elder’s neck, to be opened only upon the Elder’s death, was the name of the member of the Triumvirate who would ascend to the anthracite seat.

  The Elder fingered the seal sadly as he looked out over the diminished Assemblage. Many fled at the rumor of Bureel’s coming. He thought they were wise. Nazeera’s decimated armada, though it had inflicted horrific damage upon Bureel was no longer able to effect this particular session of the Assemblage. It was a somber moment for the Elder, for it signaled the end of generations of Chem unity. The Elder sighed aloud at the realization of his failure, and the coming loss. They finally grew to reach their potential as an empire, but there was always that bad blood in his people that gave in to passion over reason. Somehow he failed to read that in his people’s eyes.

  A strident clang on the Assemblage doors marked the coming of Bureel. All eyes tu
rned there. With a groaning announcement reserved for dark times the doors slowly swung open. In strode Bureel, his raiment of gold and red, his step quicker than it should be. At his back were his lieutenants, and forty warriors in two files. Not since the Ascension of Terumaz had warriors armed for battle entered the chambers of the Assemblage. The members of the Assemblage parted to make way for the Usurper. With a stern monarchical gaze centered on the anthracite throne Bureel made his way through the midst of the Assemblage towards the raised dais of the Elder. The throne was on a dais of seven steps. As Bureel approached the dais the Chamberlain leapt forward to bar his way with a massive golden mace, saying, “Who are you that dares to approach the seat of the Elder?”

  “I am Bureel of Chem,” Bureel stated. “I claim this seat by right of honor, and the will of the Assemblage. I claim this seat to restore the honor and glory of the Chem. I claim this seat to destroy all who would oppose the ultimate right of Chem dominion.”

  The Elder rose and took the golden mace from the Chamberlain. “That seat is already occupied, Bureel,” he said sternly. “Only those who have won the right by conquest may demand so great a price. I see no such laurels about your shoulders. I see only the mantle of treachery!”

  “You see with skewed and foolish eyes, Elder,” Bureel snarled. “It is I, Bureel, who control the system of Chem, and thus the hearts of the people. You were not strong enough to lead us back to the days of glory. Your poison in my wife’s ears led her to betray her own people. You’ve brought your own house down, but Bureel shall intercede before the entirety of the House of Chem comes down with you. Will you yield me the Mace of the Elder, or will I claim it through right of challenge to a traitor?”