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 teeth. 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!”

“From the looks of his arms, Bureel and those saurian eyes, I would hazard to say that Nazeera would be free to search for a new mate of her own choosing, and not our father’s,” Nazar told him.

“You dare!”

“Enough! Enough!” Nazeera exclaimed. “I’ll hear no more of this discussion. Bureel, I will not sponsor your request, and since you must have one of the three Triumvirates to sponsor a bill from a lower level of the Assemblage-I doubt if either Karel or Puriezia would go against my wishes-your challenge will go unfulfilled. Without my support, I don’t think your scheme for glory will come to much. Now, I must attend to the Chamber, where the Elder and the Triumvirate will discuss the particulars of this unpleasant situation in detail. I therefore take my leave of you.”

Nazeera turned on her heal, her black tresses whipping behind. The two males bowed as befitting junior members of the Assemblage and left in opposite directions.

#

Alexander settled himself once again in the gloom of his cell, exhausted. The enormous effort of self control and debate that characterized the most important half hour of his life, and possibly of Terran existence, drained him of all energy. He had no illusions as to the import of his actions, and as ill an ambassador as he thought he was Alexander couldn’t afford the luxury of failure. He sat on the metal floor and gathered his thoughts. He won a small victory. The Chem would send him to a prison planet, he couldn’t remember the name, and there test his “mettle.” The situation was turning out to be logical, if not desirous. The Chem wanted to know what they were up against.

His task now, his only task, was to put forward such a powerful image of Humankind that the Chem would have second thoughts on attacking Earth. His personal survival and safety were secondary now. He was an actor assigned to play the role of a Human as he should be, and not necessarily as he was. His only regret was his condition. At thirty-nine he was past the peak of his physical powers. He’d seen too little of the gym or dojo in the last years, and old injuries made themselves more apparent. Still, he told himself, he wasn’t completely without physical ability. At six foot two, two hundred and thirty pounds he was somewhat pared down from his playing days in Minnesota. A black belt in the martial arts could be thanked for his not “ballooning” in weight when injuries forced his premature retirement from football. His short career in the trenches of the NFL, although saddling him with an artificial knee and a suspect back, still endowed him with a commanding physique and a sense of fearlessness in personal combat. In the military he became an expert marksman, and had the benefit of annual survival training.

With his experience and remaining physical powers he’d no doubt he could live off the land of this prison planet. He could handle himself, unless it came down to a test of tooth and claw. In that arena genetics hobbled him, and so it did not warrant his concern.

As he pondered his position Alexander was unaware of the changes that came over him. His entire being centered on his task. The cold of the floor disappeared because it was unimportant. The discomfort of his physical position didn’t reach his brain because it was trivial. Imperceptibly, all that was dominant for survival asserted itself. The brutal endurance and cunning of the primitive Homo sapiens combined with the skill and intelligence of modern man. Without his knowledge, he advanced as a being, even as parts of him regressed to their most primitive. It was the secret to survival for the Human race throughout the millennia, to somehow reach their full potential when nature demanded it. He sat and he thought, waiting with the stamina of newfound patience.

He drifted off to sleep. How much time passed he couldn’t say, but his mind was busy with a swirling avalanche of dreams and thoughts. Finally, he awakened. He was sitting on the edge of a bed—his bed. He felt groggy and disoriented. What was that dream he had? It was like a book. Muttering to himself he got up and went into the bathroom. He relieved himself, brushed his teeth, lathered his face and began to shave. It was then, as he looked at the bathroom in the mirror, that he realized this was his apartment in his Air Force days.

The thought struck him, “I’m not in the Air Force anymore—this must be a dream.”

The bathroom disappeared, and his eyes snapped open. He was still in his cylindrical metal cell, but a panel was open revealing a lighted corridor.