CHAPTER 23: A Family Squabble

The setting sun suffocated all levity in Nazeera’s great hall. The thought of the meal made her think of Alexander. She cursed herself. Despite her best efforts at distancing herself from the man, he’d become more than a nameless being to her. Alexander was an extraordinary man with personality and ambitions—ambitions she dashed.

The thought of his inevitable death dampened her spirits. She would like see him again, and ignore the impending destruction of his Homeworld, but he was teaching her too many things she did not want to know about himself, his people and Nazeera the woman.

The meal looked even more distasteful than usual. She would just as soon forget this day. She’d definitely tried already. After her meeting with Alexander she delivered her final report to the Elder and thought her part done. Later, somehow, she found herself locked away, again reviewing the data tapes captured from the Scythians. In Alexander’s memories she found all the facets he had shown her; the curiosity, courage, honor, humor, and even the taciturn stubbornness that could engulf his personality when pushed.

His lives were violent but without the malignant tendencies she associated with criminals. He was a merciful victor even against enemies who personally wronged him. His actions lacked the wanton cruelty, and the joy of cruelty, she’d expected. There were many more memories of a more compassionate nature than there were of glories won, or violence accomplished. This no longer surprised her, and it lent credence to the strength of his character. As she watched the tapes again she felt all the pieces of her suspicions, especially the ones concerning her personal opinions, neatly falling into a very restless picture.

Alexander grew and matured into a being at once vibrant and wise, as their elders. Watching him was almost as if recalling memories of someone she knew, or should know. She did not find that feeling comfortable at all, but at the same time it stirred a great regret towards her actions. In an attempt to purge herself of unwelcome feelings she drank more wine than usual; she’d lost an opportunity to explore a man who might mean a great deal to her empire, and possibly, just possibly, to her as well.

“Nazar, would it be too much to ask for you to find a house of your own,” the smooth voice of Bureel whined, waking her from her thoughts. “Really, welching off your sister and I is beneath someone of you stature, not to mention your age. Might I advise you to take a wife and make a life of your own?”

“What and miss time with my melancholy sibling, as well as your inestimable charm?” Nazar entered the dining room with a flourish, kissed his sister on the forehead and seated himself. “What’s for supper, I am understandably famished? I’ve just finished arranging transport for Alexander to Pantrixnia. As you know I shall have the honor of accompanying him to that planet of endless pleasures!”

“Oh, please Nazar, don’t joke of it,” Nazeera asked limply, pouring another glass of wine. It was bold and heady, dulling the growing pain in her consciousness.

“If only I’d been there to watch him plead for his life,” Bureel grinned in between his more measured sips of wine.

“Now there’s a being who wouldn’t stoop to pleading. I would stake my life on it!” Nazar retorted.

“That would be an interesting wager,” Bureel mused. Then he smiled his best snake’s grin and added, “He doesn’t deserve a warrior’s death. Slit his throat and be done with it.”

“And who will take the knife to him, Bureel, you?” Nazeera asked, her voice taking on a dangerous tone. When he didn’t answer she laughed. “I thought as much!” Nazeera filled her glass and Nazar’s as well. She did not fill Bureel’s. “You know, in one life Alexander held an army at bay on a bridge alone and armed with only an axe. He kept them from crossing that bridge for a full quarter decurn, suffering wound upon wound, but he would not fall and he would not yield. Finally an enemy ignobly stabbed him from beneath and he was overwhelmed, but the mounds of dead were a testament to his courage.”

“What’s an axe, some form of primitive energy weapon?” Bureel asked.

Nazeera leaned forward with a sneer, “No Bureel, it is a semi-circular metal blade mounted on a wooden handle. It’s used in hand-to-hand combat. It shears off limbs, and heads, quite effectively.”

“Distasteful,” Bureel said.

“Barbaric! What a splendid way to die!” Nazar exclaimed with a smile, fully versed in the story but well prepared to delve into Alexander at Bureel’s expense. “I do think I’m beginning to like this fellow more and more all the time. He’s certainly more of a model male than many a pretender I know. Though I know much about him from your interrogations, my dear sister, I can’t pretend the intimacy to which you’ve studied his lives. What else has he done?”

Bureel complained, “Oh please, do we need to talk of the Terran during dinner. The mere thought of his pallid skin and lizard’s eyes takes away my appetite.”

Nazeera ignored him, “He was a king, but he didn’t fare so well in that role; too young in experience I think, or maybe the realm was too small for his aspirations. Thereafter, he was a statesman, a pirate, and in one of his more interesting lives a general. It was in a cold land where snow, such as we have on our outer worlds, laid on the ground throughout much of the perium. He commanded a primitive civilized army, one in which they used single shot projectile weapons and beasts of burden for transportation. A great conqueror at the head of a vast army invaded his land. Overmatched, he decided not meet the invader in open battle. He stood when he could inflict damage, and then withdrew. He burned as he fell back, sacrificing even his cities.”

“Coward,” Bureel spat.

“It’s a general’s task to seek victory, not just a glorious death Bureel,” Nazar said. “I suspect that’s what occurs, as otherwise the story would lack relevance. It’s difficult to accomplish a more admirable death than you’ve already described. Anything else would be redundant.”

“Truly, Nazar, you have the makings of a general yourself,” Nazeera told him. “He fell back repeatedly, burning his own cities until the snows came. When the winter sapped the strength of the enemy he attacked and destroyed them. The great conqueror never again led his army abroad. The victory changed the course of history on his planet.”

“You see, sometimes, Bureel, it is better to be a living hero than a dead martyr,” Nazar said, sipping his wine and pointing a long finger at his despised brother-in-law. “The fellow has pluck, and guile. We could use a friend like that on Terra, as opposed to sending him to Pantrixnia.”

“We’ve covered this territory before, Nazar. I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to.”

“Which means you’ve thought about it already,” Nazar replied, and he glanced at Bureel. “Too bad, really, he’s not bad looking, for an alien. He’s got enough bravado to stand up to you, Nazeera. He’d make you a good husband, if you were free.”

Nazeera stifled an exclamation—too surprised to respond.

“You have the gall to insinuate such a thing!” Bureel scowled.

“Pure practicality,” Nazar smiled. “Think of it, a union between Terra and the Chem; the debate about this Terran threat would finally end!”

“Really, Nazar, that’s just about enough,” Nazeera said, but without any real enthusiasm. With the wine in her head Nazar’s idea almost sounded logical, if not desirable. She couldn’t actually marry Alexander, of course, could she?

Nazar ignored her and addressed his plan to Bureel, “Consider it Bureel, you could repeat your challenge to the Terran, he’d kill you and marry Nazeera. The threat to Chem would be over. You’d be a hero, well; actually, you’d be a martyr. Think of it! You’d have done the state a great service and died a good death! What more can one ask for?”

Bureel stomped away from the table enraged. He stopped, however, at the entrance to the dining room. A figure blocked his way; a very large muscular figure. It was a figure that could only belong to a Terran.