CHAPTER 25: Complications

Nazeera abruptly pulled her hand away. Immediately she straightened in her chair and coughed, as if she caught herself doing something wrong. It was the most human and telling act Alexander had yet seen from her.

“Come, the dinners getting cold,” she said, and attended to her plate.

Alexander fought himself during the entirety of the dinner, attempting to contemplate conversation, any conversation, which would not further his growing attraction to this woman. He laughed at himself and his own discomfiture. Should he live to old age he’d remember nothing of the dinner, but every detail of her form and figure, the scent of perfume, every different shade of her eyes would be indelibly etched in his mind.

Finally the silence became ironically unbearable, and Alexander knew his time was drawing to a close. Draining his goblet he refilled it, and then Nazeera’s. Rising from his seat he approached her, and without asking or making any pretense that it was other than a normal act, he took the hand of the alien woman. “My time here is almost over. You know me, Nazeera, almost as well as any. If you would understand me, even a slight amount, then come with me.”

Nazeera assented, a suspicious shade of violet in her eyes—or was it a blush of emotion? He led her to the end of the dining room where the doors opened onto a balcony. It overlooked the dryad jungle that was the Chem Homeworld. He opened the doors and went outside. Letting go of her hand he moved to the rail. Gesturing to the jungle beyond, he said, “Look about you, Nazeera, what do you see? Beyond your door is a jungle you’ve looked at a thousand times before. Look at yourself and what do you see? In the glass is the image of a being you’ve watched grow from a child to a beautiful and powerful woman. Look above you, and you see the stars which have watched you from the same constellations your entire life. What’s more, there’s life out there, and you have names for it all, images and memories which make the universe real for you.

“All of this is old and natural to you, but it’s completely new to me. The wonders of my dreams now confront me as reality. It’s marvelous and magnificent beyond my capability to ignore. Yet you ask me to push all of this aside and worry about a future which I cannot control? Impossible, I must live moment to moment, and look for enjoyment where I can. Certainly these few hours with you were more pleasurable than fretting my time alone in that cell, worrying over how I’m to die. If we were to say nothing at all from this moment, and I died a slow painful death the instant I set foot on that prison planet of yours, I’d still count myself fortunate. At least I’ve built some memories worth dying for. I haven’t humiliated myself. I have, I think, reached a form of understanding with you. If all that remains for me are an honorable death, then I’m content.”

“So you are content to die, Alexander?” she asked with a strange timber in her voice.

“By which you mean am I willing to die? No! I’m not willing or ready to die. You’ll see just how hard a Terran can struggle for life, Nazeera. I promise you that. I have much to live for, but there are no ghosts in my conscience. In essence, I’ve already won my battle. Horace once wrote, “Happy is the man who seizes the day, who is content with what is within himself. Let tomorrow do its worst, for I have lived today.”

“Who is this Horace, another of Terra’s great warrior heroes?”

Alexander laughed, “Indeed not, though he belonged to one of the mightiest empires Terra has ever known. Horace was a poet, and a terrible soldier. You might have called him a coward if your sight was blind to the meanest interpretations of honor. Horace feared the din of battle, but he braved the baring of his soul in his poetry. It’s easy to die in battle, Nazeera, but difficult to live in the face of ridicule. Horace and his words, even as he predicted, lasted long after the names of many a noble warrior were forgotten.”

She moved over to him, standing so closely that they touched. Cradling her drink she looked up at him. “You’ve won, Alexander,” she said finally. “You have, by your actions made the trial of Pantrixnia superfluous, but unfortunately that is only my opinion. Nazeera the woman believes Alexander the man, and she has no desire for conflict. Yet, Nazeera the woman is not Nazeera of Chem, of the Triumvirate; and Alexander the man may also be Alexander the legend. Nazeera of Chem cannot accept such a risk when the empire is at stake. How can one man wipe out the aspirations of generations? By my own estimation, Alexander, you’ve built your life for a grasp at immortality. How well that sits within the construction of Alexander’s dreams! Who better to lead the race of Alexander to the stars, and to conquest than you?

“Yet when you speak to me as a man to a woman I don’t see the general plotting over my empire or the pirate greedy for my wealth. I see in those saurian eyes sincerity, courage, desire and honor. How am I supposed to read this riddle? Does the culmination of the “Legend of Alexander” stand before me, daring me to disbelieve, or is Alexander simply an extraordinary man plucked from his world; bravely trying to make his way in the strangeness of an unknown universe? Nazeera of Chem still doubts that you may be anything but a marvelous actor, and a very dangerous adversary. Of only one thing am I certain: you are no mercenary of Scythia! No Scythian ever bred could heel you to their side. Oh, how you’ve addled my wits, I who abhor self doubt!”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her gently to him. “There are times, Nazeera, when all the pieces of the game are in motion and we must allow them to play their parts. Something tells me you and I are not finished with this drama. If by chance we meet again it will be on different terms, and who knows what may happen? For now let’s leave the weight of the world on someone else’s shoulders, and enjoy a drink on the edge of your wondrous planet.”

“There is only one other certainty in this: Terrans are poets,” she smiled. “Warriors, philosophers, and poets; what a fascinating combination, I should find it very difficult to be bored with you, Alexander.”

“Well that is certainly an improvement,” he said. “By night’s end I hope to maybe we can strike a happy medium between the mercenary dog and the aspiring galactic despot. Neither is very probable. The truth, as usual, is somewhere in the middle.”

She laughed, “Alexander, you speak as suitor would, with charm and wit. I wish I were indifferent to your fate. I admit that a further exploration of you would be stimulating. It’s too bad you weren’t born of Chem.”

“You cut me to the quick yet again,” he told her in mock lamentation. “Do you find my alien looks so ugly?”

“Oh no, not that at all,” Nazeera told him. “My brother thinks you are quite acceptable, for a male. I must admit that I agree. While you’re strange, with your saurian eyes and bulky musculature, I don’t find you unattractive. Now if you were born of Chem, who knows? I might never have married Bureel.”

“Ah, so I would have had to have been born of Chem!”

“Alexander, don’t be so childish! Interspecies marriages are not so unusual amongst the Galactics, and there is no stigma attached socially or politically.” Nazeera smiled, giving him a good natured prod in the ribs. “You infer my words in too personal a manner. I can’t blame you, however, as Nazar isn’t very careful about such things. I spoke only for the purpose of giving you an example. I didn’t intend on personalizing our situation.”

“I think you spoke to the point, to the moment, and to the crux of our situation,” Alexander said. He lifted a hand to her cheek and gently stroked it. Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t stop him. Alexander could feel the battle, and the uncertainty within her. She trembled ever so slightly. “I very much wonder what it would be like to kiss you, Nazeera.”

“Alexander, I cannot and will not!” Her words were sharp, and their meaning was apparent, but they were hushed, as if spoken half against her will. She took his hand in her own, removing it from her cheek, but she didn’t let it go.

Alexander grasped her hip with his free hand and pulled her to him. In that short second their bodies embraced; the suppleness of her form unleashed a rush of warmth through his body, and he kissed her. The kiss was fleeting, warm, effervescent, and for a brief instant returned with wonderment and interest. Then she pushed him away.

“No, Alexander, I cannot,” she said, breathing heavily. “This is not acceptable, for me, or for my position.”

“Indeed it is not,” agreed the smooth voice of Bureel. “It is touching, but I wonder, if the Assemblage would see it so?”

“Bureel!” Nazeera gasped, angry that he should invade her privacy, and catch her in such a compromising position.

“Well, Bureel have you found the guts to return and fulfill your cowardly challenge to me?” Alexander growled, turning upon the smaller male with ferocity born of embarrassment. “If so you find me ready to wait upon your treachery!”

“How quaint, my barbaric friend, but I can’t help but thank you. How else could I have revealed my wife’s treasonous behavior?”

“Treason, how dare you to insinuate,” Nazeera protested.

“In the arms of an enemy of Chem, my dear wife,” Bureel interrupted, but the wolf-like leap of the Terran cut him off.

Alexander launched himself at the Chem male, hands grasping for his throat. Bureel gasped, but at the same moment he pressed a button on his belt. In mid leap, Alexander felt a terrible burning in his brain.

#

Alexander convulsed in mid leap. His momentum carried him into Bureel anyway, knocking the lesser male sprawling. Alexander hit the floor as a lifeless mass and did not move.

Nazeera rushed to him, but there was no sign of life. “You fool, Bureel, he’s dead!”

Bureel rose with a snarling laugh. “He’s not dead, my dear wife. No, he’s tied too closely to my plans. He must die on Pantrixnia, as you so wisely decided before your emotions overwhelmed your reason. Then, we shall launch our invasion of Terra, Scythia and the galaxy. You will now become my greatest ally, Nazeera. Even I couldn’t have foreseen such good fortune! You will now use your influence at my bidding, at least until the point where you vacate your seat in favor of your husband, so that you may properly tutor my heir!”

“Never Bureel,” Nazeera spat in furious disgust. “Never shall you see your heir spring from my loins, and you shall never have my seat!”

“Think again my lovely,” he advised her. “Should I inform the Assemblage of your treason you’d be fortunate to join your Terran on Pantrixnia. It might be more difficult at this point for me to make such a leap of power. With Nazar out of the way, however, the task is much simpler!”

“Nazar,” she breathed.

“Of course, being the loyal brother, and honorable son, he would have no recourse but to address his shame with suicide,” Bureel grinned with nefarious pleasure. “That is how I would explain his untimely death.”

“So you’re behind the assassination attempt! Bureel you are a shameless cur with no sense of honor or loyalty,” Nazeera told him.

“I wasn’t found in the Terran’s embrace. If that delicious tidbit is to remain a secret I will have your obedience, Nazeera.”

Bureel grinned and rang for his henchman, who summarily removed Alexander. Then he poured himself some wine. Turning to Nazeera he said, “This is an exceedingly eventful night, don’t you think? I can think of no better way to consummate it than for us to address the issue of an heir!”