CHAPTER 41: The Pieces are Set

Two light years from the border of Chem-Scythian space the Iowa hung like an apparition with five hundred ships at her heel.

Admiral Augesburcke paced the bridge like a Tasmanian devil, ceasing his endless roving only when the long expected message arrived. He dove for the communications console and read the message over the operator’s shoulder, “Alexander, the latest intelligence reports show the Chem Fleet massing upon contact with our reconnaissance screen. That puts them roughly eight hours ahead of us, and seven days flight from Terra at flank.”

The Admiral straightened with a concerned shake of the head, thinking.

Alexander nodded. It was as he expected, and the reality that the most powerful military man on Terra was briefing the explanation to him—who two weeks ago was foraging for food and wearing animal skins—didn’t affect Alexander in the slightest. That Augesburcke, of all people, accepted the change in stature was possibly the most amazing event in the entire unlikely adventure.

Alexander showed himself as a shrewd leader, and the Admiral’s equal in military strategy. To be certain Augesburcke molded the fleet, but the stratagem they took into this crisis was uniquely Alexander’s. It hadn’t begun that way, but over the last two weeks days the logic and ingenuity of Alexander completely transformed the Terran plans. As the Admiral’s respect for Alexander’s capacity to contribute in their present situation rose, so did his respect for Alexander’s position. Subconsciously, almost without his knowledge, the Admiral was viewing Alexander’s position as less and less that of a figurehead.

When he turned to Alexander, the latest data on the Chem flashing upon his console, he addressed man as his equal. Gravely he told Alexander, “There are one thousand Chem warships waiting for us. You were right: they’ve committed their Homeworld Fleet. Our sub screens have moved off to their flanks, and they’re maintaining their position outside weapons range. When we join them we’ll have five hundred odd ships arrayed against them. That’s not great odds, considering our experience in this arena. I wouldn’t mind having the hundred ships that have been built this last week, but not with enough time to make it here.”

“One hundred ships,” Alexander mused, “They’ll be all that stands between Terra and oblivion if we fail. I expect they know that, though, and if it comes down to it they’ll put up a fight worth remembering. At the very least we’ll whittle the Chem down so the odds aren’t so bad.”

“That we will,” Augesburcke said. “Besides the backbone of that force are the carriers. They’re loaded with all the nuclear warheads we could scrounge up. People have wanted them off Terra for a long time, and now they’ve gotten their wish. The carriers can launch hundreds of them in salvos. That’s the last ditch plan.”

“We still have the Scythian gambit, Admiral, and that at the very least will bear some positive dividends. We’ve done what we can to prepare. It looks as though that’s about it then,” Alexander sighed. “Shall we invite the Chem to the dance?”

“The best of luck to us, then,” Augesburcke said. They shook hands and the Admiral gave the order.

Captain Thomas of the Iowa stepped up to the operations console. It was a broad graphite and metal construction. Its curving board encompassed nearly three quarters of the circumference of the bridge, and had a dozen stations. Above the board there were six large displays. Currently they emulated windows looking out into space. The Fleet sailed with them in every direction.

Close by was the Wisconsin squadron of three battleships, seven cruisers, and fifteen destroyers. On the other side the Rodney and her squadron floated. The ships were close enough for every detail to stand out sharply in space. The metal gleamed silver-white and the shadows were a deep impenetrable black. It made the ships appear even more strange and menacing. Other squadrons stood further out, like distant constellations, over five hundred ships. A hum rumbled through the Iowa as the engines engaged. The ships of the squadron started to move back in the screens as Iowa took the lead.

“Prepare for superluminal speed,” the Captain ordered.

Alexander sat in his designated chair, a high backed seat behind and above the Captain’s chair. From there he had a perfect view over the bridge. It was an imposing position, especially considering he had no real decision making capability for the ship. His time would come, however, and unlike the crew he had nothing to do to take his mind off the waiting. It would take eight hours or so to intercept the Chem Fleet, and then what? There was no way he could prepare for the coming trial.

The words would either come, or they would not.

He would have to be as sharp as he was back on Chem, ready to react and interpret the Chem’s replies and demands. This would not be a game of diplomacy. It would be a game of nerve and patience. It was strange how little that bothered him. His greatest concern was of Nazeera, for Nazeera? In some ways she would be the most difficult of the Chem to face, especially if her opinion of him differed from before. She would be shocked to see him. No doubt this would be a difficult thing to explain. When she saw him on the bridge of the Iowa there could be only one answer in her mind: Alexander the Conqueror, himself journeyed to the Chem Empire to study his adversaries, and then submitted himself to their greatest tests.

That’s how the Chem would see it, that is how she would see it, and that had its advantages. It would also make it very clear that he had consciously betrayed her. He hoped she would understand the need as a commander in her own right. If she viewed him otherwise, however, his deception might drive her to fury. She would be more dangerous than ever. If roused, she was capable of cold, heartless and thorough actions.

He looked up, finally aware that the sounds of the ship were different. On the front screens, the stars coalesced into a dim blue tinted ball. Single stars separated from the center and slowly floated by the ship. The cruisers and destroyers sailed overhead, to the sides, and underneath. They advanced slightly staggered, above and to the left the Wisconsin and her screen, below and to the right the Rodney and hers. It was remarkably quiet and peaceful. The bridge was a wonderful place to be when sailing through space, he thought to himself, but it was lonely. He was as lonely now as he had ever been in that cell on the Chem Homeworld.

#

Nazeera was all but unapproachable. Even Nazar could scarcely communicate with her. Almost one thousand Chem warships spread out across space with deadly intent, every warship in the Chem Armada including the two hundred and fifty ships of the Guardian Armada. She’d taken them across the Scythian frontier with no more opposition than the crackling ethernet. The news spread swiftly across the galaxy. The time of rumor and innuendo was over. The Chem Fleet departed Chem space with hostile design for the first time in over thirteen millennia.

There was giddiness in the ranks that Nazeera found unpleasant. The ill fated scout ship reported a Terran Fleet of scarcely squadron strength. If logic followed, those ships sighted comprised a significant portion of the Terran fleet. Conservatively then the Chem should outnumber the Terrans at least ten-to-one. That numerical superiority, taken as truth, had the crews singing in the mess halls, and eager to be on the first watch that sighted the Terrans. That glut for battle did not affect the Armada Commander though, and the bridge of the battleship Kuntok was a somber place.

She accepted that the Scythians and the Terran’s altered Alexander’s memory, and he’d been left by his planet, as much as the Chem, on Pantrixnia as a sacrifice to strategic policy. She wondered if the loss of memories affected the man. Nazar didn’t seem to think so. He thought that only those memories recent enough to be of particular value to the Chem changed. To completely reprogram a being and expect them to be sane was beyond any race’s medical skill.

Nazeera confided to herself that once this distasteful business was over she’d take the Kuntok to Pantrixnia. If Alexander was still alive she’d bring him back to Chem, the last of his people. Bureel’s feelings about the matter never entered the picture for her. He would die soon after this was over, either by Alexander’s hand or hers. Perhaps she would leave him on Pantrixnia in Alexander’s place. The thought brought the only glimmer of joy to her this entire voyage.

Nazar approached her. He did not look pleased. It couldn’t be about Bureel. Nazeera had him confined to quarters as soon as he set foot on the ship, quietly, of course. Her brother stepped up to the command dais and whispered, “Armada Commander, we have just received scans of the main body the Terran Fleet.”

“Very well, and how close were our estimates?”

“Scans pick up over five hundred ships, Armada Commander!” he said as if it caused him great pain, “Once again it appears we underestimated the Terrans.”

The news didn’t surprise Nazeera, and she sighed, “Certainly if the Terrans fight as did Alexander we have reason for concern. The Terrans are honed for war, Nazar. They toughen their brows by beating upon each other. Yet what of the Chem, does fortune desert us Nazar? Even now when we are at our zenith, something reaches out to strike the Chem. Why? Have we been too bold, or have we been soft for too long? We depend on ourselves to be the warriors our grandsires were, but we learn too late that we must fight with rusty swords and weakened thews.”

“At their present course and speed we will engage them in slightly over one twelfth of a decurn,” Nazar told her.

“Very well, I shall inform the Armada. It’s better that they hear it from their commander than through rumor,” she said. She flipped a switch on her panel, “To all warriors of Chem, this is the Armada Commander. Brave news of the Terran Fleet; they come to honor us with battle, instead of denying us glory. Our scans show five hundred of their number enroute to battle. We shall engage them shortly. This will be a glorious chapter in the history of Chem. Rejoice that you can now speak to your ancestors with pride of the coming day!”

She clicked off her mike and felt the mood of the Armada shift unmistakably into a grim pessimism. Turning to Nazar she patted his hand. “I am glad you are here with me brother.”

“Glory has many faces, Armada Commander,” he told her, his voice carrying an uncharacteristically serious timber. “So long as Nazar is considered worthy enough to be at your side he has gained glory for a lifetime. I am satisfied whatever the outcome.”

#

The members of the Scythian High Council met on their primary Homeworld. The five sat around a low table of gray metal. There was silence in the room, but not between the minds. Indeed, though these five beings sat alone in their chamber all Scythians were with them in thought. It was the way of their people that at momentous occasions such as this that all Scythians shared their thoughts simultaneously. So it was that when the Chem boarded the Scythian experimentation ship all of Scythia heard, felt, and saw the outrage. Now their revenge was at hand.

The first of the five to transmit a thought was the Council who dealt with the Terran Liaison. “Liaison has accomplished its task well. The two fleets shall meet with equivalent strength. Everything is proceeding according to plan. The results have a ninety-three percent chance of falling within the desired categories.”

“The Chem disregard for our need of efficient trade routes should disappear along with their power and influence in this sector.”

“I foresee even greater benefit; there are over four million Terran troops and ten million civilians on the four Homeworlds at this time. After the fall of their world to whom can they turn but us? With careful consideration and patience we may well be able to manipulate them into the mercenaries we have envisioned all along—obedient and self sacrificing to the greater good of Scythia.”

“Indeed, whatever the outcome I see profit in this for us, and the triumph of the superior intellect over the violent savage.”

“True, but I will allow myself the thalamic enjoyment of watching them destroy each other. Especially since the Terrans, conscious of their promise to protect us, have placed themselves only light hours from our systems. They mean to ensure that no Chem renegades engage us. They have as a result given us a wonderful seat from which to watch them.”

“Long will this day be remembered by the Scythian Empire, and the galaxy. Let them tremble at the power which will awaken this day, renewed and terrible to behold! Then let the new age of the Galactics begin!”