CHAPTER 1

Alexander brooded.

Two Chem guards adorned in purple and green armor acted as if they weren’t watching the Overlord of the Terran Empire. They were bad actors.

Alexander sat in an uncomfortable chair still wearing his armored cuirass with the Banthror fur sash. The badge of Terra gleamed from his breast. Gazing through a small porthole, the former commander of the Terran fleet reflected not on the vision of the stars streaking by the sharp prow of the Chem battleship Kuntok but rather on his own glowering reflection in the transparent aluminum—Alexander doubted. The expression that met his eyes was one of infinite resignation. Despite the glory he achieved, glory that could only be measured with the great generals of his planets turbulent past: Napoleon, Caesar and even Alexander the Great himself—still, Alexander doubted.

A few hours past he orchestrated the defeat of the Scythian Empire and absorbed over two hundred star systems into the fledgling Galactic civilization that was Humankind. Now, a thousand things needed to be accomplished if Humans were to hold on to what they gained. A dangerous period of vulnerability needed to be overcome. Humankind needed to find their balance in space, they needed time. Alexander knew how it should be done, how it must be done, but in a moment of madness and selfishness he took himself out of the galactic chess match. An hour past he considered his part of the Galactic drama complete, and he left it to pursue his own personal venue. It was only now, after he’d watched the Terran flagship Iowa disappear amidst the stars, that he realized what he’d let go: power. As Alexander of Terra, the visual head of the Terran Empire he had the power to make things work, to ensure Human success amidst the cultures of the galaxy. He could build on what he started and make the initial Human gambit in space into an empire. Yet he let that go.

Alexander traded the bridge of the Iowa for the Spartan ante-chamber off of the Armada Commander’s office on the Chem battleship Kuntok. He was a hostage, albeit a willing one. However, he was no longer the general; he was Alexander the man again. True, he was Ambassador to Chem, and that position was not without influence, but it seemed a far cry from the moment when all of Humankind was behind him.

The door to the chamber slid open revealing the tall, gracefully dangerous, armored form of Nazeera. The Armada Commander’s pupil-less blue eyes glowed softly in the glooms of the room. “You may enter Alexander.”

He stood and walked to the door, but suddenly the guards barred his way. One of them said, simply, “Your weapons, Overlord.”

Nazeera’s eyes glowed with sudden vehemence, and she retorted, “As you were! Do you think the Armada Commander fears to be in his presence armed or not?”

The guards stepped back into their positions and stood at attention, accepting the reprimand silently, but Alexander stepped back and began to strip off his weapons. “No, this is my fault; I am your guest. As a sign of respect to the Chem and their Armada Commander, Alexander will disarm himself as he would for no other dignitary in the galaxy!”

Nazeera nodded, and Alexander read in the guards faces their pride—the encounter would make the rounds of the ship even as he intended. He deposited his blaster, wrist-blaster and his sword on the chair. Then Alexander followed Nazeera into her office. It was larger than he expected. The ceiling was open to the stars. There was even a small platform above her desk so that she might stand within the dome, looking over her ship as a captain of old might stand on deck. Her desk was in the center of the room, the girders of the ship vaulting across the breadth of the office. There was a large holographic projector in front of the desk and on either side were two metal chairs. Nazeera motioned Alexander to one of them.

She approached him, armor jangling slightly, her boots ringing on the Plasteel deck—the Chem were not a race for creature comforts on their warships. Stopping a few feet from him she looked down at him silently. After inspecting him she touched the compad built into her armored forearm. A holographic display brightened over the projector table. The image was of Alexander brooding over the stars in the ante-chamber.

“You seem strangely withdrawn Alexander,” she noted, moving behind him like a panther, laying her long nailed hands on his shoulders. Despite his respect for this woman, Alexander’s “shields” went up. The doubt that crept into his thoughts and softened his eyes disappeared; replaced by a calm, detached self assurance that was stern but short of arrogance.

Alexander’s hardened stare focused on the beautiful face of the Chem Armada Commander. Her luminous blue eyes held a new tinge to them, brighter than her blue-purple suspicion and somewhat bluer than her wrath. Curiosity? Concern? He had not learned to read the Chem’s mood by her eyes, not yet. He laughed softly. “Delusions,” he answered mysteriously, “the affairs of state, and the tendrils of power.”

“You chose a confounding time to drop the reins of your power, Alexander,” she said, guessing his line of thought. Obviously, it plagued her as well. She sighed, but to Alexander it sounded more heavily burdened with frustration than resignation. She pounded her fist on his armored shoulder. Alexander hardly felt it through the cuirass. The impact sounded hollow, making the nearly empty room feel even more empty.

Nazeera’s breath whistled through her sharp canines and her eyes glowed brighter, flushing just slightly with the purple Alexander knew to mean anger. “Here I have Alexander of Terra, presumptuously the greatest conqueror in Galactic history. To my amazement, you orchestrated your own capture by the Chem with the intention of studying your foes even as we studied you. Under the most difficult of circumstances, you won the admiration and respect of Chem, the Galactics—and me. Then, when you had your potential adversaries doubting their aggression towards Terra, you promptly had yourself rescued from the hellish prison planet of Pantrixnia just in time to lead your fleet against my armada. As a testament to your strength and brilliance, you subjugated the entirety of the Scythian Empire in a few short hours. Then, as a coup to your bewildering and complex strategy, you displayed the ultimate check in diplomacy: bargaining for peace from a tactically devastating military position. Everything you did made sense to me, even though I didn’t realize it until after the fact, until now.

“Alexander, your mastery resulted in Terra throwing off the Scythian yoke and establishing itself as an empire in its own right. Now, however, at the height of your fame and success, you leave your position at the head of your mighty fleet and volunteered yourself as my hostage, far from the political arena of his new empire. Why?” Her eyes glowed dangerously, and she leaned over him, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The question was repeated, and Alexander knew he had to answer.

“History Nazeera, we Terrans are creatures of habit and history,” he growled, trying to sound convincing for Nazeera and trying to convince himself.

“I am a step behind you again,” Nazeera growled back, turning toward the darkness of the room so that he could only see in profile the delicate chin set beneath a dangerous frown. “Your Alexandrian scheming has me surprised at every turn despite my innate suspicions and my own formidable skills in the craft of intrigue. I should be able to read you Alexander; it is a grudging admission that I cannot!”

Shaking her dusky leonine head, Nazeera retreated to the food dispenser. She muttered something and a bottle and two glasses appeared. Picking up the bottle, she poured herself some wine, turned to him as if about to speak, and then turned away and filled Alexander’s glass. Picking up the glasses, she approached him. He took the offered glass and lifted it as she lifted her own. “To our empires, my they grow and prosper in mutual respect and friendship!”

“I’ll drink to that,” he replied, sipping the wine. It was full bodied, flavorful but with hard obsidian edge just like Nazeera.

The Armada Commander frowned. “I am not complaining of your presence, mind you, but don’t you fear that your rivals will divide your gains in your absence? The Terran Empire is at this moment forming without your attention. Are you that confident in your lieutenants, Alexander, or am I simply falling behind—again—in this game of yours.”

“You give me too much credit, Nazeera,” he told her. Purposefully he downplayed the role she saw him acting. He knew full well what she thought he was, what she thought he’d accomplished, and how. It would do no good to tell her that Alexander of Terra was created as a figurehead of power, nothing more. The fact that he made himself into something quite different was even now not so clear in his own head. Yet even as Nazeera pressed him for answers, he returned to his original opinion. His gut reaction, at the time of victory, was to leave, and not become embroiled in the political infighting that was certain to follow. He had no patience for such battles, and therefore he was better off distancing himself from them. That did not mean, however, that his assumption was entirely correct; i.e., that he forever separated himself from the power that was, for a short while, his and his alone. He might be able to affect the course of Human history, as he saw it ought to be, when the time was right again. For the moment, though, he felt again as if he instinctively made the right decision. He felt that old feeling again, as he had when first thrown before the alien Chem: he was still the central player in all this, and he was, in fact, playing at once a lesser and a greater role than either Nazeera, the Chem, or his Human companions knew. The power of this role was that it was uniquely his, and although the courses of Galactic empires might change to counter his actions, it was he, Alexander of Terra, who was constantly defining the rules of the game. He smiled for the beautiful woman, reflecting the focusing of his own thoughts and confidence. His words to her were, of course, almost the antithesis of his thoughts. He told her simply, “The universe is too large, my dear Nazeera, to be much concerned with a single being, even if that being is Alexander.”

“You evade my question with modesty, as you usually do,” Nazeera replied. “That is a Human trait; I am guessing, and a strange one considering your accomplishments. Certainly, it is no flaw a Chem would consider including in their character. It is ineffective Alexander. Once, maybe, I would believe we’d overestimated you—never again. You are a grand conductor, and we are, all of us, Humans, Chem, Scythians, your instruments. What I don’t understand in this symphony of yours is why you are back with me. You’ve played the Chem, or tried to, but it seems to me to be the time and place to play to your Terran Empire. Empires are easily built. It is their maintaining that requires time, patience, and above all the presence of the empire builder.”

Alexander massaged his brow, wanting to explain his thoughts to her, but he held back. Nazeera held out the obvious answer for his situation. She was right in every logical argument, and the essence of his being desired nothing more than to second guess himself yet again, but at the same time that very correctness of the answer was a trap. While he feared losing the opportunity to effect the course of Terra, for which he needed power, Alexander was nonetheless a student of history. More so, he was a believer in history. History, listened to with unprejudiced ear, told the listener many things. Alexander had seen this trap before. It was the same trap which caught Napoleon, Attila, Caesar and Alexander the Great: power, and the inability to let it go. He felt what they must have felt at the pinnacle of their careers. An entirely new world lay at his feet, raw and ready to be formed by his hands. History told him, however, that however nobly intentioned it never turned out that way. Inevitably the creation twisted and turned the creator away from their original purpose, and in the end the creator destroyed all that one day they hoped to build. In his memory only Alexander the Great succeeded in creating a new world without being destroyed by it. He died to achieve this, and his world fell apart in the folly of his followers. All that survived was the idea of worldwide empire and its siren song.

“What do I care for the administration of an empire?” He told her the truth, at least as his instincts saw things. Hopefully, it answered Nazeera’s questions and his own second guessing. “I have no skills for politics, and certainly no patience for politicians. Think of it seriously, Nazeera. If politics were the centerpiece to my talents you and I would not be sitting here. That I am here is a testament that my talents lie in a different vein, far from that of a politician or administrator. Let us just say I have no wish to sit behind a desk to wrangle and haggle over the scraps of power. I am where I wish to be, and I must say that when the choice is between yourself and Admiral Augesburcke on the Iowa I cannot find any fault in my decision.”

“Always the charmer, Alexander,” she said shaking her head in resignation. “So you are now working on behalf of yourself and not your empire? You leave one of the most powerful seats in the galaxy, and to pursue what? Answer me that. A man such as yourself always has a goal in mind, or a new conquest. What is your new quest Alexander?”

“I thought I’d made that quite clear in my demands. I expect to face the challenge of Bureel, your traitorous husband and my sworn enemy. I further expect that you shall then become a widow. What happens after that is entirely up to you, my dear.” He told her, a sly smile creeping onto his visage.

“You left your empire to pursue Nazeera of Chem,” she asked flatly. “You flatter me, but forgive me if I don’t believe a word of it. It is far more likely that this is another of your cunning plans, and the end result will be another title: Alexander of Chem.”

“I see no profit whatsoever in that,” he told her seriously, adding, “I am satisfied to be Ambassador to Chem.”

Nazeera leaned forward, placing her full lips and sharp teeth within inches of his, “but what will you be satisfied with in the end Alexander? What title from my empire will sate that conqueror’s lust?”

“Alexander, husband of Nazeera,” he replied, that sly smile reappearing on his face.

She threw herself back into a chair with a laugh. “Alexander, Alexander! My dearest Alexander,” she said clutching her temples and closing her eyes. She leaned on the arms of the chair, silent, head cradled in her hands until Alexander, thinking she was in some difficulty, gently touched her shoulder. She took his hand warmly. Her eyes opened and they looked directly into his. “I once said you knew the right thing to say at the right time. I am your instrument again. Alexander, how can I know whether you are the poet on my balcony or the conqueror from the stars?”

“I am both,” he told her. “I am everything you’ve seen Nazeera. I have never pretended to be anyone but Alexander with you.”

“Then you will fulfill your challenge of Bureel,” she said. It was not a question. It was a statement of fact.

“I will,” he answered.

“Then upon Bureel’s death you will take possession of me, and therefore my house, and my position in the Triumvirate,” she told him.

“If I am successful and Bureel dies then I will marry you, Nazeera of Chem, if you will have me. I have no right to your title, your office, and your house—on Terra the husband does not usurp the wife, excepting some backward stone-age societies that have no bearing here or anywhere else for that matter.” He hesitated and looked away, doubt creeping back into his belly. What of Terra? The danger was past and the planet was safe from conflict with extra-terrestrials; but what of conflict between Terrans? Despite its newfound solidarity Alexander knew that those very societies he’d just mentioned were real, and they were more dangerous to Terra than any Chem armada.

He refocused, realizing that for better or worse that was no longer his problem—at least for the time being. To Nazeera, he said, “I have no right and no desire to share in anything you have earned but as a husband supporting his wife in her endeavors. I desire you, not your rank or your wealth in the Chem Empire. To me, Nazeera the woman is a prize far beyond wealth and position.”

“That is your prerogative as victor in a challenge,” Nazeera told him. “However, you realize that should you fail the result will undoubtedly be war.”

“Why should it come to that?” Alexander asked, somewhat surprised.

“The Terran’s would never let their Overlord be slain without revenge, not if I read your planet’s character correctly,” Nazeera told him.

“I have relinquished my position as Overlord,” he told her. “This is a point of honor, not of state. There will be no retribution.”

“Then what of ascendancy,” she asked, getting up and pacing the room as he usually did when he was thinking aloud. “Surely there is a struggle for your seat. Who will sit in the Overlord’s throne now that he has abdicated; more to the point, who would dare sit in Alexander’s throne knowing when you return—and you shall assuredly return—you will claim it once again.” She turned toward him, her eyes narrowing to glowing blue slits. She pointed her nailed finger at him threateningly. “Don’t you try to make me believe that you’ve retired Alexander; there is no such thing for beings like us.”

Alexander shook his head and smiled at her mythical logic. “That is not the way of Terrans, at least not anymore. Our ways of succession have long since progressed beyond violence. There won’t be another Overlord, but there will be a political leader who rises about the debate and administers Terra. Though you may think it impossible of us, we are proud that power transfers through the process of law, not strength.”

“Even if that is so, the other races of the galaxy would not ignore the event,” Nazeera replied.

“What do you mean, what do they have to do with this?”

Nazeera sighed. “A conqueror you are, Alexander, because your mind thinks only of attack and gain. You think none would dare attack the Empire of Alexander, and you may well be right while you live—while you can return to Terra and seize the reins of power. You do not think of what may happen after you are gone, but there are others who do. They will wait for the chaos that follows your death. Your hard won empire will be split amongst the strongest. There will be civil war. It is during the turbulence following your death when the other races shall strike, before a new Overlord asserts himself.”

“Terrans can take care of themselves.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Nazeera told him. “That is not what the galaxy expects of Humans. Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter what actually happens, Alexander. We still know nothing of Humans other than what the legends tell us. You, my dearest Alexander, have ensured that those legends were driven home as the truth. Word spreads quickly in the galaxy. I doubt that there is anything as much talked about in the Galactic council chambers as yourself. The galaxy is arming for fear of you. They may not attack your empire, not yet, because of you. Already, however, there will be those who foresee your death. When that occurs there will be a rush to the carcass.” She turned away as if unable to face him. “If Bureel somehow wins the challenge that rush will happen immediately. In fact, and I am sorry I must say this; Chem may very well be one of the scavengers. Right now you are considered as dangerous as a hostage as you would be free, just because you are alive.” Turning back to him, Alexander saw a new glow in her eyes, as if she was finally beginning to see through the murky fogs of Alexander’s strategy. He stifled a smile, because right now he was flying on blind instinct. He had nothing remotely resembling any strategy!

“Somehow, my dear Alexander, you have manipulated events throughout this crisis, and there is no reason to say that you have stopped. If you die, however, the Terran Empire is weakened immeasurably. Dire times for Terra will follow.”

“You are trying to advise me to recant my challenge to Bureel?”

“I cannot do that, and I would not,” Nazeera told him. “I say it only to remind you that there remains for you, Alexander of Terra, no personal trials. You have never been your own man, for as soon as you became Alexander of Terra you gave away all rights to be an individual. You are Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire. That you may refuse to be so means nothing. That even Terra turns away from you means nothing. The galaxy sees you as Alexander of Terra, Overlord of the Terran Empire. The galaxy sees you as the incarnation of a legend two kicellia old.” She collected her thoughts and the blue glow of her eyes grew brighter when she said, “You were born on the day the Scythians told the Galactic council that a Terran warlord would lead their race of warriors to the stars bent on Galactic conquest. That is your destiny Alexander, to be a conqueror, like the Alexander of old. You belong to Terra, and to the galaxy. You have no personal life as a Human called Alexander, and as flattering as it is to Nazeera the woman, Alexander’s conquest of her cannot be his goal. Alexander cannot pursue trivial pleasures. Everything he does not only affects Terra, but Chem and every other civilization in this galaxy.

“You are old in lives Alexander, but young in your knowledge of the galaxy. Human hearts may not tremble at the thought of war any more than Chem hearts. We are warrior races, unique and strong. Yet look at what the legend of Human ferocity drove us to do. We were set on a war of extermination. The honorable Chem, ready to commit genocide on rumor, with no prior wrong done to us! Our neighbors are not so hardened. Their reaction cannot be calculated. They have lived with the thought of Galactic war for an age, your Galactic war Alexander. Legends are fine when they are just legends, but when they come to life they push people into unnatural acts. Humans may well be as strong as the Chem, so long as they have Alexander; my concern is that they are not as strong as they need to be without Alexander. I’ve come to love the Human race through you. I see so much that is strong and noble in you, but still so very different; I cannot help but think the galaxy would be a poorer place without you. However I may feel, it is a vast galaxy out there, my love, even without the Chem, and I wonder if Humans are quite ready for it.”

Nazeera’s words sobered Alexander. The old mantle of responsibility once again settled on his shoulders. He felt anxious, and he wondered again if he was in the wrong place. Did he belong on the bridge of the Iowa? Perhaps, but not yet, something deep within his gut, something he’d come to trust, kept hammering away at him. Some form of Nazeera’s, and the galaxy’s, vision of Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire would be the correct answer eventually, but not yet—no, not yet.

“Time will tell, Nazeera,” he sighed, and then he laughed. “You know, reality is a greatly overrated concept. It is what people perceive and not what is real that’s powerful. In that respect we create our own reality. I want you to know, Nazeera, that whatever happens, and wherever the paths lead Alexander of Terra, the way of Alexander the Man will always lead me here, to you. That is the reality I have created for myself.”

Nazeera smiled back, and laughed, “We still have to live with reality to a certain extent—and decorum. You must therefore join me in the officer’s mess for a State dinner. You are, after all, an Ambassador, and I, unfortunately, am still married. Therefore, I cannot have dinner with you alone even though I am the Armada Commander.”

“I have you alone now,” he grinned wolfishly, and he moved toward her..