CHAPTER 4

The Kuntok shuddered again. A blinding sheet of pain struck Alexander in his spine and he sunk to his knees with a groan. Immediately his brain railed at him, “Get up, the Chem are watching!” He tried, but nothing greeted his efforts except waves and waves of pain—humiliating, humbling pain. His lower back was on fire, his legs shook; he simply could not get up. With the life and death crisis over, all the strength of the battle fled. It was as if his inner reserves decided they were no longer needed. They took away their extra strength and left him wracked with spasms. He knew the feeling all too well. Alexander left the NFL for just this reason. He might have gutted out another three years with his battered knees, but it was his back that finally humbled him.

The Chem rushed in. They grasped him by either arm and pulled him up to his feet. Alexander stifled a grunt of pain, but they held him steady. The pain was severe. It took his breath away. After a moment, it subsided to a manageable level and Alexander was able to stand. He nodded grimly, “Thank you for your rescue,” he said, adding some false bravado, “I didn’t expect the curs to lower themselves to using blasters! Have they forgotten they are Chem warriors?”

“The traitors!” exclaimed one. “They dishonor the Chem with assassins! Alexander of Terra, are you much hurt?”

Alexander stifled a groan of pain. A sharp spasm coursed through his spine, but he forced his legs to bear his weight. It was uncomfortable at best but at least his legs worked. He freed himself from their grasp and growled in mock irritation, saying, “I am in tolerable condition, though I didn’t plan on an exercise session at this hour.”

“You speak bravely Alexander of Terra, but you have a serious wound in your back!” another Chem told him, concerned.

“Not as serious as whatever is going on with this ship,” Alexander replied. “Certainly the Terran Fleet has not dishonored me and engaged the Chem?”

“No Alexander, they have not, but we are in the midst of a battle,” said the second.

“To our shame we are attacked by our own people,” the other added. “The traitorous forces of Bureel have broken away from the Empire. They claim we abandoned the old ways when we made peace with the Terran Empire.”

“Peace without the glory of victory takes a strong and confident heart to accept,” Alexander said. “It is always easier to make war than peace.”

Another shock jarred the ship. It hurried the Chem. “We dally here beyond our right,” the first Chem told him. “The Armada Commander sent us to escort you to the bridge. She wishes an audience with you, but circumstances prevent any other recourse.”

“Obviously,” Alexander agreed. “Lead me to her then.”

“Are you well enough to travel?”

“I shall have to be if the Armada Commander summons me,” he replied, and he followed them out of the room. They made their way down the corridors to the lift. Alexander walked stiffly upright, but each new blow to the ship sent a thrill of pain through his spine. The wound in his back was a long slash several centimeters deep and reaching from his spine around to his flank. It oozed blood, and now it began to burn. He packed the tail of the Banthror cloak over it and cinched his belt tighter. It was a Spartan remedy, but at the moment there was little else he could do. It was not the slash, however, which bothered him. Alexander knew his physical limitations all too well. His comparatively prodigious strength amongst the Chem would avail him little with his back the way it was. His active life taught him to play through the pain of torn knees, broken bones and battered limbs, but Alexander knew the debilitation of a damaged spine. It was the core of the Human machine, and now, in the midst of battle, his body was failing him.

They reached a lift. It was a short agonizing flight to the bridge. The heavy doors slid open to reveal a surprisingly calm scene. The bridge was a dimly lit cavernous room. Banks of control boards curved along the bulkheads on either side. An enormous wrap-around visiplate dominated the far end of the bridge. It showed a star field dotted with innumerable ships. As dazzling as was the view from the screen most of the activity was centered around the raised dais for the commander. Nazeera was not in her seat, but rather paced a shallow path in front of and below her chair. At her feet and above her head were cylindrical constructions about a meter in depth that projected from the floor and ceiling plates. Within the five meters of air between the projectors was a spherical hologram of the immediate space around the Kuntok. The command ship was in the center of the hologram, and around it a myriad of ships swarmed. The Kuntok itself was highlighted purple, as were approximately half the ships around it. The opposing ships were highlighted yellow. The hologram was detailed enough to depict the plasma volleys between the combatants. Energy beams and torpedo salvoes crossed space, splashing on shields or ripping into hulls. It was a slow but deadly ballet, and all the more enthralling by the dazzling realism of the display.

Alexander’s escorts led him to Nazeera. Patiently they waited until she noted them, and Alexander. Her glance at him was not devoid of emotion, but the strain of this new turn of events was evident. Her countenance twisted with anger when his escorts swiftly informed her of the assault on Alexander. She dismissed them to their stations on the bridge. They saluted and returned to separate niches in the bridge bulkheads. Alexander observed that the bridge had many such niches between each one of the bridge stations, approximately twenty in all. They were large enough to accommodate a heavily armed Chem warrior, and each one was occupied. The Chem sat on angled projections so that they almost stood within the niche, as if quick exit were a requirement. The warriors were situated all around the bridge so that there was no avenue left uncovered.

Nazeera waved him over. She was speaking to a small visiplate, one of a dozen set in the base of the projector. When Alexander approached her she flashed a swift, strained smile. “Hello Alexander, I must say things have a habit of becoming quite interesting when you are around. I’ve sent for a surgeon, but I’d rather have you close to me, for a myriad of reasons, than in the infirmary. This is the most well protected section of the ship, and it was my intention to prevent an assault such as you’ve already overcome. Bureel, unfortunately, moved swifter than even I could have foreseen. We will at least prevent a re-occurrence.”

“Don’t worry about me, Nazeera, you’ve got your hands full,” Alexander told her. “I think I may have done enough already.”

Nazeera glanced at her displays for a moment, after seeing what she needed she gave several curt orders. Then she took a half step towards Alexander and grasped his hand with hers. “I am desperately busy, Alexander,” she told him earnestly. “This is not the way I would have liked to spend this night. Know this, however, and remember it: this civil war, for it is nothing less, had its roots planted over a kicellia ago when my ancestors ceased their belligerent expansion into the space of other civilized cultures. At issue is a question that has divided the Chem, and stunted our growth as a people. Alexander was the catalyst, not the cause. You reminded us of who we were with your strength and pride. That caused jealousy and anger in the hearts of those who yearn for glory. That they have seized on this opportunity is not your fault, but ours. This is a deciding point in the future history of the Chem. It is my hope that the example of Alexander, so similar to the example of my ancestors a kicellia ago, will allow us to end this in a manner that will promote our continued growth, and our greater glory.”

She pushed him back towards the command chair and said, “Stay here while I work. The surgeon shall attend you shortly, but be prepared. We may very well be boarded. Are you armed?”

Alexander nodded, masking his concern by patting his long knife.

Nazeera smiled in response and returned to her station. Alexander leaned against the arm of the command chair. His admiration for the Chem woman mixed with his affection and provided a tonic that almost negated the pain of his injuries. He couldn’t ignore the sensation in his back, however. It was as if his bones were mechanized parts devoid of oil. They grated against each other, sending warning signals to his brain. Try as he might there was no comfortable position for him either standing or sitting down. His options were limited, regardless, as Nazeera’s chair, the only one in the vicinity, was not acceptable under any circumstances. He felt a very real need lie down and relieve all the pressure from his spine, but being who he was made that an impossibility.

The staccato report from an adjoining bridge station interrupted him. Glancing to the hologram he saw a salvo of torpedoes heading towards the Kuntok. Nazeera’s sharp voice echoed over the speakers just as the salvo struck the ship. A series of heavy concussions rang through the hull. The Chem were able to brace themselves for the impact, but Alexander felt the support of his legs just disappear from under him. He fell awkwardly to the decking, and the blinding pain returned. His breath left him, and he gasped without success. A face appeared amidst the flashing spots that popped before his eyes. It was Nazar.

“Alexander, can you hear me?”

Alexander blinked until his sight cleared, but apparently it took some time. Unbeknownst to him the surgeon and her assistant were already working on him. He lay half on his side on the deck, and Nazar was now standing next to Nazeera, talking in hushed tones. He glanced around the bridge. There were some surprised expressions marking those Chem who met his eyes. He cursed himself. What had he done, blacked out? His back throbbed still, but there was no longer that ice pick of debilitating pain. He tried to get up, but several pairs of hands held him down. “Blast it, let me up, I cannot wallow on the deck like this!” he growled ferociously.

“Half a moment, Alexander of Terra,” the surgeon told him, not phased in the least by his tone. “I don’t want you pulling the damaged sections of your muscle and hide apart before I finish phasing them. It will only take another moment. I cannot, unfortunately, do anything for your damaged vertebrae right now. The damage is somewhat serious. There is significant damage to the intermediate cushioning material, some misalignment and swelling. There appears to be some primitive repair work, Alexander, did you do that yourself? It certainly has done more harm than good. There, I have completed my phasing. Hold now, let us help you to your feet. I have realigned your vertebrae, put in a stabilizing splint and given you some medication. All in all you should be able to function. Later I will attempt a more permanent repair. How do you feel?”

“Disconcerted,” Alexander retorted. “I appreciate your attentions, but I am certain that there are Chem warriors more deserving of your skills.”

“Do not worry, Alexander of Terra,” the surgeon told him, reading his true concern. “The knife wound in your back left a sufficient amount of blood on the deck to vouch for your need of attention. I do not believe your reputation suffered from the incident. I would like to get you into quarters. What you need now is rest. When time is available I can see about reprogramming our regenerators for the damage to your back. Try to avoid any strenuous activity, if possible. I will now return to my duties.”

“Thank you surgeon,” Alexander replied. The surgeon nodded and left the bridge. Alexander inhaled deeply. The sharp pain failed to appear. He felt better, much better. Whatever it was she’d given him it was not the cortisone shots he used to get. He felt better than he had before the incident. Nazar left Nazeera’s side and came up to him. With sincere concern he inquired as to the doctor’s findings. Alexander waved his concern aside. “I feel nothing but some discomfort now, Nazar. You have good doctors. There is no need to be worried over me. How goes your engagement?”

Nazar shrugged. “It is difficult to draw any conclusions at the moment,” he said. “We’ve not had a space battle of this magnitude in the known galaxy since the Chem-Golkos war over a kicellia past. The rebel forces are attempting to concentrate their firepower on the Kuntok and Nazeera, but thus far she has maneuvered our armada so as to keep them from gathering. The first stage, the sorting out of who is who is over. We are nearly equal in strength. The second stage, the engagement as a whole, is just beginning.

“What worries me is the news from the Homeworld. A member of the Triumvirate has defected, though we still have a majority in the Assemblage. The majority of the Guardian Armada in our Home System, however, has thrown its support to Bureel. Though we may have the popular and political support, Bureel has essential control of Chem. If the contingent of the Guardian’s Armada that is allied with Bureel overcomes the loyal forces around the Chem Homeworld then there will be a successful coup no matter the outcome here.”

Alexander had nothing to offer. In the present engagement he was nothing but a bystander, which was perhaps best. His image had already been bandied about the empire by Bureel as the secret manipulator of Nazeera. The less he did, therefore, the better.

Nazar then asked him, “is there anything you require? Nazeera would like to have you remain on the bridge if possible, but if your injuries prevent it I can send an escort with you to your quarters.”

“That will not be necessary Nazar,” Alexander informed him. “Wherever Nazeera desires me that is where I shall be.” Nazar returned to Nazeera’s side leaving Alexander to watch the progress of the battle. The two sides arranged themselves in scattered clumps of ships. They were not rightly called squadrons, because they formed out of proximity to each other and not to a grand scheme. Bureel’s preparations for the rebellion were as thorough as they could be for so short a time, but the loyalties of each ship were sometimes decided on her own decks, and there was no opportunity to place his trusted minions in position for a quick decisive blow on Nazeera and the Kuntok. The opposing groups, having sorted themselves out, now maneuvered with exquisite sloth into firing position. Alexander could not help but to compare it to the ancient battle of wooden sailing ships. He was surprised. In his initial encounter with the Chem they tried to goad him into fighting by sending a ship rushing headlong at his flagship. That was a bold tactic, and completely inconsistent with the careful positioning he now witnessed. What movement there was took place slowly. The ships engaged at slow speeds, allowing their firepower to dictate the outcome. Maneuvering meant drawing power from the weapons, which the tactics of the day deemed unwise. So the battle, though it drifted through thousands of miles of space in the blink of an eye, seemed rather to crawl along at the slow pace of the leviathans caught in its web. Flashes of light erupted on hulls. Torpedoes streaked through the blackness. Here and there a ship spewed gas and plasma from some death blow. It was all somehow more benign and placid than he would ever have imagined.

Alexander’s attention was drawn primarily to the converging squadrons around the Kuntok. As they closed volleys of torpedoes and energy weapons were exchanged. The ship shook anew with each hit. The Kuntok’s formation consisted of nearly one hundred vessels. Nazeera had the support of several hundred other ships, but these were scattered into five separate groups throughout the immediate region of space. Bureel’s forces were divided into seven distinct groups ranging from a few dozen ships to over a hundred ships in size. Three of those groups, nearly two hundred ships in all were slowly converging on the Kuntok formation. Nazeera had one other squadron in support, but it was only a dozen ships. The other squadrons were paired off, so despite her maneuvers Nazeera found herself at a distinct disadvantage. Over the next hour Bureel’s numerical superiority had a telling effect. The Kuntok rocked with torpedo and blaster fire. Damage reports came in from every part of the ship, but despite its fifteen kicellia of service to the empire the Kuntok fought on. Nazeera deployed her ships in a spherical screen with the larger ships spaced equidistantly in the formation. It was a defensive formation based on her smaller numbers. The advantage was that Bureel’s squadrons could not find a weak point. At every point of attack his own squadrons would face a withering fire from Nazeera’s battleships and cruisers. The Kuntok, a huge old battleship, could reach any point of the perimeter with long range blaster fire. In response Bureel’s squadrons formed into three cone shaped formations. The rebel cone formations penetrated Nazeera’s sphere, their common goal being to meet at the Kuntok. Initially the defensive perimeter of Nazeera had the better of the battle. For over an hour the slow moving attack formations took heavy losses. At length, though, the battered attack formations of Bureel penetrated deeply enough into the sphere of Nazeera. The remains of the foremost ranks entered a close range fight with the Kuntok itself, while the rear echelons began to form an umbrella around the flagship. The attack progressed at a slow but alarming rate over the next hour. The Kuntok’s huge blaster banks destroyed nearly twenty ships of Bureel’s advancing forces, but the ships which formed the base of the rebel cones now joined to create a sphere within a sphere. Nazeera’s perimeter was now outside the sphere of rebel ships, cutting her off from any support. The loyal ships in her own proximity were quickly destroyed, and a force of nearly twenty ships sped out of Bureel’s formation to attack the Kuntok. Nazeera sent full salvoes at the attackers. At such close range several ships disintegrated after absorbing hits from three and four blaster projectors at once. The immediate space around the Kuntok filled with plasma and debris, but the victory was short lived. The rebels forced their way into extremely close quarters with the Kuntok, but they held their fire, vexing Alexander. Bureel’s reasoning quickly became apparent. The warships launched hundreds of small spherical pods as they passed the Kuntok. The tiny ships were immediately met with a hail of blaster fire, but the majority of them made it through the weakened shields to the hull of the Kuntok.

“Prepare for boarders!” Nazeera’s warning rang through the ship. It was followed by several metallic concussions on the bridge ceiling. Rings of sparks showered the deck from a dozen different spots. Nazeera drew a narrow curved sword and a long knife. “Chem warriors prepare to defend your ship!” she cried. A jubilant shout answered her, and the Chem in the bulkhead niches poured onto the deck. Even as the bridge crew prepared for the attack the laser cut disks of the hull fell clattering to the deck. Rebel Chem warriors, distinguished from the loyal Chem by a red scarf around their necks, leapt through the holes in the hull. Immediately there was a melee of whirling blades and grunting warriors. Alexander pulled out his great knife, almost half a meter of Chem steel. He moved towards Nazeera, intent on protecting the ship’s commander, but a contingent of rebels dropped between them. Nazeera and Nazar were already engaged with several rebel Chem, but the newcomers ignored their possible advantage when they spied Alexander.

“Human, your name will add honor to my list of victories,” cried the foremost Chem. There were other affronts and jibes from two of her companions, but the result was all three advancing on Alexander at once. They were armed with slender swords and knives, outreaching Alexander as well as outnumbering him. He did not bother to plan a response, but leapt forward to the flank of the three. He parried the down stroke of a sword with his knife and kicked hard at the Chem’s gut. Ribs cracked beneath his boot and the sheer force of the blow caused the Chem to lose his sword and knife. The rebel reeled back into a crowd of fighters, tripping several of them. Alexander swept up the sword and slashed across his body at the woman warrior. She attempted to parry with her knife, but he cut her across the belly anyway. The blade only slashed her armor, and she waded in angrily, deciding to come to grips with Alexander at close quarters. It was a mistake. She took away her advantage in speed and quickness, and the blow she landed on Alexander’s jaw with the pommel of her sword had no affect whatsoever on the Human. Her failed strategy left her flank open and Alexander ripped upwards with his knife. The air rushed from her lungs and she cried out as he lifted her a meter off the deck. Suddenly, a ringing shudder drowned out all sound, and the now familiar sensation of gravity disappearing announced itself. The Chem warrior tumbled upwards instead of back, her body freeing itself from his knife leaving a trail of congealing blood globules.

Alexander’s stroke drove him back into the floor plates, and he carefully absorbed the momentum. As he anticipated, the Chem reacted by controlling themselves with jet boots. The rebels around him grinned evilly when they realized he had none. Slowly they closed a ring around him.

Steadying himself on the arm of the command chair, Alexander swiftly surveyed the scene. There were sixty or seventy Chem floating around the bridge, including a dozen or so motionless corpses. His eyes caught Nazeera even as she spied him. Her expression showed her fear, not for herself, but for Alexander’s helplessness. He replied with a huge grin. Just as two rebels Chem jetted towards him he crouched and then shot away like a cannonball holding out a blade in each hand. The two rebels who sought to dispatch him instead felt the cut of his blades as he rocketed by them, leaving them howling.

The fight in his quarters was cramped compared to the cavernous volume of the bridge, and he found this fight much more to his liking. With room to work, Alexander went about making himself a deadly nuisance to the rebels. His first target was a Chem rebel threatening Nazeera. He approached from behind, slashing at the back of the warrior’s neck as he passed. The wound, though it drew a fountain of blood, was not immediately fatal. At least not until Nazeera took advantage of the warrior’s understandable distraction to plunge her blade into his breast.

In the Chem civil war’s greatest arena Alexander perfected his former desperate experiment. He used the huge space of the bridge to carefully plan his leaps and sight his targets. The thrust of his powerful legs far outdistanced the Chem jets. With each pass he slashed at rebels, and it was not long before they were all too aware of him. No rebel could engage one of the loyal Chem without hasty glances behind or to the side to ensure that they were not targeted by the devilish Human in purple and black. Several times during the melee he crashed into opponents, but his greater strength and prodigious mass always won out in those encounters. He would grapple with his opponent, not allowing them to use their jet boots at close quarters to maneuver. He discarded the sword because one free hand allowed him more control, adopting a method of attack that was at once swift, furious and brutal. He ignored any semblance of defense, trusting rather to the excellent Chem armor he wore on Pantrixnia. With his free hand he grappled his adversary by their own armor and plunged his knife into their body again and again until there was no more resistance. The huge blade created gaping debilitating wounds and it did not take long for the fight to end.

The tactic did have its drawbacks. His latest combat ended on such a note, and now he found himself devoid of momentum. In the center of the bridge’s cavernous volume he spun slowly through the clouds of blood droplets still locked with his latest victim. A rebel sought to take advantage of his motionless state and zipped behind him. Alexander grappled the corpse of his victim and flung it at his assailant. The disjointed corpse got tangled up with the rebel, slowing his advance, and imparted just enough time to Alexander for a loyalist to reach him. The helpful warrior steadied Alexander and jetted him towards a bulkhead. Alexander called out his thanks and the warrior returned to his business. Upon reaching the bulkhead Alexander did not forget his former assailant. He planted his boots firmly on the metal thrust back towards the rebel. The Chem was just disentangling himself from the corpse when Alexander caught him by surprise, dragging the edge of his knife across the exposed neck. The blade bit deeply, springing a fatal fountain of vibrant blue blood. The rebel clutched frantically at the wound, but to no avail. In a slow and agonizing moment he began a slow cartwheel across the bridge, still locked with the already cool form of his comrade.

The fighting was still heavy as more rebels docked with the Kuntok’s bridge, and loyal reinforcements arrived from other portions of the ship. He had no idea how the battle was progressing elsewhere; he couldn’t even claim to know how they fared on the bridge. He caught fleeting glimpses of Nazeera and Nazar, but that was all. Back and forth he flew in the deadly dance. After a short time, he felt so proficient was he that he no longer thought about the maneuvering; he just picked his targets and planned his attacks accordingly.

Alexander tuned out most of the melee around him, ignoring the shouts and screams of the combatants, but one sound caught his ear. It was the hissing of the laser torches as they cut their way through the Kuntok’s skin. He looked down, between his legs, just as he finished his rotation to land. It was something of a trick to time his landing so as to hit squarely on his feet, and he’d mastered the maneuver by necessity, but without jets it was impossible to alter his landing spot. Wherever he aimed was where he landed. Alexander’s widening eyes following the hiss of the docking torch to his inevitable landing. The curving bulkhead of smooth metal suddenly sprouted sparks. The circular patch of bulkhead spun free of the shuttle docking ring just in time for Alexander to float right through the hole. He plunged from the bright cavern of the bridge into the dim interior of a small metal capsule crammed with ten eager rebel warriors. They were equally as surprised as he was, but unlike Alexander they has no advanced warning of his arrival. Still, it didn’t take long for them to recognize the hulking figure. He didn’t wait to explain his mistake but slashed, kicked, punched, and bit blindly at every piece of Chem he saw. The boarders were, at best, unprepared for the appearance of this demon amongst them. Every violent movement caught a Chem warrior, and courageous though they were the Chem had no response. Those who were able vacated the capsule to the relative safety of the melee as quickly as they could, and so in the space of a moment Alexander found himself alone in the capsule with four Chem who were either dead or too badly wounded to care about escape. Alexander cleared the capsule of them, thrusting their bodies into the bridges swarming melee. The battle in the capsule suddenly over Alexander steadied himself and caught his breath. As he rested he watched the melee through the hole in the bulkhead. The rebel forces seemed to be taking the worst of things now. Apparently the boarders were unsuccessful on other parts of the ship, as fresh Chem were arriving to reinforce Nazeera’s bridge forces. Alexander watched, looking for a time and a place when he might be useful. He found Nazeera almost directly below him, fighting alongside Nazar. He continued to watch from overhead, a deadly guardian angel ready to shoot out of his lair upon any who dared threaten her. The fight flared to its original intensity briefly, as the forces of Bureel realized the hopelessness of their cause. Nazeera led the closing of the ring on the remainder of the rebels. There were no calls for quarter. Alexander watched anxiously as the desperate fury of the rebels took its toll on the loyal Chem. Nazeera became engaged by two rebels at once, and even though she quickly dispatched the first, the second took the opportunity to work to her rear. She could not turn quickly enough to meet the new attacker, and though Nazar called out a warning he could not reach her. It was just such an occurrence that Alexander waited for. He propelled himself with all of his strength at the attacker. He did not attempt a slash or stab this time, but instead tackled the Chem using the full force of his mass. His momentum carried them both crashing to the deck. The Chem grunted with pain as Alexander landed atop him, but the man was already plunging his knife into the vitals of the warrior. When he finally halted the Chem’s torso was in tatters. Blood floated all around him. Nazeera looked down at him, pride on her face. All of a sudden there was a heavy rumbling followed by a rush of air. Nazeera’s expression turned to one of horror. Some of the few remaining rebels made it back to their pod and its departure left a meter wide hole open to space. Air gushed out of the bridge. The Chem turned to point their jet boots against the current. Corpses thumped out of the hole with the torrent of air.

Alexander was swept off the floor and carried unerringly towards the open portal. There was nothing for him to grab and no way to stop himself. He spread his arms to try and catch the edges of the hole, but he knew that it was a futile act. Then Nazeera’s sharp nails dug into his armor at the shoulders. She threw her legs under his arms and he could see the jets pulsing with all their might. Slowly she brought Alexander to a halt. Nazar rushed to her aide and in a moment they had Alexander under control. They moved him slowly to a bridge rail allowing him to grab a hold of it.

“Alright, I’ve got it,” Alexander breathed in thanks. “I always knew I needed a strong woman. I obviously chose the right one.”

“You had better say that,” she said simply. The battle for the bridge of the Kuntok was over.