CHAPTER 6

“There they are,” exclaimed Captain Sergei Konstantinov on the bridge of the Terran submarine Gagarin. A Siberian, the Captain’s ochre flesh flushed with wrinkles at the excitement of discovery, much as he used to when the Sun finally climbed high enough to melt the winter ice at home. With an energy belaying his fifty-three years Konstantinov leapt from the radar scope and began pacing the narrow confines of the modified “Alpha” class submarine. Once designed to hunt American ICBM boats the Gagarin, like many of its fellow submarines, was now modified as a fast interstellar scout. A cluster of four engines made the subs the fastest ships in the fleet, and their narrow silhouettes made them perfect hosts for covert screens. Her armament was not up to that of the ship’s of the line, but with four forward blaster projectors, all funneled through the engines, and a score of matter-anti-matter torpedoes she could fulfill her historical missions of reconnaissance and hit-and-run admirably.

“Mark the tape! Helmsman, course zero-seven-three degrees, Zulu-one-five! Bring us as close as you can to the main body. Engineer, best possible speed! Shields up! All sensors on!” Konstantinov turned short sharp corners in front of the main viewer, watching the images of the Golkos and Seer’koh fleets grow in size and distinguish themselves into tiny silver-white specks. He lit another cigarette and brought it up to his lips, only to find one already there. He looked at the stick for a moment as if surprised, but then promptly shoved it in his mouth alongside its companion.

The First Officer approached his Captain and said, “Captain, our orders are to find the rendezvous point for the Golkos-Seer’koh fleets not to attack said fleets!”

“Attack? Who said anything about attack, comrade? We are reconnoitering, is all,” Konstantinov smiled. He winked at his First Officer. “Of course, no one restricted how close a look we can get. If those bastards fire at us then I shall take every opportunity to defend myself, my ship and the honor of the Terran Empire. Is that understood, First Officer?”

The First Officer sighed and hunched behind the helmsman. After scanning the navigation screen he reported, “Captain! They’re in two main bodies of five to seven cubes each. Initial estimate over twenty-two hundred ships. The cubes are too far apart to take detailed scans of both, which would you like to make a pass on?”

Konstantinov ran to his side, taking in the tactical display through a cloud of cigarette smoke. His eyes darting he thumped his index finger on the Plexiglas, saying, “Damn it man we’ll go between them! If they’re fools enough to think they’ll hit us at this speed let them fire away! Chances are they’ll rake each other!”

“Our scans will be severely distorted close to light speed,” the First Officer added.

“Yes, yes, Rochenko, what’s they’re speed?” Konstantinov waved his hands as if he had a swarm of angry insects buzzing around his head.

“They’re pretty much motionless Captain,” Rochenko observed, glancing at Konstantinov with surprise. “It looks as though they’ve massed and are waiting for our fleet. That’s roughly the battle formation we were told to expect.”

The Captain nodded like a mad puppet, and spoke as if the words couldn’t leave his mouth quickly enough. “Yes, and like a Napoleonic army they don’t want to go mucking their formation about by moving around. They’re early, last I heard the Syraptose and the Quotter—what did we call them?”

“Quotterim, Captain,” Rochenko said.

“Whoever,” Konstantinov spat, “they’re not due to be in position for three or four days, but here are the Golkos and the Seer’koh, patiently waiting on their frontier for the war to start—of all the idiotic ideas. Navigator where are we?”

“One point seven five parsecs from the frontier, Captain,” the Navigator told him. “That’s roughly one day from Terran space at moderate speed.”

“Are they good enough to maintain their formation at that speed?” Konstantinov asked himself. He answered himself with a curse, adding, “They’d have to be, we’re forty parsecs from Earth, or Terra, whatever we call it. They’re not going to cruise around for a month and a half just waiting for us to pound their allies and then come back to them at our leisure. No one’s that stupid. Rochenko, what would you say to a commander who faced you with multiple fronts, but did not coordinate those fronts? What would you do here if our forces were at your disposition?” The Captain asked, an eagerness making his eyes dart to and fro.

“I would attack, take away their advantage,” Rochenko said immediately. “Why wait for them all to be ready?”

“My thoughts as well, Rochenko, my thoughts as well. Hopefully they are Alexander’s thoughts when we make this known to him. Very well, gentlemen let’s not keep them waiting. Start a constant transmission to Fleetcom. Prepare to drop out of superluminal on my mark to zero point five “c.” Weapons, a full spread of torpedoes and mines if you please, let’s not leave anything in the larder. If they get lucky I don’t want to die without bloodying their nose!”

A growing hum and a sudden lurch signaled the throttling of the Gagarin’s engines. Konstantinov smiled broadly and now that the game was about to begin his excessive energy turned into a cheerful calm. As the alien fleet grew, the details distorted by the Gagarin’s superluminal velocity, Konstantinov beamed, “This is pleasure, gentlemen, pure pleasure; not like chasing the American navy. Here, we’re allowed to shoot! So let us take advantage of the opportunity!”

#

It was early evening on Lake Pend Oreille in Northern Idaho on the North American continent, on Terra. Alexander and Nazeera were spending a final few nights alone, at least as alone as they could be. They were on Alexander’s float house, a cedar sided two story structure moored in Scenic Bay, a small finger of water on the Southwestern corner of the deep cold lake. About them were several other float houses, though the normal tenants of these were either absent or augmented by Alexander’s version of a Secret Service, and his constant retinue of staff. It was a routine Alexander was quickly acclimating to if for no other reason than his mind, when not distracted by Nazeera, was constantly turning over the galactic “game” as he called it. Alexander’s retinue caused a small stir in the tiny community at MacDonald’s Marina where the float house was moored, but as they’d been used to seeing Alexander there for years, albeit in somewhat lesser status, they took little note of the Terran invasion. What caused a wave of excitement around MacDonald’s, and the nearby town of Bayview, was the alien invasion; especially the Chem. Nazeera was no less a head of state than Alexander and constantly about her was a travelling company of heavily armed and stoically noble Chem. The Chem were ever courteous and polite, though they wondered much at their Terran hosts. Knowing Alexander, who always wore his Banthror cloak and weapons, they expected much more of the same. But what they saw was Terrans uncloaked as it were. They carried no weapons, did not even wear ceremonial armor, and they seemed for all intents and purposes overtly friendly and curious. After the initial shock of their casual behavior wore off the Chem warriors concluded that Terrans were so certain of their prowess in war that they had no need to remind themselves of it. When the need arose they would react accordingly. To the Chem it was a new way of thinking. To see Terrans in so peaceful a setting while knowing the fury which could erupt within them was a sobering picture; and they viewed the Terrans with a new and different respect.

Nazeera squeezed Alexander’s hand and smiled looking out over the waters. A placid smile caressed her beautiful features, strangely offset by the points of her canines peeking out over her lips. “This reminds me of my balcony back home, where you first accosted me,” she told him. “I wouldn’t dare repeat our ardor here, there are too many prying eyes,” she said glancing at the deck next door, where Alexander’s friends Max and Katy Immelmann watched the evening pass alongside an assortment of Terran and Chem military officers. The courtiers were calmly attentive of all that was going on, too obviously excepting Alexander and Nazeera. Nazeera sighed, “Besides, it is too cold here. I should rather have you take me inside.”

“That is a pleasant idea,” Alexander smiled.

“Not yet, my rutting Overlord,” Nazeera smiled, “I wish to enjoy the night first.”

“Very well, then at least you shall be warm, it is colder here than Chem,” Alexander told her, wrapping her firm shoulders with his Banthror cloak.

Nazeera snuggled into his arms and the cloak, glancing down at the three pins set amidst the fur. Topmost was the Terran badge, a chevron upon a blue world. Below it were the badges of Bureel the Chem rebel, and Scythia. Idly Nazeera fingered the metal, asking, “How many more of these shall you add husband? I feel almost undone. Is glory passing me by? I should wish a hand in this calamity you’ve begun. Then my name would be sung in songs throughout the years.”

“Your name is already sung by the fires of warrior’s, Nazeera, though you are always welcome as Terra’s ally.” Alexander told her. “There is enough glory out there for all of us. Do you wish to join me you’ve only to say so.”

“Nazeera the woman and wife does,” she told him, but shook her head. “I have, however, listened to the debate of the Assemblage, and it is unanimous with anticipation for the coming war; unanimous in its role as spectator. Strange though it may seem the Chem are more eager to watch Alexander’s struggle against the Galactics than to take part in it. We have no quarrels with our Galactic brethren. We have not been wronged by them. Alexander has been wronged. Therefore, it is Alexander’s fight. Such is the concept of this drama of yours in my people’s minds. Does it disappoint you?”

“Not in the least, though it may make me sleepless through the nights,” Alexander told her. “I am enamored with the Chem. I celebrate them. I respect their decision as I do your own.”

“Well said, my husband,” Nazeera told him, “now I am ready to go inside with you!”

“Excellent!” Alexander exclaimed, sweeping the woman off her feet. But as he turned to carry her inside the image of Admiral Augesburcke blotted out the light.

“I’m sorry Alexander, something’s come up.”