CHAPTER 15

The surgeon struggled to finish attending to Alexander, who did not help matters any by trying to relate his story to Augesburcke and Nazeera. The surgeon used a medical phaser introduced to Alexander’s staff by Nazeera’s personal surgeon to suture the wounds. It did not take long, but it demanded that Alexander keep his facial muscles still, impossible with him talking. Finally, the surgeon demanded his silence with no less force than Alexander used on the press. Alexander succumbed.

When the phasing was complete and Alexander was set to finish his tale they were interrupted by a page from Augesburcke’s communicator. It was Admiral Sampson. In short order Alexander, Nazeera, the Scythian Ambassador “Football,” and the Admiralty adjourned to the conference room. There the Scythian established its telepathic link with its Scythian counterpart on Sampson’s flagship, the battleship Wisconsin. The Admiral related the chain of events stemming from the Gangout’s problems, finishing by saying, “We wanted to have our friends the Chem check the message for us, if they are willing, just to ensure we’re not missing anything. My Scythian ambassador informs me that it is a standard Galactic quarantine message, and not all that unusual; however, considering the sensitivity of the situation I would like a second opinion.”

Nazeera nodded her agreement, and Sampson played the massage. Nazeera’s aide recorded it on his compad. In a few moments he’d broken the message down into its base signals and run a series of cryptographic tests. Satisfied he pronounced the message to be exactly what the Quotterim claimed. Nazeera concurred.

“It would be very unlike the Quotterim to take such a daring risk as to attempt to highlight their plight. Even if the signal was a distress your ships would have ample time to lay waste to their planet before help could arrive. They are very cognizant of their lives, Admiral, and though they will have little pleasure for your presence they will do what they have to ensure they are alive when you leave them.”

“Thank you for your advice, Elder,” Sampson replied, and quite correctly.

Alexander listened to everything with a contemplative ear. He was pleased, and not simply because they had, apparently, avoided detection again; but rather because his commanders were adapting well to dealing with extraterrestrial cultures. They were tackling the problems they faced without the distracting awe of the label “alien.” He’d been right to trust them.

“Excellent, Admiral!” he told Sampson. “We must expect these little hiccups. How soon will the fleet regroup?”

“The strike arm is already regrouped, Alexander,” Sampson informed him. “I gave Captain Palmero two cruisers and four destroyers for the quarantine. That force should be ample. The Wisconsin and the balance of her squadron have rejoined with the main battle group and we are now steaming on course. We’ll be back on schedule by 0400 hours tomorrow.”

“Steaming on course,” Alexander mused. “Now there is a gloriously archaic term, and somehow still accurate in my mind.”

“Slip of the tongue, I’m afraid,” Samson smiled.

“Thank you, Admiral, good hunting!” Alexander replied.

“Hail Alexander!” Sampson saluted, and the Scythians cut the connection.

#

Alexander and Nazeera awoke to Pend Oreille at its finest. The Sun was brightly peering over the mountains like a rising diamond, sending the ethereal mists fleeing with the dawn. The hollows of the mountain valleys clung to their secrets in silver coated rivers a while longer, but as the Sun turned golden they too melted away. The warming brought a bundled up Nazeera out to enjoy a cup of coffee with Alexander on the balcony. Following a light breakfast in the bright morning air they attended the inevitable military conference. All sectors around Terran space were quiet. All Alliance strike fleets were accounted for and stationary. The known galaxy was in a false state of peace, and a galactic war seemed far from reality on the lake.

When Alexander’s party left the conference room, Admiral Augesburcke returned for the first time to the subject of the assassination attempt. “Alexander, I think we should keep you to a low profile until we find out what is going on. For instance, the first thing that should go is your personal appearance at New York tomorrow for the launch of the first transports to the colonies.”

“What, and miss the send off of the first wave of colonists,” Alexander exclaimed, shaking his head emphatically. “I cannot, not after the roasting I gave some very influential people at Saint Andrews. I forced this on them, and the Senate. I must show up to give credence for just how momentous this event is. Take whatever precautions are necessary, Admiral, for all of us; but I intend on attending.”

Augesburcke shrugged his shoulders, “It is against my better judgment but perhaps our Chief of Security will come up with something.”

“Who is that?” Alexander asked.

“We got him from the American Secret Service, where he’s been Chief of Security since President Johnson’s administration,” Augesburcke told him, suddenly pointing to a man just entering the float house. “In fact here he is.”

A tall gaunt man stopped respectfully before Alexander. He was smoking an elegant long stemmed pipe. “Good Morning Overlord. I’m Bob Crandal. I hope I can be of service!”

#

Kvel Mavek, Pro Consul of the Galactic Alliance, kneaded her thin fingers in frustration. Her tightly drawn flesh eroded her otherwise finely featured face and her darting eyes lost their usual placid calm.

“What you ask, Grand Admiral Koor, is difficult,” she said over their secure comlink. “I am the de facto head of the political partnership that is the Alliance, just as you are the head of the military arm. The strength of our political bonds is based largely on the assumed security of the product our military forces. The unfortunate debacle on the Golkos-Terran frontier has understandably weakened those bonds. In fact they are weakened to the point where the majority of the member states are in favor of disbanding the Alliance, as is currently demanded by Alexander, and arranging separate peace accords on their own. I do not look to lay blame, Grand Admiral, only to inform you of the facts. I am the Pro Consul of a rapidly crumbling and very artificial political structure.”

“I realize the delicacy of your position, Madame Pro Consul,” Grand Admiral Koor said humbly, “but do not allow a tragic mistake on the battlefield to jeopardize our hard fought political partnership. That would only play into Alexander’s hands.”

“I understand that very well, Grand Admiral, and I am sympathetic,” the Pro Consul replied, “but without the backbone of the military how can I keep this Alliance intact? The military response to Alexander is the sole basis for its existence. If that basis is ineffective the logical alternative, in our member states minds, is to seek the best possible solution in their own interests. That solution may well be one without reference to our Alliance.”

“The military errors that led to our defeat are even now being redressed, Madame Pro Consul,” the Grand Admiral informed her political counterpart. “All I ask is a few decurns of time. The measures we are taking are extreme, but I have every confidence they will produce the desired effect. If you can buy me enough time to convene a full military council, and convince the ambassadors of the member states of the Alliance to abide by the recommendations of their military representatives I am convinced we can save the Alliance. Only in that way may we save our civilization.”

Kvel Mavek was silent for a long while. “As I said previously, you ask a great deal, Grand Admiral,” she said. “Still, your request is reasonable. That in itself does not guarantee success, or even a delay. The political council wishes an immediate vote. However, I think I can convince most of the members to delay that vote until after your military council. For the remainder, especially the Syraptose, I may have a way to dampen their ardor for secession.”

“How is that?” Koor asked.

“Unbeknownst to you Grand Admiral, there is a movement on Terra itself which is no more fond of Alexander the Conqueror than are we. They are plotting to assassinate him, but they have asked our aide and our recognition if successful. The political council sanctioned our support, but what they do not know is that the first attempt on Alexander’s life was unsuccessful. We have very few details at this point, but the very possibility that Alexander may well know of Alliance involvement could be enough to make any member state hesitate at withdrawing. Alexander’s determination to avenge was well demonstrated with his hunting and killing of Bureel, the chosen Elder of Chem. I am certain the Syraptose in particular will be willing to wait and see if Alexander voices any outrage at this thwarted attempt, and so avoid fatally isolating themselves.”

“I was unaware of this turn of events, Madame Pro Consul,” the Grand Admiral admitted. “I find it hard to comprehend why any Terrans would commit so heinous an act against their Overlord, but Terrans are a confusing and unpredictable people. That is the crux of what we learned in our interrogations, and precious little else.”

“I would that those investigations ended differently, Grand Admiral. Perhaps then we wouldn’t be having this dire conversation.”

“I doubt that,” Koor said morosely. “Alexander cares nothing for those prisoners. Conquest is his God. His people serve him to that purpose.”

“That is the assumption what all of our actions are based upon, Grand Admiral, though I must admit it has never completely won me over. The possibility of its veracity, however, forces a terrible prudence in my policies. That is very unlike me, and very unlike Kempec. My soul searches for a dialogue out of this dilemma, but my fear is that Alexander’s charm and honor are but those of an actor. If he is Alexander the Conqueror in truth, then there is but one way to deal with him, and that is through united resistance. If he is not, and we are successful, then the destruction of Terra will be a tragedy upon our consciences.”

“That is a question for politicians, Madame Pro Consul. The world of the military commander is more black and white. There are few philosophical questions, only victory and defeat. Each has its price to pay, to glory or honor, and that is what I understand. Give me the time I need, Madame Pro Consul, and the military arm of the Alliance will accomplish its task. Then maybe you will have the opportunity for your dialogue.”

“I will do as you ask, Grand Admiral, though I warn you the price may be high.” Mavek said seriously, and she hesitated to let the words sink in. “Politicians are an ignorant lot when it comes to war, and they believe generals are easy to replace. With victory come accolades, with defeat distrust. As much as I respect your candor and confidence, Grand Admiral, I would be unrealistic if I told you that the political council of the Alliance shares that confidence. Are you prepared to accept replacement in return for my support? It is not my personal wish, but it is an expected condition, and not a surprising one.”

“Spare yourself the personal tribulation, Madame Pro Consul,” Grand Admiral Koor replied with a shade of a smile. “The problem will shortly be taken care of.”

#

“Crandal, eh?” Alexander asked, somewhat grim in face and tone. He stared hard at the craggy man standing calmly before him. He should have been in his eighties, maybe older, but he looked to be in his fifties. There was something of a condescending look about him, as if he knew all the secrets there were to know. To him Alexander was just another world figure in a long line of men who’d come and gone. “So you’ve been with the Secret Service since Johnson’s administration?”

The man grimaced, “Since Kennedy actually. I’ve been Chief of Security since the Johnson administration,”

“I see, and where before that?” Alexander asked, almost pointedly.

“I cut my teeth in the FBI, sir; I was a special assistant to Director Hoover.”

“I trust you never had to wear a dress for the Director?” Alexander joked, though without seeming to find any more humor in the observation than Crandal did. He waved off any response from the Chief of Security, instead asking if he had any idea what had happened the night before.

“Details are sketchy, sir,” Crandal admitted without any apparent sign of concern. “We have not as of yet recovered either of the bodies of the assassins you reported. We’ll probably have to drag the bottom for them. We should have them by mid afternoon, however, unless they’ve drifted into the deeper parts of the lake. From the charts it looks as though it gets over a thousand feet deep even in this bay. There may be some trouble on that account. I wouldn’t be overly concerned about the incident; however, it’s probably just some local anti-government faction. They are quite concerned over a possible alien takeover within the government. It’s a logical assumption considering our recent past, sir, and this area has been known to be a hotbed of such thinking.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Crandal, I find that assumption very illogical and remarkably ill informed considering your position of responsibility,” Alexander replied venomously. “This “hotbed” of anti-government people, as you call it, is an area I am quite familiar with. It promotes free thinking, individualism, and self sufficiency, but the radicals are a very slight minority. I doubt they would go to the trouble of donning wetsuits and using underwater scooters. They’d just as soon take a thirty-odd-six with a scope on me. I want information, Mr. Crandal, not supposition. Next time you come to me with a theory I expect you to have more than an ill- informed stereotype as your evidence. You can start by recovering those bodies. No excuses.”

“Very well, sir” Crandal nodded, and he turned to leave.

Alexander stopped him. “Mr. Crandal unless you’ve failed to notice I have an entire galaxy that has either tried to kill me or would like to see it done. I would, at least, appreciate those of my own planet being taken out of the equation.”

Crandal nodded with an almost knowing smile, and disappeared.

Augesburcke furrowed his bushy brows. “You didn’t give him much of a chance, Alexander, did you know him previously?”

“Not a bit,” Alexander answered, shaking his head. “He’s been in the system through some very unsavory times. Any special aide to Hoover rouses my suspicion. If there was ever a dirtier player in government I can’t name him, and then to rise to the top after the assassination of Kennedy. That was strangely timed, especially considering the distaste JFK and Hoover had for each other. Well, if it doesn’t completely arouse my suspicion it awakens my dislike. It’s too obvious to be something sinister, in all probability, but my gut tells me I don’t like him.”

“He can be replaced,” Augesburcke told him.

“No, he hasn’t done anything to me, personally, so I’m willing to let this go as part of my own paranoia,” Alexander growled, “at least for the moment.”

“Alexander, if your instincts tell you something unsavory about this man you should trust them,” Nazeera told him emphatically. “Of what use is your Chief of Security if you do not trust him?”

Alexander shook his head, “No I won’t persecute someone on the basis of my own feelings. That mistake I’ve seen too many times before. I may not like him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do his job.”

“You are talking yourself into this noble stature, Alexander, which has nothing to do with your necessity,” Nazeera said.

“At least let me assign someone we know and can trust explicitly as a military liaison,” Augesburcke asked.

“Very well, Admiral, put one of your people on it,” Alexander succumbed, making it apparent that the subject had exceeded his attention span. He turned to Nazeera, asking her to come out on the deck with him. When they were alone he told her, “I’ve been doing some seriously unpleasant thinking since this latest adventure. I don’t like what I’ve come up with, but it is nonetheless clear to me that it is necessary. My dear, whatever is going on here I think it serious enough to cut our honeymoon short. The war I can handle, but this business was dangerously close to you. If something goes wrong I don’t want the Elder of Chem in the crossfire.”

“Really Alexander, do you think me so squeamish? Truth is I wouldn’t mind a little exercise now and again.”

Alexander grunted. “That is the last image I wish in my mind, Nazeera. Don’t mistake me. Though I would worry about Nazeera, my wife, in such a situation I have no doubts that you would handle yourself exquisitely. Yet I cannot afford to put the Elder of Chem in the path of a lucky assassin’s bullet. Let me put it to you bluntly, beyond my personal desires. As Overlord of the Terran Empire I must consider the consequences, however remote, of my own assassination and of defeat in this war. Defeat on a total scale. To where can the survivors of my people look if not to Chem? Yet if their Elder is assassinated by Terrans what will become of my civilization when it is at once bereft of its Overlord and its closest friend? That consequence haunts me, my dear. It haunts me even more than the thought of you dying nobly in battle.”

Nazeera thought for a while. Finally she said, “Very well, your words ring true, Alexander. I cannot forget my duty to my empire, nor will I be tardy from it any longer. Yet I have a duty to my husband as well. To that end, in my interests as well as that of Chem, I shall have Nazar attend to you. He shall be my ambassador, and he shall watch his brother’s back diligently! Is that agreeable?”

Alexander agreed readily.

“Very well, the Nived Sheur waits for me in orbit. I shall join you in New York, and when you return to the Iowa I shall return to Chem.”