CHAPTER 8

Bureel stared angrily at the helmsman and demanded, “What do you mean Nazeera’s ship are increasing speed?”

“That is what my scanners indicate my lord,” he replied somewhat nervously. “As ordered, I have set my helm for station keeping relative to the position of the Kuntok. However, the Kuntok has accelerated beyond cruise speed. Do you wish to match their speed and maintain our relative position?”

Bureel was confused which led him to angrily lash out, “Captain, double check your helmsman’s calculations!”

“Yes my lord,” the Captain of the Toa-Riche replied, knowing all too well Bureel’s short temper. He approached the helmsman, who moved out of the way so that he displays were clearly visible.

Turning to Bureel, the Captain nodded. “He is correct my lord. The Kuntok has accelerated to emergency flank. I cannot say why. The rest of Nazeera’s armada has matched her speed.”

“There must be something wrong with the Kuntok,” Bureel mumbled, scratching at his beard.

“It is possible that she was damaged in the fight and has a runaway matter-anti-matter imbalance and that the rest of her armada is just following,” the Captain said doubtfully. “Chem doctrine is very specific. Strategic cruise speeds are to be set between superluminal gates two and five. Nazeera’s velocity is now stabilized at superluminal gate six-three; that is emergency flank. It is definitely outside of doctrinal guidance.”

“So she will arrive at Chem before us,” Bureel asked.

The Captain nodded again and checked the helmsman’s calculations. “She should arrive at Chem approximately five hours before us, my lord.”

“What are the repercussions of her actions,” Bureel asked gravely.

The Captain straightened and replied, “The obvious problem is overstressing the engines. Standard cruise gates are based on the reliability curves of the engines. We are currently at gate five, which is the highest allowable gate that guarantees the maintainability of our engines.”

“The Kuntok has accelerated to six-three you say; so what will happen?”

Accessing the helmsman’s displays, the Captain said, “The Kuntok and the rest of Nazeera’s armada will have an ever increasing potential of engine overheats and malfunctions. At their current speed, assuming they maintain it all the way to Chem, there is a twelve percent chance of engine malfunction.”

“So her armada will be cut by that number. It seems to me too great a risk to violate doctrine; why violate set protocol when you are going to lose ships—it’s madness!” Bureel sighed, and said, “The Guardian Armada shall have to take care of her then.”

“You do not wish to match her speed my lord?”

“And violate our own doctrine,” Bureel exclaimed. “Those practices were set by our ancestor’s kicellia in our past. They are there for a reason. Let Nazeera do our job for us. Proceed as planned Captain!

#

Nazeera’s gambit was astutely based on her desperate strategic position, and displayed what the Galactic’s perceived as a radical departure from military decorum. That a Chem commander of Nazeera’s stature should purposefully change the Galactic order of battle as it was expected, especially at so late a point, raised a disquieting level of doubt in the minds of her adversaries. That so slight a tactic as advancing her arrival in Chem should have so momentous a meaning, and in its turn remain unanswered, caused a wave of consternation and surprise to sweep through the rebel ranks. The initial wave of exhilaration for returning to the old ways having worn off, Bureel’s officers could not help but find their lord fading in their estimation when placed next to the bright resolve of Nazeera.

All Galactic commanders accepted the premise that warfare was irrevocably based on firepower. Command skill could of course affect the outcome of space battles, but in realistic terms this still required a balance between antagonists. Beyond a factor of one hundred and fifty percent the larger force enjoyed an exponential advantage in firepower the longer the battle progressed. Warfare was to a large extent limited in its scope and originality by mathematical law. So it was that commanders of the day were governed by certain laws of combat as well as the reality of disuse. One of the undesirable side effects of prolonged peace, of which the known galaxy had enjoyed for thirteen thousand Terran years, was the fall of combat intuition into theory. Individuals could overcome this based on their own personal talents, and in this the rebels and loyalists each in their turn recognized Nazeera as the champion over Bureel or any other commander he might choose to use. This advantage, however, paled when the reality of the numbers was apparent, and this is what Nazeera attempted to redress by creating distance between herself and Bureel. This accomplished she needed a swift and decisive victory over the Guardian Armada.

Nazeera’s initial objective was the Khoor-Lhat the flagship of the Guardian Armada. Named for the first Chem Elder to expand the Chem Empire beyond their solar system the Khoor-Lhat was the key to a swift and decisive victory. If Nazeera could capture the flagship the Guardian Armada would swiftly follow. Loyalist forces could rally upon the surface with the full support of the Elder, the Assemblage and Nazeera’s victorious armada. Nazeera would have re-established loyalist control over Chem beyond Bureel’s ability to dislodge her. The problem with the scheme was time. Given sufficient time Nazeera, and indeed Alexander, had no doubt that the Guardian Armada could be defeated. Even if Nazeera suffered substantial casualties she would then have the option of forcing battle under cover of the Chem planetary projector batteries, again evening the odds. Time, however, was in short supply. From the Chem scans Nazeera knew she had only slightly over a sixth of a decurn, slightly over five hours, to accomplish the capture of the Guardian Armada flagship. Galactic pre-battle formations historically spent that much time trading insults. A swift victory seemed remote at best, but Nazeera was forced into taking the chance.

“Armada Commander, the Khoor-Lhat is on our screens,” Nazar informed his sister and superior. “All warships have the proper coordinates.”

“Order an immediate attack centered on the "Khoor-Lhat! All ships are to board at the earliest opportunity! Do not await orders. Commanders are to take the initiative!” Nazeera ordered.

The sublight engines of the Kuntok hummed to life, and Alexander steadied himself on the rail. Officially he was an observer, and Nazeera had gone so far as to forbid him to take part in any boarding. Alexander was not, however, about to await the outcome of the battle from the relative safety of a destroyer. He reminded Nazeera that she needed every ship, and if she left him to his own devices he would undoubtedly become involved in the fray "accidently.”

The beautiful Armada Commander simply sighed and crossed her lithe arms over her ample bosom. “I suppose the only place I can put you to keep you out of trouble is by my side. Very well, my warlord, but on the Kuntok shall you stay! No piracy! I know your past lives too well to think you do not still yearn to board a deck slick with blood! Let it rest Alexander. You are far too important to me to waste upon a lucky blaster shot!”

Alexander did as he was told, though he was fully armored and ready. He’d mastered the use of the Chem jet boots, though they did nothing to change his mode of fighting. He almost relished the opportunity to try them, but secretly he hoped the necessity would not come to pass. There were no circumstances where the boarding of the Kuntok was advantageous to either his or Nazeera’s cause. Therefore, Alexander settled himself to observe and learn more fully the nuances of Galactic warfare. He did not have to wait long. Nazeera’s advance was headlong into the slowly approaching Guardian Armada formation. The Guardian Armada was deployed in a standard Galactic cube formation and advanced at one tenth impulse power. As soon as Nazeera’s Armada was in range the rebels opened fire. Nazeera’s ships held their fire, transferring all their power to the shields, and they sailed right through the foremost ranks of the cube, embedding themselves in the rebel formation and making for the Khoor-Lhat. It did not take an expert to realize that the rebels were completely taken aback by Nazeera’s departure from doctrine. In a matter of half an hour Nazeera’s Armada was fully engaged with the Guardian Armada and her ships were pressing into the inner core where lay the rebel flagship.

The Kuntok rocked amidst the crossing blaster streams in the core of the battle. There was so much confusion in the rebel ranks, however, that the Kuntok was no more a target than any other loyalist battleship. The "Khoor-Lhat was an entirely different matter. Dozens of warships were firing on her at any one time. Her shields glowed first silver, then gold, then a ruddy red. As the color changed Nazeera did not need her scans to tell her the old battleship was faltering. “Move the Kuntok alongside her Nazar, and prepare to board!” she ordered. Slowly the vast shark-like bulk of the Kuntok muscled its way through debris, rebel cruisers and destroyers, and the Khoor-Lhat’s own blaster fire to come side by side with the opposing flagship. They traded broadside after broadside, and though the Kuntok felt the burn of the rebel projectors it was soon apparent that the Khoor-Lhat was flailing away blindly. Turning to the Communications Officer Nazeera opened a channel and hailed the commander of the Guardian Armada.

“Commander Beshlat of the Khoor-Lhat Nazeera of Chem, of the Triumvirate, addresses you!” she told him flatly. “You have fought bravely, but for a flawed cause. The folly of you lord has brought you to destruction, but your bravery may win back your honor. Transfer your allegiance back to Nazeera and to the Elder of Chem and see your house restored to its former glory!”

A noble Chem appeared on her view screen. It was Commander Beshlat. “Faithless is he who abandons his flag for another in dark moments,” he told her. “I will not have the children of my house look upon their ancestor as a man who blew with the winds. You lack the weakness for which you were portrayed, bold Nazeera, yet I shall stay my course and defy you!”

“An error in judgment can be overlooked,” Nazeera told him, “but the chance for such is fleeting. Take the correction I offer you not for your own gain but that of Chem, and the House of Beshlat.”

The threat to his house was understood, and Beshlat hesitated for a moment. He was tempted, but finally, firmly, he said, “I stand by my word.”

“You defy my honorable offer then? It will not be renewed.”

“I do,” he returned with finality.

“Then prepare to be boarded!” Nazeera spat and cut the connection. Pressing her ships comm switch she repeated the order to board the “Khoor-Lhat Turning to Alexander she said, “I must lead the boarding party. I wish you to stay here, Alexander, unhappy though I know it makes you. Be content that your inactivity is for a greater good than this slight and redundant glory.”

Alexander took her hand and kissed it, “I am content with your direction, Nazeera. May you find glory and that swiftly!”

“Brevity is the order of this attack!” Nazeera smiled, knowing full well Alexander’s meaning. Without further word she and Nazar leapt into the bridge boarding pod and were gone.

Alexander watched and listened to the battle for the "Khoor-Lhat on the bridge monitors. The fighting was indescribably fierce on the battleship, but around it the space battle lulled into a standoff. The two armadas were of similar size and firepower, but Nazeera’s headlong attack gave her the edge. Now both sides bided their time until a final outcome on the flagship decided matters. It was not so much as the opportunity for battle was lost as it was interest. Nazeera’s competence in battle and her exuberant aggression against the Guardian Armada were doing much to denude the lies of Bureel. Bureel’s commanders had given their word and allegiance to a new master, and their sense of honor would not allow them to break their word, but their hearts were not in it. Nazeera displayed the ultimate in warrior spirit for all to see, and now the rebel commanders sensed their error. It was not enough to sway their allegiance, but it was enough for many of the warships of the Guardian Armada to tone down the aggression of their attacks. They fired and engaged to be sure, but they did not grapple with their enemies with the fierceness that victory demands. They saw a turning point, and so they, in turn, saw the fence and sat upon it; allowing Nazeera to dictate the outcome.

More and more boarders climbed aboard the wallowing carcass that was the proud "Khoor-Lhat until the mighty warship looked as though it were covered by ticks. On the Kuntok’s bridge Alexander watched testily as the battle raged hand to hand, helpless to affect events. The battle dragged on, and the pitch changed several times as rebel forces boarded the "Khoor-Lhat in support of their flag. The ebb and flow of the combat was exhausting, yet finally Nazeera came to grips with Commander Beshlat. A circle of whirling dervishes surrounded them, but they seemed strangely immune in their own trial. Beshlat had the strength over his adversary, but he lacked Nazeera’s lightning quickness and her invulnerable desire. He fell with her sword through his heart. At the conquest the battle stopped all about her. Nazeera placed her bloody heel on the still convulsing chest of her vanquished foe and let out a banshee howl, crying “I claim the "Khoor-Lhat by right of conquest! Long may Chem rule!"

A resounding roar surrounded her, and in that instant victory and Chem were Nazeera’s. Then a strident voice came over the board, from where could not be told, but it said, “Bureel’s Armada is dropping out of superluminal upon us!”

From grasped victory the loyalists faced an immediate fight for survival. Nazeera’s Armada, certain of her victory once she gained the "Khoor-Lhat lost their opportunity to defeat the remainder of the Guardian Armada or at least put it to flight. If the Guardian Armada stood to in observation during the bloody boarding of the rebel flagship Nazeera’s ships did no more. Now with their lord in system and their numerical advantage still intact the rebels attacked Nazeera’s Armada with renewed energy.

Bureel witnessed the fall of the "Khoor-Lhat over the ethernet, and its doom spurred him to take the risk of maintaining superluminal to the very last moment. More by luck than skill the rebel armada dropped out of superluminal almost in the midst of the fray. So close were they that the rebel forces turned Nazeera’s strategy against her. They made straight for the Kuntok and boarded her before Nazeera or her party could return.

From stoic observer Alexander turned into an overactive participant. The rebels suddenly appeared from everywhere, and with the forces of the Kuntok already depleted the fighting swiftly grew grim. The Terran used his sword and knife exclusively, hacking and slashing with such resolution that blood and gore from his enemies splattered the cavernous bridge. Still, as loyal Chem after loyal Chem fell to the onslaught Alexander was forced by the melee into the bows of the bridge. He could not have told how many he killed, but his mind hearkened back to Stamford Bridge. Strangely the prospect of heroic death gave him no comfort, rather it revolted him. He had finished that lifetime, but in this life he knew somehow that his task was not complete. The fatality of his ancestors failed to lend him any comfort, and instead a raw fury for somehow being cheated of his destiny fed his thews. He hacked and thrust, kicked and struck forth, utterly overcome with bestial rage. He saw nothing that was not through a haze of pounding blood, and he recognized nothing but the need to rend and to slay.

Time wore on in its slow but inexorable force, and though the Chem moved as cats in the night, they were clumsy and slow to his mind’s eye. He saw through their flesh to their souls, and he attacked them there as much as with his body. Only for an instant did his blood-rage give any inkling to a semblance of sanity. When the last loyal Chem had fallen and Alexander stood completely alone the rebels halted, hesitating. They licked their lips in desire for the glory of his death, but they feared to come within reach of his steel.

“Who comes for the glory of the kill?” Alexander demanded of them, a small inspiration of strategy instilling him with the slightest of hopes. He glared at them, his breath heaving, his mouth frothing blood. “Who will bear the glorious mantle as Alexander’s slayer for all eternity? Which one of you dares spill your guts under my feet in payment for such an honor?”

One Chem stepped forward to challenge Alexander for the sole right of claiming his name. Alexander leapt at him and his stroke went through the Chem’s parry to shear through shoulder and breast. Alexander stepped back and pulled his gory blade free. “Which of you wants my name? I shall not give it to you. You must earn it! Earn it so that you might hear it sung in your honor the ending of the world!”

Another stepped forward to be hewed down, then another, and another. Despite the beast that stood before them not one of the Chem could resist the temptation of that terrible risk. To be the slayer of Alexander was to be immortal. One after another they followed, until nine and ten crossed swords with him, and his adversaries themselves removed the bodies of their comrades so that they too could go to slaughter.

Alexander knew none of it. His rage enveloped him as closely as his flesh. When Nazeera finally regained the Kuntok and swept the bridge of the remaining rebels Alexander did not recognize her. She and all with her held their distance, allowing the beast that was Alexander to stand panting amidst the mounds of dead. It was only when the Kuntok was safely in the depths of space again, her Homeworld relinquished in eventual defeat, that Alexander came down from that high mountain of wrath he built for himself. When Nazeera told him of the outcome of battle, of the almost complete loss of her armada all strength drained from him. He said nothing as the surgeon stitched his innumerable wounds. Alexander felt the loss as heartily as Nazeera, but he’d not yet come to the realization that through the loss he still lived. As he fell asleep in her arms, still silent in defeat, his ears finally defined his lover’s voice. Into the despair that should have been her own Nazeera whispered, “There is life here still, and heart, so there is still hope. While there is hope there is reason to live, and reason to fight on.”