“Red and blue makes…” Lamont looked from the strange projectiles to the wall, which was still smoking, but not as much. “Purple.”
“The two chemicals must combine and start a chemical reaction upon impact,” Moe said. “That stuff dissolves whatever it comes in contact with.”
“Jesus,” said Alex. “It’s Satan’s paintball gun!”
Lamont carefully placed the rifle and magazine on the floor and backed away. “I vote we don’t touch any more weapons until we read the instruction manual front to back. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Alex and Moe in unison.
*****
Sam ran along the edge of the road, heading east, away from the farm. Emotion and logic clashed inside his head. He’d actually grown to like the kid, but his programming was quite clear. The kid had to die, along with his brothers, and their technology had to be smashed beyond repair. He just couldn’t figure out why.
The roar of an approaching engine caught Sam’s attention, and he turned as a battered green flatbed pickup slowed and pulled over beside him. The old man driving rolled down his window and called out in a toothless voice, “Where you headed, son?”
Sam furrowed his brow. Obviously he couldn’t face his brothers head on, they had a tactical advantage, and they’d be waiting; they’d blow his head off the second he stuck it through the door. What he needed was reinforcements. A thought popped into his head, and he smiled.
“How far to Mongolia, old man?” he asked.
The driver tilted his head, directing his ear toward the hitchhiker. “Eh? Magnolia?”
Sam grabbed the door and wrenched it off its hinges. The old man’s jaw went slack as the alien flung the door into the ditch like a Frisbee. He screamed as Sam pulled him from the truck and deposited him on the pavement. The Replodian climbed into the cab and made a show of buckling his seatbelt.
Sam smiled and waved. “Much obliged, gramps.”
The truck roared off to the east, toward the interstate, leaving its owner in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
“Where the hell are you goin’ with my truck?” the old man shouted at the retreating vehicle. “Magnolia’s the other way!”
Chapter Eleven
Temple of the Golden Horde
Gobi Desert, Mongolia
July 25th
Temujin brushed a strand of long, black hair behind his ear and adjusted his black and gold silk robe before turning to look out on the men assembled in his expansive new throne room. Vivid tapestries and red and gold silk curtains hung all around the room, concealing the rough stone and concrete beneath. Although his namesake had been content to live out most of his days in tents and straw huts, this new Temujin was not.
The artisans had followed his designs to the letter, converting the crumbling decommissioned Soviet airbase into something much more befitting of a king. The offensive visages of Lenin had been painted over, replaced with vivid murals of conquering Mongol horsemen.
Unfortunately, the peasants assembled before him were a far cry from the Mongols of old, but they would have to do. Faces of every color gazed up at him in reverence. Some had come from as far as the Americas to serve him. He wrinkled his nose at their collective stench. None of them had bathed in days, some of them weeks. Loathsome as they may have been, they were also fierce, loyal warriors.
Heavy footfalls from behind signaled the arrival of General Chuluun, a tall, muscular man of around fifty. Chuluun had been the Khan’s bodyguard since the day he was born, and he had protected his birth mother before that. When not training the troops, Chuluun was always at his Khan’s side. Of all his disciples, Chuluun alone held Temujin’s admiration, playing the roles of both father and brother to the young warlord-in training. Temujin even occasionally shared his harem with the general; a small price to pay for unwavering loyalty and devotion.
Two weeks earlier, Chuluun and the elite guard thwarted a poorly planned attempt on the Khan’s life by one of the soldiers. The peasant had declared Temujin a false prophet and claimed following him into battle against the combined world powers would result only in humiliating defeat and death. Temujin had greatly enjoyed squeezing the blasphemer’s skull with the power of his mind until his eyes popped out of their sockets, but not nearly as much as he enjoyed forcing the sobbing traitor’s last meal into his mouth: two pieces of toast smeared with a jelly made from those same eyeballs. After the incident, morale among the troops regarding Temujin’s divinity was at an all-time high.
The Khan stepped onto a raised platform and stretched his hands outward. The soldiers cheered enthusiastically at the sight of their king, many of them with weapons raised high above their heads.
He twisted one strand of his long, black mustache between his thumb and forefinger, his lips curling into a smirk as he soaked in his followers’ admiration. Finally the crowd’s exultation faded, and Temujin’s voice boomed throughout the cavernous room.
“My children,” he said, “the time will soon be upon us. Soon we will march across this world and claim that which is rightfully ours. But, we are not yet ready. Our numbers are still too few, even though many arrive to join our cause each and every day.
“But fear not, my loyal dogs of war. When the world is ripe for the picking, we will claim our birthright… our destiny! Then the unfaithful of this wretched world will know the power of the new Khaghan. They shall tremble before the power of the living god!”
Once again the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, and Temujin raised his hand for silence. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat when a voice speaking in English rose from the back of the room.
“I might be able to help you with that.”
The sea of soldiers parted down the middle to reveal a lone white man with untidy blond hair striding confidently toward the platform. The man took off his dark sunglasses and placed them into the breast pocket of his blue denim jacket. As he cleared the bewildered foot soldiers, the new arrival crouched and launched himself up to the top of the platform in a single bound, landing on his feet only a few feet from where Temujin stood.
“That is, if you’re interested in actually winning this war, of course” said the stranger.
Temujin stared. Who was this fool so brazen to walk unbidden into his court?
“Nice ‘stache,” the stranger said, pointing to Temujin’s face. “But you know what it needs? Braid it and stick some beads on it. Yeah. The chicks would dig it.”
The Khan smiled and, in fluent English, said, “Allow me the pleasure of knowing your name before Chuluun kills you.”
The general drew his sword from the scabbard on his hip and advanced on the new arrival. The stranger smirked and pushed the blade away casually with one finger. He took one step toward the Khan, but stopped when Chuluun let out a warning growl.
“My name is Samrai,” the stranger said, “and I have some information that I think will be worth an awful lot to you.”
The Khan scowled impatiently. “Information regarding what, may I ask?”
“Alexander.”
Temujin’s eyes widened with obvious interest.
Sam smirked. “I see I have your attention.”
Temujin turned and strode away from the platform toward the silk curtain at the back of the room, his robes flowing behind him.
“Bring him,” he ordered. “And summon Captain Sukh to my chambers.”
“As you wish, my Khan,” said Chuluun, casting a suspicious glare at Sam.
*****
A few minutes later, Sam was ushered into Temujin’s private quarters. The room was almost filled to capacity with silk curtains, priceless Persian rugs, Tibetan tapestries, and plush cushions and pillows. In the center of the room on a stone pedestal rested an ornate silver casket. It was in front of this odd centerpiece that the Khan now stood, a glass of wine clutched in his left hand.
Sam gestured toward the coffin. “Shall I call you Dracula, or do you prefer Count?”
Chuluun drew his
sword. “Profane dog!”
The Khan calmed his general with a wave and chuckled as he approached his guest. “Clever. No, this is the coffin of my predecessor, the man you know as Genghis Khan. Every night, I rest within the coffin in order to absorb his power. As for your comparison, although I have thoroughly studied and admire the tactics of Vlad Tepes, I must say that he lacked vision; he thought too small. Tepes sought only to punish those who had offended him. I, on the other hand, want nothing short of the entire world.”
“Really,” Sam drawled. “And what about the Seignso?”
Temujin’s smile faded at the mention of the name. “You’re well informed, sir. What of them?”
“Well, surely you realize that as soon as you’ve done all of the dirty work for them, they’re just going to step in and take over everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
“The thought has not escaped me,” the Khan replied.
“And what do you plan to do when that day comes?”
At that moment, one of the curtains was brushed aside and a short, stocky Mongolian with a long goatee entered the room. This, Sam surmised, was Captain Sukh. The captain stood beside the Khan, opposite Chuluun, with one hand resting on the pommel of his da dao. Sam couldn’t believe it; they were actually trying to intimidate him with numbers.
Silly humans.
Temujin smiled unpleasantly. “I’m sorry. I believe you said you had some information for me.”
“I assume you would like to know the full name and location of the child named Alexander?”
“This name has plagued my dreams and disrupted my meditations since I was a boy, but nobody — not even the ‘all-knowing’ Seignso — can tell me who he is,” said the Khan. “May I ask how you came by this information?”
“I am — was — a member of the TDC.”
The acronym triggered puzzled expressions from the three humans.
“Is this some sort of… government agency?” Captain Sukh said.
Sam rolled his eyes and put a finger to his lips to shush the captain. “Shhh! Grown-ups are talking.”
Sukh’s face flushed.
“No,” Sam said, “the Terran Defense Corps is an elite task force created exclusively to counteract your efforts. In other words, Your Heinous Highness, they’ve been sent to kill you.”
Temujin pursed his lips, considering this new information. “But you have elected to come to me instead.”
“You betcha.”
“Why?”
Sam shrugged. “Let’s just say I prefer to be on the winning team.”
“You said that they were sent. Sent from where exactly?” asked the Khan. “The United States? Britain?”
Sam shook his head. “Replodia.”
Temujin blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Planet Replodia,” Sam elaborated. “Alexander was supplied with three Replodian operatives to aid him in his fight against you. I happen to be one of those operatives.”
“You are an alien?”
“Correctamundo,” said Sam.
“Let us assume for a moment that I believe you,” said the Khan, setting down his glass. “What is it that you wish to gain from this transaction? Nothing is free.”
“I want a job,” said Sam. “And the chance to put foot to TDC ass.”
“Is that all?”
Sam grinned. “That’s it.”
The Khan smiled. “I think we can accommodate you.”
“Good deal.”
“My lord.” Sukh stepped forward. “We do not need this foreign dog’s... assistance. My troops—”
“Troops?” Sam said. “Oh, right. You mean that Kindergarten I met outside. Those saps couldn’t conquer a Sunday school picnic.”
Sukh cursed in Mongolian and pulled his sword, exposing a few inches of polished steel.
Temujin held up a hand. “Stand down, Captain.”
Sukh stepped back and slid the blade back into its sheathe. He bowed his head, his eyes flicking up to glower at the Replodian.
Sam sneered. “Sit, Sookie! Goooood boy.”
“Silence!” Temujin barked.
Sam held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Now,” said the Khan, his voice laden with anticipation, “the child’s name.”
“You got it,” said Sam. “The kid’s name is Alexwalulllilmmm.”
Temujin blinked. “What?”
Sam shook his head and tried again. “His name is Alex… Alexwallllrooob. Alexweerrrebeelll. Damn it!”
“What is it?” demanded the Khan. “Give me the name. Now!”
Sam gritted his teeth and snarled, “I can’t!”
“Why not?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s not allowing me to answer the question.”
“Forget the name,” the Khan bellowed. “The location.”
Sam nodded. “Okay. He lives just outside of Bowaaaarooom. Banawerp. He lives in Iwerum.” The Replodian swore and tore at his hair.
“What is the problem?” Temujin growled. “Why won’t you answer?”
Sam shook his head, clearing the growing dizziness. “It must be some kind of hidden subroutine in my programming. I’m unable to divulge sensitive information about my host organism.”
“What?”
The entire room began to shake with Temujin’s anger and the unfinished glass of wine sitting atop the sarcophagus shattered. Chuluun and Sukh covered their faces until the invisible wave of power finally subsided.
“It’s probably some kind of failsafe to keep me from talking in case of capture and torture,” Sam explained.
“Let us test that theory, shall we?” Temujin reached out with his mind and bore down on Sam’s skull with his power.
Sam scoffed, “That won’t work on me, pal. I’m not human, remember? This isn’t even my true form.”
“Then let us try more conventional methods. Chuluun!”
The Mongol general drew his sword and advanced on the Replodian. Sam drew a crudely constructed pistol with dual nozzles protruding from the barrel and fired a warning shot past Chuluun’s head. Two chemicals — one red, one blue — combined in midair into a stream of purple gel that burned through the silk curtains and exposed an ugly, cracked concrete wall on the other side. The gel sizzled as it ate through the masonry, sending plumes of acrid smoke up the wall.
Sam adjusted his aim directly between the general’s eyes. “One more step and I’ll melt your face off, Jackie Chan!”
Temujin pointed at the pistol. “What is that?”
“You like it?” Sam kept the pistol trained on Chuluun. “I made it on the freighter that carried me across the Pacific. It’s a little crude, I’ll admit, but it’s really amazing what a few spare parts and some common household chemicals can do in a pinch.”
“Can you make more of these weapons?”
Sam nodded. “No problem.”
With a wave of the Khan’s hand, the two Mongol officers sheathed their weapons. The warrior king stepped toward Sam, a smile spreading across his face.
“Perhaps you can serve me after all.”
Part III: Quintin
Chapter Twelve
Folaxian System, Folax Alpha 5 - Planet Rhen’fa
September 25th - Three Years Later
Kreeg Bonwoppa swatted the baka leaves aside and ran as fast as his four insectoid legs would carry him. His breath came in ragged gasps as more leaves slapped him in the face, stinging all sixteen of his eyes. As the edge of the forest came into sight, he looked over his shoulder. No one was following him.
He slowed to a stop and, when his breathing returned to normal, allowed himself a low chuckle at the expense of his would-be captors. The fools. Those worthless hacks at Hunter HQ had sent a child after him. A human child no less. No human could outrun a tarnak.
He was startled by a loud rustling in the trees above him and scanned the leafy canopy for a moment. A winged creature erupted from the foliage and screeched overhead. Kreeg exhaled. For a moment,
he’d actually thought the little punk had caught up to him.
Ridiculous.
As he turned to exit the forest, a bipedal figure dropped out of the trees in front of him, silhouetted against the red starlight filtering through the trees. A pair of glowing green eyes burned from the figure’s shadowy face.
Kreeg took a step back. “Impossible!”
“Kreeg Bonwoppa,” the figure said, continuing in Phaedojian, “you are under arrest for the murder of Hunter Ian Manson and escaping from Moebius Penal Colony.”
“Screw you, flesh-bag!” Kreeg’s mandibles clicked tauntingly. “You’ll never take me alive.”
The hunter took a step closer and Kreeg could plainly make out the human’s long red hair. He was young. It was impossible to make an educated approximation of his age, since he had only seen a few fully developed humans. The hunter he’d killed, Manson, had been much older than this brat.
The kid smirked. “Who said my orders say anything about bringing you in alive?”
“You can’t kill me!” Kreeg staggered backward. “Your job is to retrieve me and take me back to prison. I’m unarmed. You’re not allowed to use lethal force in capturing a fugitive. You won’t get paid.”
The human shrugged. “When pursuing a hunter killer, things tend to get mixed up. Warrants disappear. Orders get misinterpreted. The fugitive goes missing. You know how these things go.”
Kreeg’s multiple eyes blinked spasmodically and he took another step backward. The hunter compensated with a long forward stride, his hand slowly moving toward the laser sword sheathed on his belt.
“Stay back,” warned Kreeg.
“Surrender!” said the human. “And I might make this quick.”
Seeing no other way out, the tarnak fugitive unfolded the razor-sharp serrated appendages concealed in his arms. “I said stay back!”
The hunter deepened his stance and stared at the limbs, which had been used by primitive tarnaks for catching and tearing apart prey. Since becoming “civilized” and joining the Federation, however, the appendages had become redundant. Recently convicted tarnak criminals underwent surgery to remove them, but grandfathered-in convicts like Kreeg Bonwoppa were allowed to keep them. This was unfortunate, because Bonwoppa used them to kill Ian Manson when he decided he had seen enough of Moebius Penal Colony.
Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga Page 9
