Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga

by Adam J. Whitlatch

  “It was their genetic material I utilized to create you, my sons,” said Father. “When Jiri and I outlined the project to them, they volunteered to donate cells to Project Alexander.”

  “We wanted to pay those Seignso bastards back for what they did to us,” said Rene.

  “Well at the rate we’re going, we’ll be lucky to even survive,” said Moe. “I’m not sure how much payback we’ll be able to offer you at this point.”

  “I’d say our chances just doubled,” said Alex, indicating the new arrivals.

  “Great,” said Moe, crossing his arms. “We just went from ‘up the creek without a paddle’ to ‘a snowball’s chance in Hell’.”

  Rene smirked. “I like those odds.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Above ground, Alex went about the task of trying to fluff up the grass where the Saber had landed. Quintin trailed along behind him, observing his long-lost brother’s strange behavior.

  “It’s just so bizarre,” said Alex, tugging at a stubborn clump of grass.

  “What is?” asked Quintin.

  “This.” Alex pointed to the flattened grass and finally at his twin. “All this.”

  “You know,” said Quintin. “I’m really not all that shocked by it.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.” Quintin furrowed his brow. “I think, somehow, I always knew. All my life, I’ve felt pulled toward Earth, even though I’d never seen it. And now that I have, it’s the most beautiful place in the entire galaxy.”

  Alex paused. “Seriously? Come on! There have to be cooler planets than this one. It’s a big universe. What could possibly be so special about this rock?”

  Quintin shrugged. “I guess I just knew there was something here for me… or someone.”

  Alex nodded.

  “When I met the others,” Quintin continued, “I thought I’d finally found what I was searching for. I had other humans to be with, but it still wasn’t enough. There was still something missing. A home. Our home.”

  As they approached the Monte Carlo still parked by the gate, Alex fished for his keys. “I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a chocolate shake. What do you say?”

  “A what?”

  “A shake,” said Alex. “You know. It’s a drink made with ice cream.”

  “What’s ice cream?”

  Alex sighed and opened the driver’s side door. “Come on, space man. You’ve got a lot to learn. Hop in. I’ve got some clothes you can borrow. Lord knows they should fit.”

  “Lord who?”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Just get in.”

  After a few moments of Quintin’s inexperienced fumbling with the door handle, Alex let him in and started the engine. Thus, the boy-from-another-world’s education in Earth culture began.

  *****

  Quintin stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on Alex’s closet door and stared at his reflection, dressed in native clothing and hair still damp from the washing he’d given it in the kitchen sink. Alex had provided him with a pair of socks, blue jeans, and a black short-sleeved T-shirt with a grotesque decaying human skull printed on the front and a strange word above it.

  “M-E-T-A-L-L-I-C-A. Meta Licka? Alex?”

  “Yeah?” called Alex from the stairwell.

  “Is this English?”

  A moment later, Alex appeared in the doorway with a pair of scuffed sneakers in one hand and a brown leather jacket in the other. “Is what?”

  Quintin turned and ran a finger along the strange word.

  “Metallica?” Alex tossed the shoes and jacket onto the bed. “It’s a band.”

  Quintin cocked an eyebrow. “Band?”

  “Yeah. They’re musicians. They perform music. That’s their job.”

  Quintin’s expression brightened. “Earth music?”

  “Yeah,” Alex scoffed. “Only the best.”

  Alex crossed the room to the stereo on top of his dresser and inserted his iPod into the docking station. He searched the menu for a moment and pressed the PLAY button, filling the small room with thunderous heavy metal. Quintin flinched at the sudden noise, covering his ears as his brother began head banging along with “The Shortest Straw.”

  Slowly, Quintin uncovered his ears and began nodding along with the beat. He tried to say something to Alex, but the words were drowned out by James Hetfield’s roaring vocals.

  Alex turned the volume knob down ever-so-slightly. “What?”

  “I said it reminds me of Yerxak,” repeated Quintin, a little louder than necessary.

  “What the hell is Yerxak?” asked Alex, thoroughly butchering the pronunciation of the word.

  “They’re my favorite musicians back home on Phaedaj,” Quintin explained. He retrieved his ear buds from the bloody jumpsuit wadded up on the floor and handed them to Alex. “Here.”

  Alex turned the wireless earpieces over in his hands. “So… I just put them in my ears?”

  “Yeah.” Quintin shrugged. “Pretty primitive, I know. Jiri says I’m too young for implants.”

  “There’s no iPod or anything?”

  Quintin cocked his head to one side. “Eye pod? No, these are only for your ears.”

  “Never mind.” Alex raised the buds to his ears.

  “No,” Quintin said, grabbing his brother’s wrists. “That’s the wrong way. You’ve got to switch them.”

  “Like this?” Alex swapped the buds in his hands.

  “Yeah,” said Quintin. “Otherwise it’ll sound really weird.”

  “Okay.” Alex secured the buds in his ears. “Now what?”

  “Just press the big button on the side of the right unit,” said Quintin.

  “This one?” Alex pressed the button and immediately his ears were filled with a loud, grinding, screeching cacophony that resembled nails on a chalkboard with cowbells and garbage can lids to keep rhythm. “Whoa!”

  “Isn’t it great?” yelled Quintin, still nodding his head to Metallica as the previous song gave way to “Creeping Death.”

  Alex jerked the buds out and probed his right ear with his little finger. He looked at Quintin as if the small devices had just bitten him. “Are you sure I had them in the right way?”

  Quintin opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by an angry voice from downstairs.

  “Alex!”

  “Oh no!” Alex pressed the power button on the stereo, cutting Hetfield off mid-lyric. “My mom!”

  “Alexander James Walker,” Janice Walker called as she stomped up the stairs. “What have your father and I told you about playing that music so—”

  Janice reached the top of the stairs and rounded the corner into the doorway of her son’s room. The twins stared back at her like a couple of deer caught in headlights.

  “Loud?” she said, her jaw slack with shock.

  “Uh,” Alex stuttered, trying to find the words. “Mom, this is—”

  “Alan!” she cried weakly as her eyes rolled back and she fainted.

  Alex rushed forward to catch her and, cradling her in his arms, finished his sentence. “…Quintin.”

  *****

  Alan Walker slumped into his chair and shook his head. “I just can’t believe it.”

  He sat with Janice at the kitchen table with Alex while the other members of the TDC stood in various locations throughout the kitchen. Lamont knelt beside Janice, checking her pulse. Quintin stood in the corner of the room by the refrigerator, putting as much distance between himself and Janice as possible for fear that the mere sight of him might put her back into shock.

  At first, the Walkers hadn’t recognized Moe or Lamont, but it didn’t take them long to make the connection once they began telling their tale.

  “It’s just too incredible,” said Alan.

  For a moment, everyone was silent. It was Janice who finally broke the silence. She looked at Alex and whispered, “How long?”

  “How long, what?”

  “How long have you known all of this?
”

  Alex took a deep breath. “Since that night I was attacked in the alley.”

  “Three years.”

  Alex nodded. “Yeah.”

  Janice laughed. There was no joy in the sound. “I suppose there’s no point now in telling you you’re adopted.”

  Alex got out of his chair and knelt by his mother’s side. “I don’t care about all that. You’ll always be my mom… Mom.”

  Janice laughed, this time genuinely happy, and hugged Alex tight. She looked over his shoulder at Quintin, who was still trying desperately to melt into the refrigerator. Janice held out her hand to him; he stared back nervously, but finally knelt beside his brother and allowed Janice to touch his cheek.

  She smiled. “You have beautiful eyes.”

  Quintin’s eyes glowed slightly. “Thank you.”

  “It’s a shame you and Alex didn’t come to us together.”

  Quintin thought about this for a moment and said, “I’m here now.”

  Alex smiled and placed his arm around his brother.

  “We have a lot of catching up to do,” said Janice.

  Quintin nodded. “I’d like that.”

  Alan cleared his throat and addressed Lamont. “Excuse me, but there’s still the issue of Alex’s safety. Exactly how much danger is my son in? How much danger are we in?”

  Lamont shuffled his feet. “Sir, our job is to ensure Alex’s survival, no matter the cos—”

  “That’s not an answer!”

  “Dad!” said Alex sternly. “Don’t yell at them. They’ve already saved my life twice.”

  Moe spoke up for the first time since entering the room, “As long as we live, no harm will come to your son. You have our word on that.”

  “What about this man?” asked Janice. “The one that wants to kill Alex?”

  Moe started to answer, but Alex cut him off. “Don’t worry, Mom. He’s on the other side of the world.”

  “We think,” Lamont confessed. “There’s been no contact in three years. If he was nearby, he’d surely have made an attempt on Alex’s life by now.”

  Robert shifted against the doorframe. “What’s more, he’s limited in what he can do to us. During the trip here, I reviewed Samrai’s file. There’s a hidden subroutine in his programming preventing him from revealing sensitive information about Alex. So even if he truly has defected, Temujin will get nothing from him.”

  “See, Mom?” said Alex with a comforting smile. “Temujin can’t find us here. We’re perfectly safe.”

  Lamont and Moe exchanged worried glances.

  Part IV: The Battle of East Van Buren High

  Chapter Nineteen

  Temple of the Golden Horde

  Gobi Desert, Mongolia

  October 20th

  Temujin strode down a corridor toward the alien’s laboratory, a folded satellite map clutched in his right hand. His spies in Beijing had brought it to his attention earlier that morning. Apparently, an unidentified flying object had been briefly sighted in a small farming community in the American Midwest a few weeks before. The craft had disappeared without a trace.

  Or had it?

  The alien, despite its infuriating inability to supply him with intelligence of any significant value, had hinted on various occasions that he came from a small farm in the Midwest near the banks of a river and the borders of two states. The UFO had last been sighted in Van Buren County in southeast Iowa, not far from the Des Moines River, and the borders of Missouri and Illinois were only a short distance away.

  Temujin stepped up to the laboratory doors and they opened automatically; one of the many “improvements” the alien had made to the existing structure. He stepped inside and saw the creature standing at a worktable in the center of the room, tinkering with a strange-looking silver helmet. Although he found the alien’s presence irritating, he also found its mechanical ability astounding. The Replodian never slept, but rested in a tube filled with boiling water and drank the same. It also ate ravenously, no doubt to maintain its extreme body temperature.

  The creature tirelessly designed and manufactured countless weapons for the eradication of the TDC and the impending war using materials smuggled by train from the Khan’s followers in Ulaanbaatar. The Americans, so smug in their military prowess, would never know what hit them. The alien looked up at him with those strange blue eyes and straightened. It pointed to its work on the table.

  “Hey, Khan,” said Sam. “I think you’ll really like what I have here. Check this out: it’s a self-contained battle armor suit for your troops. The entire unit is contained in the helmet until activated, at which point the armor envelopes the wearer, granting him increased strength, speed, agility, and an array of onboard weaponry. I’ve already completed six other prototypes. Want to see a demonstration of what they can do?”

  The Khan was silent.

  “What? Oh!” Sam leaned in close and clapped a hand on Temujin’s shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, but this is nothing like last time. I promise. Hey, c’mon, who knew humans were so... What’s the word? Squishy.”

  Temujin wiped his robes where the alien had touched him with one gloved hand. “The time has come, Samrai.”

  “The time? Time for what?”

  Temujin slapped the papers down on the table, and the Replodian peered closely at the location circled on the map. He studied the alien’s face, and when he saw its eyes widen, he snatched the papers away.

  “Ha!” he exclaimed. “I knew it. This is the location. Isn’t it?”

  Sam gave the Khan a confused look. “But the farm isn’t circled.”

  “Yes,” said Temujin. “I know that. Do you know what is?”

  Sam’s brow furrowed. Finally he answered, “It’s a school.”

  Again, the Khan smiled. “Indeed, it is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple.” Temujin turned to leave. “Since you cannot provide me with the exact location of the TDC’s hidden base, I shall have to search for it myself. I already know the child’s name is Alexander. I also know he would be approximately sixteen years of age. Logic dictates that if I search the school for sixteen-year-old males named Alexander, I will find the one I seek.”

  Sam nodded. “I guess.”

  The Khan stepped through the door. “I must take my leave to make the final preparations for the attack.”

  “Wait!” Sam held the door open with his hand. “Attack?”

  “Of course,” said Temujin. “I’ve ordered a full battalion and six of your new Death Walkers. This should make for an excellent field test for them.”

  “Mechs?” cried Sam. “They’re only kids!”

  “The Death Walkers are insurance,” said Temujin. “My search for the child shall not be hindered by any interference from the local authorities.”

  “But those mechs are equipped with .50 caliber guns and rocket launchers,” Sam protested.

  “Your point?”

  “The kids—”

  “What of them?” barked Temujin. “What are children in the path of God?”

  Sam glared at the man he had served faithfully for three years. “You are not a god, Temujin.”

  “Once Alexander is dead, I will be.”

  Temujin turned to leave and called over his shoulder, “I expect you in the hangar in ten minutes to conduct the final inspection of the mechs.”

  Sam hung his head and, with slumped shoulders, whispered, “Yes, my Khan.”

  *****

  An hour later, Sam stood in front of a bipedal robot twice his height. He tapped a series of commands into a tablet computer and watched the diagnostics program scan the mech’s critical systems. Lines of code and flashing diagrams danced across the display, flashing green as each system confirmed optimal functionality.

  He glanced up at the Death Walker’s weapons — twin .50 caliber miniguns attached to razor-clawed arms and two shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. He’d named the machines well; all they did was walk and spew death
. The robot’s black, oblong sensor eye mounted on the front of its body glared down at him accusingly.

  The tablet beeped, signaling the completion of the diagnostics and drew his attention back to the task at hand. He nodded to a waiting soldier, and the final Death Walker was loaded into the Ragnarok’s cargo bay.

  The Ragnarok, an immense troop transport the length of a football field, was undetectable by radar or satellites and shielded with a light-bending apparatus that rendered it practically invisible to the human eye. Unfortunately, to Samrai’s frustration, he was still unable to prevent it from casting a shadow, but the Khan was unconcerned.

  Nearby, Temujin and Chuluun oversaw the boarding of the troops. Each Horde soldier, clad in new plasma-resistant body armor, received an assault rifle before stepping up. Sam felt a pang of guilt as he watched them. Although he didn’t agree with the Khan’s plan, it did seem to be the most efficient way of tracking down and eliminating the TDC. And that was his goal, wasn’t it?

  Sam shook his head and whispered, “What have I done?”

  He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the modified loading mech walking straight toward him. The robot ambled dumbly on its path, both unaware and uncaring of the high-voltage charging cable stretched taut along the ground to the transport’s power cells. One of the mech’s clawed feet, designed to cling to even the roughest terrain, came down and sliced the heavy cable in two. One half recoiled and flailed toward Sam, who turned in time to see it but was unable to react.

  The severed cable, spouting violent yellow and blue sparks, connected with Sam’s chest. The Replodian screamed as an immeasurable amount of energy surged through his body. His screams died in his throat as the pain overpowered him and he was simply held up by the current. He was dying; he was sure of it.

  One of the technicians flipped the emergency shut-off lever on the breaker and cut the current. Sam fell to his hands and knees; his body shuddered uncontrollably and his teeth chattered from the surge of energy leaving him. Smoke curled lazily from his clothes and hair. He sucked in a rattling breath as the electricity tingled through his bloodstream.