Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga

by Adam J. Whitlatch

Robert nodded. “Sometimes. But he cares.”

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “He has a funny way of showing it.”

  Robert shrugged. “You’re not entirely blameless in that department, you know.”

  She sighed. “I know. I just….”

  “It’s not just Rene that’s bothering you, is it?”

  Cherry sniffled, and a tear streamed down her nose. She shook her head, and the tear fell into her lap. She wiped her face with her sleeve.

  “Quintin?”

  She nodded.

  Robert held out his hand over Rene’s empty chair. She took it, and their eyes met.

  “Quintin’s safe,” he said. “A billion miles away from here.”

  Cherry smiled mirthlessly. “And Alexander?”

  Robert’s grasp on her hand tightened. “No harm will come to him. I swear it.”

  “Robert, we should—”

  The bridge door hissed open, and Cherry let go of Robert’s hand. He nodded. This discussion would have to wait.

  Robert shifted his gaze to the front window, and the blue orb slowly filling it. “So how’s everything down in the hold?”

  “Fine,” Rene replied. “Except for one tiny problem.”

  “What?” asked Cherry. “Did you break the fuel rods?”

  “No,” said Rene. “Look who I found dead in the cargo hold under a supply barrel.”

  “Dead?” said Cherry.

  “Well, dead-ish.”

  Robert and Cherry exchanged confused glances and turned in their seats. They expected to see the Cajun holding some flattened stowaway rodent the sanitation crawlers had missed, but instead—

  “Quintin!” Cherry struggled to unbuckle her restraints.

  But the boy wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were locked on the growing blue ball in front of the ship. White wisps of cloud floated across the planet’s atmosphere. He stepped toward the window. “You always told me that Earth was green.”

  “Quintin!” Cherry shook him. “What are you doing here?”

  The boy finally tore his eyes away from the beautiful planet and met Cherry’s worried gaze. “I wanted to come with you to meet my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  “He overheard us talking to Jiri yesterday,” Rene said.

  “Well that’s just great,” Cherry snarled. “Turn this ship around, Robert. We’re taking him back to Moebius.”

  “What?” Quintin protested. “Robert, no!”

  Suddenly the ship pitched, and a shrill alarm filled the cockpit.

  “Too late,” said Robert. “We’ve entered the planet’s atmosphere. Everyone strap in!”

  Cherry ushered Quintin to one of the empty chairs, and then both she and Rene strapped themselves in for the bumpy ride to come. Bright orange flames spread across the nose of the ship and obscured their view.

  “TDC Command, this is the interceptor-class vessel Saber,” said Robert into the long-range communicator. “Do you read?”

  Loud static filled the bridge.

  “TDC Command, this is the interceptor-class vessel Saber,” Robert repeated more urgently. “Do you read? Respond, TDC.”

  Again static filled their ears.

  “It’s no good,” said Robert. “That collision must have knocked out the communications array.”

  “Well now,” said Cherry. “Who do we have to thank for that?”

  “Not now, woman!” Rene pointed a warning finger at her. “This is not the time!”

  “Hang on tight.” Robert adjusted the heading. “This could get rough. They don’t know we’re coming.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  TDC Command

  Bonaparte, Iowa

  Moe stepped into the main chamber, drying his hair with a towel. Lamont was still at the console with the open file in his lap, his back to the open door. Moe peered over his brother’s shoulder as he examined a photograph of twelve humans, all dressed in Air Force uniforms.

  “So,” he said, draping the damp towel over his shoulders. “Is it a good read?”

  Without looking up, Lamont replied, “It’s incredible.”

  “How so?”

  “Sit down,” said Lamont gravely. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  Moe sat, grabbed an open bag of Sterzing’s potato chips laying on the terminal, and put his feet up. “After all the work I went through to get that file, it better contain something more earth-shaking than a Seignso cookie recipe.”

  “It does,” said Lamont. “After the crash at Roswell in 1947, the U.S. Air Force began attempts to reverse engineer alien technology recovered from the crash site. They were, for the most part, unsuccessful, but they were able to create a crude communications device capable of transmitting simple signals to planet Sorua. There were two survivors of the crash. One died on the operating table less than eight hours after extraction from Roswell, the other survived and accompanied twelve humans to Sorua in 1983 as part of an exchange program codenamed Operation Sleepover.

  “The team consisted of ten men and two women, a combination of various military personnel, doctors, and scientists. One team member died of unknown causes during the voyage. The team lived on Sorua for nearly a year until something completely unexpected happened.”

  “Oh yeah?” Moe popped a chip into his mouth. “What?”

  “While on a research expedition, the Seignso hovercraft experienced a mechanical failure and crashed, injuring the humans aboard,” Lamont explained. “Three team members were killed, but during the cleanup after the accident one of the dead opened their eyes and sat up.”

  Moe straightened in his chair, letting the chip bag fall to the floor. “Sat up?”

  “That’s what it says.” Lamont pointed to the file. “Apparently a Dr. Cheryl Sadler, one of the team’s medical personnel, just got up a few minutes later and seemed to be in perfectly good health. After this incident, the Seignso stopped being hospitable to the team and seized Dr. Sadler, subjecting her to numerous physical examinations against her will. When the team’s commanding officer attempted to put a stop to the examinations, he was placed under arrest. The team had brought a few weapons along on the mission — a couple of pistols and a rifle apiece, but the Seignso quickly quashed the rebellion and sent the humans back to Earth. Without Dr. Sadler.”

  Moe snorted and retrieved his chips. “Typical Seignso crap.”

  “That’s not all,” said Lamont. “Upon dropping off the team at your favorite Air Force base…” Moe smiled cynically. “…and describing Dr. Sadler’s unique ‘condition,’ they were then shown three human subjects the military had under observation. These three apparently exhibited the same traits as Dr. Sadler while serving in Vietnam. Private Remy Benoit, Sergeant Shawn Avery, and Lieutenant Jack Maddock were all taken into custody after either reviving or mysteriously healing from severe wounds in the field. They were being held at Area 51 for observation and study; scientists labeled them as ‘Homo immortalis,’ a new sub-species of human.”

  “Bizarre,” Moe mumbled through a mouthful of potato chips.

  “Shortly after,” Lamont continued, “the Seignso abducted these humans as ‘compensation’ for damages to their home planet during Operation Sleepover.”

  “Damages?”

  Lamont nodded. “Among the damages cited by the Seignso were the air car involved in the accident that ‘killed’ Dr. Sadler and the environmental damage caused by the building of a facility to dispose of the team’s excessive bodily wastes.”

  “Wait, wait.” Moe waved a hand. “You’re telling me the Seignso held a grudge because humans poop too much?”

  Lamont shook his head with a smile and pointed to the file again. “You can’t make this stuff up. It’s all right here in black and white.”

  “Father,” said Moe. “You been listening to this?”

  “I have,” said Father. “Some of this information I was already aware of, but this file presents new pieces to the puzzle. Apparently the Seignso had the same
idea as I, but were thankfully too late to utilize the Homo immortalis genes in their plans for Temujin. However, if they were to continue experimenting on their reluctant specimens, they could create the perfect genetic soldiers for their war with the Federation, thus accelerating their plan.”

  Moe held up his hand. “Wait, ‘same idea?’ Does that mean Alex—”

  A piercing klaxon filled the chamber.

  Moe covered his ears and groaned. “Oh, what now?”

  “Father,” Lamont shouted over the noise, “are we under attack?”

  “It is the early warning system,” said Father. “The orbital sensor drones have detected an alien vessel entering Earth’s atmosphere.”

  “Hostile?” asked Moe.

  “Uncertain,” said Father. “They are not responding to hails in any Federation language or frequency. However, I have plotted the vessel’s course.”

  “And?” asked Lamont, even though he already knew the answer.

  “The alien craft is on a direct course for TDC Command.”

  *****

  Alex felt his eyelids growing heavy and found it increasingly difficult to focus on his textbook as the gray-haired, bespectacled man at the front of the room droned on about the judicial branch of the United States government. The caffeine rush from the cappuccino had worn off an hour ago, not that it would have made any difference. Nothing could keep Alex awake during Mr. Butters’s fourth period government class. So he waited, his head nodding, for the lunch bell to ring so he could go eat with Crystal.

  The digital display on his wristwatch emitted a sudden pulsating red glow. Alex’s heart skipped as he stared at it. Something was wrong. In three years, the guys had never triggered the alarm.

  ::Alex,:: Lamont’s voice echoed in his mind.

  ::Lamont,:: said Alex. ::What’s wrong?::

  ::I think you’d better come see for yourself. Father says we’re about to have company.::

  ::Are we under attack?::

  ::We don’t know yet,:: said Lamont. ::You’d better come quick.::

  ::On my way.::

  The connection was severed. Alex shut his textbook and raised his hand. “Mr. Butters!”

  The teacher looked at him over the rims of his glasses. “Yes?”

  Alex stood and gripped his stomach. “Can I go see the nurse? I don’t feel so hot.”

  “Nice try, Walker,” said Mr. Butters. “I’m not falling for that one again.”

  Alex’s classmates snickered and whispered amongst themselves as he slumped down in his seat and sighed. Quietly, he reached into the side pocket of his book bag and felt around until his fingers closed around a small, green capsule. Alex grimaced at the pill, but steeled his resolve and popped it into his mouth, then bit down hard.

  A foul-tasting liquid filled his mouth and trickled down his throat. Alex gagged and bolted out of his seat toward the teacher’s desk. He fell to his knees and wretched into the wastebasket.

  Several of his classmates uttered various expressions of disgust, and Mr. Butters looked as if he might follow Alex’s example at any moment. Alex groaned miserably and looked up at Mr. Butters, his eyes pleading and watery.

  “Go see the nurse, Walker.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Alex got up to collect his bag and leave the room.

  “Take the bucket!” yelled the teacher.

  Alex turned to snag the wastebasket and ran for the door. Once outside the classroom, Alex dropped the foul-smelling receptacle and ran for the front doors as fast as his aching stomach would allow. He stepped out into the cool autumn air and breathed two big gulps before running for his car. When he reached the red 1984 Monte Carlo, he looked up and saw an enormous fireball falling westward.

  “Whoa,” he whispered.

  He regained his composure and wrenched the car door open. The Monte roared to life with the twist of the key before he was even fully in his seat. Alex backed it out of the parking space and slammed the gearshift into drive. The tires smoked and squealed, leaving black marks all the way to the road.

  *****

  Moe led the way up to the surface. The chest-high yellow grass whipped wildly in the wind created by the descending ship. Rocky was already on the scene, barking and snarling up at the intruder. Moe stared in awe as the ship, roughly seventy feet long, sank closer to the ground. Lamont pulled himself out of the well and readied the plasma rifle in his hands, the weapon’s hum drowned out by the ship’s engines.

  The Replodians also never heard the roar of the Monte Carlo barreling down the dirt road and coming to a skidding, dust-kicking halt at the entrance to the pasture. Alex stepped out of the car with a plasma pistol in hand and ran toward his friends. Moe covered his eyes with one hand to block the dust and grass while clutching his rifle against his chest. Alex ran to his side and yelled, “Who are they?”

  Moe shook his head. “We don’t know. They wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

  The ship’s landing gear came down and sank into the ground under the ship’s weight. Slowly, the engines wound down and the wind subsided, leaving the Walker farm frightfully quiet, save for Rocky’s incessant barking.

  “If they wanted a fight, they’d have opened fire on us from the air.” Alex sighted down the barrel of his pistol. “Right?”

  “Maybe.” Moe raised his own rifle. “But I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Be ready for anything.” Lamont raised his own weapon.

  Finally a hatch opened in the belly of the craft and a long ramp extended to the ground. The TDC agents held their breath as they waited for the visitors to appear, their bodies tensed as the first footsteps clanked down the ramp. To their amazement, four unarmed humans in black coveralls stepped off the ship and into the wind-flattened grass.

  “They’re human?” said Alex.

  “Oh, my God, Moe.” Lamont lowered his rifle. “Look — that woman. That’s Cheryl Sadler, the woman from the file — the one the Seignso took prisoner. And those men—”

  “Benoit and Maddock?” Moe asked.

  Lamont nodded.

  Moe swallowed the lump in his throat. “That’s nothin’. Get a load of the kid.”

  At these words, Alex’s eyes fell on the youngest newcomer, who was attempting to wipe congealed blood from his face. When the boy noticed Alex, he adopted a similar expression of shock. Aside from their attire, it was like looking into a blood-streaked mirror.

  *****

  Introductions were understandably short. Fearing somebody might come looking for the object that fell from the sky, Moe directed Maddock — who identified himself as Robert Long — to move the ship to a pond a little over a hundred yards north of the well entrance. Once the ship was in position, hidden pipes pumped the muddy water out and a large metal iris at the bottom of the basin slid open, revealing an empty bay. As soon as the ship’s landing gear touched the deck, the iris closed and the pond refilled, sealing the craft away from prying eyes.

  Now they all found themselves in the main chamber. Alex and Quintin stared at each other curiously, each one uncertain of what the other might do next. It was Quintin who finally broke the silence.

  “Are you my brother?”

  Alex flinched. “Brother?”

  Father’s booming voice filled every corner of the room, “I’m afraid I owe both of you an explanation.”

  Quintin began looking frantically around the room. “Father?”

  “Yes, Quintin,” said the computer. “I am here, although not in body.”

  “What do you mean ‘not in body’?”

  Cherry placed a comforting hand on the teen’s shoulder, “Quintin, before he died, your father uploaded a copy of his consciousness into the TDC’s central computer. He’s not really here. It’s just his essence.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Quintin.

  “In order to provide the TDC with the proper technical support and to give your brother a chance to know the father he never knew, I integrated myself with the computer,” Father explained. “
I’m sorry, Quintin. I should have told you.”

  Tears welled in Quintin’s eyes. “So you really are dead?”

  For a moment the computer was silent, but finally answered softly, “I’m afraid so, Son.”

  Alex went to his brother’s side and put a hand on his shoulder, “He’s not dead. He’s just in a different form. One that’s immune to disease and death.”

  This statement brought a small smile to Quintin’s lips, and he nodded.

  “Father,” said Moe. “Where did Quintin come from? You never mentioned him to us before.”

  “Quintin was an unforeseen side effect of the process used to create Alexander,” said Father. “Jiri and I attempted to combine the resilience of a Methuselan with the telepathic abilities of the Seignso. During gestation, the embryo split, creating twins. One twin Methuselan, the other a human/Seignso hybrid. To compensate for losing the immortality gene in Alexander, I purchased three Replodian embryos for implantation.”

  “Right,” said Moe. “That would be us.”

  “And the third’s really gone AWOL?” prompted Rene.

  “Correct,” said Father. “And he is now in the employ of our enemy.”

  Rene cursed under his breath.

  “Father, why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” asked Quintin.

  Again the computer hesitated before answering, “You are a strong-willed young man, Quintin. You always have been. I feared you might try to join the fight I reluctantly sent your brother into. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing one — or both — of you. Perhaps it was a mistake to ever split the two of you up in the first place. I only hope that one day the two of you can forgive me.”

  Lamont took a tentative step toward Cherry. “Dr. Sadler, forgive me for asking, but what happened to you on Sorua after your capture? How did you manage to escape?”

  Cherry took a deep, rattled breath. Rene quickly wrapped his arms around her and whispered softly in her ear.

  Robert answered for her, sparing her the pain of having to tell the tale again. “We were rescued by the Federation when they raided a genetics lab on one of the Seignso’s colony moons. The Federation wasn’t willing to return us to Earth, so they offered us jobs with the Hunters Union when they discovered our… unique abilities.”