Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga

by Adam J. Whitlatch

  “Whatever you do, don’t fire your weapons in here,” Sam said. “That isn’t Kool-Aid in those pipes. You nick one of those and you can kiss your butt goodbye.”

  “What’s in them?”

  “Liquid nitrogen,” said Sam. “Now let’s go.”

  “After you,” Moe grumbled, giving the coolant pipes a wide berth.

  They followed the corridor to a narrow, single-paneled door equipped with a keypad, the numbers an iridescent blue. Sam reached out and tapped in a long sequence of numbers on the keypad. The keys flashed red, and Sam punched the wall.

  “Damn it!”

  “They changed it?”

  Sam nodded.

  Moe forced his way past his brother. “Step aside.”

  “Be my guest, but you can’t crack it.”

  “Oh, ye o’ little faith,” said Moe, carefully pulling the face of the keypad off the wall.

  “Hey! Be careful with that. You could set off the alarm.”

  “No, I won’t,” said Moe patiently, sorting wires into separate bundles between his fingers.

  “Hell, I could do that,” said Sam.

  “Too late,” said Moe. “It’s my turn now. You had your chance.”

  “I designed this system, and I know it better than anybody,” said Sam. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Please,” Moe scoffed. “Anything you can do, I can do better.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “No, you can’t,” said Sam, his voice becoming childish.

  “Yes,” Moe growled through gritted teeth. “I can. Now shut up and let me work.”

  “Can’t crack it,” said Sam stubbornly.

  Moe sighed. “This would be a lot easier if you weren’t breathing in my ear.”

  “Fine!” Sam walked away.

  “Ah ha!” Moe said triumphantly. “I see what you did. Tricky, tricky. Not bad, actually. Kind of impressive as a matter of fact, but all I have to do is pull these five wires here, and—”

  “Fire in the hole!”

  Moe’s head snapped up. “What?”

  He turned and saw Sam walking toward him, carrying a long, cylindrical gas canister. Sam raised an armored fist and brought it down hard on the valve, snapping it clean off and releasing a stream of white vapor. Moe dove out of the way as his brother sprayed the door from top to bottom with liquid nitrogen. After a few seconds, the door was encrusted with a thick coating of ice. Sam tossed the spent canister over his shoulder and kicked the door dead center, shattering it into a million frozen shards.

  Sam stepped over the threshold and paused midstride. “Or would that be ‘ice in the hole?’ ‘Fire in the hole’ just doesn’t seem appropriate in this context.”

  Moe peeked out from around a corner. “Damn it, Samrai! I had it!”

  “Tick tock, little sister.” Sam stepped through the steaming doorway. “Let’s go.”

  Moe started to follow his brother through the doorway, but paused and looked down at the keypad, still dangling by the wires. He reached out to pluck the five wires he had been prepared to pull before Sam’s stunt. The keys flashed green.

  “Son-of-a—” Moe tossed the keypad aside and stepped over the threshold. “Jerk.”

  He stepped onto a railed catwalk, barely wide enough for even one person. The catwalk ran between two giant turbines, both roaring deafeningly as they spun. Moe was so engrossed in the colossal machinery that he almost bumped into his brother. Sam gave him the briefest of over-the-shoulder glances and returned to gazing at the turbines.

  “Are these the engines?” asked Moe.

  Sam nodded. “Part of ‘em. The rest is in another room farther back.”

  “So what are we waiting for?” Moe wrenched a piece of pipe from the railing and brandished it like a club. “Let’s get to breaking stuff.”

  Sam sighed. “Three years, Moe. I spent the first three years of my life building this monstrosity, thinking it was my purpose, that it was the right thing to do. I’m responsible for everything that’s happened today. It’s my fault. All of it.”

  Moe nodded. “Well, you can’t change the past, but I do know what will make you feel better.”

  “What’s that?”

  Moe held out the pipe. “Senseless and wanton destruction of private property.”

  Sam took the pipe, hefted it in his hand for a moment, and then threw it into the turbine to his right. The pipe slipped between two blades and — like a stick in a bicycle’s spokes — the turbine caught and groaned to a reluctant halt. The air was filled with the grinding of metal on metal and the whine of straining machinery. A flash of light flickered inside the stalled turbine, followed by an immense fireball erupting from between the blades. The ship pitched, and the Replodians grabbed the railing.

  “Will that do it?” Moe yelled over the roar.

  Sam nodded. “The other engine will fail under the strain. We only have a few minutes to get clear.”

  Moe turned and ran toward the door. “Well then, let’s blow this joint.”

  Sam started to follow, but he slowed and looked back at the smoking turbine.

  “It’s not enough,” he muttered.

  As they crossed the threshold into the corridor, Sam stopped and looked at the frosty coolant pipes lining the walls. “Hey, Moe.”

  Moe stopped running and turned toward his brother.

  “Remember what I said about firing our weapons in here?”

  “I don’t think I like where this line of questioning is going,” said Moe.

  Sam raised his arms and primed both ion cannons. “Fly.”

  “Oh, hell,” Moe breathed. He ran a few steps and pushed off the ground, engaging his boot thrusters.

  Sam engaged his own thrusters, twisted in the air onto his back, and aimed his arm cannons at the pipes lining each wall behind him. He opened fire, spraying the hallway with alternating rapid-fire green ion blasts. Thick, white vapor erupted violently from the pipes with every blast. He twisted in the air again and surged forward to catch up to Moe, clearing the door with the sub-zero cloud right on his rocket-powered heels.

  On the other side, Moe punched the pad beside the door. As the iris closed, he shouted, “Comeoncomeoncomeon!”

  A thin plume of vapor escaped just before the iris closed on it, sealing off the gas. The Replodians watched as the door slowly frosted over.

  “Wooooo!” Sam hooted with delight. “Let’s go on that ride again!”

  “Let’s not,” said Moe, his eyes locked on the expanding crust of ice.

  Suddenly, a floor grate near the door exploded upward, and a column of the frigid vapor erupted into the room. The Replodians jumped as a second grate, this one directly in front of them, was thrown into the air and unleashed yet another cloud.

  “What’s happening?” Moe shouted.

  Sam pulled his brother to his feet and dragged him down the hall, narrowly avoiding a third grate blowing. “No time to explain. Just run!”

  Sam cursed himself as the hall behind them filled with nitrogen gas. In his brashness, he’d forgotten the liquid-to-gas expansion ratio of liquid nitrogen and had inadvertently started a chain reaction that would soon fill the Ragnarok with the only substance on Earth lethal to Replodians, not to mention humans.

  Sam opened a comm channel to the other teams. “Out! Everybody out, now!”

  The ship pitched again as the second engine failed, and he nearly lost his balance. Sam engaged his boot thrusters and Moe quickly did the same, trying to keep up with his brother.

  “What’s happening?” Moe shouted.

  “The coolant system’s gone critical,” Sam explained as he passed through the door to the cargo hold. “The ship’s filling up with nitrogen gas.”

  “What?” Moe shouted. “What about the others?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Heavy, armored boots clanked loudly on the steel grating of the corridor leading from the Ragnarok’s cargo bay. Alex scanned the hal
l for any sign of the elevator Sam had mentioned, but so far only unlabeled, featureless doors lined the walls every twelve feet.

  “These must be barracks,” Rene observed.

  “Yeah,” said Robert. “Which begs the question, where are all the soldiers?”

  A door several yards ahead opened and a dozen troopers strode down the hall toward them. For a moment, they were lost in boisterous, celebratory conversation, but stopped dead in their tracks when they noticed the armored figures.

  Rene looked at Robert. “You were saying?”

  “Now what?” asked Cherry.

  “Take them,” Lamont ordered. “Before they raise the alarm!”

  One of the soldiers tried to key a nearby wall-mounted intercom, but Rene beat him there and slammed his fist into the man’s face. The trooper collapsed to the deck, unconscious before he hit the floor.

  Taking their cue from the Cajun, the others rushed into the fray. One Horde trooper got off a lucky shot with his plasma rifle to Cherry’s chest, knocking her down, but she was back on her feet immediately and drove her boot into the soldier’s throat. Another soldier, unable to draw his weapon in the middle of the suffocating battle, punched Alex in the face and broke his hand on the unyielding metal. The trooper screamed and cradled his hand while Alex countered with a roundhouse kick to the side of his head.

  The momentum of the kick brought Alex around and he finally realized what sort of door the soldiers had exited. “Lamont! The elevator!”

  Lamont delivered a bone-crushing headbutt to a soldier attempting to shoot him with a corrosive gel rifle and whirled around to face Alex, his faceplate splattered with blood. “Get in!”

  Alex pressed the “call” button and muttered to himself impatiently for a moment before the door slid open.

  Lamont ran for the elevator and slapped Robert on the shoulder as he passed. “This is where we part ways.”

  “You can count on us,” Robert said as he dodged a stray plasma blast. “Go save those kids.”

  “Good luck,” said Lamont as the elevator doors closed, cutting him off from the battle and his teammates.

  “You too,” Robert whispered.

  To Robert’s left, Rene snapped a trooper’s neck and dropped the corpse unceremoniously to the ground with the others. “There. That’s the last of them.”

  “Then let’s go.” Robert slapped him on the back and broke into a run. “Before more of these goons show up.”

  Cherry wrinkled her nose as she stepped over the pile of unconscious and dead soldiers. Even with the suits’ air filters, the stench was unbearable. “God, they stink.”

  “Obviously the Khan cares nothing for the health of his minions,” said Rene, running alongside her.

  “Showing sympathy for the man whose neck you just broke?”

  “Look,” Rene said, “I take no pleasure in killing, but the Germans showed me no mercy on Omaha Beach, nor did the Yankees offer me any kindness at Antietam.”

  Cherry ran in silence for a moment, letting this sink in.

  “War is unpleasant, cher,” the Cajun continued, “but we have a job to do, just as those men back there had theirs. We just did ours better.”

  Robert nodded to himself as he ran. The life of a soldier may have been new to Cherry, her military service limited to being a peacetime medic, but he and Rene knew it well. In the centuries that he could remember, Robert Long had seen conflict ranging from the Battle of Waterloo to the Vietnam War. He’d still been coping with the horrors of ‘Nam when the Seignso came and took him and his comrades to that sweltering planet in the Zeta Reticuli system. Now, he found himself in a new war, but for the first time in a very long time, he actually believed in the cause he was fighting for.

  “How much farther?” asked Cherry.

  “It can’t be much,” said Robert. “We’ve been running forever.”

  “Remind me to give that new Replodian a swift kick in the ass when we see him again,” said Rene. “That guy needs a hobby.”

  “This is his hobby,” Cherry grumbled.

  “I mean like stamp collecting.”

  “There!” Robert pointed toward the end of the hallway. “It’s just ahead.”

  They came to a halt in front of a large circular door at the end of the corridor. Rene raised his arm to fire his ion cannon, but Robert grabbed it at the last second and shook his head.

  “Why not?” asked the Cajun.

  “If they hear weapons firing, who knows what they’ll do?” Robert explained. “We need to think of something else. We need to surprise them.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Cherry pushed past the two men. “Just ring the friggin’ bell.”

  “I like it,” said Rene. “Subtle, but effective.”

  Cherry shook her head and pressed a green button on the intercom beside the door.

  A few seconds later, a gruff, impatient voice filled the hallway and the helmets’ earpieces instantly translated, “Yes? What is it?”

  “Boudreaux’s Pizza,” called Rene in a singsong voice.

  Cherry slapped her hand hard against the back of the Cajun’s helmet.

  “What?” asked the voice.

  “Did you order the large sausage and mushrooms with extra goat cheese?” Rene said.

  Cherry slapped him again. “Stop screwing around, you idiot.”

  “I’m coming out,” said the voice.

  A few seconds later, the door’s iris spun open and a portly Mongolian holding a double-barreled gel pistol took a half-step through the door before stopping to stare at the TDC agents with their arms raised and ion cannons primed.

  “Hi there,” said Rene. “You can keep the tip. We just want your ship.”

  Slowly, the Mongol lifted his pistol.

  “Don’t even think about it, Porky,” Cherry warned. “Drop it!”

  The man continued to raise his pistol, obviously not understanding the English being shouted at him.

  “Stop!” Rene fired a warning burst past the man’s head.

  The green ion bolt screeched past the man’s ear and crashed through the Ragnarok’s windshield, filling the bridge with icy, whistling wind. The Mongol promptly dropped the pistol and thrust both hands into the air. The other six crewmembers wheeled around from their stations to watch the commotion.

  “I think we have a little language barrier here,” said Rene. He stepped over the threshold and kept his aim on the bridge commander. “But you understood that just fine didn’t you, fatty?”

  The Mongol grinned sheepishly and nodded his head.

  “The rest of you get away from those consoles,” snapped Cherry. “Move it!”

  With near zombie-like slowness, the unarmed technicians shuffled to the center of the room.

  Cherry kept the techs covered with her arm cannon. “Now what do we do with them?”

  Robert felt along his forearm with his fingers and scanned the heads-up display on his visor. “How the hell do you engage the stun function on these guns? Please tell me that lunatic included a stun function.”

  Rene lashed out with a knife-hand strike to the base of the chubby Mongol’s neck and stood back as the man collapsed to the deck. Cherry and Robert stared at the fallen man for a moment before looking up at Rene.

  Rene crossed his arms. “There’s your stun function.”

  Cherry shook her head. “Barbarian.”

  Rene merely stared back in silence.

  “What?” said Cherry. “No clever comeback?”

  “I’m trying to think of a really good one,” said Rene. “‘Nag’ just doesn’t seem to cover it anym—”

  A huge explosion rocked the ship and the bridge was suddenly filled with flashing lights and blaring klaxons. The technicians erupted into a panic and ran back to their posts, chattering so fast the suits’ translators couldn’t keep up.

  “What’s happening?” Cherry yelled over the din. The ship pitched, and she nearly lost her balance.

  “The engines!” Rene exclaimed.

/>   A few moments later, a panicked transmission filled their helmets and confirmed Rene’s theory. “Out! Everybody out, now!”

  “Evacuate,” Robert ordered. “Move it, people! Double time!”

  Rene promptly fired his arm cannon into the long windshield, melting large holes in the thick glass. “Let’s go!”

  “Wait!” Cherry grabbed him by the arm and pointed at the technicians. “What about them?”

  But the crew wasn’t interested in being rescued as they ran screaming from the room.

  “Forget them,” said Rene. “Get moving!”

  The Cajun pushed off the deck, and his boot thrusters roared to life, launching him out of the Ragnarok with the others on his heels. Once above the rapidly descending ship, they watched as fire and smoke poured from the rear of the ship. With systems failing all over, the Ragnarok’s cloaking field flickered erratically until it was fully visible.

  “I hope Moe and Samrai got out in time,” Robert said.

  Just then, two silver-clad figures flew out of the emergency hatch on the bottom of the ship mere inches ahead of a spewing white cloud.

  “Look!” Cherry pointed at the rapidly approaching figures. “It’s them!”

  Moments later, Sam and Moe hovered in front of the Methuselans.

  “Wooo!” Sam cheered. “Do I know how to throw a party, or what?”

  “Mon Dieu!” Rene pointed over the Replodian’s shoulder. “Look!”

  “Yes,” said Sam smugly. “It is impressive, if I do say so myself.”

  “Not that,” Rene shouted. “Look!”

  “What is it now, Frenchy?” Sam turned, following the Cajun’s gaze. What he saw made his blood run cold.

  The Ragnarok, smoking and spewing both flames and ice, was heading straight for the small town of Keosauqua, or more specifically the bridge on the south side of town. A school bus — the driver oblivious to the crippled monstrosity bearing down from above — approached the bridge from the north.

  “What have I done?” breathed Sam.