Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga (17 page)

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.”

“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!”