Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga Read online

  He stomped toward four vertical glass tubes in the middle of the room. They were filled with a clear, bubbling liquid, and each contained a strange life form connected to a breathing apparatus. The creatures were awake and appeared to be struggling. They were the ugliest monsters Vain had ever seen.

  Their flesh was doughy and pale, with coarse fur growing sporadically over their bodies, which was thickest on top of their heads. They were bipedal, with long limbs ending in a few short, useless-looking digits. Even though the breathing devices partially covered them, Vain could see that the faces were deformed; the soulless, beady eyes were placed far too low on the beings’ heads.

  Hideous.

  The Seignso spokesman turned to follow Vain. ::Why, those are rejuvenation cylinders.::

  “I know what they are!” Vain snapped. “I’m talking about the creatures inside!”

  ::Those?:: said the Seignso with a condescending smile. ::Just some simple non-sentient, simian species we’re engineering for labor. Beasts of burden, nothing more. Pay them no mind.::

  One of the creatures pounded on the glass of its tube, alternating between striking it with its fists and elbows.

  “It looks pretty damned sentient to me.”

  ::I can assure you, it is not,:: The voice inside Vain’s head remained calm and flat.

  “We’ll see,” said Vain. “Lark, get over here and get a scan of these things.”

  The platoon’s medic slung his rifle and traded it for a tablet computer. He held it up to the closest tank for a head-to-toe scan and then tapped in a series of queries. The response was almost immediate.

  “They’re called…” Lark struggled with the pronunciation. “Hyoo-mahns. Non-Federation, sir. Indigenous to Sol Alpha 3.”

  “Are they intelligent?”

  Three knocks issued from one of the cylinders. Vain looked up and saw the most active of the creatures making a gesture at the Seignso — a closed fist with the middle finger extended.

  “Reasonably, sir,” said Lark.

  Vain’s green skin flushed brown in anger. The little gray bastard had lied right to his face. Deporting the little sleaze back to Sorua was going to be a pleasure.

  ::With all due respect, Lieutenant,:: the Seignso interrupted. ::I did not lie. We simply have a different definition of sentience.::

  “Shut up!” Vain snapped. “Lark, release the creatures.”

  Lark nodded and approached the console in front of the cylinders. As his fingers flew over the controls, one of the nearby Seignso stared at him intently. Lark paused to look up at the alien and the sneer forming on its thin lips. Suddenly Lark’s hands flew up to clasp his head and he doubled over in pain. The medic groaned, then screamed in agony.

  Vain trained his sidearm on the Seignso leader. “What the hell’s happening to him?”

  The Seignso grinned, showing short, blunt teeth. ::How should I know?::

  “It’s in my head!” Lark shrieked. “Get it out!”

  Lark’s assailant walked toward him slowly, pointing at the steady stream of blood pouring out of the trooper’s nose. An overpowering buzzing sensation — the Seignso equivalent of laughter — filled the heads of everyone in the room. Outraged, Vain fired his sidearm at the Seignso leader’s head. Searing, red plasma bore a smoking hole in the alien’s skull. The oppressive buzzing ceased as every Seignso in the room turned to look at Vain.

  Another Seignso extended its arm. Vain’s pistol flew out of his grip and into the alien’s waiting hand. Before it could use the stolen weapon, one of Vain’s troopers put the Seignso down with a single shot from his rifle, and the rest opened fire. The air was filled with a frantic crisscross of plasma fire.

  Vain hit the floor, struggling to be heard over the din. “Cease fire! I said stop firing, damn it!”

  He heard breaking glass and looked up in time to see two of the cylinders shatter, spilling fluid across the floor, soaking the front of his uniform. Two of the pale-skinned humans were forcefully ejected along with the liquid; the bulkier of the two had a patch of black fur covering the lower half of its face, while the other had a smaller frame, a bald face, and long red fur trailing from the top of its head. The naked creatures slipped in the fluid and huddled together beneath the barrage over their heads.

  “Cease fire!” Vain bellowed.

  One by one, the troopers lowered their weapons. Vain’s ears rang, and the stink of singed flesh stung his nostrils. He stood and shook the fluid from his hands.

  Vain surveyed the damage around him. Only twelve of the Seignso remained standing; there wasn’t enough left of the others worth scraping into a body bag. The two humans in the undamaged cylinders banged their fists against the glass while the pair on the floor gibbered to one another in a grunting alien language.

  “This is a damn disaster,” Vain muttered. “Lark!”

  The medic stood and wiped the blood from his nose. “Here, sir.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Lark wiped his hand on the front of his uniform and rubbed the side of his head. “I think so, sir. Thanks.”

  Vain nodded. “Get those other two whatsits out of those tanks and check them over.”

  “Yes’ir.”

  “Sergeant Plou,” Vain addressed a tall soldier behind him. “Get that grav-lift working and get the prisoners topside. I want these bastards on the next tub to Moebius. Is that clear?”

  “Sir!” Plou moved in close to his commander. “What about them?”

  Vain followed his gaze to the humans, who were now all four on the ground, embracing and chattering excitedly. The two new ones also sported dark, matted fur over their jaws. They all ignored Lark as he examined them.

  Vain turned back to Plou. “Bring them back with us. We’ll let the brass on Phaedaj decide what to do with them.”

  Plou nodded and walked away to see to his duties.

  *****

  Across the room, Ladd stared curiously over Lark’s shoulder at the strange pale aliens. “Funny looking critters, aren’t they?”

  Lark shrugged. “Oh, they’re not all that different from you and me. Same basic physical structure.”

  “Speak for yourself, Lark.” Ladd knelt to get a closer look at the smallest human with the red fur. “Hey, they’re mammals! Check out the mammary glands on this one. You ever boink a mammal, Lark?”

  “No, and neither should y—” Lark held out his hand in warning. “Hey now, don’t touch it!”

  “Relax, Lark, what’s the worst that could happen?” Ladd sneered and groped at the human’s chest. “C’mere, little lady. What say you and I grab some shore leave together when we get back to Phaedaj?”

  “Ladd don’t!”

  The human female began to struggle and shriek in its alien language. One of the males lunged and punched Ladd in the face, knocking him to the ground. Ladd fumbled for his rifle as the human prepared to spring, its eyes glowing an eerie green. The aggressive male leapt at Ladd and the soldier fired three short bursts, knocking the alien from the air.

  The female shrieked and ran to her mate’s side. Ladd watched as the male coughed up a mouthful of blood, shuddered, and became still. Lark scrambled to the fallen alien and scanned it. He cursed and scanned it a second time, but the result was the same.

  Dead.

  Lark jumped to his feet and shoved Ladd. “Great Mother’s Beard, Ladd! What did you do that for?”

  “That filthy animal attacked me!”

  “What the hell is going on?” Lieutenant Vain bellowed as he stalked over to the two soldiers.

  “Ladd killed one of the aliens, sir!”

  “It was an accident,” Ladd protested.

  “My eye!” Lark said. “Lieutenant, I saw him molesting the female. The alien was only protecting its mate.”

  “Whose side are you on, man?” Ladd said. “They’re animals!”

  “Enough!” barked Vain. “Sergeant Plou, place Corporal Ladd under arrest.”

  Ladd stared daggers at Lark as Plou relieved
him of his weapon and escorted him away. Vain rubbed his neck with both hands. What was supposed to be a simple sweep-and-clear had turned into a catastrophe.

  “Sir?” Lark nodded toward the dead alien at their feet. “What should I do with that?”

  Vain sighed and turned away. “Put it on ice, Private. Let the eggheads at Dreknor dissect it to their hearts’ content.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  But as Vain walked away, he heard a loud gasp behind him, followed by Lark’s alarmed cries. He turned and saw the alien creature sitting up, very much alive. Vain could see the fear in Lark’s eyes, injections be damned. The other humans gathered around the revived male and patted it on the back while it cleared its throat and mouth of blood. They all seemed completely unfazed by this event.

  “I thought you said that thing was dead!” Vain said.

  “It was!” said Lark. “Its life signs stopped. I checked them twice.”

  The resurrected human locked its luminous green eyes on Vain’s and gave him the same gesture it had given the Seignso leader: a closed fist with its middle finger extended.

  “Sergeant Plou,” Vain called over his shoulder. “Is that grav-lift operational yet?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Good. Change of plan, Sergeant. We’re going to Dreknor.”

  Chapter Two

  Federation of Allied Systems

  Dreknor Orbital Space Laboratory

  One year later

  Gravity boots thumped their monotonous beat through the corridor as the wearer made the long, familiar trek from his private quarters to his laboratory. The commuter was an Arqan — nearly eight feet tall with smooth red skin and blue hair gathered in several braids, which were then grouped into a single bundle in the back. His six-fingered hands were clasped behind his back as he pondered his current problem.

  Five failures, each one even more grotesque than the last and leaving him drained as he felt the weight of the universe on his shoulders. He often considered giving up and letting things run their course, but he must succeed. Project Alexander could very well pave the way for planetary defense systems across the galaxy.

  If only he had more time.

  He paused to look out the nearby window and gaze upon the soothing green glow of Phaedaj’s fifth moon, Dreknor. He’d last visited Phaedaj over thirty-five cycles ago with his life-mate, Lornali. Dreknor had been a desert rock then, with cannibalistic yellow worms and barbed, leafless trees as its only dominant life forms; now, the moon teemed with life and lush vegetation.

  Ah, the wonders of atmospheric conversion. With the right innovative spirit, there were no limits to what science could do. This sentiment was what kept him going.

  He resumed walking and finally reached the grav-lift. The doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss as he approached.

  “Sub-level three,” he said as he stepped inside.

  A soft chime acknowledged his request and the platform descended with a hum. After a few moments, the hum slowed as the lift came to a halt.

  The scientist exited the lift tube and strode toward the security checkpoint outside his lab. Set into the wall beside the door was a red orb; its glow pulsated as he approached and a disembodied voice said, “Identification, please.”

  “Amaadoss,” the Arqan answered. “Project Alexander. Level five security clearance.”

  A red beam emanated from the orb and scanned him from feet to head. After a short series of beeps, the voice rang out again, “Identity confirmed. Good morning, Dr. Amaadoss.”

  The door slid open with a hiss and the hallway was instantly filled with loud Folaxian pop music. The translation plug nestled in Amaadoss’s ear converted the female singer’s obscenely provocative lyrics into his own language, and the scientist furrowed his brow in annoyance. He stepped into the laboratory and the door closed behind him, locking him in with the terrible noise. He scanned the room briefly before locating his assistant, Jiri, sitting with his large, three-toed feet propped up on a computer console.

  The Glynfarian was short, and his alabaster skin seemed to glow in the dim lighting. His four eyes, set on stubby stalks on both sides of his head, were closed as he tapped his three-fingered hands against his chest in time with the song’s wild beat.

  “Jiri!” Amaadoss called out.

  The technician continued to tap and even began to sing along with the chorus. Amaadoss crossed the room until he was directly behind his subordinate and yelled, “Jiri!”

  The lab tech barked and fell backward in his chair, landing flat on his back. Jiri looked up and saw his boss standing over him, glowering. The Glynfarian waved timidly at his superior and spoke in a dual voice, a pleasant harmony. “Morning, Doc. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Obviously.”

  Jiri grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Doc.”

  Amaadoss sighed as Jiri switched the music off. “What am I ever going to do with you?”

  Jiri grinned again. “Well, a raise would be a good start.”

  Amaadoss snorted as he logged into his computer terminal. “Funding is stretched tight as it is, and after twelve cycles we have nothing to show for our labors. And you want more credits?”

  Jiri set his chair back on its spindly legs and shrugged. “What can I say? The human genome is a tough nut to crack. It doesn’t take splicing with other species very well.”

  Amaadoss knew this, and it was the bane of his existence. Humans were actually the product of genetic engineering programs predating the Federation, created many millennia ago in a lab on Sorua. Since then, the poor species had been spliced almost out of existence. Human evolution had been carefully planned, scheduled, and implemented, with no surprises.

  Until recently.

  Amaadoss patted his assistant on the back. “Not to worry, Jiri. I think we may have finally found a solution.”

  “I hope so,” said Jiri. “I’ve got seven wives to feed; every last one of ‘em sitting on eggs. And don’t forget that we’re almost out of donor cells. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going back to Moebius to collect more. Then there’s our deadline—”

  “Yes, yes.” Amaadoss cut Jiri off before his mouth could build more momentum. “I’m well aware of our deadline. This will work. It has to work.”

  Jiri nodded and shuffled over to the counter for a cup of spiced rayaak when suddenly Amaadoss cried out.

  “Jiri! Have you been watching the subject in tube six?”

  Jiri turned. “Sure, Doc. I check it every seven hours, just like you told me. You can check my chart. What’s wrong?”

  Amaadoss pointed a shaky finger at the green-hued gestation tube. “Look.”

  Jiri approached the tube and squinted. His eyesight was deteriorating rapidly, but on his salary ocular implants were simply out of the question. He blinked, trying to correct his double vision, but then he realized that wasn’t the problem, and he let out a squealing gasp. The steaming cup of rayaak dropped to the floor and shattered, spilling the scalding mud-like beverage all over the place.

  Only a few hours before, when Jiri had last checked the tube, there had been an embryo — a human embryo — in the earliest stages of development, suspended in the amniotic fluid. Everything had been normal and the life signs were reading fine. But now, the tube contained two embryos. The lab tech looked up at his superior with a trembling gaze.

  “Great Mother’s Beard!” he whispered, his dual voices dropping several octaves.

  *****

  “This is outrageous!” Admiral Ohrb bellowed.

  Ohrb’s green features flushed a light brown and the two six-inch antennae protruding from his forehead trembled with rage. He stood in the Dreknor station administrator’s office; the Arqan geneticist, Amaadoss, a perpetual thorn in his side, stood at a respectable distance to his left.

  The administrator sighed from behind his desk, his head in his hands. This wasn’t the first time these two had brought their quarrels into his office.

  “Last month it was inadequate facili
ties,” Ohrb shouted. “Now he wants more funding. Administrator, my predecessor may have endorsed this ludicrous project, but I do not. And I never will. I demand that you put a stop to this foolishness immediately.”

  Amaadoss remained calm. “Admiral, I can assure you that Project Alexander’s funding is a mere drop in the bucket compared to your military budg—”

  “I know the numbers!” the admiral spat.

  The administrator looked up. He was Phaedojian, like the admiral, but his natural eyes had been replaced by synthetic ocular implants. Tiny servos operated within the golden orbs, manipulating the artificial irises and allowing the governor to focus on his visitors.

  “Admiral Ohrb,” the administrator began. “In all fairness—”

  Ohrb cut him off. “With all due respect, Administrator, this project is a waste of valuable Federation credits. Our military is the finest in the galaxy. Neither the Federation nor Phaedaj needs his pathetic clone army.”

  “Not at the moment,” Amaadoss conceded. “However, Earth does. And if Project Alexander can succeed there, it can succeed anywhere — even Phaedaj.”

  “You would dismantle an entire inter-planetary military and replace it with a handful of clones?” Ohrb spat out the last word like a foul taste. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting, how many jobs you would eliminate?”

  “Jobs?” Amaadoss felt his own pulse rising. “Damn it, Ohrb, I’m talking about lives!”

  “Gentlemen!” The administrator stood, plunging the room into an uncomfortable silence. For a moment, the only sound was the soft whirring and clicking of his ocular implants.

  “Thank you.” The administrator’s voice was calm again. “Doctor, how much are you requesting?”

  Amaadoss stared at his feet for a moment, going over the numbers in his head. “I believe the going rate for a Replodian larva is 75,000 Federation Credits.”

  “Replodian larva?” Ohrb interjected. The administrator held up a quieting hand.

  “230,000 should more than cover the expenses,” Amaadoss concluded.

  Ohrb began to speak again, but was silenced by a warning gesture from the administrator. Another brief silence hung in the air while he rallied his remaining patience. Finally, he found his voice. “Doctor, commissioning a Replodian larva is no small matter. Am I correct in my understanding that you wish to purchase three?”