Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga Read online

  “You’ve got it, Doc.” Jiri turned toward the other technicians. “Everybody out! This room is now off limits to any personnel without level four clearance or higher. Move, people!”

  One by one the techs scurried from the room until only Amaadoss and Jiri remained. Jiri silenced the alarms and the room’s lighting returned to normal. The fissure in the tube expanded with a loud crackling sound, spilling more fluid onto the ground in thicker streams.

  “We’ll need something to wrap them in,” said Amaadoss urgently. “A blanket, towel, anything.”

  Jiri bounded off. Amaadoss carefully placed his palm against the glass and immediately his mind was flooded with impressions of misery and fear. His bottom lip trembled. So much pain.

  Finally Jiri returned with two sterile white lab smocks and handed one to Amaadoss. “This is all I could find, Doc. The birthing supplies are still in storage.”

  “Be ready to catch them,” said Amaadoss as he keyed in a sequence of commands on the tube’s terminal. Flashing red light filled the room once again and a computer-simulated voice announced, “Fluid purge in five… four… three….”

  The crack in the glass reached the edges of the tube and the front of the cylinder exploded outward in a flood of amniotic fluid. The garbled wailing of the two infants filled the air. Amaadoss was caught off guard by the sudden rupture and lunged forward to catch the newborns, but slipped in the growing puddle at his feet.

  With a startled bark, Jiri leapt forward, his outstretched arms holding his smock. He sailed over his fallen superior and hooted triumphantly as both babies fell into the safety of the smock. The Glynfarian cradled the infants close to his chest and spun in mid-air, attaching himself to the wall with his suction-cupped feet.

  Slowly, carefully, he pulled the bundle away from his chest and breathed a sigh of relief as both children cried up at him, their eyes closed and tiny fists clenched and shaking. Amaadoss rose to his feet and carefully crossed the sticky floor to where his assistant held the fruits of their labors. Jiri passed the squirming bundle to him, and Amaadoss stared down at the children with disbelief. He’d done it. He’d finally done it!

  *****

  A couple hours later, Amaadoss and Jiri watched the twins through the glass-domed ceilings of their incubator chambers. Wisps of bright red hair topped their heads. The children were virtually identical, save for one obvious difference. The Seignso hybrid child had the blue-gray eyes typical of newborn humans, but those belonging to the other were a bright emerald in color and seemed to glow with a jewel-like luminescence.

  Jiri’s breath fogged the glass as he leaned forward to inspect the child. “What’s wrong with Subject Two’s eyes, Doc?”

  “Nothing, Jiri,” whispered Amaadoss. “It’s merely a trait of Homo immortalis. You see, what gives them their unique regenerative abilities is a very potent energy, which is stored in the spinal column. This energy courses through the entire nervous system and, if the subject receives a wound, gathers to rapidly repair the damaged cells.

  “This energy can sometimes surge and illuminate the optic nerve, making the eyes glow a brilliant green. In time, the glow should subside and only manifest itself during times of stress.”

  Jiri’s eye stalks twitched in astonishment. “Incredible! But wait, Doc. What if the energy runs out?”

  “From what I understand, it’s self-sustaining,” Amaadoss replied. “However, if the subject is wounded severely enough to exhaust the energy completely, or if the spinal column is severed and the energy is released all at once, then life is extinguished permanently.”

  Jiri’s eye stalks drooped sadly as he looked down at Subject Two, his fingers brushing the glass separating him from the infant.

  “And, Jiri,” said Amaadoss. “I believe it is time we cease with the practice of referring to them as ‘Subject One’ and ‘Subject Two.’”

  “Sure, Doc. But what are we going to name them?”

  “Well…” Amaadoss brushed his fingers along the hybrid child’s chamber. “For this one I’d say the choice is obvious. We shall call him Alexander, after the project that led to his creation.”

  “And the other?”

  “I’ve been pondering that,” said Amaadoss. “I’ve thought long and hard about it, and there was one name I’d considered briefly before the embryo split. In honor of the five failures that came before him, we shall name our unexpected son Quintin. It’s a Terran name; it means ‘the fifth.’”

  Jiri’s expression became apprehensive. “Doc? If Alexander’s going to Earth, where is Quintin going to go?”

  Amaadoss smiled and placed a comforting hand on the Glynfarian’s shoulder. “For the time being he will remain here on the station with us. That is what you were hoping to hear, isn’t it, Jiri?”

  Jiri nodded and resumed gazing at the infants, who had begun to stretch their hands out toward each other, only the thin, curved glass separating them.

  Chapter Five

  Bonaparte, Iowa

  Earth

  May 27th, 3:41 AM

  The chirping of crickets filled the cool spring air, accompanied by singing frogs. A low hum built in volume until it disturbed the local wildlife enough that they grew silent. Beneath a low-hanging willow tree, a blue glow grew in intensity, taking on a bipedal form. Finally the light faded and dispersed like fireflies, and Jiri looked around to ensure that his arrival went unnoticed. The sound of a passing car startled him, but as the sound of its engine receded into the distance, he ventured into the moonlight with a small bundle tucked under his arm.

  He paused to familiarize himself with his surroundings. To his left stood a white, two-story farmhouse. Down the hill sat a red barn with a dirt road leading behind it. Cattle called softly in the distance.

  The wet grass felt strange between Jiri’s wide-set toes as he made his way toward the farmhouse. He hopped onto the front porch, avoiding the creaky wooden steps. As he approached the door, he stopped to examine his parcel. He pulled back the blanket to reveal baby Alexander sleeping soundly, his tiny lips parted slightly and making sucking motions.

  A wistful smile crossed Jiri’s face. He looked up at the wooden plaque beside the door.

  W A L K E R

  Jiri was apprehensive about this whole affair. Leaving a child on a strange doorstep and running away seemed like a reckless way of assigning guardianship, but Amaadoss had been adamant. He had studied numerous Terran video art pieces and this was the acceptable social convention. The doc had also screened hundreds of potential guardians and these WAL-KERS struck him as the perfect custodians for baby Alexander.

  Jiri sighed. Who was he to argue with the doc’s logic? He knew humans better than anybody. He looked down at the sleeping child in his arms and whispered, “Well, little guy, it looks like this is goodbye.”

  Alexander did not stir.

  “You take care of yourself, you hear?”

  The baby frowned in his sleep.

  Jiri placed the bundle down on the porch and began examining the door, looking for a comm panel. Finally, he located the doorbell and pressed the button with one bulbous finger. Inside the house, a faint chiming sound was heard.

  Unsure that the house’s occupants had heard the bell, Jiri pressed the button again, and again. This time a light on the upper floor snapped on and a male human voice called out through the open window, “Who the hell is here at this time of night?”

  Panicked, Jiri let out a soft bark and leapt off the porch. He bounded across the lawn on all fours until he reached the shelter of the willow. Once there, he caressed a silver band around his wrist and the blue glow enveloped his body again. As the glow faded away, so did Jiri.

  *****

  Alan Walker threw the door open and stepped onto the porch wearing only a pair of plaid pajama pants. He scowled behind his thick, sandy-blond beard and looked around the yard. “Damned kids.”

  Probably the Butler boys from down the road; they had nothing better to do than bother decent folks in
the middle of the night. He turned to go back into the house, but stopped when his toe nudged something on the porch. He looked down, noticed the bundle, and reached down slowly to pull back the corner of the soft blue blanket. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the face of little Alexander, who had woken up from all the commotion, staring back at him.

  “Alan! Who is it?”

  “Janice, you’d better come down here!”

  A few moments later, Janice Walker appeared behind her husband, her hands clinging to the bathrobe worn over her flimsy nightgown. She peered timidly over her kneeling husband’s shoulder, but her apprehension instantly turned to glorious delight as her eyes fell on the infant.

  She knelt to pick up the bundle. As his wife smiled and cooed at the baby, Alan stepped out farther onto the deck and searched for any sign of who may have left the baby. There were no tires crunching on gravel, no retreating taillights, no revving engine.

  Nothing.

  “Who left him here?” asked Janice.

  “No clue.” Alan scratched at his disheveled beard. “There was nobody here when I came to the door.”

  “Well, where’d they go so quickly?”

  “I don’t know, dear,” said Alan, growing annoyed. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew?”

  “Well,” said Janice. “Let’s get this little guy inside where it’s warm.”

  “Right.” Alan followed his wife inside and closed the door behind him. “You check the kid out, and I’ll call Sheriff Challis.”

  Janice whirled around and stared at her husband, mortified. “The sheriff? Why?”

  “Janice, this is a matter for the police. Somebody abandoned this child. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Well of course it does, Alan, but….”

  Alan sighed and laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I know you want a baby, honey. I do, too. More than anything. But this is not the way to….”

  Alan’s voice trailed off as he saw the first tears trickling down his wife’s soft, pale cheeks. Janice had been crushed when the doctor told them about Alan’s condition. They had tried all kinds of fertility methods, but nothing worked, and after nearly ten years of marriage, they had yet to be blessed with a child. One look at his wife’s face and Alan Walker knew that he had lost the war.

  “Look,” said Alan. “We’ll figure out what to do in the morning. No sense in waking the whole county. Right now, let’s just make sure the kid’s okay.”

  The joy instantly returned to Janice’s face and she laid the baby on the kitchen table. When she unwrapped the blanket, a white card fell to the floor. Alan knelt to pick it up. Written in a strange script was a single word:

  ALEXANDER

  Alan flipped the card over, but there was nothing printed on the back. No explanation. No reason for abandoning the child. No reason for choosing them. Nothing.

  He handed the card to Janice. She smiled at the simple message and giggled softly when she noticed that the baby had fallen back to sleep in her arms.

  “Alex,” she said. “I like that name.”

  “Now, Janice,” Alan scolded, “don’t you go getting too attached. In the morning, we’re going to call the sheriff and sort all of this nonsense out.”

  “Of course, Alan.” Janice rocked the sleeping infant. “We’ll sleep on it.”

  *****

  At that same moment, over six thousand miles away in a small Mongolian village south of Ulaanbaatar, a twelve-year-old boy looked up from his studies with a very troubled expression. Ink dripped from the tip of his quill onto his forgotten history lesson.

  The tutor, alerted to the youth’s distraction by the sudden absence of the scratching quill, looked up from his book. “Master Temujin? Is something the matter?”

  The youth stood and walked across the room to the west-facing window. In an almost trance-like state, he brushed aside the curtains and stared into the bright afternoon sky. He cocked his head to the side curiously, as a puppy might upon hearing a new sound. The tutor started to place a hand on his shoulder but thought better of it; after all, this was a living god he was addressing.

  “Master Temujin,” he repeated. “Is something the matter? Are you well?”

  Temujin gave his tutor the briefest of glances and resumed gazing out the window.

  “Teacher,” the boy said in a quiet voice, “he has come.”

  The tutor’s mouth suddenly became dry at the boy’s words. “Who?” he asked. “Who has come, young master?”

  Temujin closed his eyes and, with a knowing smile, whispered, “Alexander.”

  Part II: The Awakening

  Chapter Six

  July 3rd - Thirteen Years Later

  Alan and Janice Walker slept on it for thirteen years. In that time, Alex had grown into a strong, healthy young man. The Walkers raised him as their own, never letting on that he could possibly be otherwise. And with the same soft green eyes as his adoptive mother, no one would ever think to question it.

  Alex was walking through a pasture in a valley north of the house, his eyes scanning the ground for rocks while his father did the same nearby. He wiped the sweat from his neck before prying up a sizable stone from the soil and hefting it to a nearby wheelbarrow. His Australian Cattle Dog, Rocky, sat in the shade of a thorny locust tree, panting contentedly.

  Alex picked up the red one-gallon jug beside the wheelbarrow and took a long drink. Ice-cold water trickled down his chin and dripped onto his shirt. As he lowered the jug, he sighed with relief and opened his eyes. Rocky stared back at him, his ears perked up and his mouth curled into a panting smile.

  “You could help, you know,” he said to the dog. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

  The dog cocked his head and whined.

  “Don’t give me that,” said Alex. “These rocks are for the garden that you dug up yesterday. The least you can do is help me dig a few of them up.”

  The dog yawned and rolled onto his back, writhing on the ground to get at a pesky itch.

  Alex snorted. “Judas.”

  He put down the water jug and brushed away the long strands of sweat-soaked red hair clinging to his equally red forehead. He couldn’t wait for four o’clock when he and his father would go to Salem for their haircuts. Alex had considered shaving his head for the summer to beat the heat, but his mother had come completely unglued at the suggestion. Finally the two of them agreed on a crew cut, although his mother still complained about it whenever the subject came up.

  The boy turned at the approaching squeak of his father’s wheelbarrow. Alan held out his hands and Alex promptly tossed him the water jug. The bearded farmer took a long pull off the jug and then poured the rest onto his head, wiping the sweat and grime from the back of his neck.

  As oppressive as the heat was, it was a refreshing change from the floods the year before. Much of the Bonaparte area had been underwater when the Des Moines River flooded.

  “Hot, Pop?” Alex said.

  Alan nodded. “To heck with this. Let’s go to town and get a soda before our haircuts.”

  “What about the rocks?”

  Alan pushed his wheelbarrow toward the pickup. “We’ll finish tomorrow.”

  Alex fell into step beside his father with his own load of rocks. “Tomorrow’s the Fourth.”

  “So?”

  “So…” Alex grinned. “Tomorrow’s the day I celebrate my independence from slave labor.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, that’s so,” said Alex, his grin widening.

  Alan stopped pushing and pointed at his chest. “You calling me a slave driver?”

  Alex paused and furrowed his brow. “Well… Yeah.”

  “Why you little—” Alan grinned and lunged at his son. “C’mere, you!”

  Alex pushed his wheelbarrow with all the speed he could muster as his father chased after him. Rocky hopped up and bounded along beside his humans, barking and nipping playfully at Alan’s heels.

  *****

  Alex was begin
ning to regret his choice in haircut. The back of his neck was on fire, both from sunburn and the tiny hair trimmings clinging to his skin. Delmar, a sixty-year-old marathon runner, was relaying the tale of his latest race to Alan as he waited his turn. Finally Delmar removed the apron and shook Alex’s shorn hair onto the speckled linoleum.

  “There you are, young man.” Delmar lowered the chair for Alex. “Bet that’s a weight off your mind.”

  Alex scratched his neck, not nearly as hard as he’d like. He studied his reflection in the mirror beside the chair. Good Lord, did his ears really stick out that far?

  Alan put down his magazine and walked over to the chair. He rubbed Alex’s head and looked down at the pile of ginger hair on the floor. “Boy, Delmar, there’s enough here to make you a helluva rug.”

  Delmar laughed and rubbed his bald head. “No, sir. I find this much easier to manage.”

  Alex sat in the waiting area at the front of the shop and flipped through the stack of backdated issues of People and Popular Mechanics. Finding nothing of interest, he stared out the window at the playground across the street and watched the little kids on the merry-go-round. His eyes widened and his heart jumped as he caught a glimpse of blond hair. Crystal Hammond, a girl from his class, was pushing her little sister on the swing set.

  She was almost as tall as Alex, with dazzling blue eyes and long, straw-colored hair. Alex smiled. He’d had a crush on Crystal ever since the fourth grade when her family moved to the area from somewhere out east. New York? New Hampshire? Someplace “New.” Unfortunately he had never worked up the courage to tell her how he felt about her.

  As the adults’ conversation turned to hog prices, Alex decided to escape the boring, air-conditioned barbershop and brave the heat.

  “Hey, Pop?”

  “Yeah, Alex?” called Alan as Delmar leaned the chair back to the sink to wash his hair.