Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga (3 page)

“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 facilities,” 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
?”

“You are, Administrator.”

“What in Great Mother’s name for?”

“Protection.”

“Protection?” Ohrb cried, unable to contain his outrage any more. “Protection from
what
?”

Amaadoss glanced sideways at the admiral. “Temujin.”

Ohrb blinked. “Come again?”

Amaadoss sighed. “Twelve cycles ago, a clone was created of an ancient Earth warlord. This clone was imbued with special abilities and sent to Earth with a single purpose. Conquest.”

“
Sent
to Earth?” Ohrb repeated. “By whom? Who made the clone?”

The Arqan’s expression was grave. “The Seignso.”

The atmosphere of the entire room chilled at the very mention of this name.

Ohrb locked eyes with Amaadoss. “This all sounds rather suspect to me. I’d like to know where you get your information, Doctor. How do you know things that Naval Intelligence does not?”

“I have sources with first-hand knowledge of the Seignso’s eugenics program,” Amaadoss explained. “Last cycle, the Federation offered them asylum after they were rescued in a raid on an illegal Seignso colony within the Gluut system.”

“I was not made aware that those refugees possessed valuable intelligence,” said Ohrb, obviously angry.

“Voices do not carry well through your office walls, Admiral. Perhaps if you stepped out once in a while—”

“You son-of-a—”

“Admiral!” the administrator’s voice rang out.

Amaadoss turned to address the administrator. “Sir, we are running out of time. As you can see, the enemy already has a head start on us. They’ve managed to infuse their own telepathic and telekinetic abilities into the greatest military mind in Terran history.

“You’ve read my report; my experiment has been compromised. The embryo has split in two, but the subjects’ abilities are not shared. Only one twin has the same abilities as Temujin. The other possesses traits of a previously unknown variety of human called
Homo immortalis
; these traits simply aren’t enough to ensure its survival. My plan is to implant three Replodian larvae to aid the first child in his fight. They will be his bodyguards, instructors, and comrades in battle.

“Administrator, the sum I ask for is merely a fraction of the credits that would be lost if this project were to fail because our super-soldier got killed before his acne cleared up. Not to mention the incalculable lives that would be lost if the Seignso initiated phase two of their plan.”

“Which is?”

“Galaxy-wide implementation,” said Amaadoss. “This… This is only a trial run.”

The administrator let all this sink in. He nodded.

Ohrb approached Amaadoss and looked up into his eyes. “Even if what you say is true, what’s to stop me from sending the entire Federation fleet to blast the Seignso home world into a bead of glass?”

Amaadoss scoffed. “Admiral, do you
really
think the regional governors would approve a full-scale assault on Sorua without concrete proof?”

The admiral ground his teeth.

“I thought not.” Amaadoss smiled, savoring this small victory.

Ohrb struggled to regain his composure and sneered. “Administrator, this is absurd! Dr. Amaadoss is using the empty threat of a Seignso coup to accrue more funds for his failed experiments. This is nothing but a scare tactic.”

“You know what, Admiral?” The administrator turned his artificial eyes toward Ohrb. “It’s working.”

“But—”

The administrator turned back to Amaadoss. “You are confident that the Replodian operatives would be able to protect the child until he reaches maturity?”

Amaadoss smiled. “Do you know of anyone better?”

The administrator nodded. “Very well, Doctor. The necessary funds will be allocated to your account by the end of the day.”

Ohrb’s jaw dropped.

Amaadoss beamed. “Thank you.”

The administrator nodded and waved a dismissing hand. “Now get out of here. Both of you.”

As the office doors slid shut behind him, Admiral Ohrb watched the smug scientist stride down the corridor toward the grav-lift. The thumping pulse in his ears was deafening.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered. “Not by a long shot.”

Chapter Three

Amaadoss placed a comforting hand on Jiri’s clammy shoulder as they watched security personnel bring in three large silver cylinders, each courier flanked by guards armed with assault rifles. Behind them strode a tall, cloaked figure, its face concealed by an oversized hood. It was the presence of this very figure that had the Glynfarian so on edge.