Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga (11 page)

Lamont turned the rifle over in his hands. “What the hell is this thing? A
paintball
gun?”

The momentary distraction was all Sam needed to make his escape. He disappeared into the well, and his voice echoed throughout the chamber, “This isn’t over! Count on it!”

Moe released the laser sword’s ignition switch and tossed it away. Lamont pointed the rifle at the floor and looked over his shoulder at Alex, who was approaching them slowly and cautiously.

“Are you all right?” asked Lamont.

Alex nodded.

“And Rocky?”

Alex looked at the door and patted his leg. Rocky hobbled out of the shadows, his left front paw held up. Lamont knelt beside him and felt his leg. Rocky whimpered softly, and the Replodian shushed him, nodding sympathetically.

“We’ll have to splint it,” Lamont concluded.

Moe approached the smoking hologram projector and shook his head. “This thing is totaled. What was that maniac doing?”

“It’s like he just snapped,” said Alex. “One minute he was fine, and the next minute he was trying to kill us.”

“I believe him,” said Lamont gravely. “This isn’t over.”

Alex joined Moe by the projector. “Well, what about Father?”

The voice of Amaadoss rumbled through the chamber, “I am here, Alexander.”

Alex looked up at the projector expectantly, but the platform was dark and empty.

“Where are you?” he asked. “I can’t see you.”

“My essence is integrated into the central computer,” Amaadoss explained. “It has always been there. When I uploaded myself into the mainframe, I replaced the original operating system. Simply put, I
am
the computer.”

“What would have caused Sam to attack us like that?” asked Lamont.

“That I do not know,” said the voice of Amaadoss. “It would appear that his programming was altered during the implantation process. However, this cannot be the case. I trust the person who oversaw the transfer implicitly. He would not have betrayed me.”

“We can’t worry about that now,” said Lamont. “His blasts destroyed a lot of the equipment. We need to repair the damage before we can be fully operational.”

“That’s just great!” Moe threw up his hands in frustration. “Our engineer just went homicidal and flew the coop. We’re screwed.”

“Do not despair,” said Amaadoss. “The mainframe contains detailed schematics of all the equipment. I can guide you through most of the repairs. However, I’m afraid the necessary components to repair the hologram projector do not exist on Earth.”

“We’ll just have to live without it,” said Lamont. “Let’s get to work. We’re burning daylight.”

Moe sniffed the air. “Speaking of burning, does anyone else smell that?”

Alex and Lamont looked around and sniffed; it didn’t take long to find the source of the mysterious odor.

Alex pointed. “Look!”

Lamont looked over at the wall he’d hit with the assault rifle during Sam’s escape. Smoke poured from the metal surface of the wall where the strange purple gel had adhered to it. The gel was eating the metal, like highly concentrated acid.

Lamont ejected the magazine. “What
is
this stuff?”

Nestled inside were more of the little round balls. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the spheres were divided into two fluid-filled internal compartments — one red, the other blue.

“Red and blue makes…” Lamont looked from the strange projectiles to the wall, which was still smoking, but not as much. “Purple.”

“The two chemicals must combine and start a chemical reaction upon impact,” Moe said. “That stuff dissolves whatever it comes in contact with.”

“Jesus,” said Alex. “It’s Satan’s paintball gun!”

Lamont carefully placed the rifle and magazine on the floor and backed away. “I vote we don’t touch any more weapons until we read the instruction manual front to back. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Alex and Moe in unison.

*****

Sam ran along the edge of the road, heading east, away from the farm. Emotion and logic clashed inside his head. He’d actually grown to like the kid, but his programming was quite clear. The kid had to die, along with his brothers, and their technology had to be smashed beyond repair. He just couldn’t figure out
why
.

The roar of an approaching engine caught Sam’s attention, and he turned as a battered green flatbed pickup slowed and pulled over beside him. The old man driving rolled down his window and called out in a toothless voice, “Where you headed, son?”

Sam furrowed his brow. Obviously he couldn’t face his brothers head on, they had a tactical advantage, and they’d be waiting; they’d blow his head off the second he stuck it through the door. What he needed was reinforcements. A thought popped into his head, and he smiled.

“How far to Mongolia, old man?” he asked.

The driver tilted his head, directing his ear toward the hitchhiker. “Eh? Magnolia?”

Sam grabbed the door and wrenched it off its hinges. The old man’s jaw went slack as the alien flung the door into the ditch like a Frisbee. He screamed as Sam pulled him from the truck and deposited him on the pavement. The Replodian climbed into the cab and made a show of buckling his seatbelt.

Sam smiled and waved. “Much obliged, gramps.”

The truck roared off to the east, toward the interstate, leaving its owner in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

“Where the hell are you goin’ with my truck?” the old man shouted at the retreating vehicle. “Magnolia’s the
other
way!”

Chapter Eleven

Temple of the Golden Horde

Gobi Desert, Mongolia

July 25th

Temujin brushed a strand of long, black hair behind his ear and adjusted his black and gold silk robe before turning to look out on the men assembled in his expansive new throne room. Vivid tapestries and red and gold silk curtains hung all around the room, concealing the rough stone and concrete beneath. Although his namesake had been content to live out most of his days in tents and straw huts, this new Temujin was not. 

The artisans had followed his designs to the letter, converting the crumbling decommissioned Soviet airbase into something much more befitting of a king. The offensive visages of Lenin had been painted over, replaced with vivid murals of conquering Mongol horsemen.

Unfortunately, the peasants assembled before him were a far cry from the Mongols of old, but they would have to do. Faces of every color gazed up at him in reverence. Some had come from as far as the Americas to serve him. He wrinkled his nose at their collective stench. None of them had bathed in days, some of them weeks. Loathsome as they may have been, they were also fierce, loyal warriors. 

Heavy footfalls from behind signaled the arrival of General Chuluun, a tall, muscular man of around fifty. Chuluun had been the Khan’s bodyguard since the day he was born, and he had protected his birth mother before that. When not training the troops, Chuluun was always at his Khan’s side. Of all his disciples, Chuluun alone held Temujin’s admiration, playing the roles of both father and brother to the young warlord-in training. Temujin even occasionally shared his harem with the general; a small price to pay for unwavering loyalty and devotion.

Two weeks earlier, Chuluun and the elite guard thwarted a poorly planned attempt on the Khan’s life by one of the soldiers. The peasant had declared Temujin a false prophet and claimed following him into battle against the combined world powers would result only in humiliating defeat and death. Temujin had greatly enjoyed squeezing the blasphemer’s skull with the power of his mind until his eyes popped out of their sockets, but not nearly as much as he enjoyed forcing the sobbing traitor’s last meal into his mouth: two pieces of toast smeared with a jelly made from those same eyeballs. After the incident, morale among the troops regarding Temujin’s divinity was at an all-time high.

The Khan stepped onto a raised platform and stretched his hands outward. The soldiers cheered enthusiastically at the sight of their king, many of them with weapons raised high above their heads.

He twisted one strand of his long, black mustache between his thumb and forefinger, his lips curling into a smirk as he soaked in his followers’ admiration. Finally the crowd’s exultation faded, and Temujin’s voice boomed throughout the cavernous room.

“My children,” he said, “the time will soon be upon us. Soon we will march across this world and claim that which is rightfully ours. But, we are not yet ready. Our numbers are still too few, even though many arrive to join our cause each and every day.

“But fear not, my loyal dogs of war. When the world is ripe for the picking, we will claim our birthright… our
destiny
! Then the unfaithful of this wretched world will know the power of the new Khaghan. They shall tremble before the power of the living god!”

Once again the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, and Temujin raised his hand for silence. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat when a voice speaking in English rose from the back of the room.

“I might be able to help you with that.”

The sea of soldiers parted down the middle to reveal a lone white man with untidy blond hair striding confidently toward the platform. The man took off his dark sunglasses and placed them into the breast pocket of his blue denim jacket. As he cleared the bewildered foot soldiers, the new arrival crouched and launched himself up to the top of the platform in a single bound, landing on his feet only a few feet from where Temujin stood.

“That is, if you’re interested in actually 
winning
this war, of course” said the stranger.

Temujin stared. Who was this
fool
so brazen to walk unbidden into his court?

“Nice ‘stache,” the stranger said, pointing to Temujin’s face. “But you know what it needs? Braid it and stick some beads on it.
Yeah.
The chicks would dig it.”

The Khan smiled and, in fluent English, said, “Allow me the pleasure of knowing your name before Chuluun kills you.”

The general drew his sword from the scabbard on his hip and advanced on the new arrival. The stranger smirked and pushed the blade away casually with one finger. He took one step toward the Khan, but stopped when Chuluun let out a warning growl.

“My name is Samrai,” the stranger said, “and I have some information that I think will be worth an awful lot to you.”

The Khan scowled impatiently. “Information regarding what, may I ask?”

“Alexander.”

Temujin’s eyes widened with obvious interest.

Sam smirked. “I see I have your attention.”

Temujin turned and strode away from the platform toward the silk curtain at the back of the room, his robes flowing behind him.

“Bring him,” he ordered. “And summon Captain Sukh to my chambers.”

“As you wish, my Khan,” said Chuluun, casting a suspicious glare at Sam.

*****

A few minutes later, Sam was ushered into Temujin’s private quarters. The room was almost filled to capacity with silk curtains, priceless Persian rugs, Tibetan tapestries, and plush cushions and pillows. In the center of the room on a stone pedestal rested an ornate silver casket. It was in front of this odd centerpiece that the Khan now stood, a glass of wine clutched in his left hand.

Sam gestured toward the coffin. “Shall I call you Dracula, or do you prefer Count?”

Chuluun drew his sword. “Profane dog!”

The Khan calmed his general with a wave and chuckled as he approached his guest. “Clever. No, this is the coffin of my predecessor, the man you know as Genghis Khan. Every night, I rest within the coffin in order to absorb his power. As for your comparison, although I have thoroughly studied and admire the tactics of Vlad Tepes, I must say that he lacked vision; he thought too small. Tepes sought only to punish those who had offended him. I, on the other hand, want nothing short of the entire world.”

“Really,” Sam drawled. “And what about the Seignso?”

Temujin’s smile faded at the mention of the name. “You’re well informed, sir. What of them?”

“Well, surely you realize that as soon as you’ve done all of the dirty work for them, they’re just going to step in and take over everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

“The thought has not escaped me,” the Khan replied.

“And what do you plan to do when that day comes?”

At that moment, one of the curtains was brushed aside and a short, stocky Mongolian with a long goatee entered the room. This, Sam surmised, was Captain Sukh. The captain stood beside the Khan, opposite Chuluun, with one hand resting on the pommel of his
da dao
. Sam couldn’t believe it; they were actually trying to intimidate him with numbers.

Silly humans.

Temujin smiled unpleasantly. “I’m sorry. I believe you said you had some information for me.”

“I assume you would like to know the full name and location of the child named Alexander?”

“This name has plagued my dreams and disrupted my meditations since I was a boy, but nobody — not even the ‘all-knowing’ Seignso — can tell me who he is,” said the Khan. “May I ask how
you
came by this information?”

“I am — was — a member of the TDC.”

The acronym triggered puzzled expressions from the three humans.

“Is this some sort of… government agency?” Captain Sukh said.

Sam rolled his eyes and put a finger to his lips to shush the captain. “
Shhh!
Grown-ups are talking.”

Sukh’s face flushed.

“No,” Sam said, “the Terran Defense Corps is an elite task force created exclusively to counteract your efforts. In other words, Your Heinous Highness, they’ve been sent to kill you.”

Temujin pursed his lips, considering this new information. “But you have elected to come to me instead.”

“You betcha.”

“Why?”

Sam shrugged. “Let’s just say I prefer to be on the winning team.”

“You said that they were
sent
. Sent from where exactly?” asked the Khan. “The United States? Britain?”