Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga (13 page)

Memories fade with time, he had explained, and it was the same — if not more severe — with Methuselans. That was the name Long used for what they were; he didn’t like the term
Homo immortalis
that Quintin had grown up hearing on Glynfyl. He also didn’t care for the word
human
, saying it was reserved for a less-civilized primate, whatever that meant.

Robert Long wasn’t even his real name, just the first one he could remember using. He could not even remember his parents, or where he came from, or the language he spoke there, but he did remember waking up on a beach in a place called “Eng Land” long ago. One day, he knew, he would forget being Robert Long entirely; that is, if he lived that long.

In the corridor, Quintin and Robert walked in silence awhile before Quintin finally spoke, switching from Phaedojian to heavily accented English, “Thanks for helping me get my money, Robert.”

Robert came to a halt and looked at the boy. “You’ll get your money when you go to the academy next term — for tuition.”

“The academy?” cried Quintin. “But, Robert—”

“But
nothing
,” Robert interjected. “You disobeyed a direct order. You were told to stay here on Moebius and let me and Rene go after Bonwoppa ourselves.”

“But, Robert,” Quintin protested, “that scumbag scragged Ian.”

“That’s right,” Robert snapped, pinning Quintin to the wall with one powerful hand. “He
did
! Not many beings can kill one of our kind with their
bare hands
, and Kreeg Bonwoppa did just that. You’re only sixteen, Quintin. Ian was nearly three hundred years old and a lot more experienced than you — a trained soldier. You’re damned lucky that it’s not
your
head in a bag!”

Quintin hung his head. “I’m sorry, Robert.”

Robert let him go, tousled the youth’s hair affectionately, and slipped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned in close. “How did he die?”

Quintin grinned. “On his knees. Begging.”

Robert patted his back and they resumed their walk. “Good lad. Come on. The others are waiting.”

“Are they mad?”

Robert drew in breath between his teeth as he stopped in front of a door and pressed his palm against the scanner. “They’re not happy.”

The door slid open with a soft hiss and the hallway was immediately filled with the sounds of two people — a man and a woman — shouting.

Quintin sighed and looked at Robert wearily. “They’re fighting again?”

“Again?” Robert raised an eyebrow. “They never stopped.”

“If you didn’t fill his head with all of your stupid war stories,” the woman shouted, “he wouldn’t be so eager to go out there and prove himself. It’s
your
fault.”

“He doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone,” said the man in a thick Cajun accent. “And it is
not
my fault. The boy makes his own decisions.”

Quintin and Robert entered the room and saw the feuding pair standing in the center of the room; only a game table positioned between them kept them from coming to blows. The woman was tall with shoulder-length red hair. The top of her black uniform was unzipped with the sleeves tied around her waist, leaving only a tight gray tank top to cover her torso. Quintin tried his best not to stare, but in the end, his adolescent hormones prevailed.

The man was almost a head shorter than the woman, with brown hair covered by a black bandana. His own jumpsuit was fully zipped, but the sleeves were rolled up, exposing his muscular arms.

“Rene. Cherry,” said Robert as the door hissed shut behind him. “Put a sock in it, will you? I found him. He’s fine.”

Rene Boudreaux and Cheryl Sadler — the latter affectionately called “Cherry” by the other Methuselans on Moebius — turned. Quintin braced himself as Cherry rushed forward and wrapped him in a crushing embrace.

“Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly.

“I’m fine,” Quintin gasped.

Cherry looked him over, checking for bruises.

“Seriously!” Quintin brushed her hand away as she started checking his hairline for cuts. “I’m fine, Cherry.”

“Let him be,” said Rene. “He’s a man, now.”

Cherry whirled on the Cajun. “He’s just a boy!”

Rene scoffed, “When I was his age, I’d already been killed twice in battle.”

Cherry beat her fist against the Cajun’s chest. “That’s
exactly
what I’m talking about. You fill his head with these ideas.”

“Oh, stop it, woman.” Rene grabbed her wrist before she could strike him again. “You mother the boy too much.”

Quintin rolled his eyes and retreated to a nearby sofa. He put in his ear buds, thumbing the PLAY button on the right-side ear unit to fill his ears with loud Phaedojian rock music.

Rene Boudreaux was much younger than Robert, and he remembered every minute detail about his childhood, or so he claimed. Like Robert, he’d been a soldier several times and claimed to have fought in every major war since “The War of Northern Aggression.” Robert fought in the same war, but he called it “The Civil War,” a name that usually sent Rene into long, incomprehensible rants in French.

Quintin knew little about Cherry because she didn’t like talking about her past. Whenever the subject came up, she would get quiet and her whole body would start shaking. This usually resulted in Quintin being ushered out of the room by one of the men. Some nights, he heard her crying out and screaming in her sleep.

Rene and Cherry were an item, or at least they had been before Cherry accused Rene of sleeping with a female wrendagga hunter and called the whole thing off. Ever since then, they had been fighting nonstop about anything and everything. Robert insisted that they were still in love but were just too stubborn to kiss and make up.

When Quintin arrived in the Moebius System just over two cycles before, the others had already been stationed there for several cycles. It was the first time Quintin had ever met any other human beings, let alone a female. His teenage infatuation with Cherry hadn’t gone unnoticed and she had taken to him like an older sister, or — sometimes, like today — the mother he never had. She was constantly worrying about his safety, and even more so than Robert, wanted very much for him to give up the notion of being a hunter and attend the academy on Phaedaj.

But Quintin had seen enough of Phaedaj. He’d seen enough of the Federation. He wanted to see Earth.

Bad.

Even though the others could speak nearly fluent Phaedojian when he met them, Robert had set himself to the task of teaching the youth English. Appalled when he learned of Quintin’s lack of a last name, Robert bestowed him with the name MacLaren, one of his old aliases on Earth.

Quintin proved to be a quick study, and with English mastered, Rene had then begun teaching him French. Although, to Cherry’s dismay, Quintin’s French vocabulary mainly consisted of profanity and Louisiana colloquialisms. The Cajun’s accent also found its way into the boy’s speech patterns, along with Long’s own myriad European inflections.

Suddenly the door slid open, and a short Glynfarian stepped into the room. He wore blue robes and shuffled over the threshold with the aid of a walking stick. At the sight of him, Cherry and Rene were instantly silenced, and Quintin removed his ear buds. The Glynfarian scowled at Quintin, the servos in his four gold ocular implants whirring and contracting the artificial irises.

“Uh… hi, Jiri,” said Quintin nervously.

“So…” Jiri’s voice was gravelly with age, which only made the effect of dual, overlapping tones more unsettling. “You’ve returned.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Quintin solemnly.

“Good.” Jiri took two labored steps into the room, leaning heavily on his walking stick. “I assume that you’ve gotten it out of your system now?”

Quintin bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“What would your father say if he were here right now?”

“I don’t know,” said Quintin in a voice barely above a whisper.

Amaadoss, his father, had had great plans for Quintin. The academy was always at the front of his mind, of course. He’d wanted Quintin to become a great diplomat, a spokesman for peace within the Federation. But after he died and Jiri was reassigned to Moebius as the Methuselans’ custodian, Quintin had quickly set his sights on the exciting life of a hunter.

“We’ll talk about this later, Son,” said Jiri. “Right now I need to speak to the others alone.”

Quintin stood and walked toward the door. “Yes, sir.”

As he passed the others, Robert put a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a warm smile. Quintin did not return the smile, but stepped through the door and into the hall. He yanked the elastic band out of his hair and let the auburn locks cascade down around his face. He leaned back against the door and slowly slid to the floor.

He sat in complete stillness for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, gray device. He peeled a thin, clear disc from the back and placed it against the door. Tiny filaments glowed blue within. He tapped an icon on the device and slipped one of his earbuds into his right ear, immediately filling it with Robert’s crystal clear voice.

*****

Robert smoothed his hair with his hand and took a deep breath. “Look, Jiri, I know what you’re going to say, and I can assure you—”

“Sit down, Robert,” said Jiri. “All of you. This isn’t about Quintin.”

Robert pulled up one of the various chairs strewn about the room and sat in it backward, resting his arms on the chair’s low back. Rene and Cherry sat on the couch, making sure to sit as far away from each other as possible. Jiri sighed, and for a moment the only sound in the room was the soft whirring of his ocular implants.

“I have re-established communication with TDC Command on Earth,” he said finally.

This announcement was met with a joyous outburst from the humans, but Jiri silenced them with a raised hand. “The news is not good.”

“What is it?” asked Robert.

Jiri took a deep, calming breath. “Three Terran cycles ago, TDC Command was attacked and suffered significant damage. The long-range inter-planetary communication system was among the equipment damaged in the attack. It took them this long to repair the unit. Once the communications link was re-established, Amaadoss contacted me.”

The humans nodded. They knew all about the Terran Defense Corps, and, as a favor to Jiri, they never mentioned it in front of Quintin for fear that he might learn the truth about his origins.

“Who attacked them?” said Cherry. “Were they discovered by Temujin?”

Jiri shook his head. “That, Cheryl, is what hurts the most. They were betrayed by one of their own. The Replodian science officer apparently malfunctioned and attacked the others. During his rampage, he managed to disable several defense systems and wounded one of the other Replodians.” He saw the distress on Cherry’s face and held up his hand. “Quintin’s brother is fine, but the operation is still severely crippled and the TDC is grossly outnumbered.”

Rene sighed. “Could this get any worse?”

“What’s worse—” Jiri began.

“Way to open your big mouth,” Cherry said to Rene.

“What’s worse,”
Jiri continued, “is that recent intelligence suggests Temujin’s forces are in possession of several weapons of both Replodian and Federation design. I believe that the traitor has defected to the Golden Horde and is supplying them with technology intended for the TDC.”

“Merde,”
Rene breathed. “How could this happen?”

“Amaadoss and I have discussed all possible scenarios, and have come up with only one plausible explanation,” said Jiri. “Sabotage.”

“Who could have possibly sabotaged the project?” asked Robert.

Jiri’s brow furrowed. “I have my suspicions. Unfortunately I lack proof. After the transmission from Amaadoss, I checked the records at Dreknor from my office, and our suspicions are correct. Someone changed three lines of code and drastically altered Unit 003’s primary programming, ordering him to destroy all materials and personnel related to both the TDC and Project Alexander.”

“What can we do?” said Robert.

“In their current state, the TDC have only a thirty-two percent chance of survival. I ask that you three return to Earth and offer support. I know that’s asking a lot of you, but we don’t have a choice.”

“Return… to Earth?” said Cherry.

“But,” said Rene, “doesn’t that violate the parameters of the experiment?”

“Damn the
experiment
, Boudreaux!” Jiri pounded his walking stick on the floor. “We’re talking about people’s lives. Not just the TDC, but
billions
of human lives. Not to mention the lives lost when the Seignso’s plans are—”

“Okay. Okay,” said Rene defensively. “What can we do for them besides double their numbers?”

“You’re a mechanic,” said Jiri. “Surely you can help them repair sixteen-year-old obsolete Phaedojian hardware can’t you?”

“No need to get pissy,” Rene muttered.

Jiri turned to the others. “Can I depend on you, my friends?”

Robert nodded. “When do we leave?”

“In six hours,” said Jiri. “That doesn’t give you much time to prepare, I know, but time is of the utmost importance. We cannot afford to dawdle. I have procured a class three interceptor for your journey. You’ll make your hyperspace jump at the Arqo jump gate.”

The hunters all nodded and stood to leave the room.

Jiri turned. “Oh, there is one more thing. It would be best if you didn’t mention any of this to Quintin. He’s such an impulsive boy, bless him. I’m afraid if he were to learn about his brother on Earth that he might fly off again and try to join the war.”

“Impulsive.
Gee
,” said Cherry. “I wonder where he learned
that
kind of behavior.”

Rene threw up his hands in exasperation. “There you go again! Always busting my balls!”

“You can’t break what’s already broken,” Cherry jeered. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was a neighboring organ, wasn’t it?”

“All right, woman, now you’ve gone too far!”

*****

In the hall, Quintin stared into space, ignoring the rest of the argument. Was he hallucinating, or had Jiri actually just said he had spoken with his
father
? But that was impossible. Amaadoss had been dead for years. And his
brother
?