Birthright: Book I of the Temujin Saga by Adam J. Whitlatch

away from being the word samurai .”
    Samrai grinned. “Cool! So all we have to do is change the spelling and we’ll be all set. Problem solved. Thank you, come again.”
    “No, no, you idiot.” Moe slapped the back of his brother’s head. “He said you’re one letter away from a word . Not a name .”
    “So what does the word mean?”
    “What does it matter?” Alex said. “It’s not a name . You need an Earth name.”
    “What do you suggest, then?”
    “How about Sam? It’s simple. It’s common. It’s normal .”
    Samrai’s lip curled in disgust.
    “I think it suits you,” said Alex.
    “I think it stinks ,” Samrai countered.
    “Come on, Sam,” said Lamont. “We had to change our names. It’s not that bad.”
    “Yeah,” said Moe. “How attached to that name can you be? You’ve only had it for a day.”
    “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s my name!”
    “Just think of it as a nickname,” said Alex.
    “A what?”
    “A nickname,” repeated Alex. “A shorter form of your real name. You can still be Samrai, just not around other people.”
    Sam scowled, but finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it. Just don’t expect me to like it.”
    “Well,” said Lamont. “We’d all better turn in. We’ve got to get an early start tomorrow if we’re going to find that access hatch.”
    Alex nodded and headed for the kitchen. He stopped at the door and turned to address Sam. “Hurry up and put that DVD player back together before my dad catches you.”
    Sam slammed the lid back on the machine. “What? You mean this Blu-ray player?”
    Alex stared. “What?”
    Sam smiled.
    Moe shook his head at his brother’s pretentiousness. “Goodnight, Alex.”
    “Night, guys.”
    “Night, kid,” said Sam as he plugged the machine back in.
    Soon the only sounds in the Walker household were Alan Walker’s snoring and the kitchen faucet filling the occasional glass of water.

Chapter Ten
     
    The rains were long gone from the southern Iowa skies, but the memory of their passing still lingered in the air the next day. The air was hot and humid; thick enough to almost swim through, it seemed. Alex wiped the glaze of sweat from his forehead and glanced over his shoulder at the three Replodians, who seemed to be at home in the muggy conditions. After a short delay while Sam fretted over the “gross inefficiency” of the internal combustion engine in Mr. Walker’s pickup truck, the quartet had begun their search.
    Alex’s dog, Rocky, had not taken kindly to the Replodians at first, Sam in particular. After some coaxing, however, Moe managed to get the dog to let him briefly scratch him behind the ears.
    It didn’t take long to find the covered well in the woods. If not for Alex’s guidance, the Replodians would have walked right past it. They parted the thick tangle of weeds and brambles, exposing a large cement disc on the ground.
    “That’s it,” Alex said.
    Lamont brushed the boy aside with his arm. “Stand back.”
    The Replodian crouched and grabbed the sides of the disc. The cement crumbled as the alien’s fingers dug in.
    “Remember,” Sam called, “lift with your back, not your knees.”
    “Shut up, Sam,” Lamont growled.
    Sam smirked.
    With a grunt, Lamont lifted the cover stone, passing it before Alex’s astonished eyes before tossing it aside.
    Alex gawked at the discarded disc. “Whoa.”
    Moe knelt beside the hole, brushing aside the squirming worms and insects scrambling for cover from the sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. He peered into the gloom and immediately recoiled, wrinkling his nose.
    “Well,” said Sam. “Anything?”
    Moe shook his head. “Not what we’re looking for.”
    Alex cautiously stepped to the edge and looked down. At the bottom of the hole, just barely visible in the dim lighting, was a pool of black, stagnant water.
    Sam looked over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s nasty.”
    Lamont sighed. “Now what?”
    Alex racked his brain. Where would one