The War of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic (Saga of the Iron Dragon Book 5)

by Robert Kroese

  “If what you’re saying is true, it would be better for the Cho-ta’an to cease to be.”

  “I believe you’re wrong, but it’s your decision. Choose suicide if you wish. But I don’t think you will. I think the Cho-ta’an hate for humanity stems from your realization that you were once like us. It’s the hatred of a child for his parents. Well, it’s time to grow up.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  F reya’s condition continued to worsen over the next several days. The Cho-ta’an did what they could to get answers from her about the virus, but she knew little about it and the incessant interrogation only made her progressively less coherent. By the time they got around to trying various methods of torture, she was beyond feeling pain. She died six days after her last meeting with General Semik.

  Draconian measures were implemented in the capital to stop the spread of the virus. Martial law was declared and checkpoints were set up throughout the city. Those known to have been exposed to the virus were quarantined. Soon, tens of thousands were in quarantine, and still the virus spread unchecked. The government ran out of space for quarantine, and there were rumors of mass executions. A mob smashed through a quarantine barrier, and several thousand infected Cho-ta’an were killed trying to escape. As a last resort, the authorities firebombed large sections of the city. Still the virus spread.

  The government fell and those charged with keeping order gave up. The once tightly regimented Cho-ta’an civilization devolved into anarchy and mayhem. And all the while, rumors spread about the true nature of the seemingly innocuous virus that had started the panic. A few, who had heard whispers about what the Fractalists believed, even guessed the truth.

  The worldwide collapse of Cho-ta’an civilization was nearly complete when the first babies conceived after the virus were born. Tens of thousands of them were murdered or left to die. A very few were suffered to live. By this time, the entire population, with the exception of a few hundred individuals who had taken shelter in hermetically sealed bunkers or government facilities, had contracted the virus. As the years went on, the numbers of genetically “pure” Cho-ta’an dwindled further. There were no longer any Cho-ta’an children being born, and it was beginning to dawn on the population as a whole than there was never going to be a “cure.” The Cho-ta’an would be forced to choose the continuation of the species as human beings or extinction.

  In the end, they chose life.

  It was by no means an easy or popular decision. Those who chose to raise their human children were ridiculed, persecuted and often murdered. But they were not eradicated, and given enough time, natural selection favors those whose children survive. By the second generation born after the virus, there were more humans than Cho-ta’an. By the fifth, there were no Cho-ta’an left. By the eighth, there was no one left on Yavesk who had ever seen a live Cho-ta’an. But these new people remembered, and they rebuilt.

  Just under two hundred years after the birth of the first human being on Yavesk, a spaceship carrying five hundred passengers and powered by a self-contained hyperspace drive left Yavesk in search of a planet more suited to human biology. A few weeks later, that ship, the name of which was something like Hope, emerged from hyperspace near an inviting yellow sun. Orbiting this sun at a distance of about a hundred million miles was a medium-sized blue-green planet. A radio signal emanated from a tiny island not far from the planet’s magnetic north. It said:

  0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34 …

  After the seventeenth number of the Fibonacci sequence, the broadcast started over at zero. This was the siren’s song that had reached Yavesk decades earlier. The people who built Hope did not know the origin of the transmission, but the use of the Cheyakin sequence suggested an intelligent entity. Few dared speak it, but some hoped it was the long-awaited beacon that had been foretold by Freya the Pure, which would lead them back to the cradle of humanity, called Earth.

  The captain of Hope, a man named Cheim Sebbarik, ordered the ship to set down on the island, not far from the huge dish antenna broadcasting the signal, which had been constructed less than a mile from a gigantic glacier. Sensors indicated that atmospheric radiation levels, while elevated, were not dangerous. Sebbarik led his second in command and two yeomen outside. The sun shone brightly in a nearly cloudless blue sky. The air was cool; a bracing breeze blew from the northeast. Sebbarik found himself smiling. Despite the barren landscape, and despite having never before set foot on this planet, it felt like home.

  They walked together toward the huge antenna complex. In its base was a heavy steel door, which Sebbarik opened without difficulty. Beyond it was a narrow passageway that cut through the otherwise solid block of concrete. Captain Sebbarik led the three men through the passage to the center of the structure, where they found a steel hatch in the floor. Opening the hatch revealed a vertical shaft lined with steel rungs. Sebbarik climbed down, followed by the three crewmen. Some fifty feet down, they emerged into one end of a gigantic vault that appeared to be carved out of natural stone. The vault was surprisingly cold; sensors indicated a temperature well below freezing, and a muted hum suggested the chamber was artificially refrigerated. How long had those compressors been running on their own? There was no sign of anyone alive.

  The men slowly spread out, the two yeomen taking readings on their equipment. The vault was circular, about a hundred feet across, with a column in the center about twenty feet in diameter. By the light from glowing panels in the ceiling, Captain Sebbarik could see that the perimeter of the chamber was lined with human-sized doors, several feet apart. Inset in the central stone column were several steel cabinets about seven feet high and three feet wide. Each cabinet had twenty rows of five drawers; they reminded Sebbarik of an ancient card catalog that he’d seen in a library when he was a child. Alternating with the cabinets were what appeared to be computer terminals.

  Sebbarik selected one of the drawers at random and pulled it open. It held hundreds of little cards—it was a card catalog! He pulled one out and regarded it. At the top was a twelve-digit number that was printed so small he could hardly read it. Below this was a rectangular block of solid gray.

  Sebbarik’s second in command, Keir Challas, came up next to him. “Microfiche?” he said. Sebbarik squinted at the card. Indeed, the gray block wasn’t solid after all: it was nearly microscopic lines of text. Each of those little cards held a book’s worth of information. But information about what?

  To his right, Yeoman Cheyannis was inspecting one of the terminals. He tapped at what looked like a keyboard, but the screen above it remained dark. Just below the screen was a horizontal slot. Sebbarik slid the card into the slot, and the screen suddenly lit up with text. If it had been in a language they understood, they would have been able to read it.

  “Strange way to store data,” said Challas. “This whole catalog would easily fit on a single micro data card.”

  “Deliberately low tech,” Sebbarik replied. “And durable.” He bent the card double and then let it spring back. There was no crease; the cards were made of some paper-thin synthetic substance he’d never seen before.

  “What do you think it’s for, sir? Recipes for recreating lost technology?”

  The captain shook his head, looking at the doors lining the walls of the chamber. “It’s some kind of reference catalog.” He left the card where it was and walked to one of the doors. He pulled the handle. There was a sound like a hermetic seal breaking, and colder air rushed out. Sebbarik stepped inside.

  He found himself in a hallway, some five feet wide and forty feet long. Circular panels inset on the ceiling provided light. The hallway was lined with columns of square doors, each of them about six inches by six inches. At the end of the hall was another human-sized door. Sebbarik stopped a few feet in and opened one of the little doors. Inside was a drawer. Already shivering from the cold despite his heated all-weather gear, he pulled the drawer out from the wall. Inside the drawer was a rack that held several dozen small test tubes. Seb
barik carefully removed one and examined it. On a small label a twelve-digit number was printed. Below the number was a bar code.

  “Biological samples?” asked his second-in-command, Keir Challas.

  “Looks like it,” said Sebbarik. He put the tube back and examined several more. They all had twelve-digit numbers printed on them. He picked one at random and walked back to the central catalog. Now he saw that next to the slot under the screen was a small lens. A laser reader? He held the tube in front of the lens. After several attempts, he managed to trigger the reader. A line of red light flashed on the barcode, and the screen lit up. This time, though, the screen showed pictures as well as text. The yeomen both gasped behind him.

  “What is that?” Callas asked. “A kind of bird?” The few species of birds that lived on Yavesk were squat, ugly things, thought to have descended from the chicken or pigeon. The creature in the picture was majestic, with gorgeous plumage and a white cowl that contrasted with its darker body. Its eyes were not the dull eyes of a creature that spent most of its time on the ground, scratching in the dirt for bugs, but rather those of a vicious predator that ruled the skies. Sebbarik figured out how to use the terminal’s controls to scroll down, and more pictures came into view. One of them showed a specimen of the creature, standing next to a man, its wings spread. The thing’s wingspan was greater than the height of the man.

  “Are there such birds on this planet?” asked Yeoman Keffris.

  “There were, once,” said the captain.

  “Do you suppose each of those samples holds the DNA of a single animal?” asked Callas.

  “Animal or other life form,” said Sebbarik.

  “But why the two different cataloging systems?”

  “Redundancy,” said Sebbarik. “These terminals are connected to a database somewhere, probably farther underground. In case the database or terminals fail, a condensed version of the data for each organism is contained on those cards.”

  “Then this really is Earth,” said Callas. “This place is like an ark for all the species that were destroyed by the Aberrants.”

  “Wow,” said Yeoman Cheyannis. “Then it’s all true. The stories about how Freya the Pure cured humanity of the Aberrations and set up a beacon to call us back to Earth.”

  “It sure does look that way,” said Sebbarik.

  “But… if they’re just DNA samples,” said Keffris, “that doesn’t help us much. We don’t have the technology to recreate animals from a few cells.”

  “We haven’t seen the whole place yet,” said Sebbarik. “Come on.”

  He went back through the door he’d opened earlier. After replacing the sample, he continued down the hall and opened the far door. Beyond it was another large space that seemed to continue all the way around the central vault, like a wheel around a hub. At first glance, it appeared to be a laboratory. It was at least as cold here as in the hall, and they were all shivering as they spread out to explore the area.

  “It’s a genetics lab,” said Yeoman Keffris, who was the ship’s xenobiologist. “I don’t know how to operate half this equipment, but if you wanted to resurrect an extinct species, this would be a good place to start.”

  Sebbarik, ignoring the equipment, walked straight toward the outer wall, which was lined with what appeared to be drawers. Each drawer was about a foot square, and they were stacked six high. Sebbarik opened one at random.

  “My God,” he said. The others quickly gathered round.

  “What is it?” asked Challas.

  “Some kind of animal,” said Sebbarik. “It might be what the scriptures call a serpent.” The thing was coiled up like a rope, but it appeared to be about three feet long. It was encased in a hermetically sealed chamber made of some transparent material. A stasis chamber.

  Sebbarik opened another, which contained something like an unusually large, hairless dog. Another contained a creature whose human-like hands and feet made them shudder. It was hard to know for certain, not knowing what the adult forms looked like, but Sebbarik got the impression the animals were all young, perhaps infants. And they all seemed to be females.

  “Those samples,” said Challas. “Do you think they’re fertilized eggs?”

  “It’s a good hypothesis,” said Sebbarik. “The idea may be to thaw out the live animal, let it grow to maturity, and then implant it with the eggs.”

  “Amazing,” said Keffris. “This must have taken decades. How the hell did they know to start on this project before the war with the Aberrants even started?”

  “Maybe Freya the Pure really was a prophet,” said Sebbarik. “Or maybe somebody just thought it would be a good idea to prepare for the worst. Come on, let’s get back to the ship. I’m freezing.”

  They followed the captain the way they had come. When they reached the vaulted room, they found someone waiting for them. Sebbarik drew his gun. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The figure held up its hands. “I surrender,” it said.

  “What the hell?” asked Challas.

  “A robot?” said Keffris.

  “I am apologizing,” the figure said. It was shaped like a person, but its body was constructed of some kind of gray plastic. “My name is Amelia. Please for you to have patience while I learn your language?”

  “You speak pretty well for someone who doesn’t know our language,” said Sebbarik.

  “The Cho-ta’an was taught to me. Similar it be to language of you, however there being changes while I wait.”

  “Cho-ta’an?” asked Challis. “Isn’t that what they used to call the Aberrants?”

  “Yeah,” said Sebbarik. “In the old books.” He regarded the machine. “You were built by the Cho-ta’an?”

  “No. My building was of the Izarians. Izarians are a subset of human.”

  “How long have you been waiting here?”

  “I have been in this area for three minutes. I was in differing area in this structure when I heard a noise. The noise was identified as speech of human. That is why I come here.”

  “Not here in this room. Here in this facility.”

  “I have waited one hundred ninety-nine Earth years.”

  “My God. Waited for what?”

  “I have waited for you. You are human.”

  “You’re responsible for the signal? The Cheyakin sequence?”

  “No. The broadcast of the numbers you call Cheyakin sequence was part of plan by Freya.”

  “Freya?” asked Challas. “You mean Freya the Pure?”

  “I do not know that name. She was called Freya Michaelsson. She was also called Astrid van de Lucht.”

  “It’s got to be her, Captain,” said Keffris. “She sent that signal and left this robot here to welcome us. Unbelievable. All the stories are true.”

  “It’s starting to look that way,” said Sebbarik. “Are there any other people here?”

  “No. The last one of humans died one hundred thirty-four years before now.”

  “And you’ve been waiting for us since then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it accurate to say that this place is a sort of library of Earth species?”

  “That is part of the reason of it.”

  “What is the reason of—what is the purpose of this place?”

  “To help humans populate the planet of Earth. It is a start over place.”

  “A start over place,” said Sebbarik, with a smile. “I like that. Amelia, will you accompany us to our ship above? There are more people waiting for us there.”

  “Do you intend to populate the planet of Earth?”

  “That’s the idea, yes.”

  “Then I am in your service.”

  “Very good,” said Sebbarik. “Up we go.”

  *****

  “It’s a little overwhelming,” said Challas, as he and the captain stood admiring the glacier that towered over them. Compared to the huge mass of ice, Hope was like a child’s toy. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we don’t have to start from scratch, bui
lding an ecosystem with the specimens we have on board, but this… the whole frozen zoo, and the fertilized zygotes, and that crazy robot….”

  “One thing at a time, Challas,” said Sebbarik with a grin. “Thankfully we’ve got a lot of really smart people on board. Geologists, biologists, geneticists, agronomists, even linguists. So we don’t have to figure all this stuff out ourselves. And we’ve got enough food onboard Hope to last us for years, so we have plenty of time. Let’s bring everybody out of stasis and let them stretch their legs.”

  “And then what?” Challas asked.

  “Then,” said Sebbarik, “we get to work. We’ve got a planet to populate.”

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  Acknowledgements

  This book would not have been possible without the assistance of:

  My beta readers: Matthew McCormick, Mark Fitzgerald, Mark Leone and Pekka Gaiser.

  And the Saga of the Iron Dragon Kickstarter supporters, including: Rage A, Arnie, David Božjak, Josh Creed, Kristin Crocker, Rick DeVos, Lauren Nicole Foley, David Hutchins, iworam32, JP, Lowell Jacobson, Christophe Landa, Dark Memoria, Matthew J McCormick, Eric Martens, Grant Morath, John W Nichols, Bruce Parrello, Kristen Rudd, Larry Prince, Sharon Sloan, Christopher Smith, Joel Suovaniemi, John Taloni, and Christopher Turner.

  Any errors in this book are the fault of the author. I did my best.