The Legacy of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic

by Robert Kroese

  “The seedships can land, can they not?”

  “They could, but it would be unlikely to buy us any time. Setting aside the problem of landing trajectories and launch windows, which you know more about than I, the cargo and colonists would still have to be transported to the ships. The loading process will be much slower in full gravity, and of course the ships are even more vulnerable on the ground than they are in orbit.”

  “Then we’re at an impasse,” Huiskamp said. “Consider this your heads-up that I’m going to be ordering the loading process suspended immediately. Our best bet for now is to get those seedships as far away from Geneva as possible. The crews currently aboard can wait for years if necessary. If Kilimanjaro gets here eventually, we may still have a chance to retake the Geneva gate and kick the Cho-ta’an out of the system.”

  “Do you think that’s likely?”

  “Between you and me? No. Kilimanjaro’s last known location was the Procyon system. Assuming she hasn’t been blown to pieces, and assuming the Procyon gate isn’t under Cho-ta’an control, she could conceivably get here via the Chrylis gate in three weeks, at max acceleration. By then the Cho-ta’an will have destroyed our defenses and taken control of Geneva.”

  “That’s rather defeatist talk for an IDL admiral.”

  “It’s the reality of the situation. You wanted the truth, so I’m giving it to you. Our best bet is to get the seedships out of here, but it’s not much of a bet. Even if the seedships do make it back to Geneva someday, it’s unlikely there will be any colonists left to board them.”

  “I see,” said the director. She was quiet for a moment, taking in the implications of what the admiral was saying. “There may be another way,” she said at last.

  “A way of getting the ships loaded in less than five days?”

  “Not exactly. The problem, you see, is the sheer number of colonists. It takes a long time to move that many people, and of course the more people there are, the more cargo the ship requires. Are you familiar with the concept of minimum viable population?”

  “More or less. It’s the minimum number of organisms of a species you would need to ensure survival of the species. My understanding was that for human beings, the number is around two hundred unrelated individuals. That’s why the seedships were designed to carry four hundred colonists each.”

  “That’s the official line, yes. The actual number is dependent on a great number of factors and is surprisingly difficult to calculate with any confidence. Two hundred unrelated individuals might be sufficient if you screened ruthlessly for genetic defects and carefully controlled interbreeding for several generations. Most geneticists believe a more realistic number is a thousand or more.”

  “Hence the need for the TGP.”

  “Yes. The idea is that a few generations after the colonists reach their destination, they have the resources to set up a fertility clinic. Women can be artificially inseminated and embryos can be implanted in surrogate mothers. But here’s the thing: there’s no reason the clinic can’t be set up on the seedship while it is traveling. If you did that, you wouldn’t need the full four hundred colonists. You’d create your own colonists on your way to your destination.”

  “How many initial colonists would you need in that scenario?”

  “Fifteen,” said the director. “Maybe fewer. But they’d have to be all female, healthy and between fourteen and twenty-five years old. And you’d still need the cryogenic payload, medical personnel, and facilities for implanting embryos. Otherwise you’d run into problems with inbreeding within a few generations.”

  “Then why the hell did we build ships big enough for four hundred people?”

  “The seedship project was concerned with more than simply perpetuating the species. Ideally we would preserve something of human culture and technology as well. That’s a lot easier to do with four hundred people than twenty.”

  “Those issues aside—assuming access to the TGP and medical resources, humanity could, theoretically, be sustained indefinitely?”

  “Yes. Assuming one pregnancy per year for twenty years, multiplied by fifteen women, all from unrelated, implanted embryos, you’d have a population of three hundred unrelated individuals in a single generation. That alone would likely be sufficient genetic diversity to keep the race going. If you utilized implanted embryos for another generation, you’d have several thousand unrelated individuals—far more than you could fit comfortably on a seedship.”

  “We’re talking about a radical change in the nature of the seedships’ mission.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you have the legal authority to make such a change?”

  “This may be a case where it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. I trust you’ll keep this discussion between us?”

  “Of course. Do you need anything else from me to make this happen?”

  “Warn the captains of the seedships there will be some changes to the loading schedules. And if they have any… concerns, make sure they go through you.”

  “Chain of command will be observed,” Huiskamp said. “Nobody on the ground will find out about this from the IDL.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s the status of the TGPs and medical equipment?”

  “They’ve already been loaded,” Foley replied.

  “You’d need medical personnel on board as well.”

  “Yes. Figure two doctors, two nurses and two technicians per ship.”

  “Each seedship already has a doctor on board.”

  “It would be better if they were trained in the use of the equipment, but I suppose they have time to learn.”

  “What’s the makeup of the rest of the crew, in terms of age and gender?”

  “There are already twenty crew members aboard each seedship. I don’t have the crew manifests in front of me, but most of them are under thirty. The IDL skews nearly two-to-one male, though.”

  “Is it reasonable to assume we can get five suitable candidates out of each crew?” Foley said.

  “Candidates for what exactly?”

  “Motherhood, Admiral. That is what we are talking about, yes?”

  “I can’t order crew members to act as surrogate mothers, Dr. Foley.”

  “But you expect me to order civilians to do it?”

  “The colonists knew what they were signing up for.”

  “Under duress. These people are facing slaughter at the hands of the Cho-ta’an, Admiral. And they pledged their willingness to have children, not to act as baby factories for the rest of their lives.” Huiskamp opened his mouth to object, but Foley held up her hand. “In any case, we’re not talking about coercion. At least not yet. What I’m asking you is whether it’s reasonable to expect that out of a crew of twenty, we can find five young women willing and able to act as surrogate mothers.”

  “Without committing to definite numbers, I’ll stipulate for the sake of discussion that it’s a reasonable expectation.”

  “Good. Then with your ship doctors and five surrogates already on board, we would need to get ten more surrogates, two nurses and two technicians on board. That’s thirteen people.”

  “Some of your doctors, nurses and technicians could act as surrogates as well.”

  “Probably, but let’s not figure them into the total for now, in case we can’t get five willing surrogates out of the crew.”

  “All right. So thirteen additional passengers. We can get eighteen aboard a stripped-down shuttlecraft. That will give us some margin of error. For each seedship, swap out a load of low-priority cargo for passengers.”

  “It’s a little more difficult than that, Admiral. We’re still talking about cutting the cargo loading process off ten days early. I can try to prioritize vital items, but any change to the schedule is going to have a domino effect, possibly delaying a dozen other shipments. In other words, a ship might get a thousand inflatable tents and no pumps to inflate them, or five hundred liters of insulin and no hypodermic ne
edles. It’s going to be pure potluck.”

  “I understand, Director. We’ll just have to play the odds. Hopefully the worst case scenario is that our colonists don’t have any cream for their coffee.”

  “It could be a lot worse than that. And how the hell am I supposed to tell twelve hundred people who have been waiting for two years that they’re not getting off the planet after all?”

  Huiskamp shrugged. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t tell them at all. They’ll figure it out soon enough. Or tell them to go home to their friends and families, if you think that’s better. Your call.”

  “The whole planet will riot, Admiral. You don’t know what it’s like down here. I’ve got marines guarding the camp around the clock. The capital is already under siege. I just got word that President Adams is being transported to a secure facility.”

  “It’s going to get worse, Director. No matter what we do. You know that. I realize it sounds heartless, but a lot of people are going to die.”

  “Including me and my family, Admiral.”

  “Trust me, things aren’t looking any better up here. My mission was to protect Geneva, and I’ve failed. The only thing to do now is to focus on the survival of humanity.”

  Chapter Six

  While Lauren Foley worked on getting the colonists and critical supplies to the seedships, Admiral Huiskamp met with the three captains to revise their course headings. The original plan had been for all three seedships to head first to the Geneva gate, each of them traveling to a different destination, but the Cho-ta’an blockade made that inadvisable. Instead, the ships would split up, traveling in three different directions from the get-go. This would add a few years to their respective voyages, but it would also force the Cho-ta’an to split up to pursue them all. It was decided that Renaissance and Philadelphia would each head toward a different cluster of stars closer to the center of the galaxy, while Jason Huiskamp’s ship, Freedom, would head directly for the Chrylis gate, and from there to the Procyon system, in hopes of rendezvousing with Kilimanjaro. The ships’ respective courses had been assigned at random; if Huiskamp had his way, he would have selected one of the other courses for his son’s ship, Freedom. Rendezvousing with Kilimanjaro seemed like a long shot. Reaching the Chrylis gate would take ninety days at one gee acceleration, and Freedom would have to accelerate at a lower rate than that to ensure that she was going slowly enough to safely travel through the gate, making her an easy target for the Cho-ta’an. Still, at least his son had a chance at survival, unlike most of the rest of humanity.

  The meeting had barely ended when Huiskamp’s screen lit up with another call: it was Jason.

  Huiskamp sighed. He and his son had always had a good working relationship, but there was an undercurrent of unresolved tension to it. The admiral knew it would have to be addressed at some point, but it never seemed to be the right time. It certainly wasn’t the right time now.

  He accepted the call, and Jason’s face filled the screen. He looked a lot like his father, but Jason was taller and leaner, with thin, sandy brown hair instead of the admiral’s salt-and-pepper curls. Jason’s features were sharp like his father’s, but Huiskamp had always thought his son had a softer look about him. Maybe that was his mother’s influence. Or maybe it was just that Jason hasn’t spent forty years at war with the Cho-ta’an.

  “Sorry to bother you, Admiral,” Jason said, “but there was something I needed to ask you in private.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “This change to the seedship mission… it hasn’t been approved by the civilian government?”

  “The IDL is taking over the evacuation on my authority.”

  Jason nodded, obviously picking up on the subtext.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Huiskamp asked.

  “No, sir,” Jason replied. “Just hoping to avoid getting mixed up in politics.” Translation: You put us at risk by not divulging the details of your plan.

  “Just follow the chain of command and secrecy protocols, and you won’t have any problems.” Translation: Just do your damn job.

  “Aye, sir. One other thing. Between you and me… what do you think our odds are of rendezvousing with Kilimanjaro?”

  Huiskamp studied his son’s face. Did Jason think he was sending him on a wild goose chase on purpose? He’d selected the three ships’ destinations randomly, but of course Jason couldn’t be certain he was telling the truth about the result. Was Jason making an accusation, or simply trying to assess his chances of success?

  “Between you and me, son,” Huiskamp said, “I’d say the odds are slim.” He wanted to add This isn’t the mission I’d have picked for you if I’d had my choice!

  “You think Kilimanjaro has been destroyed, sir?”

  “Most likely, yes. But there is a chance that it is simply out of contact due to the Cho-ta’an jamming communications through the gates.” If Kilimanjaro was still in one piece and it could escort Freedom out of the Procyon system, the latter’s odds of survival would be greatly improved. On the other hand, if the Cho-ta’an were jamming the Procyon gate, they had probably mined or blockaded it as well, which meant Freedom was in for an unpleasant surprise if she emerged in the Procyon system. If no word had been received from Kilimanjaro by the time Freedom approached the gate, Freedom would change course to miss the gate and continue into deep space toward a cluster of stars nearly five hundred light years away—assuming it could outrun the Cho-ta’an.

  “Well, then,” Jason said, “I suppose we’ll just hope for the best.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right. And son….”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “Good luck.”

  *****

  Admiral Huiskamp was in his quarters, trying to get some rest while waiting for the impending alien attack, when a message came over his wrist comm from GODCOM’s communications officer. It seemed that Ronald Singh wanted to speak with him. Singh, who had risen to the rank of Lieutenant Commander in the IDL before leaving to take over his family’s engineering firm, was one of the wealthiest individuals on Geneva. Huiskamp had received several calls over the past several months from old acquaintances hoping he could pull some strings to get them a berth on one of the seedships, but Singh didn’t seem the type. Familiar with both IDL protocol and Huiskamp’s strict adherence to his scruples, Singh would know better than to make such a request. On the other hand, they hadn’t spoken for eight years, so it was unlikely Singh was calling just to catch up. Singh’s firm had done some work on the seedships’ propulsion systems; maybe he was calling to warn the admiral of a potential problem. Huiskamp got out of bed and put the call on his desk screen.

  “Good evening, Ron. I hope you’re not calling to tell me there’s something wrong with those billion-mark engines you sold us.”

  “No, sir,” said Ron with a grin. “Hell, if I found out about a problem at this point, I’d keep it to myself. I’m calling on a completely unrelated matter. Well, mostly unrelated.”

  “You’ve piqued my interest. Go ahead.”

  “Admiral, are you familiar with the Jörmungandr Foundation?”

  Huiskamp let out an involuntary groan. Unfortunately, he did have some familiarity with the Jörmungandr Foundation. Representatives of the group had been trying to speak with him for some time. He had to hand it to them: they must have some pretty highly-placed contacts even to get their requests through to him. Even so, he’d been ignoring them. “Some kind of futurist group, right?”

  “Not exactly. They’re actually a rather interesting organization. They fund a number of projects meant to help preserve the future of humanity. They have an interest in my firm, actually. A lot of the capital for those engines came from Jörmungandr.”

  “Indeed,” said Huiskamp, not terribly impressed. Singh’s company had gone public ten years earlier, and it now had thousands of investors. It wasn’t surprising that Jörmungandr was one of them.

  “They
claim the roots of the Foundation go back to pre-World War II. Have you heard of Project Firefly?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. Well, it’s of some historical interest. You know the origin of the name Jörmungandr?”

  “Norse mythology, right? The serpent encircling the Earth, biting its own tail. I don’t mean to be rude, Ron, but I’m a little busy.”

  “I apologize, Admiral. I don’t intend to waste your time. You see, I’m something of an Earth history buff, and Project Firefly is a particular interest of mine. It was a secret project run by the Allies during World War II. They claimed to have located several artifacts in Europe and elsewhere that hinted at the existence of a civilization much more advanced than their own. I was skeptical, of course, but this morning the current director of the foundation, Christina Prince, contacted me with… well, what I consider compelling evidence for the truth of their claims. She suggested that I contact—”

  “I’m sorry, Ron. I can see this is a matter of great interest to you, but I’m in the middle of a war here. These cranks have been trying to get through to me for days. I didn’t have time for it then, and I sure as hell don’t have time for it now. Please feel free to contact me if there is anything I can do to facilitate the seedship loading process, but I won’t be letting these people waste any more of my time. Have a good evening.” He severed the connection and lay back down in bed.

  Huiskamp tried to get to sleep but found himself fuming about the interruption. They’d gotten to Ronald Singh, of all people. What was it about Jörmungandr that set him on edge? He knew little about them other than their quasi-religious belief in their mission—whatever that was. Perhaps that was it: he had little use for people who were so certain about something, when there seemed to be no certainty about anything anymore. Not even the survival of the human race.

  It took the Cho-ta’an twenty-nine hours to finish placing mines around the gate, after which the first group of ships regrouped and began to accelerate on a trajectory that would allow them to rendezvous with the other ships. Forty hours later, the two groups merged seamlessly about two thirds of the way from the gate to Geneva’s orbit. Traveling at a thousand kilometers per second and accelerating at half a gee, they would intercept the planet in roughly forty-six hours. By this time, the colonists and all essential equipment had been loaded, but Huiskamp thought it unwise for the seedships to break orbit more than a day before the Cho-ta’an arrived. Doing so would tempt the Cho-ta’an to skirt the planet entirely and split up to pursue the seedships. The humans’ best bet was to play on the Cho-ta’an assumption that the seedships could not possibly be ready to embark and tie the Chota’an ships down in an orbital skirmish over Geneva while the seedships departed.