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

by Robert Kroese

  “Good Lord, Haas,” said Aguilar.

  Haas shrugged. “The alternative is to ride Arc Zero to the bitter end. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out when the station loses pressure. Otherwise you’ll burn to death.” He shook his head. “I’ll take deep space.”

  “Haas’s colorful presentation aside,” Huiskamp said, “he’s correct. There are no good options here. Whether or not we do this, there’s very little chance we’re going to survive more than a few more passes. We need to make this decision with our eyes open.”

  “I don’t know,” Aguilar said. “It’s suicide.”

  “Well, yes,” Haas said. “Stepping into vacuum is generally fatal.”

  “Shut up, you asshole,” Lee said. “You know what she means. Aguilar’s Catholic.”

  Haas shrugged. He tended to view Aguilar’s Catholicism—and religion in general—as an amusing affectation. He wasn’t hostile to it, but he had a hard time imagining anyone taking religion seriously. “If she has a problem with it, she can stay behind. We do have one space suit, and it wouldn’t hurt to have someone on board for the final pass.”

  “Wait, what?” Lee said. “I’m Presbyterian. We’re not supposed to commit suicide either.”

  “But it’s not a mortal sin for you,” Haas said.

  “Technically it’s a mortal sin for anyone,” Aguilar said. “You don’t get an exemption for being Presbyterian. Or atheist, for that matter.”

  “I’m agnostic,” Haas said.

  “You’re an atheist without any conviction,” Aguilar said.

  Haas shrugged.

  “Okay, let’s leave religion out of it,” Huiskamp said. “This decision needs to be unanimous. Whether we leave someone behind is another question. If anyone has an objection, I want to hear it. As for the question of suicide… well, yes, I suppose technically it is. But while I’m no theologian, I’ve got to assume that any God worth the name realizes there’s a difference between throwing in the towel and willingly surrendering one’s life so that others have a chance to keep living. In fact, I think there’s a whole religion devoted to following the example of someone who did the latter.”

  “In any case,” Haas said, “you’d just be checking out a few hours early. How much time in purgatory could that possibly get you?”

  “I don’t suppose we have any sedatives?” Lee asked. “I like to think I’m not a coward, but fuck. I’m going to end up holding my breath. How can you not? I don’t want to know what it feels like to have your lungs explode. Jesus Christ. Sorry, Aguilar.”

  “We dumped all the medical supplies,” Aguilar said.

  “I’ve got a bottle of single malt in my quarters,” Haas said, “but I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

  Aguilar punched him.

  “Okay,” said Lee, half to himself. “I think I can do it with three or four shots of whiskey. Maybe five.”

  Aguilar sighed heavily. “Save some for me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. As corny as it sounds, I joined the IDL to make a difference for humanity. I’m not going to throw that away now so I can live for a few more hours.”

  “You all seem pretty certain,” Haas said, “that this is the special occasion I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Then we’re all agreed,” Huiskamp said. “We vent the atmosphere and… what happens happens.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lee and Aguilar said in unison. Haas nodded.

  “All right. Haas, I’m formally declaring this a special occasion. Go get that single malt.”

  “Wait, sir,” Aguilar said. “We haven’t settled the matter of whether someone is staying behind to pilot the ship.”

  “Is it necessary?” Huiskamp asked. “Don’t you have everything automated at this point?”

  “Yes, but the final pass could get tricky. We may have to turn off the auto-stabilization so we have enough fuel to hit the alignment window.”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  Aguilar shook her head. “At this point, I’d rather just have it done with. I’m concerned that…” She broke off and looked away. “Sir, I’m not sure I could do it. Knowing that you’re all….”

  “It’s all right, Aguilar,” Huiskamp said. “This was my crazy idea, and Jason is my son. I should be the one to send the message. Besides, the captain is supposed to go down with… well, whatever this is.”

  No one spoke for a moment. “Then it’s settled,” Haas said at last. “The Admiral suits up and the three of us exit stage left.”

  “You’re not, by the way, sir,” said Lee.

  “What’s that, Lee?”

  “Crazy, sir. I’ve been in the IDL for eighteen years and I know crazy. I’ve had a lot of posts with a lot of different COs, and I’ve been given a lot of crazy orders. This isn’t one of them, sir. We might fail, but not because you’re crazy. Trying to bounce a signal off a planet to a ship ten billion miles away to tell them to go back in time may the most sensible thing I’ve been involved with since I signed up.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lee. Although I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a commentary on the IDL.”

  “A little of both, sir.”

  “Well, it’s been an honor serving with you three. I meant it when I said that you keep me sane. Damn it, Haas. Where’s that bottle?”

  “Sorry, sir. I’m on it.” Haas pushed himself away toward the fireman’s pole.

  “How long until we hit the stratosphere again, Aguilar?”

  “About an hour, sir.”

  “All right, we’ll have to make this party quick.”

  “Trying to get rid of us already, sir?”

  “If we don’t do it now, we’ll have to wait until we’re on the other side. The longer we wait to dump our atmosphere, the worse our odds.”

  “Gallows humor, sir,” said Aguilar. “Don’t worry, we’ll be gone before it starts to get bumpy. Hurry up with that whiskey, Haas!”

  “Nothing for the Admiral,” Lee said. “He’s driving.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Senator Antonius Lusus strode into the Emperor’s chambers with an air of confidence, despite the news he had to deliver. He was one of the few who could do so; as the patrician of one of the most powerful families in Tuscany, he was a vital ally of the Emperor. The vineyards in his region had come upon hard times lately, but this only made him more valuable to Rome: the young men who might be working the fields were now being conscripted into Hadrian’s legions. Hadrian had long been conservative in his use of the military, thinking expansion a losing game, but the rebellion in Judaea would require mobilizing large numbers of troops whether he liked it or not. Lusus had just returned from a tour of Syria, Lebanon and Judaea.

  Hadrian, who had been looking out the window of his palace overlooking the garden, heard the man approach and turned. “Lusus!” he cried, moving toward the man. “It is good to see you back from the East. You are well?”

  “I am, Imperator. Thank you.”

  “Tell me, what news do you bring?”

  “Little good, I’m afraid. The rebellion in Judaea is not yet contained. The Jews’ defeat at Aelia Capitolina only kindled their zeal.”

  “Is the new governor not making good use of the troops I’ve sent? Felix Marcus is a capable man, but perhaps I promoted him beyond his abilities.”

  “It isn’t that, Imperator. Marcus lacks the diplomatic finesse of Rufus, but he is the right man to crush a rebellion.”

  “Yet he cannot do it with five legions and a dozen additional cohorts? We’ve pulled troops from all over the region.”

  “Our forces are still outnumbered by the Jewish troops. Simon ben Kosevah seems to add to their number by the day. The Jews are more familiar with the terrain and occupy a number of fortified strongholds. You are, of course, familiar with the vast network of caves they use to ambush our troops and to avoid large-scale confrontations whenever possible. The Jews fight a war of attrition, and for the moment they are succeeding. They chip away at our nu
mbers and our morale.”

  “All the while keeping five legions occupied that may at any moment be needed elsewhere.”

  “All the more reason to crush the Jewish revolt decisively, Imperator. The Jews nearly took Aelia Capitolina and the commanders I spoke to believe they will try again soon, with much greater numbers. If the rebels take Aelia Capitolina, it will be a signal to disaffected Jews throughout the region that Simon ben Kosevah can succeed. His people call him ‘Nasi,’ meaning ‘prince.’ Some say he is the messiah promised in their scriptures. Already there are rumblings of revolt in Samaria and Galilee, and the rebellion will spread to Arabia, Cyprus, Libya and Egypt. Meanwhile, the Persians and Goths wait and watch.”

  “What do you suggest I do?”

  “You must send more troops. At least two more legions.”

  “Risking unrest across the Empire.”

  “The risk will only grow until the Jews are put down, Imperator.”

  Hadrian sighed. “I know you speak wisdom, Lusus. But still I fear that Felix Marcus will buckle under the strain of commanding seven legions. Until now, he has never commanded more than one.”

  “I agree, Imperator. That is why I suggest that you command the legions personally.”

  “I? No, Lusus. It will not do. There are matters I must attend to in Rome. Besides, if I travel to Judaea now, it will be interpreted as a sign of weakness.”

  “I concede the point,” Lusus said. “In that case, there is only one man fit for the job.”

  “You speak of Sextus Julius Severus.”

  “Can you think of a man more capable?”

  “Severus is needed in Britain.”

  “Britain has been quiet for some time, owing in no small part to the firm hand of the governor. It will remain placid if he is pulled away for a year or two.”

  “Let us hope that is all it takes. What legions do you suggest?”

  “The twin of the Tenth, certainly,” Lusus said. One of the oddities of the Roman military structure was the occasional doubling of legion numbers: in addition to the Tenth Legion garrisoned at Aelia Capitolina, there was a second Tenth Legion in Gaul, called Legio X Gemina.

  “Agreed,” Hadrian said. “Legio II Traiana Fortis could be spared, and there are several other legions in Gallia and Iberia that could spare a few cohorts.”

  “What of the Ninth?”

  “Will they not be needed in the north of Britain?” Hadrian asked. The Ninth Legion, despite being known as Legio IX Hispana, was these days made up mainly of men from Lusus’s own province, and was thus very dear to him. The Tuscans, descended of the proud Etruscan people, were known as fierce and loyal warriors.

  “The Brigantes fight amongst themselves of late,” Lusus said.

  “They may use the occasion of the Jewish revolt to unite. Word of such things travels quickly.”

  “I think it unlikely. Leave a few cohorts at Eboracum and send the rest to Judaea. The men of my country will not disappoint you.”

  The two men spent the next hour rearranging Roman troops until they were certain they had an adequate force to put down the rebellion while still maintaining a sufficient presence in all the other provinces to discourage revolt—at least as long as the Jews were put down quickly. The Roman force in Judaea, when fully in place, would total fifty thousand men. It would be one of the largest armies ever assembled, representing nearly a quarter of the entire Roman armed forces.

  “It is a tremendous risk,” the Emperor said at last.

  “One I fear we have no choice but to take,” said Lusus. “I am certain, though, that with such a force, Severus will be victorious.”

  “May the gods be with him,” Hadrian said. “The Empire will not survive defeat in Judaea.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Jason stood on the bridge of Freedom, watching the stars crawl by on the overhead display. He had to remind himself he was traveling tens of thousands of kilometers per second; it seemed like the ship was barely moving. He would not know for at least twenty days whether the gate had received the destruct code—and even then, a lack of response might only mean that the Cho-ta’an had destroyed the gate transmitter.

  Jason intended to ensure that the gate was destroyed one way or another. As long as the gates remained active, the Cho-ta’an had unrestricted access to the Geneva system. He couldn’t do anything about the Geneva gate, but he could take care of the Chrylis gate.

  Although there was no longer an immediate threat from the Cho-ta’an, Jason ordered Olson to maintain maximum acceleration. There were two reasons for this. One was that more Cho-ta’an would be on their way, attempting to intercept Freedom before she reached the gate. The other was that greater velocity meant a better chance of taking out the gate: the Cho-ta’an may have placed mines or parked ships in front of the gate, but such countermeasures would be ineffective against a ship Freedom’s size traveling at over thirty percent of light speed. Mines might tear through Freedom’s hull, but they wouldn’t even have time to detonate before Freedom smashed into the gate.

  They maintained their current heading. Even if they decided to try to go through the gate after all, at the speed they’d be moving when they reached the gate, there was a good chance they’d hit it, and any contact at that speed would be catastrophic. Jason planned to cut acceleration a few hours before they reached the gate and use the stabilizing thrusters to turn Freedom sideways to increase the chances of a collision. With Freedom’s nearly kilometer-long flank facing the gate, he figured the odds were good—and at nearly a third of light speed, any contact would be catastrophic. Any part of Freedom not immediately vaporized by the collision would be sent into a devastating spin that would kill anyone on board.

  Until then, all he could do was wait.

  *****

  Lauren Foley sat on a faux-wooden bench on a terrace overlooking a circular garden some forty meters in diameter, in the middle of which was an elaborate faux-stone fountain cast in a vaguely classical style. A faux-stone wall, twenty meters high and dotted at random intervals with terraces like the one on which Foley sat, enclosed the entire garden. Doorways in the base of the wall opened to faux-stone staircases that wound around the outside of the garden and led to the terraces. A path of white gravel wended around hedges and small trees in a loop that started and ended in front of an artificially weathered wooden gate, behind which was hidden the elevator that gave access to the rest of the ship. Overhead was a holographic dome that lent the appearance of a nearly cloudless blue sky.

  The garden was a masterwork of engineering, capable of accommodating nearly a hundred individuals at any given time while giving each of them the impression of relative seclusion and privacy. Foley had scoped out the terraces and decided she liked this one the best—ironically because she found the illusion of an outdoor park the least convincing here. She liked to feel as if she were in a park, but she didn’t like the feeling of being made to feel as if she were in a park.

  The other terraces were empty, and only a few of the fifteen other colonists were currently in the garden. The crushing gravity of Freedom’s constant acceleration made walking or even standing for more than a few minutes at a time unpleasant; the girls spent most of their time in bed. A few others lay on the grass below, sunning themselves in the artificial sunlight of the garden. With only thirty-six people on board, most of whom were crew members who kept to the upper decks, there was no danger of crowding. Like the rest of Freedom, the garden was a lonely place.

  Foley heard footsteps coming up the stairs and turned to see Bree Cooper approaching. Tall and ungainly, Bree leaned heavily on a walking stick, fighting the heavy gravity. She was one of the two technicians selected to join the colonists. “You couldn’t think of a better place to meet?” she grumbled as she neared the bench. “My knees are killing me.”

  “Inaccessibility is the point,” Foley said. “We’re unlikely to be interrupted here. Or overheard.”

  Bree slumped onto the bench next to her. Not a model of
either grace or femininity, Bree had been selected for her intelligence and familiarity with in vitro fertilization equipment. “You don’t think they’ve got cameras and microphones all over the ship?”

  “I’m sure they do, but I think the crew has better things to do than spy on us. They don’t consider us a threat. Honestly, I don’t think they think about us at all.”

  “Then you’re worried about scaring the girls.”

  “Of course. They’re already terrified. Separated from their families, a billion kilometers from home….”

  “More like a trillion at this point.”

  “The point is, we need to have a discussion away from the breeding stock.”

  “Good God, Lauren,” said Bree. “You can’t call them that.” Bree had been calling her Lauren, rather than Doctor or Director Foley, since they’d boarded, as if daring Foley to correct her. She wondered if Bree suspected the truth about how she’d come to be on board. Not that it mattered: she had no proof, and there was nothing anybody could do about it now. Besides, it was her perceptiveness that made Bree a potentially valuable ally.

  “Why not?” Foley asked. “It’s what they are.”

  “Then you and I are as well. You realize that, right?”

  “Trust me,” said Foley, “I know.” Despite her impressive resume, the reason she was here instead of Pranit Mehta was her uterus. That was the reason, wasn’t it? Not simply that she’d been afraid to die alone on Geneva? Better to be breeding stock than a coward.

  After evading Calvin Gabor’s goons at her office, she had gone straight to the spaceport, where a shuttle awaited. She had met no resistance: escaping off-planet on one of the seedships had been such a ballsy move that it had never even occurred to Gabor. Or maybe he just hadn’t believed, despite her willingness to commit treason, that she would sink so low as to save herself at the expense of someone else.