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

by Robert Kroese

  Jason had half a mind to overthrow the Roman Empire just to spite his father. He reminded himself, though, that he had sworn not to let himself be guided by sentiment, and spite was just the mirror image of affection. In any case, he had enough responsibility on his shoulders trying to save the human race without also trying to reshape history. If he intervened now, would Notre Dame ever be built? Would the Magna Carta be signed? Would Columbus reach America? Yes, maybe humanity would overtake the Cho-ta’an technologically, but at what cost? To shepherd the human race into the space age without precipitating a nuclear or environmental catastrophe would require a worldwide dictatorial regime that carefully controlled the propagation of technology—and it still might fail.

  “I’m going to my quarters, Mr. Olson,” Jason said. “Don’t disturb me unless there’s an emergency.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Jason went to his quarters and lay down in his bunk to think. Thanks to the crushing gravity they’d had to endure over the past few weeks, his neck and back ached almost constantly, and it was a relief to take the pressure off his spine. If only there was a way to relieve himself of the even greater burden on his shoulders.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “They are not dressed as Romans,” said one of the men near the fire, “and they are armed only with these small knives.”

  “They are disguised,” said the first man.

  “It is a poor disguise, then,” said the second. “Two men and a woman, dressed in Syrian fabrics.”

  “They are not Jews,” said a third man. “That is enough for me. We are at war. Kill them.” Akiva saw that all three were quite tall, and the two men were fair skinned, like Slavs.

  One of the men on the ground spoke. It was no language Akiva had ever heard.

  “They speak only this gibberish,” said the first man. “Not a word of Greek or Aramaic.”

  “It could be a variety of Latin,” offered the second man.

  “It sounds like no Latin I have ever heard,” said the third.

  “Perhaps they are emissaries from the Far East?” asked the first.

  “They came from the direction of the sea,” said the second. “Did you notice? Their clothes are still damp. I do not think they intended to come here at all. Their ship has wrecked.”

  By this time, Akiva was within thirty paces, but intent on their argument, the men did not see him.

  “We should bring them to Natan,” said the second. “He will know what to do with them.”

  “And what of our mission?” said the third. “We cannot spare half a dozen men to escort the strangers to Natan.”

  “We could leave them here as they are,” said a fourth man.

  “That is as good as killing them,” said the first. “Cut their throats and leave them for the crows.”

  There was no further objection, and the first man drew his sica and moved toward the closer of the two men on the ground. The foreigner, who appeared to be the oldest member of the group and perhaps their leader, uttered a series of agitated nonsense syllables. The man with the knife knelt over him, and the man on the ground continued to babble.

  “Do it!” shouted one of the other men. “He babbles like a possessed man!”

  Akiva could see now what the men were saying about the strangers’ clothing. Even in the dim moonlight, it was clear they were from no place in the vicinity of Judaea. His curiosity urged him to intervene, but if these men were on some important mission for the rebellion, it would be unwise to interfere.

  The prone man shouted something, but the others were no longer listening. The kneeling man brought his knife to the stranger’s throat.

  “Wait,” said Akiva, stopping a few paces from the men.

  Startled, several of the men turned to face him. Some of them held weapons. Akiva could not make out their faces; they stood with their backs to the fire. He raised his hands to show he was unarmed.

  “What are you doing out here, old man?” one of them demanded.

  “I am Rabbi Akiva ben Yosef. I have come to the desert to fast and pray.”

  The men relaxed a little, seeing that Akiva was alone. “I am Captain Uziel of the Judaean army. Do you know these men, Rabbi?”

  “I do not know them,” Akiva said. “I became disoriented on my way home. I saw your fire and went toward it in the hopes that you were shepherds who could give me some water.”

  “We will do that,” said the captain. “But then you’d best be on your way. Roman galleys have begun landing at Caesarea, and we suspect some of them will be coming this way to avoid our ambushes on the road.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” Akiva said. The thought of water made him acutely aware of his thirst, but his curiosity was still greater. “You intend to kill these men?”

  The man with the sica had stood to face Akiva as well. “We do not have time to deal with them in any other way. All our men are needed to watch the passes through which the Romans might approach. Look away if you do not have the stomach for it.”

  “Might I speak with them for a moment? I know Aramaic, Greek, and Hebrew, and have some familiarity with several other tongues.”

  “It is none of those,” said the captain.

  “Please,” said Akiva. “Let me have a moment to speak with them. Even if I cannot understand them, I may at least be able to ascertain where they are from. Simon ben Kosevah will want such information.”

  The prone man nearest them babbled something in response to this. Several of the men turned to look at each other, as if uncertain what they had heard.

  Akiva took a step toward the man, but the man with the sica moved to block him.

  “Please,” Akiva said.

  “Let the old man pass,” said the captain.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the man with the sica moved aside. Akiva stepped toward the man who had spoken. Next to him were two others, one of whom Akiva saw now was a woman. “Where are you from?” Akiva asked.

  The man looked at him wide-eyed, clearly desperate to communicate but not understanding. His physical appearance was difficult to place. He was tall, with close-cropped hair. He did not look like he belonged to any race east of the Mediterranean, but he did not quite have the pale, blunt features of the Franks or Gauls either. The man said something to Akiva in a language that sounded vaguely like Latin. He knew a few words of the Romans’ tongue, but he could make no sense of it.

  Akiva pointed to the sky, in what he hoped was roughly the direction of the falling star he had seen. “What do you know of the falling star?”

  The man nodded his head and again spoke gibberish.

  “Enough,” said the man with the sica. “Step aside, Rabbi.”

  “These men are followers of Simon ben Kosevah,” Akiva said. “They intend to kill you. If you understand anything I am saying, it would be wise to let me know.”

  The man spoke a sentence, enunciating carefully. Akiva understood almost none of it. Behind him, the men murmured amongst themselves.

  “Speak that name again,” said Akiva.

  “Simon bar Kochba,” said the man. His accent was thick, but the words were unmistakable.

  “He misspeaks,” said the man with the sica. “He knows the name of our nasi, but cannot pronounce it correctly.”

  “No,” said Akiva. “You must not kill these men.”

  “Because he butchers a Hebrew name? Then surely we must spare the Romans as well.”

  “The Rabbi is right,” said the captain. “The man spoke clearly. If he does not know our tongue, it is all the more reason to take his babbling as a sign. Did not the Lord once prophesy through the mouth of a donkey? Untie them. They must be brought to Simon ben Kosevah at once.”

  “Simon bar Kochba,” said Akiva, repeating the stranger’s words. “From now on he is to be known by that name. He is the promised moschiach. Simon, Son of a Star.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The decision that faced Jason was too much for any one man to decide, but decide he m
ust. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, and when he awoke, everything had become clear. He sat up and went to his desk, tapping a button on his comm. “Mr. Olson and Ms. Gleeson, please come to my quarters.”

  A few minutes later, Devin Olson and Kyra Gleeson appeared at his door, and he asked them come in and sit down. He closed the door and sat behind the desk. The ship’s engineer, Gleeson, a curvy, diminutive brunette, took a seat, and the hulking Olson sank into the chair next to her.

  “I have a feeling I know what you’re going to tell me,” he said, “but I need your expert assessment on the possibility of launching Freedom from a planet with Earth-like gravity and atmosphere.”

  Gleeson and Olson glanced at each other. “No reason it can’t be done,” Gleeson said. Olson nodded. “Theoretically,” he added.

  “Really?” Jason asked. “I expected a bit more resistance.”

  “To be honest, sir,” Gleeson said, “the idea scares the shit out of me. Freedom was built in zero gees, and it was intended to make exactly one landing, when it reached its destination. When we found a planet that looked like a candidate for colonization, we would send the lander down first to verify the planet could support human life, and to scout locations for a colony. If all went well, we would then land Freedom, which would act as the core of the new colony. No one ever seriously considered the possibility of landing a seedship and then re-launching it. On top of that, I haven’t had a chance to conduct a thorough review of the reactor since we overloaded it in our attempt to outrun the Cho-ta’an, and even if everything checks out okay, there may be microfractures in the thruster manifold or other problems that wouldn’t be apparent under normal operations. Subjecting the reactor to the stresses of a launch could be disastrous. That said…”

  “That said,” Olson interjected, “assuming everything is working nominally, it could be done. Freedom was designed to tolerate landing in an Earth-like atmosphere, and if it can take the pressure on the way down, there’s no reason it can’t take it on the way up. As long as we can manage enough thrust to overcome Earth’s gravity, we could do it.”

  “If everything is working nominally,” Gleeson said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to try it more than once.”

  “It sounds like you two have put some thought into this,” Jason said.

  “Uh, yes, sir,” said Olson, a bit sheepishly. “We’ve been discussing the possibility.”

  “Explain.”

  Olson looked at Gleeson, who said, “Well, sir, the way we look at it is this. None of us really understands how time travel works. Can we change the past? Maybe. Maybe not. But Freedom and the other seedships were intended to ensure humanity’s survival by getting us out of the reach of the Cho-ta’an. We have to land on Earth, there’s no way around that. But if we stay there, we’re putting all our eggs in one basket. Maybe we can beat the Cho-ta’an this time around, but if we can’t… then that’s it. Game over. On the other hand, if we start over, somewhere else, far away from the Cho-ta’an… then we’ve still got a chance.”

  “It’s like buying insurance,” Olson said.

  Jason laughed. “Insurance. I like it. The fact is, I’ve been thinking along the same lines.”

  “Thank God,” murmured Gleeson.

  “Eh?” Jason asked.

  “Sorry, sir,” Gleeson said. “We were a little worried that… I mean, we thought—”

  “You thought I intended to set up myself up as Emperor Jason, ruling over the Terrans with my awesome space magic.”

  “Something like that, sir,” Gleeson said.

  “Don’t think I wasn’t tempted,” Jason said with a grin. “But no, I think you two are correct. We need to treat Earth as a temporary stopover point. We’re going to land on Earth, load up with everything we need to colonize another world, and then recommence our original mission.”

  “There’s a problem with that plan, sir,” Olson said.

  “I know,” Jason said. “We lack the equipment to create another TGP. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

  “Like Noah’s Ark?” Gleeson asked. “Two of each kind of animal?”

  “We’re not going to have the luxury of saving every species of animal, I’m afraid. To say nothing of plants. We need to identify the bare minimum humanity needs to survive.”

  “That may be tougher than you expect, sir,” Gleeson said. “Without knowing where we’re going to end up, we have no idea what crops we’ll be able to grow. Between environmental factors like carbon dioxide content of the atmosphere, pH balance of the soil, humidity, the amount and character of sunlight—”

  “And then there are the interspecies dependencies, and special requirements of crops that have been bred for agriculture,” said Olson. “Like for instance almond trees are generally propagated by grafting branches onto the trunk of another tree that is more disease-resistant. Of course if you can eliminate those pathogens in the first place— ”

  Gleeson interrupted: “Don’t forget that we have to keep all this stuff alive in transit as well. That means keeping seeds from drying out or sprouting for up to a thousand—”

  “I get it, you two,” said Jason, holding up his hand. “Agriculture is difficult. And that isn’t the biggest problem we’re facing. If we’re going to start an independent offshoot of the human race, we need a lot more colonists.”

  “We’ve been talking about that too, sir,” Olson said. “Gleeson has some ethical objections, but as I see it the most practical way to bolster our numbers long term would be to emulate the Vikings. You see, Scandinavia was largely isolated from the rest of Europe for several hundred years, leading to a lack of diversity among the Norsemen. They rectified this by raiding widely across Europe, kidnapping young girls. Now I’m not saying that we should—”

  “Enough, Olson. I understand the principle. Unlike the Vikings, however, we have only two hundred berths on our ship. That means we need to be a little more scientific, and probably more accommodating, than ancient Norsemen. I think you see what I’m getting at.”

  “We need Lauren Foley,” said Gleeson, barely suppressing a grimace.

  “That’s right,” said Jason. “The three of us don’t have the training in agriculture, genetics, or biology to stock Freedom with the people or cargo we need to ensure the survival of humanity. As much as it pains me to say it, we need the expertise of Dr. Foley and several of our other passengers. I guess my own feelings regarding Dr. Foley are clear enough. Fairly or unfairly, I’ve set the pattern of treating our pass… the colonists as an impediment of our mission rather than the purpose for it. To be entirely honest, I never expected to make it this far, and perhaps that colored my attitude toward Dr. Foley and the others. I volunteered for this post and asked that you two be on my crew because I figured if anybody could pilot one of these behemoths halfway across the galaxy, it was the three of us. But part of me wondered whether this was the best use of our resources. Maybe if we’d built thirty more ships like Kilimanjaro instead of the seedships we’d have prevented the Cho-ta’an from taking the gates. But what’s done is done, as a man once said.

  “From here on out, we treat the colonists with all the respect owed to their positions. However, proper chain of command will be observed. There will be no groveling, no apologies, and no negotiation. I am the captain of this ship, and you are my right and left hands. What that means is that we will present a united front, and we will possess total conviction in the rightness of our mission.

  “As far as the colonists are concerned, traveling back in time to 134 A.D. was always the plan. The IDL has known for some time the jumpgates could be used to travel into the past, but doing so was generally considered too dangerous. When Cho-ta’an victory seemed likely, however, three seedships were dispatched. Two were to attempt to escape via conventional space; the third would use the jumpgates to travel back in time as well. This would give Freedom a two-thousand-year lead escaping from the Cho-ta’an. The colonists weren’t told because the mission was classified. Only
the three of us knew about it. The attack on Geneva forced us to dump our cargo, necessitating a pit stop on Earth. The colonists must be made to understand that this is only a temporary stopover. We will stay only long enough to acquire the cargo and colonists we require to continue our mission. IDL scientists have conclusively proved that changing the past is impossible, and any attempts to do so will fail catastrophically.”

  “Is that true?” asked Olson. “The part about them proving that trying to change the past will fail catastrophically?”

  “Who knows?” said Jason. “The important thing is that the colonists believe it’s true.

  “What does it mean?” Gleeson asked. “’Fail catastrophically’?”

  “The universe comes apart at the seams,” Jason said. “Galaxies get sucked into a supermassive black hole. What does it matter? None of these people are astrophysicists, and they aren’t going to expect us to know the details. Just make it sound scary as hell. Nobody tries to alter history, and nobody stays behind when we leave. Got it?”

  “Got it, sir,” they said together.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Lauren Foley glared at him. “You subject us to one point six gees, punctuated by inexplicable periods of free fall, for six weeks, telling us virtually nothing, then you cut our rations by half, and now you expect me to believe that we have traveled two thousand years into the past?”

  Jason couldn’t help admire Foley’s chutzpah. She showed no sign of remorse regarding her orchestration of the hostage situation, and now she was acting as if Jason were imposing on her personally by trying to keep them alive. “You are welcome to examine the evidence yourself,” he said. “You will find that the positions of the stars and planets indicate without a doubt that it is May 16, 134 A.D. Or you can wait until we land on Earth to make up your mind. It makes little difference to me, although I would appreciate your help in planning for our arrival.”