The conversation centered on what the humans were doing on Yavesk and what they wanted. It quickly became clear, although Churrik never said it outright, that he was hoping to get his hands on some of the humans’ technology in exchange for allowing them to settle on Yavesk. The humans, remembering what Yekchalla had told them about the Cho-ta’an taboo regarding advanced technology, followed Churrik’s lead. After nearly two hours of negotiations, they came to a tentative agreement. The humans would be allowed to settle the area around Varinga, in exchange for a good faith effort to assist the technological development of the Cho-ta’an—euphemistically referred to by both parties as “cultural enrichment.” Dornen suggested that Yekchalla act as a go-between, but Churrik pretended not to hear him and then suggested another Cho-ta’an as an emissary. Yekchalla was clearly humiliated, but Dornen didn’t feel confident enough in his position—or his assessment of Yekchalla—to object. It was decided that this Cho-ta’an, named Veyka-Chenn, would return with the humans for a tour of the ship and a continuation of the discussion. Veyka-Chenn, who was referred to with the neuter gender, was summoned. Veyka-Chenn arrived a few minutes later and was introduced to the humans. Yekchalla seemed to have lost interest in the proceedings.
The meeting broke up, and Yekchalla departed on his own. The humans and Veyka-Chenn got into the vehicles and began the journey back to Varinga. By this time, the translator was fully fluent in the Cho-ta’an language, and Dornen and Bartol could communicate with Veyka-Chenn without difficulty. It soon became clear that Veyka-Chenn was not a scientist or engineer, but merely a political functionary loyal to Chief Churrik. Now that there was no danger of being overheard by other Cho-ta’an, he spoke openly about the sorts of technology Churrik was interested in acquiring. For a backward civilization, these Cho-ta’an—the ones in power, anyway—seemed to know an awful lot about technology. Yet when Dornen tried to get answers regarding the defunct human civilization, Veyka-Chenn spoke in vague myths or said nothing at all.
Veyka-Chenn was given a tour of the less sensitive areas of the ship and then spoke for an hour with Dr. Bartol. Veyka-Chenn spent the night on Varinga, and then returned to Kavded with Dr. Bartol and two marines. They took with them several handheld tools that Veyka-Chenn thought might be of use to the Cho-ta’an. Veyka-Chenn had also promised to give Dr. Bartol a tour of one of their farms—both to assess what other sorts of tools might be fabricated to assist the Cho-ta’an in farming, and to get an idea of what sorts of crops the humans might be able to grow.
The same day, the crew began the process of bringing the rest of the passengers out of stasis. Some of the crew—Delio Starn and Sergeant Macron, in particular—objected to the plan to settle the area around Tiberias, arguing that there was no good reason to settle so close to the Cho-ta’an. Dornen disagreed, arguing that eventually they were going to have to figure out how to raise their own food, and Jabesh-Gilead was notoriously unsuited to farming. If anything, the humans needed the help of the Cho-ta’an more than the Cho-ta’an needed them. He left his other reason unspoken: he wouldn’t feel safe on this planet until he knew what really happened to its previous human inhabitants.
Dr. Bartol came to talk to him in his quarters after returning from Kavded.
“Learn anything interesting?”
Bartol nodded. “Evidently Cho-ta’an cycle between male, female, and neuter genders. So a ‘he’ one week might be a ‘she’ or an ‘it’ the next week. I haven’t been able to determine exactly what triggers the change or how the new gender is determined—my guides would only speak of the matter in the most general terms—but some of them apparently control the process through some combination of diet and artificial hormones. Most of the Cho-ta’an I met were males, because females tend to be occupied with domestic duties. Some, like Veyka-Chenn, are kept in the neuter state, presumably because the lack of sex drive makes them more reliable servants. Beyond that, I learned Chief Churrik runs a tight ship. I spent three hours walking around one of their farms, and I was never out of sight of one of his agents.”
“How do you know they were Churrik’s agents?”
“I grew up on a farm, Commander. I know when someone is pretending to work.”
“You still think they’re hiding something?”
“I’m certain of it. For one thing, I think they’re not as backward as they want us to think.”
“Because they’re a little too certain about what tech they need from us?”
“That’s part of it. I get the sense that Churrik and his agents have some understanding of the role technology played in the human society that preceded them. The taboo against technology seems to be a sort of society-wide rationalization for their own lack of progress. Or maybe it’s a way for the ruling class to keep control over the population. Either way, Churrik and his henchmen certainly don’t take it very seriously. They see a chance to increase their own power and they’re taking it.”
“The tools we’re giving them will benefit everybody,” said Dornen.
Bartol chuckled. “Eventually, maybe. Churrik’s already talking about raising the percentage of crops the farmers are required to give him as tribute. The farmers might produce more, but the benefit is going to go largely to Churrik and company.”
“We could put conditions on the tools we give them. Tie them to promises to make their society more equitable.”
“It’s a bad idea. Right now we’ve got a clear hierarchy to work with. If we undercut him, it will get ugly. An alien society devolving into civil war ten miles from our settlement is not what we need right now. And not to be callous, but frankly it’s not our problem. Maybe this is just how the Cho-ta’an are. The fact that there are only twenty thousand of them, clustered around a single population center, on a planet this size certainly suggests a preference for a centralized, top-down organizational structure. Freya told us how militaristic and authoritarian their society is. We’d be foolish to try to meddle in their system of government out of some misguided sense of social justice.”
“They’re authoritarian, yes, but hardly militaristic.”
“Well, keep in mind that their war with the IDL won’t start for another four hundred years. A lot can happen in that amount of time. As long as they all live in a single city-state with a unified command structure, they have no need of a military. And they don’t have the resources to support a standing army or manufacture weapons on a large scale, in any case.”
“Now you’ve got me worried the tech we’re giving them is going to turn them into the enemies Freya feared,” Dornen said.
“I doubt a few rakes and plows are going to do that. Besides, we don’t even know for sure these are the Cho-ta’an that the IDL is—will be fighting.”
“She said they came from a planet called Yavesk.”
“Even so, the war is four hundred years away,” said Bartol. “We need to worry about now. On the other hand… what if we could stop the war with the Cho-ta’an before it even started?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that twenty thousand Cho-ta’an lives are worth less than several billion humans.”
“Be that as it may, we still need the Cho-ta’an.”
“We need their seeds and their knowledge of botany and horticulture. I’m not sure we need the Cho-ta’an, per se. On my tour, they took me through one of their greenhouses in the city. I think they were trying to impress me—and they did, although not quite in the way they intended. I’ve never seen so much security, just to guard a bunch of plants.”
“They were worried you might take some samples?” said Dornen.
“That or look too closely at their methods. What I think they were really concerned about was me wandering into a complex of buildings nearby.”
“What was in the other buildings?”
“I don’t know! That’s the point. They were trying to impress me, but there were five other buildings they wouldn’t let me near. I saw Cho-ta’an going in and out wearing coveral
ls that seem to be the Cho-ta’an equivalent of lab coats.”
“You think they’re doing some kind of research?”
“Yes,” Bartol replied. “Genetics, horticulture, biology, something along those lines. The Cho-ta’an may be behind us in most areas of science and technology, but they may have as much understanding of plant-related sciences as we do. And they certainly know more about the specific breeds of plants on this planet and how to grow them. If we could take that lab, the Cho-ta’an would no longer have any leverage over us.”
“They outnumber us a hundred to one.”
“We’ve got the mech suits. I’d take those odds.”
“Well, let’s hope it’s not necessary.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
T hree weeks later, the humans and Cho-ta’an had settled into an uneasy symbiosis. The Cho-ta’an had provided the humans with seeds and root stock of several crops that the humans might be able to grow in the soil near Tiberias, and the humans had begun to fabricate more tools and farm implements for the Cho-ta’an. It was clear Chief Churrik and his cronies wanted much more than a few hand tools, but Dornen and Dr. Bartol agreed that there was little to be gained by giving the Cho-ta’an more than the absolute minimum required to secure their cooperation.
The Cho-ta’an warned them that the soil near the human city was poor; some of them used the word “cursed,” which made Dornen suspect radioactivity or residue from chemical weapons or industrial toxins. Soil analysis, however, indicated only low nitrogen levels and an unusually high acidity. Bartol thought the problem could be addressed by the manufacture of artificial fertilizers and soil supplements. These measures, however, would not make the Cho-ta’an crops more appetizing. They had identified only a handful of Cho-ta’an staples that humans could digest, and none of them were particularly appetizing. Although Varinga carried seeds for several varieties of common foods, it was unlikely any of them would grow on Yavesk. There was a reason the previous inhabitants had imported nearly all their food, after all. It was going to be years, perhaps decades, before the human settlement could produce all their own food. Fortunately, the food production systems aboard Varinga were still capable of producing far more than they needed and were likely to last for many more years.
By the fifth week after the rest of the passengers were revived, life had settled into something like a predictable pattern. Most of the people were occupied with a project to build an irrigation system fed by water from the nearby river, while others worked on repurposing vehicles and other machines from Varinga’s hold to be used as farm implements. Now that all the young children were awake at once, a school was started. The older children were expected to do some work when not in school, but their schedule was not arduous. Children were allowed to roam freely about the area of the ship but strictly forbidden from entering the ruins of the city. When a seven-year-old boy named Livius didn’t show up for supper one evening, everyone knew where he must have gone.
A search party, consisting of most of the settlers, combed the city all night with flashlights, to no avail. The searchers had no better luck by daylight. They looked in every building, well, and pile of debris within two miles of Varinga, but found no sign of Livius. The search was expanded to the rest of the city, but still they found nothing. The entire interior of Varinga was searched top to bottom three times, but Livius could not be found. The only good news was that as far as anyone could tell, no buildings had collapsed recently, so it was unlikely Livius was trapped under a pile of rubble. The bad news was that this left only one likely possibility: Livius had been abducted by the Cho-ta’an.
No one could think of a reason a Cho-ta’an would kidnap Livius. He was a perfectly ordinary child; his parents had been miners on Voltera. The Cho-ta’an emissary, Veyka-Chenn, pled ignorance and even assisted in the search. On the third day after Livius had gone missing, Dornen and Dr. Bartol went to Kavded to see Chief Churrik. Churrik too claimed to know nothing about Livius’s disappearance and pledged to help the humans in any way he could. A force of forty Cho-ta’an was sent south to search the city and the surrounding area again. It was all for naught. Ten days after Livius disappeared, the search was called off.
Another three weeks passed. Livius was never found, but his mother, who still roamed the ruins looking for him, found a stuffed animal of his near a collapsed house. The rubble of the house and several surrounding houses was carefully moved away, stone by stone, but there was no other sign Livius had ever been there. Even Livius’s parents abandoned hope that their son might be found alive.
Life returned to something like normal, the biggest change being an increase in security. Before the disappearance, three or four of the marines would be patrolling the perimeter of the settlement at any given time. Now at least half the marines were always on duty, and they frequently used the mech suits for longer range patrols. Dornen had discouraged the use of the suits at first out of concern the Cho-ta’an would fear an attack, but maybe it was better to keep them a little scared. The exchange of information between the humans and Cho-ta’an continued, with the marines chauffeuring emissaries from both sides back and forth, but there was less friendly chatter on the journeys.
Then one evening, Yekchalla, the archaeologist, approached the edge of the settlement, asking to speak with Commander Dornen. He was checked for weapons and escorted to Dornen’s quarters, where the Commander was meeting with Dr. Bartol. Yekchalla, clearly in an agitated state, was allowed in while a marine stood watch outside the door.
“I am sorry to interrupt, Commander,” Yekchalla said, “but I must speak to you on an urgent matter. I would have come to you sooner, but I am watched carefully.”
“Is this about Livius?” asked Dr. Bartol.
“The missing child? No, I am sorry, I know nothing of the boy.”
“Then what is it, Yekchalla?” asked the Commander.
“You are being misled, and I am afraid I have contributed to this.”
“In what way?” asked Dornen.
“You have undoubtedly noticed that my people harbor a strong suspicion of new technology. That attitude has long been cultivated by the ruling class, including Chief Churrik and his henchmen. I am not one of them, but I am afforded some access because of my contributions to the understanding of human civilization. Lately, though, I have found myself in a bind. If my hypothesis is correct, then there is a very good reason for this tight control of scientific knowledge.”
“We assumed it was to keep the people in line,” said Bartol.
“It is, but it is much more than that. I think I have discovered the true origin of our people, as well as what happened to the humans who once lived on this planet.”
“The Cho-ta’an eradicated the humans,” said Bartol.
“Yes, but not the way you think. The Cho-ta’an are humans.”
“The hell they are,” said Bartol.
“It is the conclusion the evidence leads me to. That is why there are no human remains in the cities. The human population were gradually turned into Cho-ta’an, through a process of gene manipulation that is now closely guarded by our ruling caste.”
“‘Turned into’ by whom?” asked Dornen.
“By ourselves, I suspect. That is, our human ancestors. You see how difficult it is for you to survive on this planet. I think we altered our genes to improve our chances. Even so, it has not been easy. We number only twenty thousand, and that is as many Cho-ta’an as there have ever been.”
Dornen looked to Bartol, speechless. The doctor shrugged. “It does make some sense,” he said. “Our two races are oddly similar, considering we supposedly originated on different planets.”
“How long ago?” Dornen asked.
“Perhaps seven or eight hundred years. The change would have taken several generations, of course.”
“Not long after the Izarians destroyed the other Concordat worlds,” Bartol said. “It fits.”
“Why are you telling us this?” asked Dornen.
; “I fear for the fragile peace between our peoples. We need each other. If we do not help each other—worse, if we fall into enmity—neither of our peoples is likely to survive. I cannot speak freely among my own people but can at least tell you: we are from the same stock. Surely that is worth something.”
“It is,” said Dornen. “Thank you, Yekchalla. I will have one of my men drive you back to Kavded so that your absence will not be noticed.”
“That would be much appreciated, Commander Dornen.”
*****
“What do you think?” Dornen asked Bartol, when Yekchalla had left.
“I think Yekchalla is an idealist.”
“Meaning?”
“He thinks that knowledge of our shared heritage will make us more sympathetic to the Cho-ta’an.”
“You don’t?”
“Does it make you more sympathetic?”
Dornen considered the question. “No. Honestly, I find the thought repulsive. Those people made themselves into monsters.”
“They did what they needed to in order to survive.”
“Better for humanity to die off than to turn into that.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Bartol said. “When we thought they were aliens, we got along with them fine—setting aside the matter of Livius. But now that we think of them as altered humans, they’re monsters.”
“What about Livius? Do you think it was the Cho-ta’an?”
“Who else could it be? He didn’t just disappear into thin air.”
Dornen nodded. “Do you think the past can be changed?”
“You’re reassessing my idea of preventing the war between the Cho-ta’an and the IDL before it starts?”
“God help me, I am.”
“Well. As I see it, fate precludes the possibility of free will. It’s true that preventing the war with the Cho-ta’an would create a paradox: how could Freya be the descendant of people who fought a war that never happened? But frankly, temporal paradoxes are beyond my pay grade. I say we do what we need to do, and let the universe sort itself out. Also, I might add that if these people do turn into the Cho-ta’an who attack Earth, then our endeavor is doomed.”
The War of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic (Saga of the Iron Dragon Book 5) Page 21