by Graham, Jo
“Sure,” he said, giving Tolas a charming grin. “Happy to.” He handed over the pistol, butt first. Teyla passed over her hunting knife.
“Many thanks,” Tolas said with a smile John hoped wasn’t ironic. He gestured to the door. “Please make yourselves at home. I will go arrange an appointment with the king.”
One of the guards, the one John had kicked good and hard, opened the door with a resentful look. There was something about the gesture that reminded John suddenly of a movie, of Lando Calrissian. Not good. The next line ought to be ‘we would be honored if you joined us,’ and then it would all go from bad to worse and probably end with him trapped in a block of carbonite, which never seemed like it would be a very fun experience. John and his friends had argued as kids over whether or not you knew what was going on while you were flash frozen in a block of stuff, and he’d argued for not. Because otherwise just seemed too awful.
On the other hand, that line of thought ended up with him getting rescued by Teyla, and he could think of worse…
She was looking at him doubtfully, waiting for him to either go in or not.
“Right,” John said. “We’re all good here.” He ambled through the door hoping that his easy stance covered the tension. Teyla followed. And somehow he wasn’t a bit surprised when the door shut behind them and he heard the bar put down.
“Why…” Teyla began.
John put his finger to his lips. “Over here,” he said, leading her across the room from the door where their conversation wouldn’t be heard. “We take them down, then what?”
Teyla looked at him, a tiny frown between her brows. “I agree, but it is not like you to be so prudent.”
John glanced around the room. “Look, we’re in no immediate danger. This thing keeps getting kicked upstairs, one guy after another throwing his weight around. By now Lorne’s on the way with a team of Marines. We try something and it doesn’t work and we’ve wasted our cards. It’s better to bargain with a squad of Marines behind us.”
Teyla looked concerned. “And your head is bothering you.”
“I’m ok.”
She shook her head, reaching up to check the bandage. “You are not. Or you would have tried something back there. Are you dizzy?”
“Just a little lightheaded,” John admitted. “I’ll be fine.”
“You will rest,” Teyla said. “In here where it is cool. I do not like you still being lightheaded. The sooner we get you to Dr. Beckett, the better.” She steered him over to a chair by the window. “Sit.”
It was, he thought, a pretty comfortable chair. And the view was nothing short of amazing. The fourth floor window looked out over the top of the walls to the harbor and sea, the roofs of houses and shops and the docks where lanteen sailed ships tied up, their hulls as bright as birds against the green sea. The breakwater was ornamented with fantastical turrets, and the ramparts of the wall featured emplacements for things John swore were ballistae. He’d seen a reconstruction of one once, and those looked like it. That was pretty advanced siege weaponry. He wondered who the enemy was that Pelagia stood in such a state of readiness and suspicion. Who was the enemy? Not the Wraith, surely. Ballistae wouldn’t be much use against energy weapons.
The people of The Chora? Jitrine had said that there was tension over tribute, that The Chora was mad about the increase lately, resented having to send tribute to Pelagia. Was there an active rebellion? And if so, was Tolas the loyal stooge or the rebel? Was he playing his own game, with John and Teyla as pieces in it?
Teyla came and stood beside his chair, her eyes on the distant sea. “Something is wrong,” she said.
“Tell me about it.” The sheer curtains blew in a fresh sea breeze. It wasn’t hot here, not with the wind blowing, and the desert kept the humidity low. If this were a resort, lots of people would pay good money for it.
“There is something going on,” Teyla said. “And I do not think it is all about the Wraith. If it were, surely it would be obvious to them that we are not Wraith, and if they were certain we were enemies, why not kill us? They are not sure of something. But they are afraid.”
“Yeah.” John turned his head to catch the breeze on his neck and damp hair. “Those fortifications wouldn’t stop the Wraith for five minutes. So who are they meant to stop?”
“I do not know, but we had best find out,” she said. “Perhaps we can turn it to our advantage. Certainly these people seem to have plenty of food.”
“Which is always an issue.”
Even now that they had contact with Earth there were major issues of supply. It was quite simply impossible to supply a base the size of Atlantis with food brought by the Daedalus on her thirty-six day round trip, eighteen days out and eighteen days back. They could dial Earth, but Earth couldn’t dial them, making resupply through the Stargate impossible. Therefore the bulk of their food had to be traded for locally, and it was a constant challenge finding people with enough of a surplus to trade who were also willing to trade with them. Teyla had been invaluable the last year in making the deals that kept them in supply, since she already had contacts and a measure of trust the team from Earth didn’t have.
“If they have enemies…” Teyla began, and then let the sentence hang. He knew where it went. People with enemies wanted weapons, weapons more effective than ballistae and spears. A couple of guns wouldn’t do much except whet their appetite for more.
“Yeah.” John pulled the radio out of his pocket. It was still on standby, the battery low. Where the hell was Lorne? But it was a big planet. With no idea where they were, Lorne would have to take a broad search pattern. But even so, he’d probably been in the air for hours.
“Do you suppose Rodney had trouble with the gate?” Teyla asked.
Obviously her mind worked the same way. He’d been trying not to think about that option. “It’s Rodney,” John said. “He can fix a Stargate. And even if he didn’t get the DHD working, Elizabeth could send Lorne and a team through from her end.”
“True.” Teyla frowned, putting the back of her hand to his forehead. “You do not feel feverish, but I am concerned about this dizziness.”
“I’m fine,” John insisted. “We just need to gather as much intel as we can and stay ready. It’s not like we’re chained up in a basement or something.” He looked out the broad open window. Four stories up, but the stonework was rough with many possible handholds, and the top of the curtain wall wasn’t far away. He could probably do it without much trouble. But Teyla would have a hard time with her injured shoulder. He bet it wouldn’t take her weight. That was Plan B for certain.
“Yes,” she said with an expression that looked like forcing her face to relax. “So we should make ourselves comfortable, and perhaps the king will see us soon.”
Chapter Ten
Rodney looked at the assembled rescue team in horror. Major Lorne, of course. Lorne was ok. He was kind of growing on him, despite Rodney’s general distaste for career military. Dr. Beckett, naturally. It seemed more than likely there had been some kind of emergency, so Carson was all kitted out in field uniform and flak vest rather than his usual lab coat. Six Marines, to provide some firepower. And Lt. Cadman.
Entirely logically, there was a perfectly good reason for Cadman to be there. She was, after all, a Marine. She was one of the Marines assigned to off world backup teams, which was how he had met disaster with her in the first place. Rodney had successfully dodged having to exchange more than a word with Laura Cadman the last few weeks, since Carson and Radek had succeeded in disentangling their brains, but the few days he had spent sharing a body with Cadman were seared into his consciousness forever. He put that up there with being captured by the Genii commander Kolya as possibly the worst experience of his life, one that he would never want to repeat. To be so completely, involuntarily, rawly intimate with someone, much less this cheerful, uninhibited woman of twenty three… It was just horrible.
And now she gave him a friendly smile, like they were cozy old f
riends. “Hi, Rodney.”
“Cadman,” he barked, glaring at Lorne, who looked oblivious.
“Are we ready?” Lorne asked.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Carson said, settling into the pilot’s seat. With his ATA gene he was one of the pilots the jumpers responded to best, and after more than a year was actually getting comfortable with flying. Not that he was anywhere near as good as Sheppard, but Carson was becoming quite serviceable, in Rodney’s opinion.
He threw himself into the copilot’s seat. From that vantage point he wouldn’t have to look at Cadman in the back. Maybe he could just pretend she wasn’t here. Why couldn’t Lorne have picked one of the other lieutenants for the team? Kroger or Kruger or whatever his name was? It’s not like Cadman was the only Marine around. Ok, maybe she was better than Kroger, who as far as Rodney could tell had one setting—shoot it now. Cadman had a brain somewhere under that beret. Unfortunately he was too closely acquainted with Cadman’s brain.
“Let’s go,” Lorne said, and Carson dialed the gate precisely, watching the event horizon open before them.
Elizabeth didn’t say anything on the radio. There was a time not long ago when she’d have said something like “be careful” or “come back safe” but now that went without saying. Carson and Lorne wouldn’t go looking for trouble. Trouble was more likely to find them.
Carson eased the indicators forward, and the puddle jumper leaped through the gate.
***
The seas were boiling. Not literally, of course. They were actually quite a comfortable temperature, neither cold enough to be hypothermic, or hot either. Radek thought he should know, since he had been continually soaked for the last hour. It was most unpleasant, but not nearly as unpleasant as it would be to be unceremoniously deposited in the sea. Which began to seem increasingly likely.
The little fishing boat ran before the wind. Or rather, the little fishing boat limped laboriously up waves that seemed entirely too large, while above the heavens split with lightning and the downpour soaked him to the skin. The bottom of the boat was awash, though Radek was not sure whether that was from the rain pouring down or the seawater sloshing over the sides. In either event, he was fairly sure it was not supposed to be there. Filling up with water was a bad sign in a boat.
Ronon was holding onto the sail, apparently keeping it attached to the mast by sheer physical strength, while Radek attempted to bail with a rusty bucket. A few liters of water went out, and a dozen came in. This was a battle he was losing. Still, this was a thunderstorm, not a hurricane. Perhaps they could last it out, stay ahead of the water long enough to gain a respite.
Which was more or less their entire strategy in the Pegasus Galaxy for the last year and a bit. Bail, and hope it stops raining.
Ronon bellowed something, but the wind tore away his words. Radek saw him silhouetted against sky and sea, braided hair slicked back now, holding onto the mast like some sort of pre-war engraving of Ulysses. He saw for a moment what Ronon must have been yelling about, a green dark wave rising behind them, no larger than ten or twelve feet tall, but enormous from the perspective of a small fishing boat wallowing low and half swamped.
“Shit,” Radek said, and had time to take a deep breath.
And then the wave broke over them.
He struggled up through troubled water, kicking one shoe loose in the process, white foam coating the surface. He couldn’t see. By some miracle, or perhaps because of the strap, he still had his glasses on but they were so streaked with sea water that he couldn’t see anything but a vague impression of green sea, foam, and lowering sky.
“Ronon!” he yelled, and then took a breath as another wave climbed above him.
Relax, he thought. Remember, this is not the first time you have been in the sea. Ride the wave up to the crest and over, or dive through the crest before it breaks. Do not fight it. Do not waste your strength. Relax and go with it.
Radek stopped clawing at the water in an adrenaline fueled haze. Up and over. Try to get a look from the top. “Ronon!”
“Over here!”
He heard the shout back, but as he could not tell from which direction it came it was not as useful as that. Between his glasses and the perspective of being inches above the water, he had no idea where he was relative to Ronon.
Something brushed past his leg like a snake, and he recoiled. Surely not sharks, or hungry Pegasus Galaxy sea snakes?
It was a rope. It was a rope attached to a sail. Radek grabbed onto it, a spatter of rain hitting him full in the face. Up one wave and down the back side. Up and down. He kicked his other shoe off. Up and down, not fighting it. The rope was attached to a sail which dragged on the surface of the water, billowing out as though in unseen winds beneath the surface. Possibly the sail had torn away, or possibly it was still attached to the mast. Which was a big wooden thing that would float. That would be a useful thing to reach.
Radek followed the rope, only once getting a mouthful of water when he didn’t see a wave breaking through his streaked glasses. Coughing, he let the water pull him along with the rope, along with the sail.
Yes, perfect. There was the dark smudge ahead, and he heard Ronon shout, though he could not make out the words.
“I am here!” Radek yelled back.
The sail was attached to the mast, which was underwater. The little fishing boat had capsized and floated hull up on the waves, buoyed no doubt by a pocket of air trapped beneath it. Radek let go and swam the last few meters, grabbing onto the rough wood of the hull gratefully.
“You ok?” Ronon was on the opposite side, holding on near the other end, but he made his way closer hand over hand along the hull. Radek was incredibly glad to see him.
“I’m fine,” Radek said. He more or less was. No bruises, no cuts, the water too warm for hypothermia. Other than drowning, his prospects were not bad. And finding the hull of the boat greatly increased his chances of staying afloat. He had read once that most people drown at sea when their strength simply gives out, after hours or days. With the boat to hold onto, things were better. They were less likely to drown immediately. And who knew what opportunities might arise?
“Good,” Ronon said. He looked younger with his hair soaked, less certain and impervious than usual.
“We will just hold on,” Radek said. “And surely they are already on the way with a puddle jumper.” A thought occurred to him and he swore volubly. “The boat is capsized. We have lost my laptop.” All his data. All his personal files. All sinking to the bottom of an alien sea.
“And our supplies,” Ronon said grimly. Of course the backpacks were lost as well. Their food, their water…
There was a worse thought, but he could not put off voicing it. “And our radios,” Radek said. Without the radios, how would the rescue team find them? They were two men adrift in a big sea, and the pilot would not even know where to look.
***
Night came, and the storm abated. It was no longer raining. That was a small mercy. The upended hull floated on calmer seas. Radek had managed to climb onto it, sitting on the hull rather than clinging to it, which required less energy.
Ronon held the side, despite all invitations to climb on too. “I’m too heavy,” he said. “I’ll tip it over.”
Now, with the waves less jagged, Radek tried again. “It will not tip if you balance,” he said. “You should save your strength. We will need it.” He thought perhaps Ronon was abashed that strength had not been enough. It was all very well to be powerfully built, but that did not compensate actually for not knowing how to sail.
Gingerly, Ronon climbed on top, inching his way forward to lie on the hull on his belly, just breathing for a long moment. Resting.
Radek tried once again to dry his glasses on his sopping wet shirt. It did make them less streaky. He looked up. The clouds were thinning somewhat. Through a break he could see stars. Not a bad storm, then. Just an afternoon thunderstorm of the sort that sent tourists running for the awnings of ca
fes, that made ship passengers cut short their jogs around promenade decks. If it had been a bad storm they would be dead. Rather than just adrift on an overturned hull, somewhere in the middle of an alien sea, with no supplies and no radios.
Still, this was an archipelago. There were other islands, and indications from the air had suggested they were populated. When the weather cleared and day came there might be other ships, or perhaps the currents would carry them close enough to another island to risk swimming.
He looked at Ronon, who rolled over on his back. He wondered if he looked that tired. Probably worse.
“It is your turn,” he said.
“My turn for what?” Ronon looked up at the scudding clouds, the stars beyond.
“We must stay alert,” Radek said. “It is your turn to tell me a story. I told you one.”
Ronon snorted, and he thought he would not say anything. Radek drew his knees up, getting his feet out of the water. He was surprised when Ronon spoke.
***
My dad drowned. He was a soldier, an Immortal like me. It was the spring after I turned five. There were late snows in the mountains and then a hard spring rain. Everything flooded. Streams turned into rivers, carrying away houses and trees. The rail lines were cut above Euta when the bed washed out. Lots of people left homeless, lots of bad stuff.
The Chieftain declared an emergency and sent the army in to help. My dad—he crawled out on a bridge. They were trying to do white water rescue, getting people out of this stream that was a hundred times bigger than usual, a family swept away in the current. The bridge washed out and collapsed.
They found his body the next day down at Hougma along with the people he was trying to save. They all died except one kid and the dog. Guess they were the lucky ones. Somebody always is, right?
I lived with my mom and my Nan in the city. There was a pool that people used in the summer time, but I didn’t like it much. I wasn’t really into swimming. I learned because you have to know how to swim to be an Immortal, and that’s what I was going to do. Same thing with school. The Immortals only take the best. If you don’t get good marks you don’t get in. So I worked really hard. My mom wanted me to be a chemist or something instead, somebody who works in a lab or a hospital, not a soldier. But I would have had to find a lot of money for that, and I didn’t really want to anyway.
