Sheppard and Teyla crossed the room, and the colonel threw a nod to the SAS soldier. Bishop responded in kind, and McKay found himself wondering how it was that military types could communicate so much with just a non-verbal twitch of the head. Must be something they teach them in boot camp, he thought.
"Colonel, Teyla," said Erony. "I trust you find your accommodations to your satisfaction?"
"Sure do," said Sheppard. "I trust Dr. McKay was on his best behavior?"
"He was a consummate gentleman," she replied. Erony did the little bobbing-head thing again and made to leave. "If there is anything you require-"
"There is," Teyla broke in on an impulse. "A question." The Athosian woman glanced at Sheppard, who did nothing to halt her. "In the hall today. I asked after the fate of the Wraith we saw your hunt splinter take captive in the abandoned village. I did not receive a reply."
Erony's face tightened. "That matter is of no consequence to you."
"Pardon me," Teyla pressed, "but I would insist otherwise. Any Wraith, even those held in chains, are a dangerous prospect."
"What you insist is irrelevant!" snapped the other woman, suddenly fierce. McKay blinked, wondering where the demure princess who had made advances on him had gone. The change in her manner was as swift as it was surprising; but then Erony's face softened and her flash of anger was gone again. "Please understand, Teyla Emmagan. You are all outworlders and unfamiliar with the ways of our society. Trust me when I tell you that the Wraith we took pose no threat."
A thought struck McKay with such abruptness that he was speaking it aloud before he could stop himself. "Was that where Kelfer was going? Are you... Oh no, are you draining that enzyme super-freak juice from them?"
"What are you implying?" Erony showed genuine shock.
"The Wraith feeding enzyme," said Sheppard. "Are you harvesting it to use on yourselves?"
The woman's face turned ashen. "What... What kind of people do you think we are?" She looked for a moment as if she were going to be ill, the color draining from her face. "The mere idea of such a thing! That we would take the filth that runs in the veins of those animals and put it into the body of a Halcyon? The thought disgusts me!" Erony shook her head, her voice rising. "We do not need to taint ourselves with their base blood! Our will to fight is more than enough to defeat them!"
"No one would willingly allow themselves to be marked by the Wraith," said a new voice. Vekken emerged from the shadow of the corridor, watching Teyla carefully. "Such things are anathema to the Halcyon character."
Rodney gulped. "Lady Erony, I'm sorry, we didn't mean to insult you..."
The woman became calm again, shooting a sideways look at her father's adjutant. "Of... Of course. You will pardon my outburst. You are outworlders and you knew no better than to suggest such a thing. Clearly, you have much more to learn about the temperament of my people than I thought."
"My Lady," said Vekken. "Your father asks that you attend him at your earliest convenience."
"Yes, thank you." Erony gave a small bow and walked swiftly away, her boots clacking on the wooden tiles. She never once met the steely gaze of the adjutant.
"Dodged the question again," said Sheppard in a low voice. "That's two-for-two."
"The affairs of the Wraith are not something that is spoken of in polite society, Lieutenant Colonel," Vekken noted. "Her Highness's outburst was a mild admonition compared to the rebuke you might have received had you asked the same question to one of the barony. Indeed, blood might have been shed because of it."
"But you were all for bragging about how many of them you'd killed!" snapped McKay.
"That is a different matter, Dr. McKay. A warrior's battle record is something to be celebrated."
Sheppard's brow furrowed. "Y'know, I'm having a hard time following the way you people think."
"That much is certain," noted Vekken dryly. "Then, in the interests of smoothing the path of your future parlays with my Lord Magnate, let me explain this to you. There is among the nation of Halcyon a great abhorrence for the Wraith, coupled with an innate knowledge of our superiority over them."
Rodney snorted in derision, but if Vekken noticed he didn't acknowledge it.
"But this is matched by a loathing of what they represent. Their bestial, vampiric nature is the very antithesis of ours," he tapped his chest, "and the thought of being alike to them in any way fills other souls with cold horror."
"Well, there's something we got in common, then," said Sheppard. "Now, do I have to ask again? What's going on with the prisoners?"
Vekken gave a small smile. "You'll learn that soon enough."
Since the adjutant's arrival, Teyla had remained silent; but now she spoke. "You said `other souls'. Do you not include yourself among them?"
He studied her. "No, Teyla Emmagan, I do not. And I would imagine you already know the reason why."
Teyla hesitated for a long moment. "This man... He is like me. His bloodline was once changed by the Wraith. I can sense it..."
Vekken nodded. "I knew it to be true when I first saw you, Teyla. Our kind is very rare on Halcyon. Many of the families who suffered the machinations of the Wraith were wiped out in the Age of Unification, once the Circlet's portals were opened. Those of us who remain are feared."
"Erony," considered McKay, "she was spooked by you the moment you arrived."
"That is why her father made me his adjutant. There is no better guardian and warmaster than a Wraithkin. The fable is as sharp as any blade."
"Wraithkin..." Teyla repeated the word, weighing the meaning of it.
"I saw that term in some of the historical scrolls I glanced through," said Rodney. "I wasn't sure of the translation, but that fits." He turned to Sheppard. "Basically, the Halcyons think of people with Teyla's, ah, gift, like people on Earth used to think of witches."
The colonel blinked. "You're kidding me."
"Nope. And when I say witches, I don't mean the meaddrinking, naked-dancing Wiccan kind. I'm talking the baby-eating, broomstick-riding, turn-you-into-a-frog kind."
Sheppard looked at Vekken. "Thanks for the heads-up. Anything else you want to share with us?"
"Tread carefully, Lieutenant Colonel. Everything you do here is under close scrutiny. You are being judged, and if you are found wanting..." He showed that thin smile again. "Halcyon has never been tolerant of weakness." Vekken turned to leave and then hesitated on the threshold. "Oh. How remiss of me. Our conversation was so engaging, I almost overlooked the purpose of my visit. I have an invitation from the Lord Magnate for you and your associates. His Highness requires your presence tomorrow at an event in the Relia Lowlands."
"A party?" said Sheppard hopefully.
Vekken walked away, throwing a last comment over his shoulder. "He's hosting a war."
Rodney's jaw dropped. "A what?"
The rotorplane flew fast and level over the countryside at treetop level, gently rising and falling in and out of the nap of the earth. Through the oval portholes in the main cabin, Sheppard saw flashes of greenery and the odd cluster of lonesome buildings. They'd been airborne for an hour or two now, and except for a brief fuelling stop, the aircraft had been racing at what appeared to be full throttle all the way.
"I must admit, I do not understand your curiosity," Linnian was saying as Sheppard moved up the metal deck to the front of the rotorplane. "Do you find the passenger cabin to be uncomfortable?"
"Nope," John replied. "I'm just interested, that's all. I've never ridden in a steam-age helicopter before, and I'd like to see how it works."
"Actually, our gyro-flyers are powered by electrochemical batteries and powdered fuel volatiles," replied the adjutant. He frowned, clearly caught between his orders to obey Sheppard, and his Halcyonite ideas of decorum. But his mistress wasn't here, so he had to go with the colonel's demands. Linnian opened the hatch and ushered John into the wide cockpit.
The pilot and co-pilot both started as they realized they had company. Like Linnian, they w
ore the black of the Fourth Dynast, but their uniforms were cut differently, with less in the way of medals and sigils. Sheppard threw them an easy grin. "Hey guys, don't mind us. Just looking around."
The pilot gave Linnian a confused look and the adjutant returned him a shrug.
John leaned forward. The design and structure of the cockpit reminded him of the pressed-steel interiors of old warbirds from the 1940s, but more ornate. Etched brass and turned wood detail was on everything. Bright sunlight filled the cockpit from curved greenhouse windows. Back along the streamlined fuse lage he could see the sweeping arc of two interlocked, counter-rotating helicopter blades on stubby winglets. "Hell of a lot different from a Huey or a Pave Hawk..."
The co-pilot blinked at him. "You... You are an aviator?" The very idea appeared to be absurd to him.
"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force. If you can catch sky with it, I'll fly it."
"But we were informed that you are officer nobility on your own world. Do you not have subordinates for the work of piloting?"
"Some do. Frankly, though, the day I don't get to take the stick anymore is the day I'll retire."
Linnian frowned again. He was doing a lot of that. "Our command cadres do not sully themselves with such labor, Lieutenant Colonel. Frankly, I am surprised your people do otherwise."
Sheppard threw the co-pilot a wink. "Well, I guess I can understand you boys not wanting to let the senior ranks fly this baby. They'd find out how much fun it was and then you'd be out of a job, right?"
The other man smiled briefly, and John knew that he'd connected with him; they shared a moment of mutual respect, and a flyer's passion for the open skies. "Perhaps... You might like to take the controls for a moment, sir?"
"Oh yeah," Before Linnian could complain, Sheppard had swapped places with the co-pilot and gave a nod to the aircraft commander. "Thanks."
The pilot seemed wary and somewhat alarmed at being spoken to directly. Sheppard ran his eyes over the console. Most of the usual dials and controls were there, but labeled in the Halcyon semi-Ancient-style text. Still, he picked out the artificial horizon, what looked like airspeed and engine temperature. There were foot pedals for the rudders and a complex set of gear and throttle levers behind a butterfly-shaped yoke. He'd seen something similar on the wheels of formula one racing cars. "I have the aircraft," he announced.
The pilot nervously relinquished control, and there was a slight flutter as Sheppard settled in; but then he got it, leaning into the motion of the gyro-flyer and letting the craft tell him how it wanted to move. "Sweet," he said. "She handles real well."
"This flyer has been in service to His Highness for nine cycles," said the co-pilot, a hint of pride in his voice. "We've ferried the Lord Magnate himself on no less than four sojourns."
His eyes locked on the horizon, Sheppard kept his voice level. "Seen any combat? She's pretty nimble, I bet."
"Not in this vessel. I was once a Shrike pilot," said the other man. "They are rocketplanes with gun capacity. I served under Lord Daus's cousin Kalyn before his holdings were annexed."
"Rocket, huh? If we get the chance, I'll show you something that could leave that in the dust. We call it a Puddle Jumper-" Sheppard's words died in his throat as he caught sight of something in the distance. His seasoned aviator's situational awareness took his eye to it immediately. Sunlight glittered on metallic white spheres and a large silver cylinder was moving ponderously over a hillside; but what made him alert were the flickers of cannon fire and the plumes of black smoke rising from the valley. The distant rumble of shell detonations reached them seconds after a string of orange flares.
"Take the controls!" snapped Linnian, and Sheppard found himself jostled out of the seat by the apologetic co-pilot. "Lieutenant Colonel, I think we should return to the passenger cabin."
"In a second," John said firmly, placing himself behind the pilot's chair. Blinks of white from a spotlight atop the cylinder-which was quickly resolving into the shape of a huge airship-reflected off the windows. The co-pilot used a device like a flashlight to return another series of blinks, Morse-code style.
The gyro-flyer climbed as they crossed a stand of high trees and then abruptly they were over a war zone. The pilots guided the aircraft around thick tethers holding the fat balloons in place at the borders of the valley. Sheppard saw ringed decks dangling from the gasbags as they passed them by. He looked down.
There were no trees or brush of any kind on the ground, the space beneath them just acres and acres of cracked and broken earth, marred by impact craters and the broad, long scars of trenches. He spotted the stone domes of pillboxes, snarls of barbed wire and shallow bunkers. Wrecked ground vehicles were dotted randomly, mired in the rust-colored mud. Here and there were pillars that were strangely untouched by the battle, with large wooden placards hanging off them on chains. The flyer turned away and then back toward the airship in a long loop, coming in toward the far side of it. Through streams of smoke he saw a column of men in tan-colored uniforms rise up in a wave from a trench and surge out across the no-man's land, rifles barking and spitting vapor.
"We won't be fired upon," said Linnian, pre-empting the question forming in Sheppard's mind. "The combatants know that their exercise would be forfeit if even a single shot were to strike a neutral unit."
The rotordyne slowed to a hover over the spine of the airship and settled on to a flat landing platform across its back.
The opulent design of the monorail carriage was repeated inside the massive zeppelin. The design of the airship, even down to the scrollwork on the iron girders, made the craft look more like a flying basilica than a vehicle for transport.
"His Highness has several of these ships for duties of state," explained Linnian as they walked down through the wood-paneled decks. John led the group with Teyla, Ronon, McKay and Hill following. Despite Staff Sergeant Mason's misgivings, Sheppard had ordered him to remain in the city with Bishop and Clarke.
Linnian was still speaking. "This vessel serves as his personal air-yacht."
"More like air-battleship," murmured Rodney. "It's got gun turrets all over it. All it needs is Hindenburg written on the side..."
Hill went a little pale. "You saying this blimp is full of hydrogen gas?"
"Yes," sniffed McKay, "that would be the faint fart smell in the air." He shot Sheppard a lethal stare. "How I let you talk me in to coming aboard this death-trap-"
"Stop talking," grated Ronon. "Or you can get off."
"Believe me, I'd love to, but we're a hundred feet above the ground!"
"That's right."
McKay fell silent for the moment.
The adjutant nodded to a pair of soldiers as they approached, and the men opened a wide oval hatchway. Linnian directed them through, and they emerged into a broad observation gallery with a low ceiling, situated at the bottom of the main gondola below the airship. Sheppard had wondered about leaving his weapons behind in the palace before coming here, and in the end he had opted not to take the P90, but kept the pistol. Now he felt positively under-armed, as everyone in the gallery, from the officers in their over-decorated uniforms to the gossamerdressed companions on their arms, had some kind of weapon on them.
Erony was waiting for them. She had changed her hunt clothes for something less masculine, although the tunic and skirt still had the look of a soldier about them. "Lieutenant Colonel, everyone, welcome. Please, come with me."
The gallery was an inverted fishbowl that looked down on the battlefield, the shadow of the airship casting a dark ellipse upon the earth. Gunfire and war cries reached them through the windows. It was clear straight away that the assembled observers were clumped into three distinct cliques. On a raised platform in the middle of the room were Daus and his group, Vekken at his shoulder watching Sheppard's team with an unveiled stare. The Magnate, Kelfer and Muruw were engaged in an animated conversation, and now and then Daus would pause to look at a sheaf of paper offered up from a brown-h
ooded servant. The servant shuttled back and forth between large teletype machines that clattered and hummed, spitting out more paper at regular intervals. The other two groups were as far from each other as they could get, each against the opposite side of the gallery, crowding the windows. The closest was composed largely of men in tan uniforms the same shade as the soldiers Sheppard had seen on the ground. Among them he saw one of the noblemen whose disagreement he'd curtailed in the Chamber of Audiences. There was a crash of explosive noise from outside and the baron and his party clapped and gave harsh laughter. Over their heads, a board with glowing valve-digits hissed and changed, although Sheppard couldn't read the meaning in them.
"Oh, hard luck for Palfrun!" said one of the tan officers to his commander. "I do feel so sorry for him!" The tone of the man's voice made it quite clear that the reverse was true.
An angry snarl drew John's attention to the other group, who were a similar mix of nobles, except there the predominant uniform color was light blue. Another familiar face pushed his way to the front of the group; it was the hot-headed swordsman that Vekken had faced down in the palace. "Baron Palfrun, lackey!" spat the man. "You will show me the respect of my rank! Or are your men short of even the most common decency, my esteemed Baron Noryn?"
Noryn-the tan nobleman-inclined his head. "High spirits, comrade. Nothing more. Do not let it distract you from the fighting at hand."
Palfrun saw Sheppard and shot him an acidic glare, then turned to one of his own men and spoke urgently into his ear. The blue-clothed officer moved to one of the teletypes and began to work it.
"What is all this?" said Teyla. "I do not understand."
But Sheppard was already putting it together, and he didn't like where it was taking him. Erony led them up to Daus's podium and the Lord Magnate gave them a jaunty salute. "Ah, our guests! Welcome, welcome! You missed the opening salvoes and a few most entertaining sorties by Palfrun's hussars, but there's still plenty of cut in the blade yet!"
Stargate Atlantis: Halcyon Page 8
