She snagged his tray and put it on one of the tables under the skylights, then pulled out his chair for him.
“Thanks again,” he said, sinking into it. “Join me?”
“Sure.” Hocken put her tray down opposite, breaded chicken tenders with fries and today’s mystery vegetable.
“I didn’t see you at the poker game last night,” Lorne said, settling his cane against the edge of the table.
Hocken didn’t look up from her lunch. “I got busy.”
“A lot of that going around,” Lorne said, reaching for the salt shaker casually. “Carter must be driving you guys hard. Franklin didn’t come either.”
Hocken glanced at him, startled. “Really?”
“Yep,” Lorne said. “In fact, nobody showed but me and Cadman and Grant. Not much of a game with three hands, so we called it off and Cadman and I watched Rear Window instead.”
“Ok,” Hocken said. She frowned. “What was that about?”
Lorne shrugged. How to put this without making it clear he’d gone to the top of the food chain? “You know, Colonel Sheppard’s a good guy. Maybe some of that stuff Franklin said about Afghanistan made some people uncomfortable. That’s kind of how it works sometimes. Ricochet. You get hit with your own bullet.”
“You think?” There was an unexpectedly bitter note in Hocken’s voice. “I thought that had more to do with the Hammond’s 302s than with Sheppard.”
Click. Ok, that made everything make sense to Lorne, Hocken’s absence and Carter’s fury. Yes, it was a serious breach of protocol to dig up stuff about the base commander and gossip to his subordinates, but Carter had also read that as an internal problem on the Hammond, her first officer gunning for the commander of the 302 flight. Oh yeah. Big problem. And he’d better make it clear where he stood.
“I told Carter,” Lorne said.
Hocken blinked. “Yeah?”
“Sheppard’s a good guy,” Lorne said again. “I wouldn’t want any misunderstanding, you know?” He shifted his leg around under the table, trying to get comfortable. “Carter said she’d handle it.”
Whatever Hocken would have said was forestalled by Sheppard, Ronon and Zelenka approaching with their trays, Zelenka holding forth about something or other while Ronon listened attentively, more attentively than Sheppard.
“Hey,” Sheppard said, staking out the seat next to Hocken. “Got room for us?”
“Of course.”
The protocol gets into your bones, Lorne thought. She was the ranking officer, so of course he asked her. Radek took the seat beside him with Ronon on the other side. “…and so I said, of course we can get it, but it won’t be easy. Is it ever?”
“No,” Ronon replied.
Sheppard looked at Lorne. “How’s the leg? Did Keller clear you for off world duty yet?”
“No,” Lorne said regretfully. Another thing he couldn’t do yet, another duty of his being dumped on someone else…
“It’s ok,” Sheppard said. “I can get somebody else to be the human light switch. Ronon’s taking a team back to Sateda and I need somebody who can turn on the Ancient doohickey Radek’s looking for. It’s not a big thing.” He glanced sideways at Hocken. “You up for an off world trip, Mel? If you’re just hanging around with nothing to do, maybe Carter could spare you for the afternoon?”
“I could be up for that.” Hocken grinned at him. “Not a problem.”
“Hey, you wanted to be an astronaut,” Sheppard said. “Look how that worked out.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Skies of Sateda
It was still a long walk from the Stargate to the City Museum, even though the Satedans had cleared a better path through the damaged streets since the last time Radek had been there. It was a pleasant day, clear and warm, and after the endless cold of Atlantis’s new world, it was a relief to be able to open his jacket and enjoy the sunshine. Ronon had exchanged his long-sleeved shirt for one of his familiar sleeveless vests, and even the trio of Marines looked relaxed and happy. Colonel Hocken was squinting up at the sky as though she were judging the speed of the gentle wind, while William was busy chatting up the Satedan in charge of the day’s expedition. William had already discarded his jacket and overshirt, revealing a t-shirt that fit too well to be regulation — all in all, Radek thought, more than a bit of a holiday. Even if there were Genii to deal with at the end.
And sure enough, there they were, three young men in a mix of civilian clothes and uniforms, and Ladon Radim’s sister Dahlia stood with Ushan Cai beside the entrance to the Museum’s basements. She was looking a little grim, and Radek was glad they hadn’t brought Teyla along after all. Dahlia had disliked and distrusted her since they’d recovered the Ancient warship, and there was no need to exacerbate the problem. Cai lifted his hand in greeting, then came forward to clasp Ronon’s hand.
“It’s good to see you again,” he said.
“We’re glad to help out,” Ronon answered. That was for Dahlia, Radek guessed, a reminder that they were the ones doing the Genii a favor here.
“And we appreciate it,” Dahlia said, with a creditable smile. “I believe my brother made our situation clear?”
Ronon nodded. “You found something you need us to initialize for you. Along with some other stuff we might find useful.”
“Yes,” Dahlia said.
“So let’s see it,” Ronon said.
“We’ve left the objects where we found them,” Dahlia said. “At the insistence of Mr. Lyal here.” She nodded to the man who had been talking to William. “He informed us — insisted, in fact — that you would find them more interesting if we did not move them.”
Ronon looked as though he was going to protest, but William interrupted. “Brilliant, thank you. That’s exactly what we need.”
“Right,” Ronon said, after only a fractional hesitation.
“This way,” the Satedan, Lyal, said quickly, gesturing toward the open door. “But — it’s a small space.”
“Colonel,” Ronon began, and Hocken nodded.
“Why don’t I stay here? With the Marines.”
And provide cover and back-up just in case, Radek thought, with approval. It wasn’t precisely that he didn’t trust the Genii, but he felt a lot better with the military contingent keeping an eye on things above ground.
“I’ll remain also,” Dahlia said, firmly, and Ronon nodded.
“OK. Let’s go.”
It was, Radek thought, better than the last time he’d climbed down into the basement of the City Museum. Cai’s people had rigged a remarkably sturdy-feeling ladder, and the Genii had provided a generator and strung electric lights, so, all in all, it was an improvement. Admittedly, the giant, massive-tusked skull was still lying in the middle of its smashed crates, though someone had decorated it with a wreath of wilting flowers, which didn’t make it look any less aggressive, and there was still a section of passage where one had to crawl, but at least he was confident that the ceiling was unlikely to collapse on them. Reasonably confident, he amended, studying the nearest supports. He would have preferred to place them just half a meter or so closer to the main wall, but he thought they would probably hold.
He edged through the last narrow corridor, came out into a wider space lit by a cluster of worklights on tripod stands. Behind him, Ronon grunted, came out of the corridor rubbing the top of his head. William ignored them both, concentrating on the items laid out on the improvised worktable.
“I thought you said nothing was moved,” he said to Lyal, who gave an apologetic shrug.
“This was salvage. It wasn’t until they started finding things we didn’t recognize that we decided to leave the objects where they were.”
William gave an abstracted nod, an all too familiar expression, and produced a flashlight from his pocket. The beam of light splashed over a row of dark gaps, like the mouths of narrow tunnels, revealing shelves and crates and a waterfall of dust and plaster. “These are — were — more storage areas?”
“Yes,” Lyal said. “More of the Ancestors’ collection, I think — assuming we’ve identified the area correctly, and that the plans we have are accurate.”
“There’s always that,” William agreed, with a smile, and edged carefully into the first of the openings.
Ronon made another irritated noise, and looked at the young Genii who’d come down with them. “So what’s this thing you need us to turn on?”
“Here.” The Genii — his name was Alvers, Radek remembered — pointed to the largest of the crystals laid out on the worktable.
“May I?” Radek moved forward without waiting for an answer, slipping off his pack of tools. You didn’t often find crystals that large and complex intact, though clearly the Satedans had made an effort to collect them. He lifted it carefully, turning it in the light, and shook his head. There was a fine crack in the outside pillar, a faint thread of darkness that followed an internal face, spoiling the even color. “This is damaged — here, do you see?”
Alvers shrugged. “It’s very small.”
“But enough to blow this apart in your faces,” Radek answered. “And I don’t particularly want to be blamed for that.”
“The Chief of Sciences knows there’s a crack,” Alvers said, sounding offended. “But — without this, we can’t fly our ship.”
“I don’t think you can fly it with this,” Radek said. Still… He had made cracked crystals work, if only for a limited time. He set it back down again, and took out the finest of his probes. The crack was shallower than he’d thought, and not as long; the internal facets had deceived him. OK, maybe it would work for a while, but if this was a key navigational component, when it blew, the Pride of the Genii would be stranded somewhere in deep space. And that wasn’t exactly going to make anybody happy.
It didn’t look like a navigational crystal, though, or at least not the ones with which he was most familiar. They tended to have more internal crystals, layers within layers, not this central core surrounded by smaller, stubbier controls. If anything, it looked like a weapons array.
“We need it initialized,” Alvers said. “We’re prepared to take whatever risks are necessary.”
It was part of a weapons array, Radek realized. He’d seen this shape of crystal before in the jumpers, though this was at least six or seven times larger. This was the power control, the equivalent of a capacitor, which, in practical terms, meant it was likely enough to overload. “What did you say this was for?”
“It matches a damaged crystal in our navigation systems,” Alvers answered.
And that, Radek thought, means this is a lie. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering how to warn Ronon — not that it was necessarily a problem to give the Genii working weapons, they were technically allies, but if they were going to lie about it, it was hard not to think that Ladon Radim was up to something. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“If it blows up, it will damage the surrounding systems,” Radek temporized. “It’s your business, of course — but do you want to take that risk?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Alvers answered. “Unless you have an undamaged crystal you’d be willing to trade for us?”
“I doubt we have one,” Radek answered. “I know most of our larger inventory, and I haven’t seen one like this.”
Alvers spread his hands. “There you are.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” Ronon asked.
“It’s cracked,” Radek began. And it’s not what they say it is. If only there were a way to get Alvers out of earshot —
William reappeared in the tunnel mouth, his flashlight gripped in his teeth. He was cradling a box of what looked like datacrystals, and set it carefully on the table, then took the flashlight out of his mouth. “This looks interesting.”
“Yes?” Radek fixed him with a stare. At Cambridge, William had been quick enough to pick up a hint. “What is it?”
William blinked once. “Datacrystals. Mostly intact, I think. Possibly worth something in trade?”
“Where did you find them?” Radek asked.
William blinked again. “In — they were in a storage cell.”
“Do you think there might be information about these larger crystals somewhere?”
“I don’t —” William stopped. “It’s possible, I suppose. Maybe — maybe if I knew where it was found? So I could match catalog records?”
“Yes,” Radek said. “That might help. Mightn’t it?”
William nodded. “Yes. Yes, absolutely. Mr. — Alvers, is it? Would you show me?”
The Genii hesitated, but there wasn’t a good way to refuse. “Of course,” he said. “This way.”
He started down the farthest corridor, William and Lyal on his heels, and Radek turned to look at Ronon.
“We have a problem,” he said quietly.
Mel Hocken looked up at a cloudless Satedan sky. The wind was out of the southwest, freshening slightly, a perfect day for flying. Of course, she wasn’t flying. She was standing around waiting to be a human light switch. Whenever Ronon and Zelenka’s science team hunted up whatever they were looking for, her job was to turn it on and see if it worked. Pretty boring, but the chance to get off world wasn’t. Sateda was her twelfth world, counting the planet where Atlantis now rested. She’d been in 302s since the second batch of trainees, and mostly she’d seen a lot of the inside of starships. Well, and the outside of some. She’d been there when the Korolev was destroyed by the Ori, with the 302 wing aboard Odyssey at the time.
Mel shook her head. No point in thinking about that. It hadn’t exactly been their most resounding victory ever. It hadn’t felt good. The losses were too high.
The best one had been the first one, the battle over Antarctica when she was part of Lt. Colonel Mitchell’s squadron. That had felt good, at least until the adrenaline wore off.
“Tea, Colonel?”
Mel turned at the voice at her elbow. It was the Satedan leader, Ushan Cai, with two stoneware handleless mugs of the strong Satedan tea. “Thank you,” she said, “I appreciate it.” More than that, she appreciated her proper rank and honorific. She’d always had to fight for that from the Jaffa in the Milky Way, but the Satedans didn’t seem to have a problem with women in the military.
Cai handed her one mug. “And what were you thinking, with your eyes on the sky?”
“That it’s a perfect day for flying,” Mel said.
Cai glanced upward. “How can you tell, in your metal boxes?”
“I was thinking more about a light plane,” Mel said. She took a sip of the hot, smoky tea. “You wouldn’t think so, when I’ve got a 302, but I like small aircraft too. When you can really feel the airspeed and the wind makes a big difference. There’s a whole different skill set to it, a different challenge. I like the big guys, no question about it, but sometimes I wish I’d lived in the era of prop fighters. I’d like a P-38 Lightning.” Not that Ushan Cai knew what that was. “There are a lot of planes that are smaller and less high tech than the ones we use right now. Propeller driven, gasoline engines — from passenger and cargo planes that can carry a couple of dozen people down to single person ultralights.”
Cai frowned slightly. “And your people use these as well as the ships we have seen?”
“Oh yeah.” Mel took another sip. “I was stationed in Alaska for a while a few years back. General aviation is a huge thing there, because there’s so much territory to cover and the roads aren’t good, and lots of places there aren’t even roads. Lots and lots of little light aircraft, most of them propeller driven ones that can land in any open field that’s big enough. Or sea planes, fitted out with floats that can land on a lake or river. A lot of people use them to get around the back country instead of driving.”
“And are there not rail lines?” Cai asked.
Mel shrugged. “Alaska has rail lines, but it’s not like they go wherever you want. Not out to every little town.”
“And these planes can land in any open field?”
“Wit
h a skilled pilot, sure.” Mel looked at him curiously. “With respect, Mr. Cai, why are you interested in Alaska?”
Ushan Cai grinned. “I’m interested in the planes, Colonel Hocken.” He leaned up against the edge of the fountain, one booted foot on the pockmarked stonework. “Are they expensive?”
“Not compared to a 302,” Mel said. “They’re millions apiece. General aviation planes run a couple of hundred thousand, depending on what you get. There are ultra light kit planes for twenty five, thirty thousand. I looked into buying one for fun a few years ago, but then I was posted to Odyssey and would never have had a chance to use it.”
“So that is very affordable? What is the value of that in trade goods?”
Mel thought about it for a minute. “Well, finished titanium runs about $20 a pound, give or take fluctuations in the market. One of those big plates of yours is probably worth $2,000. So fifteen of those for an ultra light? Seventy five of them for a shiny new Cessna? Something like that.”
Ushan Cai nodded gravely. “That seems very reasonable.”
“You want to buy a plane?”
Cai leaned over his foot, taking a sip of his tea. “Sateda was a heavily populated world, Colonel Hocken. This whole continent had a population of millions. But many of them did not live in the cities. There were towns and villages, farms and mines, and homesteaders who lived as our ancestors had, in upland holdings answering only to their own chieftain. The rail lines connected us, and in recent years had brought steam heat and electric lights to even remote areas. Coal and other resources flowed into the city down our arteries of iron.” He looked out over the city, his eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight. “The Wraith destroyed our rail lines, and there is not a working engine in the city. It will be generations before they can be restored. But I do not think that all the people are dead. I cannot imagine how they could be! It is one thing to Cull a great city, and another to find every isolated farmstead. The country people did not rely on food brought in, or on things from far away. Most of them lived like my grandfather’s people did, with little farms and goats, carrying their water and burying their waste in outdoor latrines, making tallow candles against the dark of the year. I can’t believe they’re all dead. I think they must be going on as they were, radios silent to mark the end of the world. But we have no way to find out.” He looked at Mel sharply. “And you are giving me a way.”
STARGATE ATLANTIS: Secrets (Book 5 in the Legacy series) Page 17
