SGA-16 Homecoming - Book 1 of the Legacy Series

by Graham, Jo

  “Right.” Kolbyr gave a last look at the stretcher. “Right, get on with it, take him away.” He found a tattered rag of a handkerchief, and blew his nose. “Tell the general I’ll be there as soon as I may.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sheppard said, and they moved on.

  “You are troubled?” Teyla asked, after a moment, and Sheppard gave her a sheepish glance.

  “No. It’s just—generals don’t cry.”

  “It might be better if they did,” Teyla said, with unaccustomed tartness, and Sheppard shrugged.

  “Maybe. But those are the rules.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

  Valless was still at the tower that had served as his main headquarters. The shutters were thrown back, and the main hall was filled with lamps and candelabra. Mirrors reflected the light back again, glittering from silver and gold lace and gilt furniture, and unaccountably Sheppard felt a fraction warmer. Someone shoved a glass into his hand, and he smelled the heavy local wine.

  “Good work, Sheppard,” someone said—the balding general, Freyne—and Chacier nodded in either welcome or agreement.

  “Thanks,” Sheppard said. “Sir. I had word General Valless wanted to speak with me?”

  “Sheppard!”

  There was a note in the voice that made Sheppard reach for his sidearm as he turned. Sure enough, it was the Genii colonel, Faber, stamping through the crowd of officers. A worried-looking aide hovered at his shoulder, struggling to keep up.

  “Sheppard, I want a word with you.”

  Sheppard made himself move his hand away from the pistol, forced an expression that might pass for a smile. “Sure. But you might want to keep your voice down—”

  “I don’t care who hears me,” Faber said. “Where the hell were you when I called for support? If your men had come when I asked, there’d be a good dozen men alive right now—”

  “Hold on,” Sheppard began, and there was a movement to his left.

  “I held back the Lanteans,” General Valless said. He had changed his coat, Sheppard saw, and there was evening stubble showing on his long chin.

  “At their advice,” Faber said. “They’d do anything to be rid of us—”

  “Colonel Faber,” Valless said sternly. “I don’t need the Lanteans’ advice, and I don’t need you to tell me my business. This is Levanna, and this is my army. You and Colonel Sheppard are here under my command—that’s the agreement I have with both your governments, and if you can’t keep to it, you can get the hell out of here. I held back the Lanteans because you’d ignored my orders, refused to fall back when I ordered it, and got yourself in over your head. And you’re lucky Sheppard came up with a good idea because that’s what saved your ass. I’d’ve left you there.”

  Faber’s jaw dropped, and Valless fixed him with a gimlet stare.

  “So. Unless you have something constructive to say, Colonel, I’d suggest you remove yourself.” He turned without waiting for an answer. “Colonel Sheppard. If you please..”

  “Sir,” Sheppard said, and followed him. He carefully didn’t look back until they had reached the map table at the far side of the room, breathed a sigh of relief to see the door close behind the Genii. That wouldn’t solve the problem—had probably made everything worse, really—but at least it was handled for the moment.

  “Now, Colonel,” Valless said, and leaned over the table. “I just have a few questions.”

  The few questions took another hour, and by the time they’d finished, Sheppard was hard-pressed to suppress a yawn. He felt a bit as though the little man had picked him up, shaken him hard enough to knock everything he knew into a heap on the table, then wrung out his brain a couple of times for good measure. But the conversation seemed to have pleased Valless, and the general dismissed him with thanks and another glass of wine. Sheppard drained it—he’d been talking for a long time—and then wondered if he’d made a bad mistake. But no: his feet were still steady under him, and there was Teyla, a couple of Levannan soldiers at her back.

  “General Valless has offered us an escort back to the gate.”

  “Good idea,” Sheppard said, and fell into step beside her.

  The walk back seemed shorter, maybe because the darkness hid the damage that had caught his eye before. They went in silence, except for the soft exchange of watchwords as they passed the guard posts, came at last down the gentle slope of road that led to the gate field. The medical tents were still busy, canvas glowing, and there was a Marine detail at the DHD. Levanna’s second moon swung low in the sky, its horn just kissing the top of the gate. Its beauty was almost shocking, after the events of the day, and Sheppard shook his head. He didn’t have words, maybe there weren’t words, and Teyla touched his hand.

  “Let us go home, John.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Feint

  Teyla had just walked into her quarters and taken off her shirt. It reeked and so did she. But one of the best things about Atlantis, one of the things she had gotten far too used to, were the hot showers. A little guiltily she looked over at Torren’s bed, his toys scattered on the floor. He was not here. Torren was with his father on New Athos, and much as she loved her son she could not say that she wasn’t glad of a few hours of peace and quiet. She would take a hot shower and put on something comfortable, old warm up pants and a tank top, and do absolutely nothing for a little while. She dropped her dirty shirt on top of the full hamper and turned around to turn the water on…

  “Teyla to the gateroom.” Her radio crackled to life, Woolsey’s voice urgent and sharp. “Teyla to the gateroom.”

  She swung around, grabbing up her dirty shirt again and pulling it on as she ran. She hurried up the stairs just as the transport doors opened ahead of her and Rodney dodged out.

  “What the hell is the big idea?” Rodney demanded of the whole control room. “We just stood down fifteen minutes ago!”

  Amelia Banks looked up from her board, where Woolsey bent over her shoulder. “We have a Culling in progress,” she said.

  “Come on, Rodney,” Teyla said and hustled him toward the stairs. Lorne’s team were assembling with John and Ronon before the gate. Ronon held out her flak vest to her, a grim look on her face.

  Woolsey had hurried down the steps behind her. “We had an emergency call. Play it, Banks.”

  A crackle on the speakers, a panicked human voice. “Atlantis, you have to help us! We have Darts… I don’t know how many! They’re… “ A sob, a scream. “You have to help us! Atlantis…” It faded in a burst of static, as though the gate had been cut.

  John slung her P90 into her arms, hers, the one with the shortened strap that she liked, his face tight. “Punch the gate, Banks!”

  Above, the first chevron locked, lighting blue.

  “Who is being Culled?” Teyla asked him.

  John’s eyes locked with hers. “New Athos.”

  Bright white terror ran through her, sharper than pain, sharper than fear. Torren.

  The third chevron locked.

  “Did you know who it was who called?” Woolsey asked at her elbow.

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t,” she said. Her voice was absolutely even. “I did not hear well enough.” As though every limb had turned to fire, as though she stood somewhere far above herself, purer and brighter than she had ever burned. New Athos.

  The sixth lit. Lorne looked at her and gave her a quick nod.

  Rodney shrugged into his vest, his eyes on the gate. “Come on, baby. Get a lock!”

  If the Wraith were dialed in…

  The seventh chevron engaged, the Ring of the Ancestors flaring to life.

  “Yes!” Rodney said, flicking the safety off on his gun.

  “I’m on point, Teyla’s with me, Lorne on six,” John said, barrel rising toward the gate. “Expect hostiles as soon as we clear the gate. McKay, watch where you’re pointing that.” At the moment it was at the middle of Ronon’s back.

  Torren.

  Woolsey said something,
but she had no idea what. Her feet were already moving, one pace behind John.

  Teyla plunged into the event horizon.

  And out into bright afternoon sunshine. They dodged right, Ronon and Rodney behind them going left, low and on one knee in the tall grass, covering the Marine team emerging from the Stargate. Above, the trees moved in a gentle wind and the tree frogs were chirping. There was no sign of anyone.

  “Check the DHD,” John said, and Rodney ran out, covered by half a dozen guns.

  He bent over it for an excruciatingly long moment, then straightened. “It looks ok,” he said. “And I don’t see any sign of our friend who called.”

  No blood. No body. But then, the Darts did not leave them.

  Teyla’s mind was clear, everything around them sharp and detailed. The grass was trampled along the path, but the woods were still. The frogs at least should be startled into silence by people running and fleeing.

  Unless they were all gone.

  “Let’s head for the settlement,” John said. “Lorne…”

  “Got it, sir,” Lorne said, dropping back, one of his men with him.

  Two miles. It was just short of two miles to the edge of the Athosian fields. Down the hill and through the trees, across the stream and over the next hill. Birds were singing undisturbed. The sun was hot, a warm summer day, a beautiful day. A beautiful day for a little boy playing outside, a little boy barefooted in the sunshine…

  Across the stream, running singing between banks green with fragrant herbs and long ferns. No blood. No bodies. No sounds.

  Her heart was pounding in her ears.

  John made a swift gesture, sinking down. They all did, silent on the path. Only he could see over the hill to the fields, taller than her and a pace ahead. She crept forward to his elbow and he did not gesture her back. She must see what he saw.

  The fields were golden with the ripe grain. Four or five figures toiled in them, straw hats on their heads as their sickles rose and fell. Beyond, the cooking smoke rose from the settlement, just cooking fires as the day was warm. The reapers worked steadily. One, hatless even in the sun, was unmistakable. Halling’s hair gleamed bronze in the sun.

  “What the hell?” John mouthed.

  Teyla crept forward again, almost against his side. She could see Jinto, stopping to mop his face, doing a man’s work among the reapers. Behind him, shorter than the uncut grain, three children were gleaning, baskets on their arms, loping and playing, calling to one another. In the settlement someone was hanging out wash, bright cloth flapping in the sun on a line between tent poles.

  “I do not see anything wrong,” Teyla whispered, incredulous.

  “I don’t either.” John shook his head, his brow furrowed. “A trap?”

  “They would never get Jinto and Halling to go along with it,” Teyla said. “Never. They would die first.”

  John digested that a moment. Then slowly he stood up. “Ronon.”

  “On it.” Ronon slipped along in the edge of the wood, swift as a shadow, to cover them.

  “Let’s take a walk.” John reached a hand down to help her to her feet.

  Together, they came out of the trees to the edge of the field, guns at port arms, every moment seeming as long as hours.

  “Teyla!” Jinto, who was still fanning himself with his hat, looked up. “Father, it’s Teyla!”

  John raised his left hand in greeting. Unlike her, he could manage the P90 with one hand. “Jinto!”

  Halling raised his head, as did the other reapers. Halling laid his sickle on the ground and smiled, though she thought he also looked perplexed. “Colonel Sheppard! Teyla! We did not expect you for two days yet.”

  They walked toward him, Ronon and the others keeping silent watch from the edge of the woods.

  “Truly, we did not expect to be here so soon either,” Teyla said.

  “We had a distress call,” John said flatly. A thin line of sweat was running down his neck into the collar of his black shirt. “Saying that New Athos was under attack. That there was a Culling.”

  Halling looked from one to the other, his smile fading. “We have made no such call.”

  John’s frown deepened. “Somebody activated the gate and sent through a radio signal. A distress call. Saying that there was a Culling happening right now. Here. We came as fast as we could.”

  Halling spread his hands to the sun dappled fields. The reapers were out, bringing in the grain. “As you can see, nothing is happening. I am deeply grateful that you came to our assistance, and also mortified that you have done so in vain. I cannot imagine who has done such a thing, and I do not like for us to waste your time thus.”

  “Somebody accessed the gate and sent out a distress call,” John said doggedly. “I think we’d better find out who.”

  “The gate is some distance from the settlement,” Halling said. “We don’t have a watch on the gate and no one can see it from our fields. Anyone could have dialed the gate.”

  “That is true,” Teyla said.

  “Come. We will ask.” Halling looked apologetic. Of course. It was embarrassing to the Athosians to cry for help when none was required, to waste the time of an ally who might, the next time, be less swift to come to their aid. “Perhaps someone dialed for…” He looked as though he could not think of a good reason.

  “Yeah,” John said. He looked only a hair less wary. He turned back toward the edge of the woods. “It’s ok! Ronon! Lorne!”

  Ronon rose up like a phantom from the edge of the grain field, his energy pistol in his hand. “This is weird.”

  “Tell me about it,” John said as the others emerged from the edge of the trees. “Let’s go see what Halling can shake out of his folks.”

  “I do not understand,” Teyla said. The adrenaline was leaving her body, leaving her suddenly flat and drained, as though it ran from her like water.

  Halling had turned and they followed him up the path from field to settlement, the sun hot above them.

  “I don’t either,” John said. “But I don’t like it.”

  A few people came over curiously as they came into the settlement, mostly children and the few elders remaining. Most of the men and women were in the fields at this time of day, or had gone toward the river to fish or to gather the green ferns that grew along its banks in the spray of the swift moving water.

  Halling pitched his voice to carry. “Has anyone dialed Atlantis today? Our friends have had a call from us. They have come at our urgent request. Who has called them?”

  John looked at the gaggle of young teens, the ones too young to work as Jinto did. “It’s ok to tell if you did it for a joke. I just want to know who did it.”

  “Some joke,” Rodney said at Teyla’s elbow.

  “Yes,” she said tightly. “It is hardly funny.”

  “May I speak with you?”

  Teyla turned, feeling a little weak in the knees now that the adrenaline high was receding. A distress call from New Athos when her son was here with his father was a terror she had anticipated in her worst dreams, but that did not make it any easier when it came. Reason had no place in this.

  Kanaan held Torren by the hand. Torren looked rebellious, as he did now that he was a big boy. Torren responded to her mood, and he must know how worried she had been even if the cause meant nothing to him.

  “Of course,” Teyla said quietly. Bending, she scooped Torren into her arms, pressing her face against his soft hair. He smelled like Torren, like warm baby and sunshine, and he put his arms around her neck. Tears pricked behind her eyes.

  Leaving John and Rodney talking with Halling, she went aside, standing in the shade of a tent. The bees were buzzing in the fruiting tree above, and across the encampment Ronon stood careful watch. John glanced around, and she saw him stiffen. Then he turned, his eyes on Halling.

  “We must talk,” Kanaan said.

  She brought her eyes back to him, his tired familiar face, the face of her friend of a lifetime, the father of her son. His dar
k eyes were bright.

  “Torren is a year and a half old,” Kanaan said. “And while I have been glad to have him these days to become reacquainted since your return to this galaxy, you had him six months.”

  “And I have told you I never meant to do that,” Teyla said hotly. “He was on Atlantis when we went to Earth, and we could not get back for many months. It was not by my choice.”

  “And what do you think I felt? The gate address dead? All the word from other worlds that the City of the Ancestors was destroyed? What do you think I thought?”

  Teyla bent her head. “I am sure you thought him dead. I am sure you thought us dead. But there was no way to tell you otherwise. It preyed on me, that you must think so. But we had no way of communicating with you.” She lifted her face to his again. “I will tell you a thousand times that I am sorry. But I do not know what else I could have done.” Torren was struggling in her arms, and she bent to put him on the ground at their feet.

  “You could not gate away from the city before it left?” he asked. “You could not have brought Torren to me, if you would not come yourself? They would not let you go?”

  Teyla took a deep breath. “That is not true,” she said. “Mr. Woolsey offered me the chance to leave, me and Ronon. I could have gone.”

  “And you did not.” His voice was mild, but she saw him stiffen.

  “I did not,” Teyla said, every word like a dagger. “I did not know it would be so long. I thought it would be a few weeks, perhaps. And I could not leave my friends and the duties to which I have promised myself.”

  “You did not wish to leave.”

  Teyla drew herself up. “No,” she said.

  “I mourned you,” he said simply.

  “I know.”

  “I mourned my son, and sung for him as though he had been taken in a Culling, with no body left to burn.” His voice caught, and she knew this was not the first time. He had sung thus for his first son, Ayahdu, taken by the Wraith at eight years old. “I cannot do this again and again. I cannot mourn over and over, never knowing.”

  “It is not fair,” Teyla agreed steadily. “And it is not right.”