“Cool it off, people,” Caldwell was saying sharply, but no one seemed very inclined to listen to him.
“Damn it,” John said. “Come on, let’s go break it up.”
“I am sure they will be happy to listen to us,” Radek said dryly, but he trailed John as he shouldered his way through the crowd.
“You want a fight, you can — ”
“Back off, Satedan — ”
“You and your whole regiment — ”
“All right, settle down,” John said when he was close enough that he thought anyone might listen to him.
“Oh, they’ll settle down,” one of the Satedans said, a little too loudly. One of Yan’s Satedan Band, John’s brain supplied, the young officer Ronon had been talking to earlier. “They like to talk, but they don’t like to fight.”
“Everybody knows Satedans like to fight,” one of the young Genii officers said. “They just don’t like to win.”
Caldwell interposed himself as the Satedan took a step toward the man. “Let’s not do this.”
“Maybe you’d have gotten farther if you put men in the field instead of girls,” one of the other Genii put in.
“You mean like Sora Tyrus?” John said. “Or maybe Teyla.”
“I mean like these pretty little flowers,” the Genii officer said. John wished he was more certain exactly how he ought to translate that. Any way you looked at it, it seemed a little rich for a bunch of guys most of whom stood half a head taller than the Genii they were squaring off with.
“I don’t think anybody needs to be calling anybody else names,” John said.
“You wouldn’t last ten minutes in a fight,” the Satedan officer said over his shoulder.
“Says the man hiding behind the Lanteans.”
John was losing patience. “You two want to fight? You know what, fine, go beat the crap out of each other. And then it’s over, all right? No saying ‘somebody got a bruise and now it’s a diplomatic incident’.”
Caldwell gave him a look. “Sheppard — ”
“A fair fight, no weapons. Call it sparring.”
“More like giving lessons to children,” the Genii officer said, but there seemed to be muttered agreement on both sides.
“All right,” John said. He glanced across the square at Teyla. He was pretty sure she wasn’t going to think this was a very good idea. “Let’s get out of this crowd. I don’t want this to turn into a general brawl.”
“You are a crazy person,” Radek said as they trailed the would-be combatants and their friends behind a row of buildings, following the light of the lamp one of them carried. “You know that, yes?”
“It’ll get it out of their systems.”
“Assuming they do not kill each other.”
“Let’s hope not,” John said. He made sure the lantern was set high enough that it was unlikely to be knocked over — setting what was left of the city on fire probably would cause a diplomatic incident — and said, “Let’s have some rules, here.”
The Satedan officer gave him a look that reminded him of Ronon. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want anybody put in the hospital.”
“First one knocked down,” Caldwell said. “The point’s not to see how much damage you can do, the point’s to see how well you can fight.”
“Whatever,” the Genii soldier said, glaring at the Satedan. “You probably won’t get up after the first time anyway.”
“Sure,” the Satedan said.
John repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “You people have names?”
“Petros Dar,” the Satedan said.
The Genii officer scowled at him. “Airth Gradon.”
“Eat dirt,” the Satedan said, and rushed him.
There was a clamor from the spectators, but they seemed willing to stay out of the fight, so John settled for shouldering people back if they looked like they were going to get in somebody’s way. Both Dar and Gradon were good, but John thought Dar was better. Gradon looked more thrown by not having a weapon, and Dar had the reach on him, although he wasn’t built like a brick wall the way Ronon was.
They circled each other, exchanging experimental kicks and punches that mostly didn’t connect, and then Gradon closed the distance between them, not a good move in John’s opinion. Dar grabbed for him, but Gradon managed a sharp uppercut that bloodied Dar’s nose and drew whistles and shouted encouragement from his men.
Dar stepped back and to the side, a move that might have looked like a staggering recovery to Gradon but that John had learned from sparring with Ronon to associate with the ground coming up toward him fast. Before he thought Gradon knew what was happening, Dar kicked Gradon’s feet out from under him and sent him sprawling.
Gradon came up mad, rolling to his feet and making as if to throw himself at Dar, but Caldwell grabbed him by the jacket at the same time that John stepped — if not happily — between the two would-be combatants. Teyla’s going to ask why I stepped out in front of a drunk soldier who was looking for somebody to punch, he couldn’t help thinking, and I’m going to have to say that it sounded like a good idea at the time…
“You agreed to the rules,” Caldwell said. “Now this needs to be over.”
“You heard him,” John said. “Shake hands and make up.”
“I expect they’d rather kiss and make up,” Gradon said. “Or haven’t you heard what they say about the Satedan Band — ”
“You mean that we win fights?”
“I mean that you’re a bunch of perverted — ”
“I really don’t give a damn what they say,” Caldwell said, in a tone that cut through the general noise. “You had your fight, you lost, now let me suggest that you take it like a man and walk away. Otherwise, this is going to turn into a diplomatic incident, and I don’t think either of your commanding officers are going to like that.”
“Everybody break it up,” John added, although it felt a little weak after that.
Gradon glared at the Satedans and then stormed off with the rest of his friends following. Dar scrubbed at his bleeding nose with his sleeve and said something under his breath that sounded a lot like speculation on whether anyone had ever bedded Gradon without being paid for it.
“Nice plan, Sheppard,” Caldwell said as the Satedans also began heading back in the direction of other people, and probably of more to drink.
John shrugged. “At least they were talking?”
Caldwell shook his head. “That kind of talking we could do without.”
“Well, that is the military for you,” Radek said a little sharply, and suddenly John could see the conversational pit opening up but wasn’t sure how to avoid it. Radek had been drinking, too, and he did have a temper, and if a member of his team was less than complimentary about the American military and Caldwell made the kind of remark in return that John was expecting, he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say —
“Like anybody has time for that crap,” Caldwell said instead. “The Genii are stuck in about 1950. They kept assuming Colonel Carter was somebody’s secretary when she tried to meet with them.”
“It’s apparently cultural,” Radek said with a more conciliatory shrug.
“I’m getting tired of cultural,” Caldwell said. “Is there any way to get these people to come to terms?”
“We’ll give it a try in the morning,” John said.
Caldwell shook his head. “At this rate, everybody’s going to be too hung over in the morning to make any sense.”
“Well, if they’re too hung over to endlessly repeat the same positions that they started with, we might actually get somewhere,” John said.
He wondered what Woolsey would say to that theory. At this point, possibly that it was worth a try.
Teyla set her cup carefully aside, took a step backward so that she was outside the circles of light, sheltered by the shadows. Dahlia Radim had retreated to a tent some time ago, before the men started drinking, but the Satedan women were still present,
though they were careful to stay together, or grouped with their men. Most of the Marines had been told to consider themselves on duty, and were following orders, sticking to the perimeter and avoiding the drinks. And then there was Sora. There was no mistaking her anger, for all that she seemed to have herself rigidly under control, it shrieked in the set of her shoulders, the tight smile and the hands clenched on whatever was nearest, cup or chair back or closed tight on themselves. She was dangerous, Teyla thought; perhaps the most dangerous person at this meeting, because her agenda ran counter to everyone else’s, and she had no reason to stand aside. More than that, it was not in her nature to stand passive, and never had been.
Teyla scanned the crowd, thinning now as people began to retire, the Satedans to their houses, the others to the temporary camps. John had been wise to say that the Lanteans would be staying: there would be no complicated dialing procedures to betray the problem with the shield. Not all of the Genii were doing the same — she suspected that Ladon did not like to be out of touch with his government for too long — but enough were remaining that it didn’t seem to be a slight.
Movement caught her attention, a shift of light and shadow at the edge of her vision, and she let her head turn, to see Sora sliding out of the lamplight. She waited, but the younger woman did not reappear. And that was not a good thing, she thought. Sora’s camp lay in the opposite direction. She turned, looking for John, but he had disappeared somewhere, along with Colonel Caldwell. And Sora should not go unwatched.
One of the young Marines was standing off to the side, arms folded on the P90 clipped to his chest. He had been with Atlantis on the first mission, a skinny dark youth with his head shaved almost bare; he had filled out since then, grown his hair, gained weight to go with his rangy height, but he was still one of the ones she knew she could trust — more importantly, who would trust her, and not waste time with questions.
“Corporal Kneeland.”
“Ma’am?” He didn’t quite come to attention, but his stance shifted.
“Come with me, please,” Teyla said. “Sora Tyrus has gone off in an — unexpected direction.”
“Sora,” he said, and she remembered he had been stranded on Manaria during the hurricane, had heard all about Sora’s part in the attack on Atlantis. “Yes, ma’am.”
Teyla glanced sidelong again, saw no one paying them any particular attention. “This way.”
Outside the circle of lights, the ruined streets were very dark. Teyla paused in the shadow of a door, blinking as though that would make her eyes adjust faster, and Kneeland slipped a pair of IR goggles from his pocket.
“Do you want them, ma’am? I’ve only got one pair.”
“You keep them,” Teyla said. Her sight was clearing, with her back to the lights. Sora had stepped out of the light, and moved — left, she thought, left and back, and sure enough, there was a break in the wreckage. “This way,” she said, pointing, and Kneeland followed, goggles in place. He wasn’t as silent as Ronon would have been, but he moved with care and grace and she thought they might have a chance at catching Sora unaware.
Something moved ahead of them, and she lifted a fist. In the same instant, Kneeland breathed, “Ma’am.”
Teyla nodded. They were in cover, of a sort, a pile of rubble that slanted halfway across the street. The person — Sora, it wouldn’t be anyone else — was moving toward the corner of a building that jutted above the wreckage like a single tooth in an old woman’s mouth. The Genii uniform blended well with the darkness, but her hands and face in profile were bare and white, and her movements were still angry, jerky and abrupt and noticeable in the dark. Teyla eased forward, peering over the edge of the rubble, and after a moment Kneeland joined her, holding his P90 away from his body to keep it from clattering against anything.
“Can you see what she’s doing?” Teyla kept her voice a thread of sound, the just-above-a-whisper that carried only to the ears for which it was intended.
Kneeland edged past her, adjusting the goggles. “It looks like she’s — climbing something? Maybe to some kind of platform?”
He shifted to bring the P90 to bear, and Teyla frowned into the darkness. They were too far from the Satedan settlement for this to be a firing point — and Sora had not been armed at the meeting, though, of course, she could have weapons stored in the broken tower. She turned to look over her shoulder, trying to imagine the sight lines in daylight. From the tower, you would probably have a view of the gate, as well as of the settlement’s main square: an observation post, then, or most likely so.
“Is there anyone else present?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” Kneeland said. “Just her.”
Teyla sat back on her heels, wondering what to do. John should be informed, and Cai — perhaps Ladon also, it would be a suitable embarrassment — but she did not want to leave Sora unwatched, nor was she sure radio traffic would go unheard —
There was a sudden crack, not very loud, but sharp and sudden. The tower moved, the stones tilting, and abruptly the whole thing tipped sideways in a rumble of stone and wood. There were a couple of smaller, sharper sounds, hard flat noises like a blow, and then silence.
“Holy crap!” Kneeland said, and started to his feet. “Ma’am, she’s still in there — ”
Damn the woman, Teyla thought. “Is she still alive, can you tell?”
“No — ” Kneeland was scanning the wreckage, the goggles making him look like a monster from some fireside tale. “Wait, yes, ma’am, I can see her moving.”
“Then we must help her,” Teyla said firmly. “But be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kneeland said, and moved forward.
There was no point in concealment now. Teyla reached into her pocket, found the small flashlight she always carried, and let the beam play over the pile of rubble. Most of the wall had fallen outward into the street, stone and brick mingled with new wood — reinforcing beams, she guessed, for the observation post. And yes, it almost certainly had been precisely that: her light picked out the cylinder of a telescope, front lens missing, and the leg of its tripod jutted from among the stones.
Kneeland flicked on the light attached to his P90, joined its beam to hers. “Damn.”
Teyla winced in sympathy. The building had had a cellar, and when the reinforcement gave way, at least part of the makeshift tower had fallen into that space. The air was hazed with dust, bright in the flashlight’s beams, but nothing else moved. “Sora?”
“There.” Kneeland had pushed the IR goggles up onto his forehead, swung the P90’s light to focus on the edge of the gap. A pale hand clung to the edge of a beam, and then another reached up, scrabbled for purchase on the wood.
Without thinking, Teyla flung herself onto the ground, spreading her body to make herself as heavy as possible, and reached for the groping hand. “Here!”
Sora’s hand closed on hers, and then released it as though she’d been burned. Teyla grabbed for her wrist instead, caught and held, feeling the younger woman’s weight in her shoulders and back.
“Let go!” Sora glared up at her, face filthy and smeared with blood, swung her feet, groping for a toehold.
“I should,” Teyla said. “Be still, and we will get you out.”
Sora didn’t answer, instead shifted her grip on the beam, reaching again for a foothold. Teyla gasped, feeling her fingers slip.
“Don’t be stupid — ”
“Ma’am!” Kneeland swung his light. “Look there!”
Teyla tried to turn her head, but the strain was too much. “What is it?”
“Something — explosives, I think.” The light moved, flicking from spot to spot, but Teyla still couldn’t see. Sora was twisting again, and it took all her strength to keep her grip. “God, ma’am, don’t let her fall!”
Sora was abruptly still, staring blindly up at them. Teyla tightened her grip, digging her toes into the dirt.
“It’s a trap,” Kneeland said. He dropped to his knees at Teyla’s side, slin
ging the P90 out of his way, and reached for Sora’s other hand. “If she falls, she’ll set the rest of it off.”
For a second, Teyla thought Sora was going to let go, pull herself out of their hands and kill them all. She could see the thought in the younger woman’s eyes, and saw the moment when it passed, and Sora wrapped her free hand around Kneeland’s wrist. Together they hauled her up and out, dragged her gasping onto the pile of rubble. She looked terrible, Teyla thought, covered in dust and blood — but the blood was from her nose, and she moved easily enough as she dragged herself to a sitting position.
“So much for peaceful negotiations,” she said.
“Hey, now.” Kneeland had his P90 in hand again, was cautiously examining the pit.
“You cannot seriously think we did this,” Teyla said.
Sora pressed the back of her hand against her upper lip, glaring, and said nothing.
“If we had done it,” Teyla said, “it would have worked. That I promise you.”
“And we would have used C4,” Kneeland said. “That stuff isn’t ours.”
Teyla looked where the light pointed, saw a fist-sized sphere tied to a beam. She took out her flashlight again, found two more packages, and looked back at Sora.
“That is Genii explosive. And only your own people knew of this post. Can you tell me you have no enemies among your men?”
Sora took a deep breath, looking suddenly old and tired. “Not among my men,” she said. She took her hand away, and sniffed hard as though deciding if the nosebleed had stopped. “This can’t be.”
In spite of everything, Teyla felt a thread of sympathy. She remembered Sora as a girl just coming into adolescence, eager for stories of the worlds beyond the Stargate. And that farmgirl was pretense, she reminded herself, a lie deliberately contrived to protect the Genii while they built their armies and their nuclear bombs.
“It’s a trick,” Sora said, without conviction. “You used our explosives to make it seem like our people did it.”
STARGATE ATLANTIS: Allegiance(Book three in the Legacy series) Page 24
