Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis)

by Whitelaw, Sonny

  Rodney was about to protest, but the Major got in ahead of him. “Okay, well, that doesn’t work for us. Splitting up wasn’t in our plans.”

  “The transport will not take us to the Enclave if any but the Chosen step within its doors.”

  Inhaling sharply through his nose, Rodney blew the breath out slowly, keeping a tight rein on his anger. He could play along up to a point, but the idea that these people were making judgments of worth based on a purely random gene was more than he was willing to accept. “‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,’” he quoted under his breath to Sheppard, who tossed a sideways glance in his direction.

  “You do realize that you were channeling my high school history teacher just then, right?”

  “I’m just saying that occasionally a good idea does emerge from your country.”

  “Nice. But since getting inside this Enclave could potentially be a big help in your information-gathering, let’s wait a while before shoving the Declaration of Independence down these people’s throats, all right?” The Major shifted his gaze. “Teyla, Ford, you comfortable with hanging out here for a while?”

  “I believe we will be fine with these people,” Teyla said, looking around with a tolerant smile. “There is no longer any misunderstanding.”

  That might have been true, but Rodney wasn’t all that thrilled with the aspects of the situation that he did understand.

  Kesun nodded to four of the warriors. “See to it that the visitors are known by all to be under my personal protection. And remain here with them until we return.”

  To Rodney, that sounded more like confinement than protection. “Why can’t they take a look around outside?”

  Leading him and the Major to the transport, Kesun replied, “If they venture from a protected area and the Wraith come, they will be in mortal danger.” The so-called Chosen clasped his hands behind his back, which Rodney took as a sign that either he or Sheppard was supposed to open the door. What was that about? Another test? General apathy? It might have been deference, but that was a more redeeming quality than he was prepared to ascribe to these Chosen types at the moment.

  Sheppard stopped walking and faced his second in command. “We’ll be back before long,” he told Ford. “Until then, enjoy the down time.”

  The Lieutenant gave a solemn nod. Rodney couldn’t help but feel like he’d just missed an entire conversation. Under those laconic instructions, there had been a trace of something else. He suspected that Ford and Teyla had just received covert authorization to act as they saw fit, ‘protection’ or no.

  At the entrance to the transport, he and Sheppard looked at each other. The Major spread his hands in a gesture of accommodation. “Want to do the honors?”

  It was petty, but that had never stopped him before. Still clutching the Shield in one hand, Rodney folded his arms. “Not particularly.”

  Sheppard gave him a withering look and reached for the console. The door slid back, and the oddly matched trio stepped inside.

  Rodney was reminded of the opening line to any number of bad jokes. A soldier, a genius, and a zealot walk into a bar… Well, hell. Time to think positive. If his suspicions about this Enclave place were confirmed, it would at least be less of an assault on his olfactory senses than the marketplace.

  This time, the control panel on the inside of the transport opened out to the full-sized display seen in the transports of Atlantis. On the plasma screen map, Kesun touched a light located at one end, which, if Rodney recalled correctly, was also the highest point of the hill. The door shut with a somewhat less than graceful metallic sound, and for the fourth time that day, he was instantly somewhere else.

  When his companions disappeared inside the transport, Lieutenant Aiden Ford relaxed his stance, demonstrating to Dalera’s warriors that he had no intention of defying them. Lisera openly stared at him. Weapon poised, he had stood ready to defend her, just as her mother had often described the Ancient hero-warriors of the fabled Atlantis. “Lieutenant Aiden Ford.” His name was as exotic as his deep brown eyes and gentle smile.

  He turned and moved back toward her. “Call me Aiden.” Removing his cap, he smiled and kneeled beside her again. “Morphine kicked in yet?”

  “The potion has indeed rid me of much pain.” The memory of his strong arms gave her warmth despite the chill in the dank hall. Never in all of Lisera’s years had she dreamed that her mother’s tales were anything more than children’s stories—until the night that the Wraith had come. The hideous nightmare beings were indeed real, but then so too were the legendary warriors who battled them.

  “See? I told you the needle would make you feel better.” Aiden gently probed her leg.

  The striking woman who claimed not to be Dalera, but called herself Teyla, smiled her approval, then turned to the apothecary and said, “Is there a place of healing where we can take Lisera? The bones of her leg must be set properly to ensure that there is no permanent damage.”

  A look of sympathy crossed the woman’s face. She was a merchant, a seller of healing potions capable of fixing many ailments, but her words confirmed what Lisera feared. “Only Dalera could heal such an injury so that the bones are set true. You truly are not her?”

  Perhaps Lisera imagined it, but it seemed that Teyla’s smile took on an edge of regret. “No, I am not.”

  Despite her determination to be brave, Lisera’s breathing hitched as she battled tears. The pain in her leg was now a dull throb. The pain of grief and fear could not so readily be eased. She would be crippled. To survive the Wraith she would have to to remain in the Citadel. With no coin to pay for her food and keep, she had but one option.

  Many years ago, her mother had told her, the Citadel had been a fine place, and the Chosen honored as the protectors of Dalera. Then came the Great Plague. The Chosen had withdrawn to their Enclave, barbarians had taken over, and the Citadel had become a place of evil, the horrors of which could only be guessed at. But when the Wraith had returned, just a few short weeks ago, the Citadel had offered their only protection.

  After the first wave of attacks, entire villages had been decimated. Those who had not been taken had lost their homes, their crops and their loved ones, and something more—their souls. The horrors of life in the Citadel had spilled out into the countryside, and now nowhere was free of the pillaging, raping, even killing.

  “I know a healer that might help,” Balzar replied gruffly.

  The flesh on her arms crawled. The chief’ s look was agonizingly familiar to Lisera, for it was not only strangers who could not be trusted. The day the Wraith had taken her brother, she and her mother had tried to escape to the Citadel. Balzar, a man she had believed to be a friend, had first refused them entry to the transport inn because their only form of payment was no longer acceptable. Lisera had not understood the promise that her mother had then made until Balzar had come to them that night, in the dank shadows of this same Sanctuary Hall. After defiling her mother, he had turned his attentions on Lisera. She had run away, desperately seeking a place to hide in the bowels of the great city. For two days she had roamed the streets, hungry and cold, barely one step ahead of men whose eyes gleamed with a different kind of hunger, one she now recognized in the merchants’ eyes.

  “This one has no coin or goods to pay a healer,” Balzar continued. “Her family is dead, her home burned. Leave her with me and I will see what I can do.” He bent down to grip her arm.

  Recoiling, Lisera grasped Aiden’s leg and clung to him.

  “Then we will tend to her ourselves.” Teyla placed herself in Balzar’s path. Her smile remained in place, but her eyes held a warning.

  Balzar was many times Teyla’s girth and weight, but Lisera saw his hesitation. The warriors who had attacked Teyla had both instantly been felled by her swift blows. These same men now exchanged an approving look with one another.

  A deep pain drew Lisera’s attention back to Aiden. “I’m sorry,” he said, gently wr
apping her leg again. “The pressure should keep the swelling down, but it needs to be X-rayed and set properly.” His words confused her, until he added, “Maybe we should take her back to Atlantis and have this taken care of.”

  “You would do such a thing for me?” The brief surge of relief that swept through her abruptly fled. She bit her lip and shuddered, aware of the merchants’ eyes. Balzar’s expression gave her warning. One man or many, the choice was hers. “Balzar speaks true. I have no coin, nor even crops or goods to pay.”

  “Yes, you do.” Teyla pulled a large bag from her shoulders and, reaching inside, withdrew a small packet. Handing it to the apothecary, she added, “This is our payment for your kindness in allowing us to remain here while we wait for our companions. Brew it as a tea to help the pain and bleeding of childbirth.”

  The apothecary offered a toothless smile. “Such tea is always in great demand.”

  “That was unwise.” Balzar’s eyes narrowed and he stepped back. “Such acts rarely go unnoticed.” Casting a warning look in Lisera’s direction, he pushed past the smirking warriors and stalked off.

  “I am curious,” Yann said, sidling across to join them. “What sort of payment could a slip of a girl like Lisera have to offer?” He withdrew a red fruit from his pocket and bit into it.

  The fruit sounded sweet and crunchy. Since escaping the Citadel and fleeing into the forest, Lisera had eaten nothing more than wild berries, birds’ eggs and a few fish she’d managed to trap in tidal pools. It was then that she saw something in Yann’s gaze which differed from Balzar’s. Yann looked at her as a merchant might appraise goods that he approved of. Then his eyes took in Aiden and Teyla’s strange weapons. Not having any understanding of what this meant, but fearful just the same, Lisera blurted, “What payment I can give you, I will.”

  “Well,” said Aiden, packing his medicines away. “Our arrival accidentally set off your alarms. So really, the least we can do is make sure you’re okay.”

  Teyla made herself comfortable on the ground, her back to the apothecary’s store of goods, the weapon resting lightly in her fingers. “Lisera, could you tell us of your world? Among my people, stories are believed to be a worthy trade item.”

  Yann went to speak, but Aiden said, “I’d like to hear it from Lisera.” His smile reminded her of her brother, in times when they had shared a secret from their mother.

  Shrugging, Yann squatted on the floor beside them. “I will fill in any details that Lisera might miss.” He bit into the red-fruit again, and Lisera stared longingly at the juices that flowed down his jaw.

  “And your price for this would be?” Teyla inquired.

  “A story from Atlantis?” Yann replied, pulling a cloth from his jacket and wiping his mouth. “Two stories, and I would forego the ale promised to me by Major Sheppard.”

  Teyla’s eyes danced with amusement. “It seems a fair trade. Well, then, Lisera, perhaps you might begin by telling us of Dalera.”

  Looking up to the first of the teaching windows, where Dalera was giving the laws to her people, Lisera swallowed hard. Balzar was right. They had blasphemed, and were now paying with their lives.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  John wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected from the Enclave, but if first impressions were a reasonable indication, it was a temple rather than a place of residence. Stepping out of the transport, they entered a large expanse of polished stone floors and ornately carved pillars. The basic design had all the hall-marks of Ancient architecture, but the actual structure and furnishings were more like the lovechild of a dark Gothic cathedral and a Scandinavian stave church.

  Soaring windows lined the walls of the long chamber, with animal skins and battle-axes hung in decorative displays, but what caught his attention was the absolute quiet compared to the marketplace. There wasn’t a soul in sight. “Are we here to meet the other Chosen?” His voice echoed along the empty hallway, which added to the temple effect.

  Kesun handed John another Shield from within his robe. “As is your birthright.”

  “Um…thanks.” Accepting the artifact, John noticed that Rodney’s face was undergoing an amazing set of calisthenics. He felt a momentary flash of sympathy for the scientist. They’d just been given a couple of pieces of potentially vital technology, with a philosophical price-tag that was apparently pushing a bunch of McKay’s many buttons.

  With a restrained bow of assent, Kesun added, “The arrival of visitors from Atlantis has long been anticipated. You will be most welcome.”

  So the fact that they weren’t Ancients wasn’t a big problem. That was good to know. Rodney was fumbling with his pack, attempting to withdraw a notebook while still holding on to his Shield. John didn’t envy whichever lab assistant would get the eventual pleasure of transcribing the chief scientist’s chicken-scratch handwriting. Technology—you don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone.

  Experimenting, he hooked a loop of the Shield’s metal setting through a clip on his belt. It seemed secure enough, so he plucked its companion out of Rodney’s awkward grip and fastened it likewise. The other man offered a ‘hmpf,’ which was as close to a sign of gratitude as John could reasonably expect. “Lead on,” he told their guide.

  Kesun escorted them into another chamber where there was considerably more activity. Sort of. The half-dozen occupants of the room were—what was the politically correct term for it these days? Ah, screw it. These guys were old. They looked like contemporaries of Moses. John’s initial suspicions about the Chosen being power-hungry despots-in-training were already taking a hit.

  “I bring good news, Father,” Kesun announced grandly, his arm sweeping out to indicate the visitors. He pulled off his helmet and rested it on the worn wooden table. Its silvery wings glinted in the light cast by a massive log fire at one end of the room. “The Shields did not warn of a coming attack. They instead foretold the arrival of messengers from Atlantis! I believe that they may be able to aid us in our time of need.”

  Aid them in their time of need? If these Chosen were expecting him and Rodney to somehow help them solidify their position, they were in for a rude awakening. John knew as well as anyone that upsetting whatever balance of power existed here was a recipe for disaster.

  The man that Kesun had addressed as ‘Father’ had to be pushing ninety if he was a day. He sat at an oblong table with the others, his shoulders stooped so far forward that John wondered if the table was holding him upright. Milky blue eyes peered out from underneath a bushy set of snow-white eyebrows, sizing up the newcomers. “Forgive us our surprise,” he addressed them in a feeble voice. “It is only because you are not quite what we expected.”

  Man, if he had a nickel for every time he’d given this explanation. “We do come from Atlantis. However, we’re not Ancients… Ancestors.” John raised his voice when a few of the Chosen looked as though they were straining to hear.

  “But you are of the Chosen,” one of the others pointed out with a slight wheeze.

  “We come from a planet called Earth. It’s where the Ancients went after they left Atlantis. My name is Major John Sheppard. This is Dr Rodney McKay.”

  Distracted by the carved inscriptions on the heavy timber walls, Rodney offered a noncommittal nod of greeting.

  Kesun’s father processed this information, the proverbial wheels in his head clearly working overtime. “You must also be Dalera’s children,” he declared.

  John wasn’t entirely confident of that, but contradicting the man would probably be bad form. “That may be true, in a way. In any case, we’d like to learn more about her.”

  Surprise resulted immediately from that statement. The old man’s brows knitted into one solid furry mass. “The smallest child knows the story of Dalera. How can it be that you do not?”

  “They come from a different world, Father,” Kesun reminded, his expression asking the visitors to be patient. John couldn’t blame him. Most of the Chosen looked like escapees from a nursing home. More than one of
them were teetering on the brink of senility, and one old codger looked and sounded like he could really use some oxygen therapy. This was the cornerstone of the Daleran defense system?

  Rodney possessed a better poker face than might be expected, but he rarely bothered to use it. His expression now conveyed a shade of disillusionment that bordered on derision. “I suppose this explains why the coverage of the EM fields is patchy.”

  Kesun was apparently a quick study, because he looked shrewdly at Rodney and said, “If you refer to the protection given us by the Shields of Dalera—”

  “The PENEs, but yes.”

  “Say what?” John was sure he’d heard that wrong. Must’ve been the Canadian accent.

  Rodney blinked at him, clearly missing a clue. “Personal Electromagnetic Nullification Emitters.”

  John rubbed at the bridge of his nose, hoping to avoid the onset of a McKay-induced headache. “All right, now you’re banned from naming things, too. How about we stick to calling them ‘Shields’?” He sent the same apologetic look to Kesun that the youngest Chosen had offered him moments earlier. “You were saying?”

  “The Wraith left us in peace for generations,” Kesun began. “But they returned several weeks ago to bring death once more. As Dalera commanded, the youngest among us left the Enclave and traveled to the Chosen’s ancestral homes, which are known by all as Stations, to stand in defense. But the Citadel has grown much since Dalera departed this world, and our protection is no longer sufficient.”

  Looking unmoved, Rodney wandered off to examine the Ancient lettering that had caught his attention. “This tells of our history,” Kesun explained, crossing the room to join him. “As do the teaching windows in the Sanctuary Halls.”

  John walked with him. The elder Chosen at the table appeared not to notice their departure. “You mean that marketplace we transported into?”

  “There are many such Halls scattered throughout the Citadel.” Kesun’s jaw flexed. “We ordered them cleared of stalls after the Wraith returned.” He shook his head in resignation. “We warned Gat and the merchants that their blasphemy would be punished, as generations past have been punished for their lack of reverence. So soon memories fade.”