CHAPTER SIX
Not being an idiot, Rodney knew that Sheppard was right about making nice with these people. Their brief experience in the marketplace had demonstrated that becoming the subject of a witch-hunt would be ridiculously easy, and no one had ever accused him of being careless with his own welfare.
Kesun’s expression was carefully neutral as they approached, but he kept his gaze trained on Sheppard, politely ignoring Rodney. Yep, he’d landed himself on probation already.
“Are you agreed?” Kesun asked without preamble. “You will aid us?”
Sheppard’s eyes flicked toward Rodney for a second before he answered. “I’m not entirely sure that we can.”
“It is a simple truth,” Kesun persisted. “One that has been proven time and again for all to see. The blasphemous ways of the barbarians bring the Wraith upon us.”
His resigned tone was one that Rodney knew well. It had been heard from any number of Atlantis’s scientists when they were unable to make everyone around them see the brilliance of their ideas. Problem was, their ideas were only occasionally brilliant, yet the tone was chronically present.
With the sort of revelation that seemed reserved only for zealots, Kesun added, “Your arrival from Atlantis is undisputable proof of Dalera’s existence. I believe it is a sign that only when every barbarian acknowledges Dalera, and abandons their sinful ways for all time can we be saved. A demonstration of your power may encourage this.” He glanced at Sheppard. “Perhaps your weapons—?”
You’re joking, right?
Before Rodney could decide how best to word his emphatic refusal, Sheppard responded, “We didn’t come here either to affirm or question your people’s faith in Dalera. In any case, what you’ve just suggested is not likely to restore your defensive capabilities, especially now that the Wraith have returned.” Quickly and, Rodney had to admit, tactfully avoiding the reason why the Wraith were putting in an appearance ahead of schedule, the Major added, “What happened to reduce the numbers of Chosen so drastically?”
No longer able to contain his disdain, Rodney snapped, “That’s patently obvious.” Creating a genetic hegemony in any society could only lead to one, inevitable outcome, especially when it had been maintained over several thousand years. On that note, senility probably wasn’t the only thing plaguing their mental faculties.
Sheppard looked at him expectantly.
“The Chosen don’t really, ah, get out much, if you catch my drift.” Rodney stashed his notebook in his pack.
Further explanation didn’t appear to be required. The Major’s forehead creased thoughtfully. “Kesun?” he said, offering up a polite smile. “Have any of you taken husbands or wives outside the Chosen?”
Kesun shook his head. “It is forbidden.”
“One of Dalera’s laws?”
“Once, every child born to this world was touched with a Shield. If the Shield’s color came alive, such children were considered Chosen. Alas, during the times of the barbarians, these children were put to death, along with their mothers. When the Chosen emerged to defend against the Wraith, we banned this ritual so that no child should ever again suffer at the hands of the hateful and ignorant.”
The idea that there might have been a legitimate reason for their isolation took Rodney by surprise. He’d expected something more pompous. Unfortunately, the validity of the practice wasn’t the issue.
“When I was a child,” Kesun continued, “the Great Plague befell us. While it killed many, it struck most deeply at the Chosen until only a few remained.”
Nothing like several dozen generations of inbreeding to genetically predispose a population to disease. The only surprise was that the population of self-styled Chosen hadn’t crashed centuries earlier. Realizing that the only way they were going to get out of here in any kind of hurry was by offering up a solution, Rodney said, “If you want to restore your numbers, then you’ll have to rescind this moratorium. On marriage as well as touching the Shields. You need some sort of nationwide testing. And you need it now.” That had come out sounding a lot like an ultimatum, he realized belatedly as the Major shot an exasperated glance in his direction.
Kesun looked at him curiously. “It is different among your people? There are no divisions between Chosen and others?”
Launching into a detailed civil rights lecture wasn’t high on Rodney’s to-do list, and neither was explaining the fact that almost no one on Earth knew or cared about the ATA gene. Therefore, he went for a simple if incomplete answer. “None. And I might add that the Chosen here owe their very existence to the fact that Dalera herself had offspring to someone outside of her kind.” This time, he was rethinking the wisdom of the glib reply almost before it was out.
Beside him, Sheppard coughed. If the Major didn’t read him the riot act on the ride home, Elizabeth certainly would during the debriefing. Tough. They’d wanted help. He’d given them the only viable answer. Besides, Kesun didn’t appear to have taken offense. If anything, his interest seemed tweaked. “As you say,” he replied. “These are things to consider.”
“Fine, fine. Well, now that’s settled,” Rodney muttered, easing toward the transport.
Unfortunately, Sheppard didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave. “Something I don’t get,” he said. “Since the Chosen are now so few in number, don’t the villagers know that they can’t depend on you showing up in the transports?”
Brows furrowing in alarm, Kesun replied, “Even the most righteous among them blaspheme, which is what brought the Great Plague and the Wraith upon us all. Their faith must be restored before the Chosen can protect them.”
Oh, this was just fantastic. “They don’t know that most of the Chosen are dead, do they?” Rodney snapped.
“It is a question of faith!” Kesun almost hissed between his teeth. Visibly taking control of himself, he lifted his chin haughtily and added, “Your arrival will give them that faith.”
Before Rodney could launch into another tirade, Sheppard stepped in with a healthy dose of reality. “Unfortunately, that won’t resolve the immediate problem.”
True. The old geezers could each grab themselves a dozen wives tomorrow, but even supposing the act alone didn’t give most of them a massive coronary, the Wraith weren’t likely to postpone their culling until the Chosen offspring arrived to save the day. As a scientist, he was trained to investigate all possible avenues. Realistically, that only left one solution. “The gene therapy.”
Sheppard rounded on him, his eyebrows reaching up into his hairline. “You want to run that by me again?”
“It’s an immediate solution.” Rodney didn’t add that it would effectively eliminate this hierarchical mess they’d gotten themselves into. “I don’t see a downside to it.”
“Other than the near-certainty of Dr Weir kicking our asses for offering something like this without consulting her?”
“I’m not offering it to them. I’m simply pointing out the only viable way out of their predicament. And presumably the reason that we’re still standing here having this discussion is that you’d rather not leave them to be Wraith chow.”
“Of what do you speak?” Kesun wanted to know.
Rodney turned toward him, but once again, the Major beat him to the punch, which was becoming more than annoying. “We have a way of giving a person a…medicine,” Sheppard said, caution evident in his tone. “It would allow more people to operate the Shields.”
Since Sheppard had insisted on dragging him into this otherwise futile discussion, he’d be damned if he’d see any proposed solution only shift their grand pecking order somewhat. “Many more,” Rodney added purposefully.
If they’d been looking for a way to finally crack the Chosen’s seemingly infinite patience, this might have been the silver bullet. Kesun’s eyes grew huge, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before finding his voice. “This cannot be,” he sputtered. “The Chosen are granted favor by Dalera herself. We cannot interfere with her will!”
“Genetics don’t depend on anyone’s will,” Rodney argued. “That’s the whole point of the term ‘random selection.’”
Sheppard had been leaning against the wall, but now pushed himself off from it to stand upright. “Listen, Kesun, as Dr McKay said, we’re just pointing out the options. The…medicine doesn’t work on everyone, so maybe Dalera’s still having her say that way.” A glance in Rodney’s direction dared him to protest at his own risk.
Doubt verging on panic was written clearly across Kesun’s features. “Barbarians have no respect for Dalera’s ways. What would become of us if they were made Chosen?”
“You could try working for a living.” And that was a bad idea, too, because the man’s once-pale skin now turned an entertaining shade of reddish-purple.
“Your lack of reverence is greatly disturbing to me, Dr McKay,” he admonished. “I had expected better from the citizens of Atlantis.”
“I apologize,” Sheppard said immediately, adjusting his stance to something approximating attention. “This is my team. I should have better control of it.”
What the hell? Rodney had never seen the Major even attempt to pull rank on him before. What was the point, since he didn’t even have a rank? He turned an indignant gape on Sheppard, only to be met with a coldly imperious stare.
The melodrama had an effect on Kesun, though. He nodded, albeit stiffly. “I must confer with the others.”
“We understand,” Sheppard replied. “Should we wait here?”
“Please.” With a final, scornful look in Rodney’s direction, the Chosen turned on his heel and strode back into the main chamber.
Sheppard crossed his arms and regarded Rodney, the fierce demeanor fading into annoyance. “Rodney,” he said dryly. “I can’t tell you how warm and fuzzy it feels to know how highly you value my opinion.”
Well and truly incensed by the way he’d just been treated, Rodney snapped, “Your opinion?”
“That whole ‘work and play well with others’ pep talk from the balcony? Ring any bells?”
“I appreciate the complexity of the situation, but since you insist on wanting to help out here, there’s a limit to how much of this divine-will crap I can swallow. These people will be sitting ducks for the Wraith if someone in this place doesn’t open up their mind just a fraction.” Rodney could accept a certain amount of that nonsense from the others, but from a trusted colleague ? He didn’t see the need to go quietly. “And while we’re on the subject of working and playing well with others, what precisely was that little display about? You should have better control of your team? If your goal was to sound just as superior as they do, fantastic job!”
“Thank you,” Sheppard replied amiably.
Rodney halted, confused. Then he got it. He’d only paid the barest amount of attention in his intro sociology class in college, but the old ‘When in Rome’ axiom seemed to apply here. He blew out a long breath. “You can’t honestly think I’m wrong about this.”
“I didn’t say that.” Sheppard’s gaze was hard to decipher. Not that Rodney had ever been an expert at reading people, but this man seemed to have a singular talent for inscrutability. “We’re already crossing about six different lines that probably shouldn’t be crossed, but we’re here now, so let’s see how they respond.”
A less-than-comfortable silence fell in the corridor as they waited for a signal from inside the main chamber. Sheppard eventually offered up a neutral token of conversation. “So, no ZPM, huh?”
“I doubt it.” Rodney pulled his Shield off the belt clip and examined it. “They appear to be modeled on the personal shields, drawing just enough energy from the bearer to activate the crystal inside, hence the change in color from black to aquamarine. Primary power likely comes from the very EM fields and any incoming energy weapons’ fire that they’re blocking, which in turn causes the crystals to illuminate, thereby serving as a warning to the bearers. Similar to the way I used lightning to power the shield generators on Atlantis. Rather imaginative, really.” Ignoring the Major’s rolled eyes, he examined the casing. Something was buried inside one end of it. “Probably also has some sort of capacitor—”
“The others will speak to you.” Kesun addressed Sheppard. “Come.” With a soft hiss of fur across the polished floor, he led them back into the main chamber.
Rodney hung back a step. If they respected Sheppard more for whatever reason, then let him handle it.
Kesun’s father regarded them coolly. “The scourge of the Wraith has remained constant for thousands of years,” he said. “Barbarians have seen to that. Now that their wickedness has poisoned even the righteous with their Wraithcraft, Dalera has turned her back upon us all.”
Oh, yes, another hugely profound surprise. Divine self-righteousness taken to its ultimate conclusion. The Wraith would get more sustenance from a used toothpick than they would from these Chosen, so let the masses burn—or in this case, have the life sucked from them—as punishment for their evil ways. “Anyone spell Armageddon?” Rodney muttered. He probably could have shouted it because no one except Sheppard seemed to hear.
“The arrival of our guests from Atlantis could also be a sign that Dalera is giving us a final chance, Father,” Kesun suggested.
An emphysemic wheeze erupted from one of the others. “You encourage us to interfere with Dalera’s design for her people?” A second wheeze followed before he added, “How are we to know that this potion you offer is not Wraithcraft by another name?” A crackle of falling logs and a shower of sparks in the fireplace seemed to add weight to his point.
Kesun looked mildly appalled at that. “An offer was made and declined. There is no cause for accusation. I am merely suggesting that if the Chosen were also to return to the old ways, of taking unto them wives from the people, and testing each child at birth—”
“I will hear no more of this!” Kesun’s father decreed with a weak pounding of his fist on the table. The helmet wobbled dangerously close to the edge, and Kesun snatched it up. “Dalera has deemed that the wicked shall be punished.”
The warning look that both Sheppard and Kesun shot Rodney wasn’t necessary. He was so far beyond irate that he could focus only on the thing they’d come for. And since it was obvious that even if there was a ZPM someplace, there was no possible way he could locate it, he clutched firmly onto his Shield. At least they’d gained something from this otherwise utterly wasted excursion.
“I will accompany our visitors back to the Sanctuary Hall,” Kesun said, giving a polite bow in the general direction of the table.
They made an awkward attempt at bidding farewell to the Chosen and left the room, trailing in Kesun’s wake.
The drink that Yann had purchased from a nearby stall was sweet and warm, with a trace of an unfamiliar spice. Teyla smiled her thanks, clasping the mug in both hands.
Lieutenant Ford made a surprised sound. “It’s like hot cider!” he said happily, passing his cup to Lisera.
The girl’s answering smile was genuine, if a bit blank. Seeing the Lieutenant pleased, it seemed, was enough to please her. She took a measured sip of the steaming drink, as if afraid to offend by indulging too much, then shyly handed it back to Ford, and pointed up to the last of the teaching windows. “Entire families of Chosen once lived in the protected villages, along with garrisons of warriors. But then barbarians broke Dalera’s laws, settled in forbidden lands and, having invaded the Citadel, forced the Chosen to live inside their Enclave.” She cast her gaze downward. “The lack of faith by some punishes all.”
Soot and grime smudged the once brightly colored windows. When Teyla pulled her gaze from them, Yann’s hard-faced expression caught her attention. “Is there more to tell?” she asked him.
Yann hesitated, casting a glance at Lisera. “The girl is not wrong,” he allowed. “But she speaks with the voice of a child. Farming lands outside the Chosen’s decree was not done to give insult to Dalera. It was a necessity. The prescribed lands are far from the Citadel
and heavily forested. While we have blackpowder that can be used to remove tree stumps from some lands, the problem of distance cannot be remedied, and the Chosen have long neglected the task of transporting the crops to market. We have been forced to use beasts of burden to pull our goods by cart, but the distance is too great. Unless the nearer lands are tilled, the crops spoil before reaching the Citadel.” He stood and shook the stiffness from his legs.
“Perhaps the Chosen would come to the transports more readily if people paid what was asked of them.” Lisera’s reply was given in a timid voice, but its point was blunt.
With a quick glance at the guards, who were out of earshot, Yann retorted, “A full payment for a half-measure of protection ?”
A brief light display interrupted his words, and signaled the arrival of a transport. Kesun stepped out, with Major Sheppard and Dr McKay beside him. The scientist looked more irked than usual, while the Major, behind his usual mask of nonchalance, was pensive. “Ford, Teyla,” Sheppard said to them in greeting. “Making friends?”
“We have learned much,” Teyla responded.
“Same here. And now I think it’s time we headed home.” The Major’s hooded expression told Teyla that there was a great deal to discuss.
“Sir,” Ford asked, picking up his pack, “what about Lisera?”
“Her injury is beyond the medical capabilities of this world,” Teyla explained. “If left here, she would not regain the use of her leg.”
The Major glanced at Kesun. “Would it be acceptable for us to take Lisera back to Atlantis? Just for a couple of days.”
A range of expressions that Teyla could not fully interpret crossed the face of the Chosen. “Dalera was the greatest healer our kind has ever known.” With a sly edge to his voice, he added, “If the girl were to return from Atlantis with her leg mended, I believe it would help to convince all of our people of the righteousness of Dalera’s ways—including a return to the traditions of which we spoke. Very well. Take her to Atlantis, so that she may come back to us with knowledge of its wonders.”
Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis) Page 9
