“Yes, let’s find out what kind of mess someone’s gotten these people into,” he said.
Sheppard flicked on his radio. “We’re ready. Dial the gate.”
“I am not sure I see the appeal of video games as a pastime,” Teyla said as the gate boiled blue.
Ronon shrugged. “It’s fighting for people who can’t fight.”
“They’re not only for people who can’t fight,” John said. “Come on, they must have had strategy games on Sateda, and I know you’ve watched me play chess.”
“I don’t see the point of chess,” Ronon said.
“Strategy games are like that, only more realistic,” John went on doggedly.
“This one’s a lot more realistic,” McKay said. “Watch out for falling bombs.”
He ducked instinctively as he walked through the gate, half-expecting to walk out into a cratered ruin. Instead, they stepped out onto a dirt road lined with evergreen trees running toward the distant shapes of buildings on the horizon. It took a moment to realize what made the scene look oddly familiar, as if he’d stepped out onto a back road in Canada. It was the electric lights strung on light poles, their wiring looking amateurishly rigged but clearly effective.
“They have electricity,” Ronon said. “You don’t see that every day.”
“No, you do not,” Teyla said, sounding more cautious. “There are reasons for that.”
“Well, town’s that way,” John said, straightening the straps of his pack. “Let’s go make some friends.”
The first locals they found were on the outskirts of town, checking on a large, clanking piece of machinery. As they approached, Rodney decided it might well be the steam-powered dynamo that was powering at least some of the electric lights. It occupied a shed that might recently have been a stable, given a strong smell of cow, and was driven by a steam engine that was probably an immense fire hazard given that the stable had wooden beams. Still, the white-haired woman checking levers and the much younger man tipping more coal into the steam engine looked cheerful, and the lights were staying on.
“Hi there,” John said. “I’m John Sheppard. We’re from Atlantis.”
“We’ve heard about you.” The woman came forward and clasped John’s forearm with a dusty hand. “I’m Emille. This is Vasti.” She nodded to the weedy man who put his bucket down with a clank and hurried over. “Welcome to Elista.”
“The lights are impressive,” John said.
“And unexpected,” Teyla said. “We have visited few worlds that used electric power.”
Emille looked immensely satisfied at that, and Vasti grinned. “Thanks to the Oracle,” he said. “It’s shown us so many things.”
“Let me show you what we’ve done,” Emille said.
They found themselves drawn into a whirlwind tour of the town. It was a small mill town, with wooden frame houses, a large textile mill built over a swiftly-rushing stream, and a few older stone buildings like the town hall. Emille ignored any possible historic sights, pointing out instead the town’s newly-installed electric lights, the two looms in the textile mill that now ran on electric power, and half a dozen other gadgets and machines that had been converted from steam power or hand power to run on electricity.
“The ability to generate enough power is where we’re still being held back,” Emille said as they entered the town square. “We want to put food preserving devices like this in every home, but we can’t power them yet.” What Rodney had taken for a shed in one corner of the square turned out to be a hulking refrigerator that kept a bucket of milk more or less cold. It wasn’t a bad effort, Rodney decided, although efficiency clearly wasn’t their strong suit. “We don’t mine coal here, we have to transport it, and trade for it. But Sigurd has made that a priority.”
“Sigurd?” Teyla asked. Ronon was standing back and keeping his eye on the crowd, but no one here seemed hostile. Emille and Vasti nearly vibrated with enthusiasm, and the rest of the townspeople seemed mostly either politely interested or politely bored by the visitors.
“Our mayor,” Vasti said, nodding at someone behind Rodney.
“I am Sigurd,” a tall man said as Rodney turned. He was fair-haired and fair-skinned like both Emille and Vasti, but broad-shouldered and imposing enough that he looked like he could take on Ronon in a wrestling match. He offered his hand, and Rodney clasped his forearm gingerly while his own was squeezed hard enough to bruise. “I see that Emille is showing you the gifts of the Oracle.”
“We are very interested in hearing more about your Oracle,” Teyla said.
“This is a big sort of table with colored lights that talks to you?” John added. “We’ve seen something like that before.”
“There is nothing like our Oracle,” Sigurd said with a frown. “The Ancestors have chosen to speak to us through it, and only to us. This is a great honor for our people. It shows that they look upon us with favor and believe that we are worthy to receive their gifts.”
“I was just showing the Lanteans how the coils of the food preservation device draw heat from the chamber without requiring ice,” Emille said a little testily, tucking a flyaway strand of white hair behind her ear. “The Oracle provided the idea, but Vasti and I worked out the details of how it could be done. And with the ability to generate more power —”
“I am sure that the Oracle will share more secrets with us as we become worthy of them,” Sigurd said in a voice that brooked no disagreement.
“I meant no disrespect to the Oracle,” Emille said, clearly choosing her words with care. “It has changed our lives. Now that we have electric lights, the craftsmen can work longer at night, and we have more to trade. The weavers have their powered loom, and there is so much more that we have yet to even try, but that I am certain we can do.” The excitement in her voice was contagious.
Rodney said, “You know, if you used a more efficient coolant for your refrigerator coils —”
“McKay.” John cut him off.
“Has the Oracle always spoken to your people?” Teyla asked.
“Only in recent years,” Emille said. “It was found before I was born, in ruins near the village.”
“The only useful thing ever to be found there,” Sigurd said. “Who needs to dig around in old runs when the Ancestors speak directly to us?”
“People used to leave offerings there,” Vasti said. “There were legends that once the device had spoken, but it was silent. Then, one day, it began to speak again. Sigurd believes it is a sign that we have attracted the favor of the Ancestors through virtuous living.”
“Is that what you think?” John asked.
Vasti looked at Emille, who in turn glanced at Sigurd before answering. “I believe that whatever the reason why we have gained the Ancestors’ favor, we should be grateful for it.”
“Excuse us, Emille, Sigurd,” Teyla said. “We very much appreciate the tour, but we must talk for a few minutes about what goods we might have available to trade with your people.”
“Of course,” Sigurd said, his own eyes lighting at the sound of the word ‘trade.’ “Here, you folk, don’t swarm the Lanteans. They need to talk business.”
“Well, whoever’s controlling the Oracle, they’re sharing useful technology,” Rodney said as they gathered at the other end of the square from the briskly-chugging refrigerator.
“Useful but dangerous,” Teyla said. “This kind of rapid technological advancement will surely attract the attention of the Wraith.”
Ronon looked grim. “Unless the Wraith already know. What if they’re the ones talking to these people and giving them this technology?”
John narrowed his eyes. “Why would they do that?”
“To increase the population of this world before it is culled,” Teyla said. “If that is the case, then I cannot imagine it will be more th
an a generation before the Wraith come to take their prey and destroy everything they have taught these people to build.”
“Let’s get back to the gate,” John said. “We should see if Zelenka’s come up with a source for those signals.”
Teyla nodded. “And if we are posing as traders, we should bring back something to trade.”
Radek Zelenka squinted over his glasses at his computer screen. “Yes, of course, it is terribly easy to determine who is using a video game designed by an alien civilization,” he muttered under his breath. “I will just trace their IP address, and then we will be done. Only, strange enough, that does not work in subspace. So …” He continued working on the problem, while adding a muttered wish that Rodney would have to solve all mysteries he discovered rather than dumping them in Radek’s lap.
“Anything?” Elizabeth said, coming into the lab. Radek bit his tongue to avoid saying that if he had solved the problem, he would have told her so, and took a moment to phrase a status report that didn’t sound obviously frustrated.
“The system isn’t designed to record the source of the input that it receives,” he said. “It’s backing up certain critical files on the Atlantis computer system, but the main — well, ‘saved game’ — for the simulation resides wherever the game controller is located. We can tell when signals are being sent, and thankfully we can tell where they’re being sent to, but not where they’re coming from.”
“So we can’t determine anything about who’s controlling the simulation from this end,” Elizabeth said. She was carrying a cup of tea that from its lack of steam had long since grown cold. Radek considered his own cold coffee and wondered, not for the first time, why he had chosen a job that along with constant deadly peril involved ridiculous working hours.
“I wouldn’t say we can’t determine anything,” he said. “I believe I can add instructions to the programming of the simulation that will capture more information about its user the next time that instructions are sent. That is the good news.”
“That suggests there’s also bad news.”
“The bad news is that the transmissions have been extremely sporadic. There may be six in a week, and then six months may pass before the next one.”
“So we may be waiting a while,” Elizabeth said. “Understood. But the sooner you get your setup in place, the less chance there is that we’ll miss the next transmission.”
“I am working on it now,” Radek said, not mentioning vain hopes like dinner and sleep. “If we are able to capture any information, I will let you know.”
“Well, that was supremely unhelpful,” Rodney said as they hiked back to the village from the gate, this time with several sacks of tava beans and root vegetables on a wheeled cart.
“I am sure that Dr. Zelenka is doing his best,” Teyla said.
Rodney waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I’m sure that he is, but he still hasn’t gotten anywhere.”
“Neither have we,” Ronon said. “We need to ask them who’s talking to them.”
“I doubt these people know the source of the signals,” Teyla said. “On M4D-058, the people of Geldar and Hallona believed that the Oracle was a divine entity that communicated with them.” She shot Rodney a reproachful look, which he felt was unfair, as they’d been convinced that Sheppard was sending them divine messages, too. “Sigurd appears to believe that the instructions for how to build new technology are being sent by the Ancestors.”
“He’s wrong,” Ronon said.
“Of course he is, but how do we prove it?” Rodney asked. “We can’t bring them back to Atlantis and show them the game this time, because we can’t access the game files.”
“Besides, the problem isn’t getting them to stop listening to the Oracle,” John said. “They’re doing fine right now. But we need to find out whether the Oracle is being controlled by the Wraith.”
“Which is one thing they can’t ask the Oracle and get an honest reply,” Rodney said.
“No,” John said slowly. “But I bet they could ask the Oracle whether to do something that we know the Wraith wouldn’t like. Whether to create something like the Hoffan drug —”
Teyla shook her head. “None of their advancement so far has been in the field of medicine,” she said. “It would be implausible for them to have taken even preliminary steps toward creating the drug the Hoffans used to make themselves inedible to the Wraith.”
“So far they’ve mainly been experimenting with the uses of electricity. If the Wraith are letting them have technology at all, I don’t think they’d have any particular reason to object to refrigeration, or to making cloth more efficiently —”
“Radio.” Ronon paused as if he thought that should be sufficient, and then went on when it was obvious it wasn’t. “The Wraith don’t want anyone to have ways to communicate across long distances. It makes it easier for people to organize to fight them, or to escape from cullings. Most places on Sateda started using radio just a couple of decades before the Wraith attacked. I don’t know how hard it would be for these people to figure out —”
“Not hard,” Rodney said. “They may not have a Marconi or a Tesla, but Emille and Vasti are pretty competent engineers, and they’d just need a push in the right direction.”
“So you could suggest that they make some suggestions in that direction to the Oracle, and see what kind of answer they get,” John said. “If the Wraith are the ones controlling it, they’re not going to like the idea.”
“That is precisely why I have reservations about this plan,” Teyla said. “If the Oracle is being controlled by the Wraith, even suggesting this kind of technological change could provoke them to cull this world prematurely.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Ronon asked. “We don’t tell them, and let them go on taking orders from the Wraith? If that’s what’s happening here, they need to know the truth.”
“Both of you have a point,” John said. “Let’s make the suggestion and see what the people here want to do. If it’s worth it to them to find out whether they’re getting these messages from the Wraith, then McKay can figure out what questions the Wraith would really hate for them to ask. If they’d rather leave well enough alone, that’s up to them.”
“That would be a stupid choice,” Ronon said.
“Nevertheless, it is their choice,” Teyla said, equally firmly. “Colonel Sheppard will explain the situation to them.”
“Oh, I’ll explain,” John grumbled. He waved at the first of the villagers they saw on the road. “Hey, there! Can you tell Sigurd and Emille that we need to talk to them? It’s important.”
Sigurd came out to greet them cheerfully in the town square, Emille following him with a tangle of wires trailing from the pocket of her apron. “Friends from Atlantis! Have you returned with your trade goods?”
“We have samples of food that we are willing to trade for some of your cloth,” Teyla said.
Sigurd frowned, opening a sack and letting the tava beans run through his fingers. “I had thought you would want to trade for the secrets of our electric lights. The price would be high, true, but the advantages for your people would be great.”
“We have all this already,” Rodney said. “In fact, we have a lot more than this.”
“To start with,” John began, “we have these devices called radios that let us transmit sound across long distances —”
“The Lanteans come from the city of the Ancestors,” Emille said. “Who knows what they have learned from living there?” There was a hunger in her face that Rodney entirely understood.
“A lot,” he said, feeling it was time to get to the point. “For instance, we’ve learned that the device that you call an Oracle can be controlled by someone on a world far away.”
Sigurd’s frown deepened.
“Of course the Ancestors speak to
us from far away,” Emille said. “Our stories say that they have Ascended to a place we cannot hear or see, but they still guide us.”
“Yes, but what if it’s not actually the Ancestors guiding you?” John said.
“Only the Ancestors could understand the secrets of electricity,” Sigurd said.
“Actually, a lot of worlds have electricity,” John said. “Ronon’s homeworld Sateda used to have it before they were destroyed by the Wraith. Our homeworld — not Atlantis, but the world we originally came from — had electric power. And we’re not the only ones in the Pegasus Galaxy who understand how to use it.”
“He means the Wraith,” Rodney burst out when it didn’t seem like Sigurd and Emille were taking the point. “The Wraith have electricity, they know how to do all the things you’ve done here, and much more. It’s entirely possible that they’re just helping you so that they can fatten up your world before they swoop in for the kill.”
Sigurd’s brow furrowed. His fists clenched, and Rodney was abruptly very aware that he looked like he could lift a cow under each arm. “You are talking about the voice of the Ancestors.”
“Or not,” John said. “That’s the question we’re suggesting you should really —”
Sigurd raised a fist, and Rodney took a step back instinctively, realizing too late that Sigurd had been signaling to someone standing behind Rodney. He felt himself grabbed and grappled backwards, hands wrestling his P90 away from him. Beside him, John was also being wrestled to a standstill by two large men. One of them drew a knife and held it to John’s throat.
Ronon drew his pistol, and he heard the sound of Teyla’s P90 being cocked. Sigurd reached out and took Rodney’s weapon from his captor, holding it like a toy pistol in one hand. He pressed the muzzle to Rodney’s chest with a look of interest. “How effective are these weapons? It would be interesting to find out.”
STARGATE SG-1 ATLANTIS: Homeworlds : Volume three of the Travelers' Tales (SGX Book 5) Page 20
