Blood Ties

Chapter thirty-four

The bustling Salamanca markets in the city of Hobart held endless fascination for Teyla. She absorbed all the sights and sounds-more varied, more exuberant, and simply more than any trading world she had ever come across. Her teammates had been surprisingly tolerant of her curiosity, showing no impatience as she inspected every stall, marveling at the craftsmanship of each piece of spun glass and sculpted wood. The fragrant scent of lavender began to erase the disturbing odors that had clung to her memory over the past few days. John had managed to procure some local currency for them, and she planned to bring many items home.

They had needed this escape, Teyla was sure. The worst of the fires had been brought under control, and she had been eager to leave the cave area behind as soon as the last of the bodies had been removed. She was not yet certain she had fully accepted the notion that her singing had caused such devastation. Even so, she had begun to understand that the incantation had been intended, in fact programmed, by the Ancient Lilith-or Ninlil, as they had come to think of her-into her creations.

According to the autopsies Dr. Lam had performed, the activated virus caused marked changes in the brain. Exposure to a particular pattern of frequencies-namely, the specific sequence of tonal variations in the cantillation-triggered the rupture of blood vessels. While Teyla didn't pretend to comprehend Lam's detailed explanation, she recognized the results of a massive hemorrhage.

Prompted by the knowledge that Teyla, who carried Wraith DNA fragments, and John, who'd once been infected with the iratus virus, had been unaffected by the melody, the doctor had looked further into the neurological differences found in the activated followers. She'd concluded that, despite her presumed insanity, Ninlil had most likely engineered the acoustic trigger as an inbuilt failsafe-a kill switch, John had called it- for her creations. The chances of it having an impact on Wraith, or on humans carrying the inactive retrovirus, were slim.

John had just received a call from General Landry, and the whereabouts of the remaining group of Lilith worshippers had become the subject of discussion.

"So the FBI and Interpol tracked the last group that fled Germany to…where?" Rodney prompted.

After paying for a cup of steaming chestnuts, which the vendor handed to Ronon, John pocketed the change and replied, "Argentina."

For reasons that escaped Teyla, Rodney rolled his eyes and tossed his hands up in the air. "Of course they fled to Argentina. Where else would they go?"

With the activity and noise in the crowded market, there was little chance of anyone paying attention to the conversation. Nevertheless, John dropped his voice so that Teyla had to lean in to hear his next words. "They tracked them to the town of Ushuaia, near Cape Horn."

Noticing Rodney's pointed interest in the chestnuts, Ronon tossed him one. Juggling the hot nut between his hands, Rodney said, "Ushuaia. Isn't that where the tourist cruises to Antarctica depart?"

John nodded. "They boarded a Scandinavian-built ice ship, the Verreisen Sie Heim, on a chartered cruise that's been planned for months. The ship only carries a hundred and ten people, and it's owned by-"

"Let me guess," said Rodney around a mouthful of chestnut. "Goeldi. So the last group never intended to come to Tasmania in the first place, which leads me to conclude that the other groups intended to acquire information from the caves and then transmit it to their pals."

"Either that or they're not completely sure of the location of whatever it is they're searching for, so they decided to split up.

Swallowing, Rodney asked, "I'm assuming the General has dispatched a squadron of F-302s down there to engage in a judicious round of target practice?"

"As we speak."

Rodney looked somewhat reassured by that prospect. "May I make a suggestion? As much as I'm enjoying the stroll, can we get some actual food in the near future?"

"Actual food," Ronon said, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow at the scientist, "as opposed to this?" With a half-eaten chestnut skewered atop one of the many thin blades he normally kept in his hair, her Satedan teammate gestured to the rows of fresh fruits and vegetables surrounding them.

"Hey, do I critique your unorthodox choices in utensils?" Rodney shot back. "Believe it or not, most of us periodically require something more substantial than complex carbohydrates. A little protein wouldn't go amiss, and considering we are on the waterfront-"

"You can all have treats if you behave, kids," John cut in good-naturedly. Seeing his faint smirk warmed Teyla, even if she could still detect in it a hint of artificiality. What he had witnessed-no, more than that. What he had experienced in the caves was unspeakable, and for the past few days he had been forced to remain at the scene of the horror. Perhaps, now that this saga was at last nearing an end, he was finally beginning to break free.

"What happened to the Ancient Ninlil anyway?" Ronon pulled the last of the chestnut off the knife with his teeth, garbling his question. "Did she die, or Ascend, or what'?"

"Jackson thinks he might have a lead on figuring that out," said John as the group walked north along the waterfront. "The writing on the cave walls ties in with some of the information he got from the tablets in Iraq. He's not sure, but it looks like Ninlil was eventually killed by one of her children, named Nirrti."

Rodney's head swiveled rapidly at the name, which was unfamiliar to Teyla. "Did you just say Nirrti? As in the alltime Goa'uld champion of genetic atrocities?"

"Small universe, huh?" John gave a shrug. "Assuming it's the same Nirrti, and the odds of that kind of coincidence are slim, she couldn't actually have been related to Ninlil. Jackson's theory is that she was either a protege of Ninlil or else took her as a host at some point to get hold of her knowledge. Whatever the story is, putting a cold-blooded Goa'uld and an off-her-rocker Ancient together must have resulted in some fireworks."

"Now there's a notion I could live quite happily without ever contemplating." Rodney seemed to repress a shudder. "As I was saying before: food?"

The waterfront was a much cleaner and more affluentlooking area than most fishing villages Teyla had visited. Boats with polished hulls offered sailing tours, and an enticing array of smells spilled out of a number of restaurants, around which many people were clustered, laughing.

"Let's try this place." John steered the team toward a restaurant that appeared to be built on a ship permanently moored to the wharf. On its lower deck, a man was selling large paper cones filled with seafood delicacies and potato pieces called chips. Patrons seated at nearby tables shooed away noisy seagulls begging for morsels of food. Most of the conversations seemed to focus on a boat race of some sort scheduled for the following week. No mention was made of the devastating fires that had taken so many lives-which was the official explanation for the deaths of the hikers found cocooned in the caves. The humans of Earth were resilient, determined to continue on with their lives despite their losses. Teyla was once again reminded why she admired them and their conviction to grasp life and enjoy it to the fullest.

"I'm entirely serious. If a lemon has been anywhere near that flyer, my resulting anaphylactic reaction will be spectacular and probably worthy of legal action."

The restaurant's owner merely handed Ronon a paper cone, giving only the barest indication that he'd heard Rodney's warning. "So who's your pick to get line honors next week?" he asked cheerfully.

Blinking at him, Ronon was rescued from having to answer when a nearby patron called out a name. An animated debate about yacht racing ensued, quickly lapsing into a language Teyla couldn't follow. She smiled as the owner presented her food to her and turned her attention to the television mounted behind the counter, a common enough sight in many of the stalls and shops she had visited. Currently it was displaying what she had learned was a news broadcast. The screen projected an image of two oceangoing ships floating side by side, the smaller one marked with the word `Greenpeace' across its hull.

The restaurant's patrons must have noticed the broadcast as well, because one of them commented that the Greenpeace ship had left Hobart soon after the bush fires had passed through. Apparently some of its crewmembers, mainly biologists and doctors, had remained in Tasmania to assist with the wildlife crisis following the blaze. The ship had taken on board unskilled volunteers, some obviously known to the patrons, prompting one of them to declare, "Bloody whalers. Told Davo they'd be more of a worry than icebergs."

His comment was incomprehensible to Teyla until the owner of the restaurant, while pouring battered seafood into a cone, told one of his assistants, "Turn that up." The young man pulled a thin transparent glove from his hand, tossed it into a refuse bin and moved to adjust the volume.

"…a Japanese whaling factory ship," the reporter was saying. "Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd vessels tracking the whalers reported seeing smoke originating from the ship early this morning. Mirroring an incident last year in which one crewman died, both organizations offered assistance and received no response. Greenpeace, fearing an ecological disaster if the ship foundered so close to a major penguin rookery, sent its helicopter to investigate. We warn our viewers now that the images we are about to show are of a graphic and disturbing nature."

An overhead perspective that must have been provided by the helicopter magnified the deck of the larger ship, where dozens of bodies lay scattered. Every one, it appeared, had been fed upon in a Wraithlike manner, and many of them had suffered extreme bums.

To Teyla's right, Rodney made an agonized sound. John's radio, or rather the device called a cell phone, signaled then, and he casually withdrew from the crowd. Rodney's gaze darted back and forth between his team leader and the television.

In that moment, Teyla felt a sense of terrible foreboding. The remaining followers of Lilith had not abandoned their goal. In the background of the picture, she could see the majestic ice cliffs that had been described to her as a feature of Antarctica.

The news broadcast shifted to the deck of the Greenpeace ship, where a grim-faced captain was vehemently denying accusations from the Japanese government that protesters were responsible for the mass murders. "That's just the sort of insane reaction I'd expect," said the bearded man dismissively, radio in hand. "We've just had word from the team we sent across in a Zodiac to the ship. The Nishin Maru's logbook confirms that they responded to calls from an Argentineanregistered cruise ship, the Verreisen Sie Heim, which we also picked up last night. The Verreisen reported they'd been holed and were taking on water. The Nishin Maru's final log entry reports that the Verreisen was in visual range and that the Argentinean ship had sent three tenders full of tourists across to the Nishin." The camera followed the captain's gestures out to sea as he added, "The Verreisen drifted toward the ice pack and vanished off our radar in the early hours of this morning„

"Since then, there has been no visual or radar sighting of the Verreisen," said the reporter. "The nature of the deaths has raised questions about a connection to recent worldwide reports of a new progeria-like virus. However, of more immediate concern is the large storm system now building in the area. For the second year running, the Japanese fleet is abandoning its…"

As the restaurant owner handed Rodney his cone and John's, Rodney checked the screen again and nearly dropped the food. "Look," he gasped.

In confusion, the man glanced over at the television and furrowed his brow. "What?"

Teyla stared at the image, which now showed many of the crew of the Greenpeace vessel on deck, looking out across the unsettled waters. Behind her, John finished his phone conversation with a "Yes, sir" that suggested the caller had been General Landry. He came up to stand at her shoulder, seemingly at a loss for words.

Dressed in the bright orange survival suit worn by all the ship's crewmen, Rebecca Larance had turned her head to stare directly into the camera. Standing with her were two other people, one a woman with distinctively elongated features. All three wore expressions as grim as that of the ship's captain.

"I'll be damned," John said under his breath. "Hanan and Baqir."