Death Game

Chapter Seven

Tolas was a big man with a shaven head and a very serious expression. He listened to their explanations with what Teyla thought was studious attention, though he said nothing and asked no questions, save whether or not Jitrine had given good service.

John assured him that Jitrine had tended them with every care. While he spoke Teyla was free to look about cautiously, her eyes roving though she stood beside John. Tolas had chosen to meet with them in an inner courtyard where a small ornamental pond was shaded by tall trees. Flowering plants grew around, and the pool was graced with a small statue of a boy playing the flute. Still, for all its beauty, it was secure. The walls of the house were around three sides of the courtyard, three stories tall. The fourth wall had a gate that led to another courtyard from which came the shouts of men, a stable yard or, worse, a barracks. Without some idea of where they were going, they would be running blind into a maze of rooms, or perhaps straight into the greatest concentration of soldiers. And all the while it was pretty and very diplomatic. Teyla thought that this Tolas knew his business.

John ended with an explanation of how they might be able to get the gate working, and if they did they would be valuable trading partners. Teyla was very proud of him. He had not threatened to shoot anyone once. More than once it irked her that Sheppard's team did not seem to understand that shooting was not a terribly good way to find trading partners, something which had been a standing problem and had caused endless difficulties with supply, not to mention the inability to find a safe Alpha Site. She thought that Dr. Weir had spoken to him sharply after their last adventure, so perhaps he was attempting to mend his ways.

Tolas paused for a long moment when he had finished, his chin resting upon his hand, his wrists circled by broad cuffs of leather worked with gold ornaments. These are weighty decisions, he said, and matters of diplomacy that reach beyond this oasis. I cannot speak for The Chora. His eyes skittered away from them, which Teyla thought a little odd. You must speak to the King in Pelagia about this. It is his decision, as he is my overlord. Tolas looked at Jitrine, who stood beside a guardsman just inside the doorway. What is your opinion? Is it safe for these people to travel?

Jitrine looked reluctant. I would prefer that Sheppard not travel with his head as it is, however if you mean for them to go by ship it will probably be well enough. He will have no reason to exert himself that way.

A ship? — Teyla asked. In the desert?

There is a canal not far from here, Tolas said. You will go to Pelagia by barge, which I assure you is a very comfortable way to travel. He lifted his head. That is decided.

Teyla looked at John, but his mouth twisted as though he were not saying something else. Jitrine, he said. I'll go talk to the king.

At midmorning they sat beneath a red and white striped awning on a barge putting out from a massive stone dock. Overhead, the azure desert sky stretched uninterrupted. The green trees of the oasis behind them stood in stark contrast to the reds and golds of the desert, a thousand shades from ochre to palest yellow that shone almost silver in the hot sun. Even beneath an awning the sun beat down, and Teyla could see the sweat standing out on John’s brow even as they settled onto the bench that ran along the side of the ship, the western side where the shade was deep.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“Fine,” he said, but she thought that he looked pale beneath his tan and two days of stubble. It had only been a short walk to the barge, not something that he would even notice normally.

The barge was long and broad beamed, the back of the barge filled with livestock on their way to market, their drovers and the lowest paying passengers, while midships there was a raised upper deck with a canopy where Tolas rested in comfort. Jitrine had come aboard with him, and once in a while they could see her go to the rail looking out, but could not speak to her without calling to her.

John and Teyla were at the bow beneath an awning, four soldiers guarding them. Guests or prisoners? Somehow that continued to remain the question, and she voiced it in a low voice.

John’s expression was cynical as he looked out over the desert. “Tolas doesn’t know what to do with us and he’s afraid to make a decision, so he’s kicking it upstairs. Thinks it’s above his pay grade or something. So he’s punting.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t have the authority,” Teyla said. “That is what Jitrine indicated.”

“He’s not sure whether we’re good or not. If we’re telling the truth and we can get the gate open, we’re worth something and he wants the credit. If we’re full of it, then he doesn’t look like we duped him.” John shrugged. “It’s like our gear. They’ve left the pistol, but kept the packs and other stuff. They grabbed what they could without an actual fight. This way they can give it back if they want to make friends, or not of they don’t.” He lifted his hand to his eyes, shading them. “Pretty typical BS from the kind of cautious mid-grade who’s always watching his ass.” Lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted against the bright reflection of sun on sand.

“You could put your sunglasses on,” Teyla observed.

“Right.” For a second he looked blank, then reached in his pocket.

“Still having trouble with memory?” she asked.

“I’m good,” John said, slipping the glasses on. Wearing them his expression became inscrutable.

She looked out over the rail. “You know, it is not helpful to obscure from me your actual condition. We must work together, and I cannot do that effectively if I misread the extent of your injuries.” Teyla glanced sideways at him. “It does not make you look tough. It only makes my job harder.”

His face stilled. “Right. Sorry.”

A furnace breeze blew across them from the desert, a blast of hot air that did nothing to cool them.

“How hot do you suppose it gets here?” Teyla asked. She had already removed her jacket, and the wind felt good on her shoulders, but there were no more clothes she could remove in decency. Well, she probably could as far as the locals were concerned. Most of them, men and women, didn’t seem to see the need for leg coverings. Tunics came to mid-thigh, a very sensible thing in her opinion. She would be comfortable in shirt and underclothing, but she imagined John would not like it if she took her pants off.

Hot, he said. Really hot. He licked his lips as if in memory of moisture.

You have been in the desert before?

Yeah. He stood up and took a few steps away, seemingly entranced by the far line of hills. Clearly that was not working as a conversational topic. Or perhaps he was feeling worse than she thought.

The barge rocked gently on the water, drawn by placid oxen on either side of the canal, each ridden by a young boy wearing a broad sun hat. Along the canal irrigation ditches ran back, sometimes only a few dozen feet, sometimes much further. Here and there houses stood, visible from afar by the tree or two that stood around them, by the patches of green. From above, the canal must look like a lumpy worm across the landscape, the bulges of irrigated patches along it at irregular intervals.

They were moving more or less directly northward, toward the sea. Unfortunately that was in the exact opposite direction from the Stargate. On the other hand, it was in the opposite direction from the crash, from where the Wraith would be seeking them if they were. Which was another strangeness. Surely the Wraith were looking for them? If not, why not? Were they so certain that they could not leave this planet that it did not even seem worthwhile to find them?

Just before midday a servant brought them water and a tray of the ubiquitous fruit. Teyla admitted that in the heat she really did not want more to eat than the fruit, which was juicy and delicious. John came and sat down again from his endless pacing and looking at the desert as though it told him something. He looked a little better. The barge was not a strenuous way to travel at all, but it was tedious and did play upon one's nerves.

What are you thinking? she asked.

John bit into a ripe sila, juice squirting across his chin. That is weird. It's not that thinly populated. They strung out along the canal, but there are thousands of people here. Presumably this isn't the only canal, either. And a bunch of this stuff, like the canal and the irrigation projects, take a lot of coordination and engineering expertise to pull off. Why haven't the Wraith bombed them back into the Stone Age? Why haven't they culled this world like they have so many others? Something not right about this.

I share your sense of unease, Teyla said. He had spoken the words that were behind the creeping sense of wrongness she felt. I have seen other worlds with as much, but they were in fear of the Wraith. They had precautions, plans. These people do not even seem to know what we mean. Why have the Wraith not come?â

John shook his head.

Teyla picked up a piece of fruit and continued. There are, for better or worse, three responses to the Wraith. To hide, as the Genii do, and hope that the Wraith will not discover the extent of one's civilization. To defy them and fight, as the Satedans did. Or to disperse and give them no targets, as my people did. All of the peoples of this galaxy that I have met do one or another of these. These people… Her voice trailed off as the barge came upon another large stone wharf, passing a barge that lay tied up beside it, cattle being loaded aboard. These people are a puzzle.

Something's rotten, John said. I don't like it. He took the radio from his pocket. The light flashed standby.

You will try to call them again?â

He shook his head. The battery is low. And will hear them when they call us in range.â

Surely by now they are looking, Teyla said.

With a sharp pop and a whiff of smoke the control crystal blew up.

Rodney jumped back swearing.

Wordlessly, Major Lorne handed him the third crystal. Good thing I brought four of these guys, he said.

Yes, it is good, Rodney said shortly. Because otherwise we would be screwed more than we've already screwed, which is to say quite a lot. I've been working on this thing for twelve hours, and its been more than twenty four hours since I started investigating the DHD. I should have solved all the major problems of physics by now! But no. I'm still working on this gate.

Maybe you should take a nap, doc, Lorne said, scrubbing his hands through his hair. You've been at this more than a day. Some rest would probably fix you right up.

Yeah and that will be so comfortable, Rodney said. It's about a hundred and ten degrees and the rest of the team is lost and…

Lorne put his hand on Rodney's shoulder. That's not going to do them any good for you to get heat stroke. Get a couple of hours shuteye in the shade by the cliff over there, drink some water, and then get back to work. Gotta be reasonable here.

Rodney blinked. His face hurt. He probably had a sunburn, despite the SPF 50 he was wearing. And the world was starting to get a little surreal. Lorne seemed a little wavery in a way that people didn't usually get when he was just sleep deprived. Maybe he was getting sunstroke. Maybe he was about to pass out.

Take a nap, Lorne said. It'll work better afterwards.

Yeah, Rodney said. He wasn't thirsty. That was probably a symptom of something. Of something bad. A thought struck him. Snakes.

There? Lorne spun about.

There might be snakes, Rodney said patiently. You never know. There might be some over by the cliff.

I'll look before we sit down, Lorne said. He was looking at Rodney solicitously. Maybe he thought something was wrong. Maybe he thought Rodney had sunstroke.

What should I do for sunstroke? Rodney said, dismayed by the note of rising panic in his own voice. Do you think I have sunstroke?

I think you should sit down in the shade, drink some water, and have a nap, Lorne said calmly. You've got to fix the DHD, but you've been up more than 24 hours and working in the hot sun all morning. Lets take this one thing at a time.

Right. Rodney let Lorne lead him over and waited while Lorne checked the rocks for snakes. He did feel kind of shaky. He was probably on the verge of sunstroke. That was probably what was wrong. It was more likely sunstroke than the first symptoms of a deadly alien disease.

Lorne sat down on a nearby boulder and took a long drink from his water bottle. Besides, how much trouble could they be in, right? You said they were going to a tropical island.

A lot of trouble, Rodney said. Lorne had only been in Atlantis a few months. He had no idea what a world of trouble there was. Yet.

Lorne held the water bottle out to him and Rodney drank. Lorne settled back in the shade, looking for all the world like the rocks were the most comfortable thing he’d ever sat on. “So where are you from, doc?”

“Canada,” Rodney said shortly. Some of the rocks might not be as sticky as others. He looked for a place to sit down that seemed less sharp and pointy than the rest.

“I can see that.” Lorne gestured with his chin to the Canadian flag patch on Rodney’s sleeve. “I meant whereabouts in Canada.”

“Vancouver,” Rodney said. Which was about the last place he wanted to talk about.

“You got family?”

“Just my sister,” Rodney replied testily. “We don’t talk much.” Which he hoped would end that entire line of enquiry.

“I’m from San Francisco,” Lorne said, and seemed to take Rodney’s silence for interest. “Yeah, you’re probably thinking what everybody does. How does a kid from the most liberal town in America wind up in the Air Force?”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Rodney said. Why would he be? Like he cared where Lorne was from?

“Or you’re going to say it must be the only way to rebel, right? The only thing you can do when you grow up in San Francisco to get your parents’ goat is join the military?”

Rodney sat down in the shade and took another long drink of water. It did taste good. And there was something about Lorne’s very nonchalance that was comforting. “Let me guess. You’re going to tell me a long, sad story about how you signed away your life for an education.”

Lorne didn’t seem offended. He also didn’t shut up, as Rodney had more or less intended. He looked amused. “It’s not exactly a sad story and not all that long either.”

I was conceived in the summer of ‘69, the Summer of Love, right? My dad had been drafted so he and my mom went on a road trip, one last blast before. She’d just gotten back to San Francisco and he’d reported in when she found out she was pregnant. Strange time, you know? She moved into this apartment in Haight Ashbury with this guy she’d met on the trip, my Uncle Ron. It wasn’t like that. Uncle Ron is gay so they were just roommates. You know, with my dad gone and all. He got sent overseas. He was in the middle of his tour when I was born, on April 30. May Eve, my mom used to say, like that made me special.

My dad’s an ok guy. It just didn’t work out between them. When he got home he was too different and it was all too different. He wasn’t so much into the scene, and he couldn’t stand the city. He wanted somewhere big and quiet, where he could hear himself think, somewhere totally unlike the jungles of Southeast Asia. He works for the Park Service in Arizona now. Big sky and mesas, Navajo country. He was married to a woman who was half Navajo for a while, but they broke up. My sister Dorinda’s a quarter Navajo, though. She’s a great kid. She’s married and has a baby, and she’s in veterinary school in Phoenix now. She’s got it all together.

My dad believes in UFOs. He thinks that there are really spaceships and that aliens have visited Earth before. People think he’s kind of crazy that way. I wish I could tell him, sometimes, that he’s not. That I’ve walked around on other planets and seen the damndest things. That there really are spaceships, and that you’ve never lived until you’ve taken the Tok’ra to a bar in Colorado Springs. Maybe one day I will. I think my dad can keep his mouth shut a lot more than he lets on.

But I didn’t grow up with him. I grew up in San Francisco with my mom. She’s an art teacher. She does all kinds of fabric art, painting on silk and weaving with raw fabrics, but you can’t make a living doing that. So she teaches art to little kids at school. She says she really enjoys it because their minds are fresh. They haven’t learned what they can’t do.

I could have gone to college without the Air Force. My dad said he’d help, and Uncle Ron and Uncle Gene did too, and by then my mom was married to Boris, so it wasn’t like it was just her who’d have to come up with the money. But it was what I really wanted.

No, my mom wasn’t thrilled, but she wasn’t mad either. See, my mom? She’s the world’s biggest optimist. She believes in a Star Trek future. We’re going to reach this place where we don’t have wars anymore, and everyone is judged on their merits, not by the color of their skin or their gender or their sexual orientation. She thinks we can get there in two or three hundred years if we really try. She says look where we’ve come in the last three hundred years. Nothing is impossible.

And I’m with her. I believe in that Star Trek future too. I just think you can’t get there without Starfleet, without the people who go out and keep it safe, the people who explore and who make it real. They’re both so sure, my mom and dad, in their own ways. They’re both so sure that it could all be true. So I guess it wasn’t much of a shock to me to find out it was. The first time I walked into that gateroom in Cheyenne Mountain, it was like coming home. Yeah. This is the thing. This is the real thing, the thing I’m doing. Cause anything can be true if you make it so.