Death Game

Chapter Nine

“I am not sure it is supposed to be doing that,” Radek shouted, holding on to a piece of rope as the sail stretched full and straining. The rope sung taut in his hands. It took leaning back on it with all his weight to hold on to it.

The fishing boat leaped over the waters, the rising wind of the approaching thunderstorm urging it on.

On the opposite side of the little boat, Ronon held onto the other rope apparently effortlessly, his head thrown back. “Probably not!” Ronon shouted back, a wide grin on his face. The speed and the movement sent his hair flying behind him, and he whooped like a boy.

Dark clouds piled up behind them, purple in the light of afternoon, the sun shining beneath them slantwise. Lightning crackled from point to point, illuminating the depths of the clouds. Thunder rolled across the water, loud and menacing.

“This does not look good!” Radek shouted over the rising wind. “I think the storm is getting closer!”

“What are we going to do? Stop?” Ronon yelled back. He grinned as the freshening wind tugged at him, like he thought this was nothing but a wild ride for fun.

“We do not know what we are doing!” Radek yelled. The rope bit into his hands, threatening to pull free. Or perhaps to just jerk him off his feet and deposit him in the ocean. Which did not seem like Radek’s idea of a good time. He could swim, yes. But that did not mean he wanted to be lost in the middle of an ocean.

“Why do I go offworld?” he said to himself. “Why?” This was only his third trip, and it was beginning to look like it might be his last. Thunder rolled to punctuate the thought, even closer than before. The storm looked very big, and they very much did not know what they were doing with a sailboat.

Now would be a good time for Colonel Sheppard to show up with the jumper. Just about now. Surely any moment he would appear.

Afternoon had come and the buildings cast long shadows when the barge tied up at the dock in Pelagia. Up close, the city was even more impressive than it had been at a distance. Surrounded by sturdy walls close to fifty feet high, it boasted many buildings of four or five stories, broad streets paved with white stones, and a good many ships clustered around the docks. It looked very prosperous indeed, and more heavily populated than anything John had seen in the Pegasus Galaxy.

John was starting to get used to villages, to the kind of subsistence agriculture practiced only in the poorest countries of Earth. The Genii had a greater level of technology, as had the Hoffans, but he had not seen this level of population on either world.

As Tolas came down the steps from the upper deck, John moved to put himself in front of him. “We want to see the king,” he said. “Teyla told you what we’ve got to offer. So let’s talk.”

Tolas didn’t look disturbed. “You will see the king, of course,” he said. “But one does not simply walk in and talk to the king. I will send word immediately that we are here, and then he will reply with an appointment that is convenient. In the meantime, we will be his guests.”

John suppressed the desire to shake him. Did everything on this planet have to take forever? Strangers from an alien world ought to be an emergency! ‘Get an appointment’ sounded like the way the IOA would handle things. Gosh, it’s nice you’re here from another planet. Make an appointment.

Teyla glanced at him sideways, and he knew what she was thinking. She thought he popped off at the mouth, damaging diplomatic relationships before they even started. For that matter, that’s what Elizabeth thought. She’d had a lot to say about it.

John made himself smile at Tolas. “We’re happy to talk to the king whenever it’s convenient for him,” he said.

“Good,” Tolas said, but he didn’t smile. Instead he led the way off the barge and into the city.

It was further than it looked, maybe fifteen blocks in a regular city at home, but by the end of it John felt a little lightheaded. He was getting pretty sick of this concussion. Back in Atlantis, Carson probably wouldn’t have let him out of the infirmary yet. He’d be stuck watching the same shows twenty times on his laptop and complaining. That actually didn’t sound so bad.

Teyla looked serene, if sweaty and tired. If her arm was bothering her it didn’t show. He probably should be more concerned about it, even though she didn’t say anything.

The palace was big. Really big. The columns in the first hall were three stories tall, and the walls and columns alike were painted with murals of flowers and trees, as though one had stepped into a painted forest. It was a pretty amazing effect, like walking through a series of pictures, animals and plants appearing at different distances as you moved. They turned left, into what might be guest quarters, another courtyard and stairs going up, four flights spiraling around the courtyard. He guessed important guests got the lower rooms, while random people who happened in got upstairs. Four flights was enough to make the vertigo come back. John concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other. Not good. This concussion thing was starting to suck.

They stopped outside a door that opened on the landing over the courtyard, and one of Tolas’ men pushed past them to open it. At least that’s what John expected. Instead the guy grabbed for the 9mm in its holster.

He got John’s elbow in his ribs, then a swift kick in the knees that knocked him down, the other guards crowding in with their spears. Teyla was taken by surprise, but it only took her a second to shake off the guard who’d tried to grab her and to be beside him in a fighting stance, their backs to the door.

“Hold, there,” Tolas said mildly to his guards.

“What the hell is this about?” John demanded. “You said we were guests.”

“I should have made it more clear that weapons were not allowed in the House of the King,” Tolas said. “You will have your weapons back when you depart, but I cannot permit you to have them in this house.”

“I’m not giving these to you,” John said. “No way.”

Tolas looked vaguely amused. “What are you planning to do? Fight your way out of the palace and city? I thought you wished to speak with the king. Surely most leaders do not allow strangers to come armed into their presence.”

John could take them easily enough, even with nothing but the pistol. But then what? Tolas had a point. Even if these guys had never seen firearms before, which he was beginning to doubt, he couldn’t stretch the shock and awe factor to getting out of the palace. Not with three clips and Teyla unarmed except for a hunting knife. They could probably call a couple of hundred men out if they needed to, in a place this size.

“They do not,” Teyla said. “But you should ask for our weapons, not grab them. It is the kind of thing that breeds…misunderstandings.”

“Your pardon,” Tolas said. He held out his hand. “Your weapons?”

Teyla looked at John sideways, waiting for his cue. Was this going to be a fight or not?

Not. This wasn’t the time for it, and starting something would sour any chance they had at a deal. Besides, Lorne and the rescue jumper would be showing up any second now. Rodney must have dialed out hours and hours ago. Better to make that kind of stand with some firepower behind it if they needed to make it.

“Sure,” he said, giving Tolas a charming grin. “Happy to.” He handed over the pistol, butt first. Teyla passed over her hunting knife.

“Many thanks,” Tolas said with a smile John hoped wasn’t ironic. He gestured to the door. “Please make yourselves at home. I will go arrange an appointment with the king.”

One of the guards, the one John had kicked good and hard, opened the door with a resentful look. There was something about the gesture that reminded John suddenly of a movie, of Lando Calrissian. Not good. The next line ought to be ‘we would be honored if you joined us,’ and then it would all go from bad to worse and probably end with him trapped in a block of carbonite, which never seemed like it would be a very fun experience. John and his friends had argued as kids over whether or not you knew what was going on while you were flash frozen in a block of stuff, and he’d argued for not. Because otherwise just seemed too awful.

On the other hand, that line of thought ended up with him getting rescued by Teyla, and he could think of worse…

She was looking at him doubtfully, waiting for him to either go in or not.

“Right,” John said. “We’re all good here.” He ambled through the door hoping that his easy stance covered the tension. Teyla followed. And somehow he wasn’t a bit surprised when the door shut behind them and he heard the bar put down.

“Why…” Teyla began.

John put his finger to his lips. “Over here,” he said, leading her across the room from the door where their conversation wouldn’t be heard. “We take them down, then what?”

Teyla looked at him, a tiny frown between her brows. “I agree, but it is not like you to be so prudent.”

John glanced around the room. “Look, we’re in no immediate danger. This thing keeps getting kicked upstairs, one guy after another throwing his weight around. By now Lorne’s on the way with a team of Marines. We try something and it doesn’t work and we’ve wasted our cards. It’s better to bargain with a squad of Marines behind us.”

Teyla looked concerned. “And your head is bothering you.”

“I’m ok.”

She shook her head, reaching up to check the bandage. “You are not. Or you would have tried something back there. Are you dizzy?”

“Just a little lightheaded,” John admitted. “I’ll be fine.”

“You will rest,” Teyla said. “In here where it is cool. I do not like you still being lightheaded. The sooner we get you to Dr. Beckett, the better.” She steered him over to a chair by the window. “Sit.”

It was, he thought, a pretty comfortable chair. And the view was nothing short of amazing. The fourth floor window looked out over the top of the walls to the harbor and sea, the roofs of houses and shops and the docks where lanteen sailed ships tied up, their hulls as bright as birds against the green sea. The breakwater was ornamented with fantastical turrets, and the ramparts of the wall featured emplacements for things John swore were ballistae. He’d seen a reconstruction of one once, and those looked like it. That was pretty advanced siege weaponry. He wondered who the enemy was that Pelagia stood in such a state of readiness and suspicion. Who was the enemy? Not the Wraith, surely. Ballistae wouldn’t be much use against energy weapons.

The people of The Chora? Jitrine had said that there was tension over tribute, that The Chora was mad about the increase lately, resented having to send tribute to Pelagia. Was there an active rebellion? And if so, was Tolas the loyal stooge or the rebel? Was he playing his own game, with John and Teyla as pieces in it?

Teyla came and stood beside his chair, her eyes on the distant sea. “Something is wrong,” she said.

“Tell me about it.” The sheer curtains blew in a fresh sea breeze. It wasn’t hot here, not with the wind blowing, and the desert kept the humidity low. If this were a resort, lots of people would pay good money for it.

“There is something going on,” Teyla said. “And I do not think it is all about the Wraith. If it were, surely it would be obvious to them that we are not Wraith, and if they were certain we were enemies, why not kill us? They are not sure of something. But they are afraid.”

“Yeah.” John turned his head to catch the breeze on his neck and damp hair. “Those fortifications wouldn’t stop the Wraith for five minutes. So who are they meant to stop?”

“I do not know, but we had best find out,” she said. “Perhaps we can turn it to our advantage. Certainly these people seem to have plenty of food.”

“Which is always an issue.”

Even now that they had contact with Earth there were major issues of supply. It was quite simply impossible to supply a base the size of Atlantis with food brought by the Daedalus on her thirty-six day round trip, eighteen days out and eighteen days back. They could dial Earth, but Earth couldn’t dial them, making resupply through the Stargate impossible. Therefore the bulk of their food had to be traded for locally, and it was a constant challenge finding people with enough of a surplus to trade who were also willing to trade with them. Teyla had been invaluable the last year in making the deals that kept them in supply, since she already had contacts and a measure of trust the team from Earth didn’t have.

“If they have enemies…” Teyla began, and then let the sentence hang. He knew where it went. People with enemies wanted weapons, weapons more effective than ballistae and spears. A couple of guns wouldn’t do much except whet their appetite for more.

“Yeah.” John pulled the radio out of his pocket. It was still on standby, the battery low. Where the hell was Lorne? But it was a big planet. With no idea where they were, Lorne would have to take a broad search pattern. But even so, he’d probably been in the air for hours.

“Do you suppose Rodney had trouble with the gate?” Teyla asked.

Obviously her mind worked the same way. He’d been trying not to think about that option. “It’s Rodney,” John said. “He can fix a Stargate. And even if he didn’t get the DHD working, Elizabeth could send Lorne and a team through from her end.”

“True.” Teyla frowned, putting the back of her hand to his forehead. “You do not feel feverish, but I am concerned about this dizziness.”

“I’m fine,” John insisted. “We just need to gather as much intel as we can and stay ready. It’s not like we’re chained up in a basement or something.” He looked out the broad open window. Four stories up, but the stonework was rough with many possible handholds, and the top of the curtain wall wasn’t far away. He could probably do it without much trouble. But Teyla would have a hard time with her injured shoulder. He bet it wouldn’t take her weight. That was Plan B for certain.

“Yes,” she said with an expression that looked like forcing her face to relax. “So we should make ourselves comfortable, and perhaps the king will see us soon.”