Halcyon

Chapter Three

She was running. Always running. Her limbs pistoned as she threw herself forward, heedless and unguided through the monochrome landscape. The hills and the twisted, skeletal trees rose up around her, black shadows falling across the dirty white ice that coated the ground. She sensed the wind on her bare arms, her neck and face; it should have been razor sharp and frigid, but her body was flooded with warmth and she felt clammy with sweat. The snow fell in a steep-angled blizzard, washing over her. It was wrong.

She was running. The sky was hollow and dark, the icy rains crossing it like a screen full of static. Where was she going? Did she even know where she was?

Emerging here and there from the snowdrifts were yellowed hummocks of cured hide and canvas, some whole, others ripped open and flapping in the wind. The tents were arranged in a familiar pattern, in the way of the tribes of Athos; but this was a dead village, torn into shreds and murdered in the frozen gloom. There were no bodies. There never were.

She hurtled through the encampment, unable to stop, her pumping legs refusing to give up the headlong pace. In the black out there she could hear the murmur of alien voices, growls and shrieks, animalistic noises. It was wrong. They encircled her even as she fled them, distant and echoing.

She was running. The ground around her spilt and splashed beneath her boots, the snows disintegrating into puddles, melt water pools shrinking and retreating into the dark. Where the ice withdrew she saw that the things that looked like tents, trees, hills, were nothing of the kind. They changed without changing, the earthen ground they clung to turning hard and obdurate. Faded grasses merged into hard stone cobbles, and streets grew up around her. Tall tenements that vanished into the night sky, high chimneys throwing clotted gray ashes from their mouths.

She stumbled and fell, striking the rough-hewn paving stones, scarring her hands; but there was no pain. It was wrong.

With effort she propelled herself to her feet and saw the children there beneath the sickly, sputtering light of a yellowed street lamp, dancing and laughing around the crooked iron pillar. The shrieking, screaming chorus was getting closer, looming along the pitch-black alleys that radiated away from where she stood.

She called to them, but her throat went tight and rebelled against her, stopped her from making a single sound. The children turned their backs, bats and ball in their hands, making play against a red brick wall, jostling one another.

The tremor of the silenced cry shot through her body in a shocking electric wave. Did they not hear? Could they not see to the shadows, the pale-faced things loping and stumbling, closer and closer?

She faced the darkness, the uncountable snarling horrors, ready to fight them; but her training failed her. As if a dam had breached and the reservoir of all her warrior skill had been drained away, she could bring up nothing to battle the beasts with.

It was wrong. She saw them now, the straggle-haired and corpse-pallor killers shambling into the halo of weak lamplight. They were different; the monstrous arrogance in their eyes was gone, replaced by a bestial, brutish manner. They howled like graywolves.

She spun in place, desperate to try one last time to warn the children. The players turned and altered as they finally heard the faint cry that she pressed from her throat. The children were Wraiths, hands distending into claws of black nails, hair fading white, faces crinkling as new features emerged and orchards of fangs split from red mouths. They advanced on her, snapping and purring at one another, and suddenly she understood that they were not in danger.

I am.

And then she was running, running and fleeing, but nothing moved, the road sucked her down, and the Wraith came close, hands extending, each of them desperate for a taste of her.

John heard the scream, and the sound jolted him instantly to wakefulness from the light doze he had slipped into. Before he could properly register it, the reflexive actions of his training had propelled him out of the bedroom with his Beretta pistol in his hand. He was across the anteroom in ten quick paces, bisecting the circular chamber and rushing headlong for the guest quarters provided for Teyla Emmagan. He was dimly aware of movement behind him as Mason and the others were alerted.

Sheppard saw the splintering around the brass handle and the gap where the door was hanging ajar. Leading with the gun, safety off and hammer back, the colonel shouldered the door open and moved swiftly inside.

It was stuffy; he smelled human sweat, feverish and clammy. In the center of the bedroom, identical in layout to each of the chambers off the anteroom, there was a wide bed with a net of gossamer muslin thrown over it. The sleeping pallet was in utter disarray and the silken sheets were a coiled snarl, dangling off the bed and heaped on the wooden floor. John came around the side of the muslin mesh and there was Ronon, also armed, low down in a crouch next to the tangle of sheets. Teyla lay there, shivering.

"Oh," managed Sheppard, a sudden and unexplained dart of resentment rising in him. He pushed it away. "You, uh, were-

"I was outside. Heard her cry out," explained Dex. He jerked a thumb at the door. "She locked it," Sheppard thought he caught a note of awkwardness in the other man's voice. "Came running."

"Yeah, me too." The colonel made his weapon safe, holstered it and bent down to help the Athosian woman extricate herself from the sheets.

"Forgive me, John," she mumbled. "I… It was…"

"Problem, sir?" called Mason from the doorway. "She need a doc, sir?"

"We'll handle this," Ronon told him firmly.

Mason said nothing and backed away.

Teyla took a long draught from a carafe of water beside the bed. As Sheppard watched, her breathing eased. "That was most disturbing."

Dex eyed her. "Bad dream? Is that all it was?"

"It was vivid. I felt something."

"Felt something as in a nightmare something, or…" Sheppard made a winding-up motion near his temple. "Or a Wraith kinda something?"

"I cannot make sense of it," she said, her brow furrowing in concentration. "The recall fades. It is like trying to catch smoke in my hands." She licked dry lips. "Before, when the Wraith touched my mind, my dreams, it was different. There was intelligence there, malicious but with clear intent. This was not like that."

"Go on," said John. He was the first to admit he didn't fully understand the workings of Teyla's Wraith-altered physiology, but what he did know was that she could touch the edges of the telepathic network the aliens used to communicate. If that was bleeding into her dreams, then he had to give it his complete attention.

"They were more…" Sheppard could see Teyla was struggling to hold on to the dream images, trying hard to articulate them. "Vicious. Primitive. Like wild animals."

"The Wraith have always been animals," said Ronon, with feeling.

"But not like this. Not literally." She sipped more water. "Colonel, I am certain of one thing. This dream was not just the creation of my mind. There are many Wraith here, on Halcyon."

"How many?" Sheppard felt ice forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Hundreds. Perhaps more."

Ronon and John exchanged a loaded glance. "Are you okay now?" Sheppard asked.

Teyla gave him a shaky smile. "Yes, thank you. If I could have a moment alone to gather myself."

The two men left the room. "We'll be right outside if you need us," added Dex. "Sorry about the door."

Mason and the other SAS soldiers straightened as they walked back into the antechamber. Sheppard saw right away that they had a wary look about them, as if they'd been caught discussing something they shouldn't have. Mason returned a level gaze, but the question was clear in Corporal Clarke's eyes.

"Let's hear it," said the colonel. "Who's going to say what you're all thinking?"

Private Hill found an interesting piece of carpet to occupy his attention. After a moment, Clarke gave a slight frown. "Lieutenant Colonel, sir," he began, pronouncing the rank as Left-tenant in the way the Brits always did. "Your lass there, Tina…"

"Teyla,"

"Yeah. There was talk back in the city about her. Some of your Marine Corps lads said the bozos did something to her, when she was a nipper, like."

Sheppard noticed that Mason wasn't doing anything to stop Clarke from speaking his mind; clearly the senior non-com wanted to know the same thing as his subordinate. "She's not a danger to the unit, if that's where you're going with this," he broke in, steel in his tone. "Teyla Emmagan is a vital part of this team and you will respect that, Corporal."

"I don't doubt it, sir. It's just that… Well, are we going to have to jump every time she talks in her sleep?"

Sheppard gave Clarke a penetrating look. "Just so we're clear on this. Teyla's `gift' may be the very thing that keeps us alive when the Wraith come calling. If she has something to say, you listen. Get me?"

Clarke stiffened. "Sir, yes sir. Didn't mean to cast aspersions, sir."

John sighed. "Look, I know it's not conventional intel, but nothing out here is conventional." He smiled a little. "That ought to be the motto of Stargate Command."

"You're telling us," said Hill in a low voice.

Mason threw a nod at the door that led out of the guest quarters. "I've set up a two-point watch rotation, sir. If anything else… unconventional happens, we'll be ready."

Sheppard nodded. "I'll take the first shift, Staff Sergeant. Now I'm awake, might as well make the most of it."

"I'll join you," said Ronon. "Can't sleep on beds that soft anyhow."

John shrugged as they walked away. "If we ask the Magnate nicely, I'm sure he'd find a big rock for you, or something."

Dex was silent for a moment. "Clarke had a point. About Teyla."

"Yeah," agreed the colonel, "but I trust her. We know the locals planned to bring the Wraith they captured on M3Y-465 back through the Gate. Could be them she's sensing."

"What if there's more to it?"

"Now that…" Sheppard frowned. "That's a different question."

McKay leaned back from the eyepiece of the massive telescope and a glimmer of amazement crossed his expression. "I apologize," he said, half-turning to look at Kelfer and Lady Erony. "Obviously, it was impolite of me to suggest that you didn't know how to take the lens cap off your own telescope. I see that now…" Down below on the lower level, McKay could see Private Bishop, nibbling from a ration bar and generally looking a bit bored. Sheppard had, of course, insisted he take an escort with him; not that he thought he couldn't handle someone so clearly as stolid as the Magnate's chief scientist.

"It was an honest mistake," said Kelfer, wearing a forced smile. "An error that any new visitor to our planet could have made."

"Yes…" Rodney looked along the length of the device, out through the oval portal in the observatory's dome to the night sky beyond. The firmament up there was black as coal, and of course, naturally he had just assumed that it was due to light pollution from the city masking out all of the weaker stars. But when he peered through the optics and saw the same flat black ness, McKay's first reaction was to suggest the telescope was broken. I mean, no stars at all? How likely was that?

In fact there were some faint suns out there, but hardly any. The sights that hove into view as they swung the observatory dome around were mostly the planets in the stellar shallows orbiting Halcyon's yellow star, gas giants and lifeless balls of ice and rock.

"In the southern hemisphere," Erony was saying, "the sky looks very different. There is a band of stars crossing the sky from horizon to horizon. Our forefathers called the constellation the White River."

McKay stepped down from the observation chair and worked at the portable computer he had brought with him. "We must be right out on the edge," he said, thinking aloud. Before visiting the observatory, Erony had taken him on a walk through a library in the heart of the palace, past racks of scrolls veiled in cobwebs. He'd only had time to look over a few of them, a handful of historical tracts and yellowed charts of the skies. "If those stellar maps you showed me were accurate, then we can deduce the location of Halcyon in physical space and its relative distance from Atlantis…"

"To what end?" said Kelfer.

McKay hesitated. "To, uh, gain an idea of how the Pegasus Galaxy is structured…" The device beeped and presented a wire frame graphic of the galactic disc. "Do you see here?" He pointed as the image zoomed in toward the very tip of a feathery limb of star-stuff. "This solar system is on the end of a spiral arm. You're in the interstellar equivalent of the boondocks!" Rodney smirked at his own joke.

"Boohn-dox?" repeated the scientist. "I don't know this term."

McKay's gag fell flat and he moved on. "Halcyon is on the very edge of the Stargate network built by the Ancients… The, ah, Precursors. That place where you keep the Gate? When someone named it the Terminal, they weren't far wrong. If you think of the Stargates in the same terms as your monorails, then this planet is at the end of the line!"

"Are you making light of us?" said Erony gently. "I assure you, Dr. McKay, Halcyon is anything but a parochial outpost."

"No, no," Rodney insisted, back-pedaling a little. "I was just using a metaphor. Bad choice. Sorry." He tapped a finger on his lips. "This opens up a lot of possibilities about Gate travel here, the pattern of the network. A portal this far out from the main concentration of inhabited worlds could mean we'd see a similar spread of Stargates to those in our own galaxy… I mean, my galaxy, Earth's galaxy…"

Kelfer gave a derisive snort. "Your Earth is in another galaxy? Impossible. The power to translate across extragalactic distances would be incalculable!"

McKay gave the other man a sideways look. "You think so?"

"Of course!" Kelfer replied hotly. "The magnitude of energy would be greater than the detonation of an exploding star! No science could create a mechanism to contain such intensity."

It dawned on Rodney that Kelfer, for all his high title and impressive clothes, was narrow-minded and not in the market for challenging viewpoints. Moreover, his statement made it clear that the Halcyon scientist had never even conceived of something like a Zero Point Module.

"No science?" McKay repeated. "Not even that of the Precursors?"

Kelfer snorted again. "I admit the Great Circlet is a masterpiece of technology, but not even the builders of that device could do such a thing. They were mortal beings, after all, not gods."

"Depends on your definition…" said Rodney, half to himself.

"It pleases me that you have found such food for thought here, Doctor," said Erony with a smile. Her eyes flashed as she met his gaze and something in her look make him swallow hard. She continued; "I must admit, I find this intellectual discussion to be most stimulating. Sadly, there is precious little opportunity for the scientific disciplines that do not directly impact upon Halcyon's martial or industrial might."

"No doubt," McKay nodded. He had noted on the way in to the observatory that the facility was dusty with age and showed little signs of regular use. "Astronomy isn't much help when you're building weapons, I suppose."

"Quite so," agreed Kelfer, completely missing the irony. "It is the duty of every learned person in our society to work toward keeping our planet strong and maintaining our superiority over the Wraith."

"Hmm. Well, your `superiority'?" Rodney made quote marks with his fingers. "I think that may have more to do with your astro-geographical location than how big your guns are."

Kelfer sneered. "This is another one of your theories, outworlder?"

McKay gave a thin smile. "Trust me, Kelfer, after a while most people catch up to the fact that my theories and the truth are the same thing…" He paused, the smile faltering. "Well, most of the time they are. But anyway. I'm willing to bet that the reason your planet has been free of Wraith attacks is because of its remoteness, galactically speaking, in relation to Wraith territory."

"Pah!" spat the scientist, his ire building. "I will not hear you disparage our military in such a fashion! The Halcyons are formidable warriors with a reputation that strides the stars! We are the ones who give them nightmares!" Kelfer stalked away, out on to the balcony around the dome, fuming and muttering.

"It's always nice to meet someone with an open mind," said McKay.

"I could not agree more." The silky tone in Erony's words made Rodney's mouth turn arid. "You are a most interesting man, Dr. Rodney McKay. I wonder, is there anything else you might like to observe this evening?"

"Oh," He was suddenly at a loss for words. "Um." But that was hardly surprising. It wasn't every day a princess came on to him. "The dolmen?" The question came out in a squeak.

Erony seemed crestfallen for an instant, but then the flash of disappointment was gone. "Of course. I have petitioned my father on your behalf. As the site is of great significance to our people, he must personally approve your request to visit it. I imagine he will give you an answer in a few days."

"Great," Rodney replied. "Phew. Well. It's been a long day. Perhaps we should get to bed." He blinked. "I mean, I should get to bed. To the quarters. To rest."

She gave a gracious nod. "Of course. Please, follow me. I'll show you back to your associates."

Private Bishop rolled his eyes as he caught up with McKay. "Smooth, Rodders. Very smooth."

"Shut up," he hissed, and kept walking.

Sheppard leaned against the stone balustrade and took in the view. The air out here had turned chilly after sunset, so he had put his jacket back on. The P90 and the rest of his gear were back in his room, but he had his service pistol on him, just in case. The colonel couldn't shake the cautious feeling that was gathering at the nape of his neck, the slight warning tingle that made his fingers drum on the carved marble.

Hell, who am I kidding? He asked himself. I am way outside my comfort zone here. Sheppard was too much a soldier to ever get used to the mix of outward smiles and inward suspicions that this whole diplomatic, first contact thing involved.

A figure emerged through the heavy curtains from the anteroom. Teyla nodded to him as she approached. "Colonel."

She looked better and he was pleased to see it. The sallow, frightened expression on her face in the bedroom was so at odds with the casual confidence the Athosian woman usually displayed, it had concerned him. "How're you feeling?"

Teyla frowned. "Sleep eludes me for the moment. Perhaps it is for the best." She paused. "I have not sensed the Wraith again, Colonel."

"I wasn't asking as your commanding officer, I was asking as your friend," he replied. "I know it's hard on you."

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you, John. I appreciate your concern." Teyla gave him an appraising look. "And how do you feel?"

Sheppard gave a half-smile. "Just peachy."

"I do not envy your role in this," Teyla admitted. "The directness of battle is far more desirable to me than the courtly wordgames of these aristocrats."

"Ah, you know how it is. Rich folks are different to ordinary Joes like you and me."

"They are polite, but… I think they may privately see us as their inferiors."

Sheppard nodded. "You got that too, huh? Well, this is their planet, and they do have a big huge palace. I guess if you're going to throw your weight around, a palace would be the place to do it in."

"But their arrogance towards the Wraith concerns me, John. And there is also the issue of the prisoners we saw them take on M3Y-465. Lord Daus never answered my question."

John tapped the stones. "Could be they're going to interrogate them, but then we know from experience that kinda thing yields mixed results at best."

"There is another possibility. The Halcyons may be harvesting the enzymes in their feeding sacs."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed as he considered that. Unbidden, thoughts of his friend Aiden Ford rose to the front of his mind; he recalled the young Lieutenant when they embarked from Stargate Command on the first trip to Atlantis, the eagerness in his face-and then he remembered the changes in him after the Wraith assault that nearly cost Aiden his life, the single dark eye that now disfigured him, the legacy of the changes the alien forced upon the young man. He was convinced Ford was still out there somewhere, too cunning to die easily, his heart pumping with doses of the mutagenic Wraith biochemical. Stronger, wilder, out of control. The idea that people might willingly be harvesting the narcotic fluids of the Wraith filled him with dread. "The thought had crossed my mind. We're going to have to find out what's up with that before we open any real dealings between Halcyon and Atlantis."

They were both quiet for a moment. Teyla looked out over the cityscape beneath them. "This citadel is built on the tallest part of the landscape in this area. The Magnate has made sure that everyone below in the city understands who rules them. They only need to look upward."

Sheppard followed her gaze. "I get the feeling they're only showing us what they think we need to see." He nodded at the city sprawl radiating away from the palace, the lights in the streets far below and the grim clusters of buildings. "I'd like to peek behind the curtain…" The colonel broke off. He heard a voice from the anteroom and realized that McKay had returned.

"Thanks again," said Rodney, ignoring the smirk on Bishop's face, and he gave Erony a small wave, unsure if it was correct protocol to bow or shake hands. For her part, the noblewoman inclined her head. They had left Kelfer behind, the scientist making excuses about `vital work' requiring his attention, but in truth McKay suspected it was the building dislike between them that drove the other man away; which was fine. Rodney wouldn't miss him.

Sheppard and Teyla crossed the room, and the colonel threw a nod to the SAS soldier. Bishop responded in kind, and McKay found himself wondering how it was that military types could communicate so much with just a non-verbal twitch of the head. Must be something they teach them in boot camp, he thought.

"Colonel, Teyla," said Erony. "I trust you find your accommodations to your satisfaction?"

"Sure do," said Sheppard. "I trust Dr. McKay was on his best behavior?"

"He was a consummate gentleman," she replied. Erony did the little bobbing-head thing again and made to leave. "If there is anything you require-"

"There is," Teyla broke in on an impulse. "A question." The Athosian woman glanced at Sheppard, who did nothing to halt her. "In the hall today. I asked after the fate of the Wraith we saw your hunt splinter take captive in the abandoned village. I did not receive a reply."

Erony's face tightened. "That matter is of no consequence to you."

"Pardon me," Teyla pressed, "but I would insist otherwise. Any Wraith, even those held in chains, are a dangerous prospect."

"What you insist is irrelevant!" snapped the other woman, suddenly fierce. McKay blinked, wondering where the demure princess who had made advances on him had gone. The change in her manner was as swift as it was surprising; but then Erony's face softened and her flash of anger was gone again. "Please understand, Teyla Emmagan. You are all outworlders and unfamiliar with the ways of our society. Trust me when I tell you that the Wraith we took pose no threat."

A thought struck McKay with such abruptness that he was speaking it aloud before he could stop himself. "Was that where Kelfer was going? Are you… Oh no, are you draining that enzyme super-freak juice from them?"

"What are you implying?" Erony showed genuine shock.

"The Wraith feeding enzyme," said Sheppard. "Are you harvesting it to use on yourselves?"

The woman's face turned ashen. "What… What kind of people do you think we are?" She looked for a moment as if she were going to be ill, the color draining from her face. "The mere idea of such a thing! That we would take the filth that runs in the veins of those animals and put it into the body of a Halcyon? The thought disgusts me!" Erony shook her head, her voice rising. "We do not need to taint ourselves with their base blood! Our will to fight is more than enough to defeat them!"

"No one would willingly allow themselves to be marked by the Wraith," said a new voice. Vekken emerged from the shadow of the corridor, watching Teyla carefully. "Such things are anathema to the Halcyon character."

Rodney gulped. "Lady Erony, I'm sorry, we didn't mean to insult you…"

The woman became calm again, shooting a sideways look at her father's adjutant. "Of… Of course. You will pardon my outburst. You are outworlders and you knew no better than to suggest such a thing. Clearly, you have much more to learn about the temperament of my people than I thought."

"My Lady," said Vekken. "Your father asks that you attend him at your earliest convenience."

"Yes, thank you." Erony gave a small bow and walked swiftly away, her boots clacking on the wooden tiles. She never once met the steely gaze of the adjutant.

"Dodged the question again," said Sheppard in a low voice. "That's two-for-two."

"The affairs of the Wraith are not something that is spoken of in polite society, Lieutenant Colonel," Vekken noted. "Her Highness's outburst was a mild admonition compared to the rebuke you might have received had you asked the same question to one of the barony. Indeed, blood might have been shed because of it."

"But you were all for bragging about how many of them you'd killed!" snapped McKay.

"That is a different matter, Dr. McKay. A warrior's battle record is something to be celebrated."

Sheppard's brow furrowed. "Y'know, I'm having a hard time following the way you people think."

"That much is certain," noted Vekken dryly. "Then, in the interests of smoothing the path of your future parlays with my Lord Magnate, let me explain this to you. There is among the nation of Halcyon a great abhorrence for the Wraith, coupled with an innate knowledge of our superiority over them."

Rodney snorted in derision, but if Vekken noticed he didn't acknowledge it.

"But this is matched by a loathing of what they represent. Their bestial, vampiric nature is the very antithesis of ours," he tapped his chest, "and the thought of being alike to them in any way fills other souls with cold horror."

"Well, there's something we got in common, then," said Sheppard. "Now, do I have to ask again? What's going on with the prisoners?"

Vekken gave a small smile. "You'll learn that soon enough."

Since the adjutant's arrival, Teyla had remained silent; but now she spoke. "You said `other souls'. Do you not include yourself among them?"

He studied her. "No, Teyla Emmagan, I do not. And I would imagine you already know the reason why."

Teyla hesitated for a long moment. "This man… He is like me. His bloodline was once changed by the Wraith. I can sense it…"

Vekken nodded. "I knew it to be true when I first saw you, Teyla. Our kind is very rare on Halcyon. Many of the families who suffered the machinations of the Wraith were wiped out in the Age of Unification, once the Circlet's portals were opened. Those of us who remain are feared."

"Erony," considered McKay, "she was spooked by you the moment you arrived."

"That is why her father made me his adjutant. There is no better guardian and warmaster than a Wraithkin. The fable is as sharp as any blade."

"Wraithkin…" Teyla repeated the word, weighing the meaning of it.

"I saw that term in some of the historical scrolls I glanced through," said Rodney. "I wasn't sure of the translation, but that fits." He turned to Sheppard. "Basically, the Halcyons think of people with Teyla's, ah, gift, like people on Earth used to think of witches."

The colonel blinked. "You're kidding me."

"Nope. And when I say witches, I don't mean the meaddrinking, naked-dancing Wiccan kind. I'm talking the baby-eating, broomstick-riding, turn-you-into-a-frog kind."

Sheppard looked at Vekken. "Thanks for the heads-up. Anything else you want to share with us?"

"Tread carefully, Lieutenant Colonel. Everything you do here is under close scrutiny. You are being judged, and if you are found wanting…" He showed that thin smile again. "Halcyon has never been tolerant of weakness." Vekken turned to leave and then hesitated on the threshold. "Oh. How remiss of me. Our conversation was so engaging, I almost overlooked the purpose of my visit. I have an invitation from the Lord Magnate for you and your associates. His Highness requires your presence tomorrow at an event in the Relia Lowlands."

"A party?" said Sheppard hopefully.

Vekken walked away, throwing a last comment over his shoulder. "He's hosting a war."

Rodney's jaw dropped. "A what?"

The rotorplane flew fast and level over the countryside at treetop level, gently rising and falling in and out of the nap of the earth. Through the oval portholes in the main cabin, Sheppard saw flashes of greenery and the odd cluster of lonesome buildings. They'd been airborne for an hour or two now, and except for a brief fuelling stop, the aircraft had been racing at what appeared to be full throttle all the way.

"I must admit, I do not understand your curiosity," Linnian was saying as Sheppard moved up the metal deck to the front of the rotorplane. "Do you find the passenger cabin to be uncomfortable?"

"Nope," John replied. "I'm just interested, that's all. I've never ridden in a steam-age helicopter before, and I'd like to see how it works."

"Actually, our gyro-flyers are powered by electrochemical batteries and powdered fuel volatiles," replied the adjutant. He frowned, clearly caught between his orders to obey Sheppard, and his Halcyonite ideas of decorum. But his mistress wasn't here, so he had to go with the colonel's demands. Linnian opened the hatch and ushered John into the wide cockpit.

The pilot and co-pilot both started as they realized they had company. Like Linnian, they wore the black of the Fourth Dynast, but their uniforms were cut differently, with less in the way of medals and sigils. Sheppard threw them an easy grin. "Hey guys, don't mind us. Just looking around."

The pilot gave Linnian a confused look and the adjutant returned him a shrug.

John leaned forward. The design and structure of the cockpit reminded him of the pressed-steel interiors of old warbirds from the 1940s, but more ornate. Etched brass and turned wood detail was on everything. Bright sunlight filled the cockpit from curved greenhouse windows. Back along the streamlined fuse lage he could see the sweeping arc of two interlocked, counter-rotating helicopter blades on stubby winglets. "Hell of a lot different from a Huey or a Pave Hawk…"

The co-pilot blinked at him. "You… You are an aviator?" The very idea appeared to be absurd to him.

"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force. If you can catch sky with it, I'll fly it."

"But we were informed that you are officer nobility on your own world. Do you not have subordinates for the work of piloting?"

"Some do. Frankly, though, the day I don't get to take the stick anymore is the day I'll retire."

Linnian frowned again. He was doing a lot of that. "Our command cadres do not sully themselves with such labor, Lieutenant Colonel. Frankly, I am surprised your people do otherwise."

Sheppard threw the co-pilot a wink. "Well, I guess I can understand you boys not wanting to let the senior ranks fly this baby. They'd find out how much fun it was and then you'd be out of a job, right?"

The other man smiled briefly, and John knew that he'd connected with him; they shared a moment of mutual respect, and a flyer's passion for the open skies. "Perhaps… You might like to take the controls for a moment, sir?"

"Oh yeah," Before Linnian could complain, Sheppard had swapped places with the co-pilot and gave a nod to the aircraft commander. "Thanks."

The pilot seemed wary and somewhat alarmed at being spoken to directly. Sheppard ran his eyes over the console. Most of the usual dials and controls were there, but labeled in the Halcyon semi-Ancient-style text. Still, he picked out the artificial horizon, what looked like airspeed and engine temperature. There were foot pedals for the rudders and a complex set of gear and throttle levers behind a butterfly-shaped yoke. He'd seen something similar on the wheels of formula one racing cars. "I have the aircraft," he announced.

The pilot nervously relinquished control, and there was a slight flutter as Sheppard settled in; but then he got it, leaning into the motion of the gyro-flyer and letting the craft tell him how it wanted to move. "Sweet," he said. "She handles real well."

"This flyer has been in service to His Highness for nine cycles," said the co-pilot, a hint of pride in his voice. "We've ferried the Lord Magnate himself on no less than four sojourns."

His eyes locked on the horizon, Sheppard kept his voice level. "Seen any combat? She's pretty nimble, I bet."

"Not in this vessel. I was once a Shrike pilot," said the other man. "They are rocketplanes with gun capacity. I served under Lord Daus's cousin Kalyn before his holdings were annexed."

"Rocket, huh? If we get the chance, I'll show you something that could leave that in the dust. We call it a Puddle Jumper-" Sheppard's words died in his throat as he caught sight of something in the distance. His seasoned aviator's situational awareness took his eye to it immediately. Sunlight glittered on metallic white spheres and a large silver cylinder was moving ponderously over a hillside; but what made him alert were the flickers of cannon fire and the plumes of black smoke rising from the valley. The distant rumble of shell detonations reached them seconds after a string of orange flares.

"Take the controls!" snapped Linnian, and Sheppard found himself jostled out of the seat by the apologetic co-pilot. "Lieutenant Colonel, I think we should return to the passenger cabin."

"In a second," John said firmly, placing himself behind the pilot's chair. Blinks of white from a spotlight atop the cylinder-which was quickly resolving into the shape of a huge airship-reflected off the windows. The co-pilot used a device like a flashlight to return another series of blinks, Morse-code style.

The gyro-flyer climbed as they crossed a stand of high trees and then abruptly they were over a war zone. The pilots guided the aircraft around thick tethers holding the fat balloons in place at the borders of the valley. Sheppard saw ringed decks dangling from the gasbags as they passed them by. He looked down.

There were no trees or brush of any kind on the ground, the space beneath them just acres and acres of cracked and broken earth, marred by impact craters and the broad, long scars of trenches. He spotted the stone domes of pillboxes, snarls of barbed wire and shallow bunkers. Wrecked ground vehicles were dotted randomly, mired in the rust-colored mud. Here and there were pillars that were strangely untouched by the battle, with large wooden placards hanging off them on chains. The flyer turned away and then back toward the airship in a long loop, coming in toward the far side of it. Through streams of smoke he saw a column of men in tan-colored uniforms rise up in a wave from a trench and surge out across the no-man's land, rifles barking and spitting vapor.

"We won't be fired upon," said Linnian, pre-empting the question forming in Sheppard's mind. "The combatants know that their exercise would be forfeit if even a single shot were to strike a neutral unit."

The rotordyne slowed to a hover over the spine of the airship and settled on to a flat landing platform across its back.

The opulent design of the monorail carriage was repeated inside the massive zeppelin. The design of the airship, even down to the scrollwork on the iron girders, made the craft look more like a flying basilica than a vehicle for transport.

"His Highness has several of these ships for duties of state," explained Linnian as they walked down through the wood-paneled decks. John led the group with Teyla, Ronon, McKay and Hill following. Despite Staff Sergeant Mason's misgivings, Sheppard had ordered him to remain in the city with Bishop and Clarke.

Linnian was still speaking. "This vessel serves as his personal air-yacht."

"More like air-battleship," murmured Rodney. "It's got gun turrets all over it. All it needs is Hindenburg written on the side…"

Hill went a little pale. "You saying this blimp is full of hydrogen gas?"

"Yes," sniffed McKay, "that would be the faint fart smell in the air." He shot Sheppard a lethal stare. "How I let you talk me in to coming aboard this death-trap-"

"Stop talking," grated Ronon. "Or you can get off."

"Believe me, I'd love to, but we're a hundred feet above the ground!"

"That's right."

McKay fell silent for the moment.

The adjutant nodded to a pair of soldiers as they approached, and the men opened a wide oval hatchway. Linnian directed them through, and they emerged into a broad observation gallery with a low ceiling, situated at the bottom of the main gondola below the airship. Sheppard had wondered about leaving his weapons behind in the palace before coming here, and in the end he had opted not to take the P90, but kept the pistol. Now he felt positively under-armed, as everyone in the gallery, from the officers in their over-decorated uniforms to the gossamerdressed companions on their arms, had some kind of weapon on them.

Erony was waiting for them. She had changed her hunt clothes for something less masculine, although the tunic and skirt still had the look of a soldier about them. "Lieutenant Colonel, everyone, welcome. Please, come with me."

The gallery was an inverted fishbowl that looked down on the battlefield, the shadow of the airship casting a dark ellipse upon the earth. Gunfire and war cries reached them through the windows. It was clear straight away that the assembled observers were clumped into three distinct cliques. On a raised platform in the middle of the room were Daus and his group, Vekken at his shoulder watching Sheppard's team with an unveiled stare. The Magnate, Kelfer and Muruw were engaged in an animated conversation, and now and then Daus would pause to look at a sheaf of paper offered up from a brown-hooded servant. The servant shuttled back and forth between large teletype machines that clattered and hummed, spitting out more paper at regular intervals. The other two groups were as far from each other as they could get, each against the opposite side of the gallery, crowding the windows. The closest was composed largely of men in tan uniforms the same shade as the soldiers Sheppard had seen on the ground. Among them he saw one of the noblemen whose disagreement he'd curtailed in the Chamber of Audiences. There was a crash of explosive noise from outside and the baron and his party clapped and gave harsh laughter. Over their heads, a board with glowing valve-digits hissed and changed, although Sheppard couldn't read the meaning in them.

"Oh, hard luck for Palfrun!" said one of the tan officers to his commander. "I do feel so sorry for him!" The tone of the man's voice made it quite clear that the reverse was true.

An angry snarl drew John's attention to the other group, who were a similar mix of nobles, except there the predominant uniform color was light blue. Another familiar face pushed his way to the front of the group; it was the hot-headed swordsman that Vekken had faced down in the palace. "Baron Palfrun, lackey!" spat the man. "You will show me the respect of my rank! Or are your men short of even the most common decency, my esteemed Baron Noryn?"

Noryn-the tan nobleman-inclined his head. "High spirits, comrade. Nothing more. Do not let it distract you from the fighting at hand."

Palfrun saw Sheppard and shot him an acidic glare, then turned to one of his own men and spoke urgently into his ear. The blue-clothed officer moved to one of the teletypes and began to work it.

"What is all this?" said Teyla. "I do not understand."

But Sheppard was already putting it together, and he didn't like where it was taking him. Erony led them up to Daus's podium and the Lord Magnate gave them a jaunty salute. "Ah, our guests! Welcome, welcome! You missed the opening salvoes and a few most entertaining sorties by Palfrun's hussars, but there's still plenty of cut in the blade yet!"

Another explosion sounded and McKay gaped as the illuminated boards above their heads changed. "These are casualty tallies. You're keeping score."

Kelfer looked up from a scrap of paper. "Yes, although I must say I've not seen so poor an opening gambit since the days of old Lord Loegis. Noryn should learn to be should be more dynamic and less reactive."

"Slow and steady has its advantages," noted Muruw. "The Great Trahvis once made an engagement last for six days. He starved his competitor into surrender."

Sheppard shook his head in disbelief. "You're talking about this like it's a football game."

"Foot-ball?" asked Vekken. "That sounds like it might be painful."

Kelfer gestured with the paper. "Noryn has left his base thinly defended. A risky gambit, if Palfrun's sappers take the baron's standard."

"But then Palfrun's men must take it clear across the field to their base," the minister replied, "and there is much to challenge them on the return journey."

The scientist sniffed. "I predict the tan banner will fall first."

Hill's lip curled. "They're playing `capture the flag' out there."

Daus waved a hand, securing a flute of wine from a passing servant. "This is an honor engagement, Lieutenant Colonel. I wanted you to witness it first-hand, considering that you had some degree of involvement in the events that led up to it. And you may also learn something of our culture along the way."

Erony explained. "The Barons Palfrun and Noryn have had a disagreement that cannot be resolved by any civil means, as we saw in the palace. Despite Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard's attempt to forestall any bloodletting, Palfrun made petition for a duel between their Dynasts."

"Where I come from, duels were usually fought by the men with the dispute," said the colonel. "You know the kind of thing, back to back, pistols at dawn? Two men enter, one man leaves?"

Muruw laughed. "You're not suggesting…? Great blades, you are! You actually suggest that the nobles should fight each other?" He chuckled.

"I'm not encouraging anyone to go killing anyone else. I just think that staging a mock war for the purpose of settling an argument is a little over the top."

Muruw's incredulity turned to confusion. "This is not a `mock' engagement, Lieutenant Colonel. Where would the honor be in that?"

Another rattling fusillade of rifle-fire sounded below them and Sheppard and the others turned toward the sound. They saw a unit of bluecoats gun down a handful of tans and charge on, to the hoots and cheers of Palfrun and his group.

"Those men are dead," said Ronon, in an icy voice.

"With honor," noted the Magnate. "When the battle is at an end, they will be interred as heroes deserve."

Sheppard's blood ran cold as Teyla spoke in a brittle tone, voicing the disbelief that all the Atlantis team felt. "The soldiers below us are using live weapons."

"You are shocked?" said the Magnate, smiling outwardly but with a hard glint in his eye, daring them to react. "Halcyon is not a world for the squeamish, my friends. We embrace might and fortitude, we reject cowardice and frailty. Only through strength can we remain dominant in a galaxy that would take us as prey if we showed an instant of weakness." He sipped his wine. "We hunt the Wraith to make us strong and to keep us sharp. No other world can say that. Strength, Lieutenant Colonel, force of arms. That is the marrow in Halcyon's bones, it is the law by which we live." Daus gave a fatherly nod to Erony. "My Dynast is the strongest, our army is undefeated, and that is why my kindred have ruled as Magnates over this world for centuries."

"Might makes right, huh?" said Sheppard, matching gazes with the nobleman.

Daus clapped his hands together, as if the colonel was a student who had just solved a difficult problem. "Exactly! You understand perfectly!"

"And what if the people wish otherwise, if they do not want your rule?" asked Teyla. "What then?"

"Any Dynast can challenge another, in matters of honor or dominion," he said nonchalantly, "as we see here today. Some have dared to challenge me. As to their success…" He spread his hands and smiled again.

Ronon took a step closer to the Magnate and Sheppard saw the tension in him, the anger in the corded muscles of his neck. Vekken saw it too, and moved casually to a position where he could intercept the Satedan, if he needed to. "This is how you fight your battles?" he said in a low snarl. "This is what you call honorable? You fence in your soldiers and count them like points in a card game? You make them die for a piece of cloth?"

Muruw raised an eyebrow. "You would do well not be so high-handed, Ronon Dex. We keep our warfare well mannered and equitable. It does not spill out into the streets and fields, it does not consume our society and claim the lives of the innocent. Our codes of conduct keep these engagements regimented. See, here. In this battle today, the use of aerial warfare is prohibited, as is that of gaseous or disease weapons, and explosives beyond an agreed yield. Our referees ensure these rules are adhered to. To be a victor today, a faction need only hold the banners of both sides. No cities will be bombed, no villages or farmland razed to ashes. There are no wars on Halcyon as you would know them, that is true, because we control them. We ensure no heedless massacres or wholesale destruction." He nodded in agreement to his own argument. "Surely you would agree that ours is the more civilized form of warfare?"

"I've never been what you'd consider civilized," growled Dex, before turning away. "I need some air." He stalked away and out of the gallery.

"Teyla," said Sheppard. "Go after him. Make sure he doesn't break anything." The Athosian woman moved away, clearly content to be free of the company of Daus and his nobles.

"I think I have upset him," Muruw's words were arch and dismissive.

"Oh trust me, you'll know when he's upset," said McKay. "He'll leave a trail of destruction and everything."

Daus gave a sage nod. "Ah, a thought occurs to me. I think I understand the root of Ronon Dex's choler." The Magnate glanced at Sheppard. "He is a Runner, yes? Perhaps his experi ences as quarry in the cruel games played by the Wraith clouds his impressions of us. I assure you, we are very different to those creatures."

Sheppard watched the other man carefully. "I have no doubt you believe that."

Teyla's concern became an outright, fully blown worry when she found a third member of the airship's crew lying unconscious on the decking. She followed the path of open hatchways and insensate soldiers to an open bay in the belly of the ship, a few frames down the hull from the observation gallery.

The bay was open to the air along its length, and through it she could see the continual melee of the little war raging back and forth. Ronon was at the far end, strapping himself into a leather webbing rig attached to a fat drum of steel cable. He was quite furious.

"Ronon, what are you doing?"

He threw her a quick glance. "What does it look like? I'm going to put a stop to their damn game."

"I dislike this as much as you do, but if you go down there, you will be killed! What do you expect to accomplish?"

Dex kicked at a switch and the cable brake released. "You heard him in there. Fighting stops when victory is declared. The victor is the man with both flags." He drew his particle magnum and his short sword from inside his greatcoat, and stepped to the edge. "I'll see you in the winner's circle."

Before she could stop him, Ronon stepped out into thin air and fell away from the airship. The cables played out, dropping him down with a screech of cogs. Teyla saw him fall free of the rig and land in a tuck-and-roll. He came up fighting, stunning two men with gun blasts and knocking another down with the flat of his sword. Then he vanished into the battle smoke, toward the pole where the tan pennant was snapping in the wind.

In the observation gallery, cries of alarm and shouts of anger warred with a grating alert siren.

"Someone has descended into the engagement!" snapped Baron Noryn. "This is a gross breach of the rules!"

"It's the Runner!" called another man, peering through a telescope. "He's violated the field of conflict!"

All eyes turned to Sheppard, and he could have sworn there was amusement on Vekken's lips. "What is the meaning of this?" demanded Daus.

"Ah," said John.