Homecoming

Chapter Fifteen Established Relations

It was a long walk from the gate to the trade village. The anthropologists who’d been on the first Atlantis expedition had started to classify Pegasus societies by where they built in relation to the Stargates. Some societies settled as far away as practical; those tended to be agricultural, if Sheppard remembered the report correctly, the ones that evaded the Wraith rather than trying to fight them. Some built their cities around the gates, and fought back when the Wraith appeared. Neither tactic worked very well, in Sheppard’s opinion, and it didn’t account for the Genii — nothing accounted for the Genii — but it was a start.

The Tricti had to be on the far end of the ‘build far away’ spectrum, though: not only was the settlement a good hour’s hike from the gate, it wasn’t even a permanent village, just a trading post. Visitors weren’t welcome in their real home, and any inquiries were none too subtly discouraged…

To either side of the trail, high grass stretched to a line of trees. They were just about a bowshot away, and Sheppard’s shoulderblades twitched at the thought. The Tricti were friendly, or they had been, but there was something weird about the whole thing. Too many weeds, he realized suddenly, there were too many weeds growing in the path.

“Yes,” Teyla said. “I see it, too. But I do not sense the Wraith.”

“If there was a Culling,” Sheppard began, and Teyla shrugged.

“We would not know it. Not yet, and perhaps never. The Tricti do not share their troubles.”

“What?” Rodney asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nobody’s been using the path,” Ronon said. He had his blaster drawn, held it loosely at his side. “Not good.”

Rodney glanced at the scanner in his hand, and then at the woods to either side. “There’s no sign of life, but that’s normal here. They never show up except when we get to the village.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said, and hoped it was true. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this. “Let’s get a move on, people.”

“But gently,” Teyla said. She smiled. “The Tricti often misinterpret hurry.”

They finally reached the top of the last low hill, stopped for a moment to be sure the Tricti had seen them — as Teyla said, they did not wish to be a surprise. Sheppard looked down into the circle of rough wooden buildings, all too aware that there was no smoke rising from any of the chimneys. Not that it was a cold day, but there should be cooking fires, and a crowd waiting at the well that stood in the center of the circle, summoned by the opening of the Stargate. Today the beaten dirt was empty, the houses shuttered, doorways gaping empty on darkness.

“It looks abandoned,” Teyla said, frowning.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Rodney said. “Why would they do that?”

“The Wraith?” Ronon said, but he didn’t sound sure.

“Trictinia has been Culled many times,” Teyla said. “The trade village has always remained.”

Sheppard sighed. He didn’t like the look of this, didn’t like the feeling the empty square left in the pit of his stomach. “Let’s check it out.”

“Wait!” Rodney held out the scanner. “Look, there is someone—”

“Arin!” Teyla called, in the same moment, and Sheppard sighed again as a familiar figure stepped out of the shadow of the nearest house. “Arin, it is good to see you again.” She went down the hill at a near run, the others following more slowly, and the Tricti came to meet her, worn face relaxing into a smile.

“Teyla Emmagan. We did not dream — when the gate lit, we had no idea it could be you.”

They embraced formally, touching foreheads, and then in friendship, Teyla’s face for once unguarded. “Arin, you remember Colonel Sheppard and Ronon. And Dr. McKay.”

“We had heard that Atlantis was destroyed,” the Tricti said. “I’m glad to see it wasn’t true.”

“We fought a great battle,” Teyla said. More than ever, Sheppard was glad to leave the explanations to her. “And we have returned victorious. But we have need of trading partners once again.”

“I’m sorry.” The Tricti spread his hands. “Glad of your victory, yes, and of your return, we have need of you. But we have nothing to spare. The elders have forbidden trade until a better day.”

“What does that mean?” Rodney asked.

Teyla ignored him. “We have been good allies in the past,” she said. “Good partners and good friends. I hope that has not changed.”

“No, indeed,” Arin said, with what sounded like genuine fervor. “And if you can offer medicines and weapons, the elders may be willing to reconsider. But we were hard hit not half a year ago, and there is little enough for us to live on.”

“That is hard news,” Teyla said.

“The Wraith?” Sheppard asked.

Arin nodded. “They came in force, more than they have come in years. We lost — too many, and our fields were burned, those that they could find.”

“It sounds like they’ve gotten better organized since we left,” Rodney said.

Sheppard nodded. That wasn’t a nice idea — he’d really hoped they’d stay locked in civil war without somebody like Todd to pull them together.

“There is a new queen,” Arin said. “A queen of queens, so rumor says. She has gathered many of the hives under her control.”

“Great,” Sheppard said, and Teyla frowned at him.

“All the more reason for us to continue our alliance,” she said, and Arin shrugged.

“I don’t disagree, Teyla Emmagan. And I will take your word to the elders, you may be sure of it.” He smiled. “Though it would help if I could tell them you would trade what we need.”

“We’d need to talk to our — elders — about that, too,” Sheppard said. “But — I bet we can work something out.”

“We are also in need of information,” Teyla said. “This is the first we have heard of a new alliance among the Wraith, and it is not pleasant hearing.”

“That we’ll share,” Arin said, “for the sake of our old friendship and the common good. Though I don’t know how much help it will be.”

“We have been busy with our own affairs,” Teyla said. “Anything and everything is useful to us now.”

“This, then,” Arin said. “We are not alone in feeling the weight of a heavy Culling. Five worlds well known to us have suffered the same, and they tell of more still. Of worlds left barren, stripped of their people, crops and crafts abandoned to rot. And they say this new queen is behind it all.”

Sheppard looked at him, a small man, shorter even than Woolsey, gray hair falling to his collar, end-of-day stubble just starting on his cheeks. His clothes were plain by any standard, well worn and neatly patched: a man of no importance, one might have said. That was what the Tricti intended, that any enemy underestimate them — and any trading partner, too, who might be persuaded to part with more that way. “This queen — does she have a name?”

The minute he spoke, he knew it was a foolish question, wasn’t surprised to see Arin cock his head. “She is Wraith, and a queen of queens. That is all we know.” He paused. “Some say, however — some say her name is Death.”

“Catchy,” Sheppard said, and ignored the chill that ran down his spine.

“Oh, wonderful,” Rodney said. “Just what we need. A queen of queens, and her name is Death. Perfect!”

“We will talk to our leaders,” Teyla said. “This is ill hearing indeed, Arin.”

“Worse to live through,” the Tricti answered, with a twist of a smile. “But it is good that you are returned. I will speak to my elders also. May I tell them that you are at least considering my request?”

Teyla glanced toward Sheppard, who nodded. “We’ll definitely think about it,” he said. “In the meantime — I know it’s been a while, but can we offer medical assistance?”

“The time for that is past,” Arin said. “But thank you.”

“And thank you, Arin,” Teyla said. “Your friendship is important to us.”

“Come again in eight days,” Arin said. “I will have an answer then.”

Teyla nodded, and they embraced again, forehead to forehead. Then the Tricti turned away, his drab clothes blending into the afternoon shadows.

“Wonderful,” Rodney said again. “I wonder how many more of our former allies are going to have been Culled like this?”

“That’s what I like about you, McKay,” Sheppard said. “You’re an optimist.” The words rang hollow even to himself, and he turned to put the empty houses behind him. “Back to the gate.”

Teyla came to New Athos on a day of rain, walking through the Stargate with her pack on her back and Torren in her arms. He perched on her shoulder, his face buried in her neck. This was the first passage that he could remember. He had been a baby the last time he passed through, sleeping and unaware. Now he was seventeen months old and clung to her, his arms around her neck. This was not the first passage he would remember, when he was a man. That passage might yet be years in the future.

Teyla stepped out into a hard and driving rain, and Torren squawked in surprise. Thunder rolled overhead, and the rain beat down, soaking them to the skin in minutes.

“I wish I had an umbrella,” Rodney said for the forty-seventh time.

“You’d look pretty silly with a P90 and an umbrella,” Jennifer said, her blond hair already plastered to her head by the rain.

“One of those big golf umbrellas,” Rodney said, grinning at her, the water running down his face.

John snorted.

The team had come with her, this first trip back to New Athos. After what they had seen on Trictinia, they would take no chances. Besides, Jennifer had wanted to return to her medical treatment of the Athosians, and Woolsey had been able to think of no good reason not to.

“New Athos, this is Sheppard,” John said into his radio, his voice loud to be heard above the rain. “We’ve come through the gate and we’re on our way.” It wasn’t strictly necessary to announce their presence on planet, but he seemed to think it was polite. Either that or he was also twitchy after Trictinia. Teyla hurried forward to catch up, Torren on her shoulder. It hadn’t escaped her that he had put himself ahead of her and Torren. She did not intend to arrive among her people thus, as though she were a woman who needed guarding. There had been quite enough of that in the last days of her pregnancy.

John looked at her sideways, the rain dripping off a forelock of his hair into his eyes as she splashed up beside him, and she knew he saw exactly what she was trying to do. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll carry Torren and you take point.”

“Do you truly expect trouble?”

John lifted his head and glanced around the lowering trees, the soggy track that ran between them toward the settlement. “No. Not so much, since we had them on radio this morning. But…” His voice trailed off, filled with things that were not necessary to say.

“It will be well,” Teyla said. “But if anything looks wrong I will get Torren back.” Not for her, that last, but for Torren. There were many things he should not yet see. Time would come when he must see them, but perhaps not yet.

“If anything looks wrong, give Torren to McKay,” he said grimly. “And Rodney, you get Keller and Torren back to the gate. We’ll check it out.”

His headset crackled. “Colonel Sheppard, this is Halling. We are pleased to welcome you.”

Teyla felt her heart beat a little faster. All was well, then. His voice was normal. And why would it not be? They had called New Athos only hours ago, to say that they were coming, and Halling’s sole request had been to ask if they were bringing Dr. Keller. All was well.

It was only a few minutes before the first tents of the settlement came in sight, the smell of woodsmoke held low to the ground by the rain, and beyond the fields green beneath gray skies, nourishing water to make the crops grow. Even the rain did not hold people back, and the children ran out, a young man before them, the first line of fuzz on his upper lip.

“Jinto?” Teyla said in astonishment as he greeted her forehead to forehead as was proper, taller than she now.

“It’s me,” he said with a proud smile. Six months is a long time when one is seventeen. He must be nearly that, no longer a boy but a young man.

“You are not the child I have known,” she said, lifting her forehead and meeting his eyes. “I hardly recognize you, like to be as tall and strong as your father. I do not know this young warrior!”

Jinto grinned. “I’m not through yet, my father says!”

“I see you’re not,” John said. “Going to be a big guy.” Jinto overtopped Rodney already, and not two fingers separated him in height from John. Now they met almost eye to eye. He bent his forehead to Jinto’s briefly, then turned to Halling.

“Well met, my friend,” Halling said, pumping John’s hand in the Earth fashion. He had been very fond of John since the rescue from Michael, and how not? Yet it still miffed her that Halling greeted John before her. Everything miffed her. She was as bad as Rodney today.

“Teyla?”

Or perhaps Halling thought there was someone with more right to greet her first. That was Kanaan behind her.

Teyla turned, reaching as she did, one arm about his waist while the other held Torren between them, inclining her head so that his greeting fell upon her hair. No one should see anything amiss in this greeting. Of course she was delighted to see him. Of course she expected no rebuke. This was a moment of joy.

“Teyla.” His face was against her hair, his arm tightening around Torren. “I was worried.” He had always been a quiet man, a man who prized his dignity. And yet his voice shook. “I feared the worst for you and Torren.”

“We are well,” she said. “We are well and safe. It is just that we were stuck on Earth, and the gate did not have the power to dial so far. I would have sent a message, but there was not power enough. I had to wait until we were in this galaxy again. I am sorry.”

His eyes roved over her face, over Torren’s, who raised both brows in a skeptical look Teyla saw too often in the mirror. “I thought…”

“I know,” she said. “I know, and if I could have dialed from Earth, I would have. I would not leave you wondering.”

“I know that you would not,” he said, and he bent his forehead to the baby’s, one hand rising to lay along his soft cheek, his dark eyes bright with unshed tears. “Come in out of the rain. Torren will be cold.”

“He will,” Teyla said. “We will come and get dry.” He held the tent flap, and she looked back, one glance to see what the others did. Ronon followed Jennifer into the kitchen tent, where she no doubt intended to set up shop. John had his back to her and did not look around, but Rodney beside him met her eyes, an expression that conveyed far too much.

“I have missed you,” Kanaan said, and it took her a moment to realize he spoke to Torren instead of her. He gathered Torren into his arms. “Come, and we will be as we should.”

“You haven’t seen any Wraith?” John asked, his P90 ported against his body, his brow furrowed.

“Not since we came here, my friend,” Halling said. His hair, shorn in the days of captivity to Michael, had grown nearly to the length of his collar and gleamed bronze in the firelight of the kitchen tent where Jennifer was setting up her clinic. “We have seen nothing, heard nothing, save stories through the gate of other worlds.”

“We know of Queen Death,” Ronon said flatly.

“We, too, have heard the stories,” Halling replied with a glance at him. “But we know nothing more of the truth of them than any other man. We have been fortunate. There have been no Wraith on New Athos.”

“You’ve been lucky,” Jennifer said from the table where she was opening her medical kit. “Really, really lucky.”

“We know,” Halling said grimly. His eyes met John’s. “There is talk that we should go far away from the Ring of the Ancestors, into the uplands away from the gate. But I do not think it will make much difference. A day’s walk for us is a moment’s flight for a Dart.”

“That’s true,” John said, his back stiff. Rodney thought he knew the reason very well, though John did not look around for Teyla. He hadn’t so much as glanced in the direction she and Kanaan had gone. “It wouldn’t do you much good.”

“My father says our best choice is to be prepared,” Jinto put in.

Halling nodded. “And now we can call you, if they do not leave the gate open the entire time.”

“Which is the usual procedure, when they’re Culling with a couple of Darts through the gate, rather than an orbital hive ship?” John asked.

Halling nodded. “We have never been worth being a target for a hive ship.”

“Not since the Old Days,” Jinto said, and Rodney thought of the ruined city on Athos, the pictures they’d brought back of great buildings leveled and broken, like Sateda. For the Athosians those atrocities were generations old.

“You’ll call us,” John said.

“You may be sure of that,” Halling replied gravely.

“There’s not much to attract the Wraith here,” Rodney said just a little too loudly. “They’ve been hitting big targets.”

“Which is why it has long been our practice to be a small target,” Halling said.

Ronon shrugged. “Don’t see that’s done you much good.”

Halling was tall enough that he met the big Satedan almost eye to eye. “Not as much as we might have wished.”

“Ok, what have we got here?” Jennifer said, her supplies laid out and her latex gloves at hand. Several people had assembled while she was preparing. “Hi, Darlo. How’s your asthma? Have you been short of breath lately? And have you run out of the inhaler I gave you?”

Rodney figured that was his cue to find something else to do. Jennifer would be busy the rest of the afternoon, probably, and it drove her crazy to have him hovering around while she was working.

“Have you eaten?” Halling asked politely. “It is not the hour, but we can find you something….”

“No, thanks,” John said. “We already ate.” He and Ronon followed Halling a little ways from Jennifer.

“Some tea?”

“That would be great,” John said. He held a stoneware cup for Halling to fill with a dipper from the big steeping bowl, then held a second cup for Halling to fill his own. Rodney shook his head and came and sat by them, his mind wandering onto the probably more important question of the rates of power usage for the shield while John and Halling browsed through the topics of Queen Death, the upcoming Athosian harvest, how Jinto was growing, what various trade partners had said about the new Wraith alliance, a long story about fishing, an answering story about how John had gone deep sea fishing with his dad on Earth once, and the likely weather for the next few days. Rodney tuned out over the description of the Culling on Trictinia.

Ronon had disappeared. Well, he knew lots of people here, and it was still kind of awkward hanging around together when Jennifer was there. It was better when she wasn’t. They could almost pretend that the whole thing had never come up. But when she was right there it sort of got awkward. Rodney figured that was Ronon and Jennifer awkward, not him and Ronon awkward, and probably the less said about it the better. It’s fun to crow about victories over your enemies, but beating out a friend isn’t as much fun as all that.

“Will Teyla be staying with us?’

Rodney wrenched back to Halling, his hands encircling his empty cup.

John’s face closed. “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s up to her.”

“She has been gone many a day,” Halling said. “When Kanaan came back to us and said he could not live among your white towers, we thought she would come soon.”

“Teyla can stay or go as she likes,” John said.

Rodney jumped in quickly. “It’s not like we keep her tied up or something.”

Halling’s eyes flickered from Rodney’s face to John’s and back again. “Teyla is my agemate,” he said. “So I do not remember her mother. Nor does she. She was the age of her son, Torren, when her mother walked through the Ring of the Ancestors and never returned. She was always one for walking away, Tegan Who Walked Through Gates. I do not remember her. But I remember how Teyla cried whenever anyone said she was like her, when people said that Teyla was also one who walks away, who cares nothing for anyone and leaves all behind. I remember that well.”

John’s eyes fixed on something above Halling’s head. “Dr. Keller looks like she needs a hand with something,” he said. “Excuse me.” He got up from the bench with one swift movement, leaving Rodney with Halling.

“Did I speak wrongly?” Halling said quietly.

“It’s complicated,” Rodney said.

“Teyla was never for us,” Halling said, and shook his head. “I have known her since we wore clouts together, and always she has had her eyes on the far horizon. Always there is one more gate, one more new world, one more new people. Before your people came to this galaxy she was always finding one more reason to go, one more trade to make. You have given her a larger map, but she has always walked the way herself.”

“If it weren’t for Teyla we might not be back here,” Rodney said. “She represented the people of the Pegasus Galaxy on Earth, and if she hadn’t done a good job I don’t think we would have been able to leave.” He shrugged. “But for what it’s worth, she doesn’t belong on Earth either.”

“The City of the Ancestors,” Halling said. “The Place That is Between. Our Long-Home, yours and mine.”

“She wants to stay in Atlantis,” Rodney said.

“And Kanaan wants to stay here.” Halling spread his hands. “I have lived in the City of the Ancestors, and I understand why he does not want to — to be away from trees and sky, to dwell in a place where he has no work and his skills are nothing, away from his people and his home, from all respect given to him for his own accomplishments — that is much to ask of anyone for the sake of a mate. That is not how we choose a pairing among us. We think that like should be with like, farmer to farmer, trader to trader, healer to healer. Kanaan is a farmer. He makes the grain to grow, and he brews it into our best beer. He is the master of a craft he cannot pursue among the towers of the Ancients, and he does not walk through gates. They are ill-matched.” Halling sighed. “His wife, Tre, was brewer and cheesemaker. But the Wraith took her long ago. Her, and their son. Ayahdu was born the same year as Jinto. He would be nearly a man now.”

Rodney swallowed. “Yeah, Teyla said something about that.”

Halling met Rodney’s eyes with a rueful expression. “Do not mistake me. I love Teyla as a sister, and I would welcome her return. But it is better knowing that she represents us in the City of the Ancestors, that she speaks for us before other peoples and our long-gone Mothers. That is a task for which none other is suited. And we have many farmers.” Halling pushed himself up from the table, then leaned over and spoke once more. “And I hope that she does not break him before this is done.” He picked up his cup and wove his way among the tables, going to speak to an elderly woman who waited for Jennifer’s attention.

“Yeah,” Rodney said to no one in particular. “I hope that too.”

“Atlantis has returned.”

Ladon Radim allowed himself a sigh — disappointment, he told himself, not relief — and put aside the mug of hot broth that was the last of his breakfast. Outside the window, the sun was deceptively bright, the sky cloudless, vivid blue against the dry gold stubble of the well-gleaned fields. There had been frost on the inside of the glass when he left his bed.

“Do we have an address?”

“No.” That was Ambrus, his chief of staff, leaning with deceptive negligence against the edge of the table. “Nor has direct contact been made or attempted.”

And that, Ladon knew, was for the woman by the window, copper-haired and pretty and as rigidly upright as a spear. That was probably the safest way to think of her, as a weapon — an occasionally reliable weapon — and Ladon allowed himself another sigh.

“I would hope not,” he said, with just enough edge to point up his authority, and Sora Tyrus turned quickly to face him.

“We can’t just ignore them—”

“Why not?” Ladon asked, mildly. “Let them fight the Wraith this time. We could use some breathing room.”

Sora’s mouth opened, then closed into a tight scowl. She was slightly flushed, the color brightening her porcelain skin, but Ladon was unmoved by the effect. He had worked with her far too long for that. Ambrus hadn’t known her then, but he was quick and clever — that was why Ladon had chosen him — and he was careful not to look at her when he spoke.

“They have been to Trictinia. And to Anava. That was after they were both Culled.”

“Have they, now?” Ladon said. It was not a surprise; Atlantis had always been short of food, would need trading partners. “Do we know what they made of the attacks?”

“What does it matter?” Sora demanded. “Ladon, we need to deal with them—”

“Deal with them how?” Ladon asked. “Do you really think it does us any good to declare Atlantis an enemy?”

“Does it do us any good to call them friend?” she responded.

“It worked better than attacking them,” Ladon answered. They had both been on that disastrous mission; she should know better.

“We can’t trust them,” Sora began, and Ladon shook his head.

“Let it go, Sora.” His voice was sharper than he had meant. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, and looked at Ambrus. “Do we know what they thought?”

The chief of staff shrugged. He had never been under Cowen’s discipline, and it showed. “The Tricti have refused to talk, but the Anavans… One of our teams spoke to the council there, while we were arranging aid. They said that the Lanteans were back — I identified Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay from their accounts. They offered medical help, which the Anavans accepted, and were looking to trade for food, as usual.”

“What about Teyla Emmagan?” Sora asked. “Was she with them?”

Ladon shook his head at Ambrus, who relaxed a fraction, clearly grateful not to have to answer. “Sora. I will tell you this once, and only once. Tyrus is dead. Whether or not it was Teyla’s fault no longer matters. Let it go, or you are no longer of use.”

He watched the color drain from her face, her expression blank and pretty as a doll’s. He could hear Cowen’s voice in his own, feel Cowen’s heavy hand in that threat, and a part of him was briefly ashamed. If she was banished from his service, she would have nothing to fall back on except her looks and her military training, and there wasn’t much demand for the latter. And there were plenty of pretty women with better temperaments, calmer manners… But Sora knew better, had to know better: they could not afford to antagonize the Lanteans. At least not until the current project was further advanced, he amended silently, but Sora, mercifully, knew nothing of that.

“Well?”

Sora blinked. “I will obey your orders. I always have! But you know there will have to be a reckoning with Atlantis someday.”

“Maybe,” Ladon said. “But when it comes, it will be on our terms. My terms. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Sora lifted her chin, the red curls bobbing. “Does this mean that our salvage teams will not continue?”

“Did I say that?” Ladon took a careful breath. Sora had always had a knack for finding his weak spots, for the kind of insolence that could drive a man to violence. She had done it to Kolya, too, and the thought steadied him. “The salvage work continues. And if you come across information about the Lanteans, you will report it. But you will not go looking for them, and if you find yourself on the same planet, you will not make contact. You will break off and return at once. Is that clear?”

This time, Sora looked away. “Yes. It’s clear.”

“Good.” Ladon wondered who he could trust to send as her second, to keep an eye on her, but dismissed the idea as soon as it formed. She would know what he was doing, and find a way to get rid of the informant. And in the long run she was too good to lose. “Get me a mission plan, then, and let’s see what we can recover,”

“Sir.” Sora didn’t quite manage a salute, but her tone was respectful enough. Ladon nodded, and reached for the broth again. It was cold; he held it until the door closed behind her, set it aside with a grimace.

“She’s trouble,” Ambrus said.

“Don’t I know it,” Ladon answered.

“It would be better if you sent someone else.”

“She’s the best I have,” Ladon said. “The discussion’s closed, Ambrus.”

The chief of staff grimaced, but knew better than to argue. “Very well. You said you wanted to see the Chief Scientist this morning?”

Ladon nodded. “If she’s available. It’s not urgent.”

Ambrus crossed the room to the bank of telephones on the sideboard. He dialed, waited, and then spoke softly. Ladon pushed himself away from his desk, suddenly impatient. They were getting close, and having Atlantis back was not exactly helpful — except, of course, that it might be. If they could be persuaded to help, that helping the Genii was in their best interests… He wandered toward the window, pressed his palm against the cold glass. He had chosen to live on the surface, trading one kind of safety for another: the Wraith might find him here, but he was free of the radiation that still threatened the tunnels. He had made increased shielding a priority, but the work had to continue. That was something else the Lanteans had given them, the key to the mysterious illnesses that had plagued the tunnels; more than that — most precious to him — they had saved Dahlia’s life. They had treated it casually, as though it was no more than the wave of a hand, but Ladon knew better.

And that was something he could not afford to share with anyone. Oh, his people understood well enough that it made him more secure to have appointed his sister Chief Scientist in his place; it was the kind of maneuver any Genii leader might have made, and there was at least no question that Dahlia was capable. But the Lanteans had done more than save a valuable scientist. They had saved the sister who had raised him, who had protected him when they were children, computers third-class conscripted into Cowen’s service. She had kept him quiet when he would have waked the barracks with his nightmares — they had been born in mining country; to live underground was like death itself those first few years — and they had tutored each other, each new level of understanding shared, so that they rose together through the ranks. When he knew she was going to die, he had planned his coup, because he had nothing left to lose. And then the Lantean doctor had saved her life, and left him with a debt he would never dare to pay.

“Excuse me, Chief Ladon?”

Ladon turned, eyebrows rising in question. Ambrus stood with his hand over the mouthpiece of the handset.

“The Chief Scientist asks if you could meet for lunch instead. You’re free then.”

Ladon nodded. “Lunch, then,” he said. They would talk about her latest project, he decided, and say nothing about Atlantis.