The Chosen

Chapter Four

Comprehension struck, and Rodney fumbled with the switch on his radio. “Turn off everything!” He yanked the sensor from his jacket.

“What?” Sheppard called back, raising his P-90. “Okay, everyone, we don’t want any trouble here.”

Was it courage or idiocy that allowed the Major to sound so reasonable when they were about to be hacked to pieces by a crazed mob? Had to be the latter, right? “Turn off every piece of technology that you have. Life sign detectors, radios, everything.” Rodney cursed under his breath. He should have seen this coming. Hell, he halfway did see it coming, but halfway didn’t count, and where in blazes was the switch to this thing?

“Take care, Kesun,” shouted Balzar, backing away from the prostrate Lisera and the P-90 that Lieutenant Ford was pointing into his face. “Their weapons spit fire that passes through even hardened metal.”

“Blasphemy!” cried a cowering merchant. “Kesun is of the Chosen. He will protect us.”

Face screwed up in obvious confusion, Ford shot a swift glance at Rodney. “What’s the point in turning off our radios? They’re not working, anyway.”

“Turn off everything or we’re dead!” Rodney ripped out the tiny power pack of the sensor, and then, pulling off his backpack, scrambled through the contents. What else had he switched on, and what had possessed him to drag around all this equipment in the first place?

“Kill them!” A woman’s screeches spurred the warriors on. “Before they kill us as they killed my children.”

From the corner of his eye, Rodney could see the armed men advancing. This was not good. In fact, this was very, very bad.

“Do it.” Sheppard switched off his radio and the life sign detector with one hand, the other still aiming his weapon. The shouting increased. “We’re not Wraith, but we will defend ourselves,” he announced, his tone a deadly matter-of-fact.

Rodney was too busy ripping power packs and batteries from assorted equipment, Ancient and Earth related, to see exactly what happened next, but someone must have decided Teyla appeared the easiest target. That was an incredibly big mistake. The next moment, her legs and arms were flailing. An ornate blade passed mere inches above his head to bury itself with a solid ‘thunk’ into one of the timber columns. Then his ears were being hammered by the staccato noise of a P-90. Muzzle flashes lit the dank interior of the marketplace. He ducked low, crouching protectively over his pack. Maybe the instruments were currently useless, but they were valuable nonetheless. With access to Earth impossible until they found a ZPM, he wouldn’t be able to replace them any time soon.

When the firing stopped, Rodney raised his head and chanced a look around. A Wraith carving, doubtless serving the same ridiculously superstitious and utterly pointless function as a medieval gargoyle, smashed down into a market stall, scattering assorted pots and pans.

He welcomed the aroma of spent cordite, even if it failed to mask the obnoxious scent of poorly maintained sewers. In a brief moment of detachment, Rodney realized that he didn’t entirely like what that said about him. He’d had a much clearer viewpoint on weapons, and perhaps the military mindset as a whole, up until a few days ago. Kolya’s cold-blooded tactics had altered his perspective. Now, he viewed the weapon at his side not as a necessary evil, but as necessary.

In any case, the automatic fire had halted the warriors in their tracks, and provoked a mass evacuation of the markets. Not a bad start.

Unlike everyone else, the Hagar type, Kesun, hadn’t ducked for cover, but was instead directing troops to run off and do whatever it was that troops like these did. No doubt it would involve reinforcements and considerably more lethal weapons than the Viking-inspired battleaxes and halberds currently being wielded. On the plus side, around the official’s neck, the pendant which looked suspiciously like a personal shield device had now faded from its formerly brilliant glowing aquamarine to a flat, somewhat dull turquoise. Hopefully, that would put an end to this absurd situation.

“They’re not Wraith, Kesun!” called a newly familiar voice. “They come from a far away land.”

“Yann’s right,” Sheppard replied, not relaxing his weapon’s aim. “The Wraith are just as much an enemy to us as they are to you.”

“Yet you carry Wraithcraft,” Kesun rasped.

“Yes, but we’ve turned them off,” Rodney declared with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He glanced at Sheppard, and pointed to the bluestone accessory hanging from Kesun’s neck. “Those aren’t personal shield devices. I’m certain they’re the source of the EM fields we saw from the jumper. They must automatically detect and deactivate all electromagnetic devices, except the transport and themselves, of course.” Belatedly, he recognized the implications of that idea. “Well, that’s not going to make it any easier to figure out how they work. How am I supposed to take any readings when they turn off everything?”

If anything, Kesun’s glower deepened.

“What? Now what did I say?”

“The penalty for Wraithcraft is death!”

“You mean this?” Rodney lifted his sensor. A dozen warriors immediately raised their axes. He rolled his eyes, getting tired of this game. Dealing with ignorance was complicated enough. Ignorance combined with threats of violence was just plain irritating. “You have got to be kidding me. Not only is this equipment completely unrelated to the Wraith, some of it’s not even original to this galaxy.”

“I don’t think these guys are likely to appreciate the distinction.” Sheppard lifted the muzzle of his P-90 higher. “Look, this is not a Wraith weapon. Watch.” He fired a single round into the ceiling before Rodney could comment about this being the traditional military solution to everything. A few splintered chips of timber rained down. The bluish crystal around the official’s neck remained obligingly dull. “See? Not a blink.”

Kesun’s gaze was still deeply suspicious. “From whence do you come?” he demanded, edging closer and eyeing their clothes.

“Atlantis,” replied the Major.

If discovering that Sheppard could operate the transport had come as a shock to the villagers, that little announcement more or less turned the place on its ear. The troops instantly fell to their knees, while Kesun’s face displayed an impressive range of emotions, beginning with horror and ending with delirious happiness. “Dalera!” he breathed, turning to Teyla with his hands upraised. “You have returned to us!”

Good grief. All this vacillation was giving Rodney vertigo. And apparently raising one’s hands to give thanks to some mythical being was a universal trait no matter what galaxy one inhabited. He made a note to let the anthropology team know about that, assuming they made it safely off this planet before being classified as hostile yet again.

Teyla had barely worked up a sweat after having dispatched the two warriors who now groveled at her feet. Casting a cautious glance around her, she stepped forward and said, “My name is Teyla.”

Dropping his hands, Kesun’s eyes fell to Lisera, then returned to the Athosian. “You are not Dalera? And yet you are a healer, and you are from Atlantis.” His smile turned curious. “You are a sister to Dalera, perhaps?”

“We come from Atlantis, yes,” Teyla replied, apparently going for the simple and honest approach. “However, we are not the Ancestors.”

“Then how can this be?” Kesun examined the now-closed transport doors, his face a mask of confusion. “Only the Chosen have the divine power.”

And there they went again. Divine? This construct of ATA ability as some kind of holy gift was grating on Rodney’s nerves. He considered saying something, but a glance toward Sheppard’s heavy boots made his toes throb, and he thought better of it.

Behind his carrot-colored beard, Kesun’s face went through another contorted set of emotions. “Which of you operated the transport?” he demanded.

“They used Wraith trickery,” called Balzar. “Kill them all!”

“Wraithcraft cannot deceive Dalera,” Kesun announced, and from somewhere deep inside of his pelt robe, he pulled out another one of the shield devices and handed it to Sheppard.

“The Shield of Dalera,” came the mutters of various villagers and merchants who were slowly lifting their heads above the market stalls. “Kesun is allowing the newcomers to touch one of the Shields!”

Rodney accepted the Shield from the Major and inspected it for similarities to the personal shield device. Superficially, it appeared almost identical, except, of course, for the color.

“Pass it to the others,” Kesun ordered him.

Reluctantly handing the device to Ford, Rodney muttered, “Hurry up. I need to take another look at it.”

The aquamarine crystal within abruptly changed from a lifeless turquoise to black. In Teyla’s hands, it remained black, until she handed it back to Rodney. The color returned, although it did not glow. No surprise there, since the devices had obviously been programmed to work only in the presence of the ATA gene. However, unlike the personal shields, these apparently did not encode themselves to a user’s unique DNA. Interesting concept. Activating only in the presence of Wraith Darts and stun weapons was certainly an efficient way to conserve power, but it seemed the things blocked all EM radiation, Ancient and human.

Turning to Rodney and Sheppard, Kesun gave a respectful but no longer ingratiating bow, and said, “As Chosen, you are most welcome to Dalera.”

“Dalera?” Rodney said, fingering the device. “I’m confused. Isn’t that what you just called Teyla?”

“I believe it is also the name of their world,” Teyla ventured.

“Come.” Kesun headed to the transport. “I shall take you to meet the other Chosen.”

Ford hesitated. “Sir? What about Lisera?”

“You are not of the Chosen.” Kesun glanced down at the girl, then up at Teyla and Ford. “You may not enter the Enclave.”

Rodney was about to protest, but the Major got in ahead of him. “Okay, well, that doesn’t work for us. Splitting up wasn’t in our plans.”

“The transport will not take us to the Enclave if any but the Chosen step within its doors.”

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Rodney blew the breath out slowly, keeping a tight rein on his anger. He could play along up to a point, but the idea that these people were making judgments of worth based on a purely random gene was more than he was willing to accept. “‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,’” he quoted under his breath to Sheppard, who tossed a sideways glance in his direction.

“You do realize that you were channeling my high school history teacher just then, right?”

“I’m just saying that occasionally a good idea does emerge from your country.”

“Nice. But since getting inside this Enclave could potentially be a big help in your information-gathering, let’s wait a while before shoving the Declaration of Independence down these people’s throats, all right?” The Major shifted his gaze. “Teyla, Ford, you comfortable with hanging out here for a while?”

“I believe we will be fine with these people,” Teyla said, looking around with a tolerant smile. “There is no longer any misunderstanding.”

That might have been true, but Rodney wasn’t all that thrilled with the aspects of the situation that he did understand.

Kesun nodded to four of the warriors. “See to it that the visitors are known by all to be under my personal protection. And remain here with them until we return.”

To Rodney, that sounded more like confinement than protection. “Why can’t they take a look around outside?”

Leading him and the Major to the transport, Kesun replied, “If they venture from a protected area and the Wraith come, they will be in mortal danger.” The so-called Chosen clasped his hands behind his back, which Rodney took as a sign that either he or Sheppard was supposed to open the door. What was that about? Another test? General apathy? It might have been deference, but that was a more redeeming quality than he was prepared to ascribe to these Chosen types at the moment.

Sheppard stopped walking and faced his second in command. “We’ll be back before long,” he told Ford. “Until then, enjoy the down time.”

The Lieutenant gave a solemn nod. Rodney couldn’t help but feel like he’d just missed an entire conversation. Under those laconic instructions, there had been a trace of something else. He suspected that Ford and Teyla had just received covert authorization to act as they saw fit, ‘protection’ or no.

At the entrance to the transport, he and Sheppard looked at each other. The Major spread his hands in a gesture of accommodation. “Want to do the honors?”

It was petty, but that had never stopped him before. Still clutching the Shield in one hand, Rodney folded his arms. “Not particularly.”

Sheppard gave him a withering look and reached for the console. The door slid back, and the oddly matched trio stepped inside.

Rodney was reminded of the opening line to any number of bad jokes. A soldier, a genius, and a zealot walk into a bar… Well, hell. Time to think positive. If his suspicions about this Enclave place were confirmed, it would at least be less of an assault on his olfactory senses than the marketplace.

This time, the control panel on the inside of the transport opened out to the full-sized display seen in the transports of Atlantis. On the plasma screen map, Kesun touched a light located at one end, which, if Rodney recalled correctly, was also the highest point of the hill. The door shut with a somewhat less than graceful metallic sound, and for the fourth time that day, he was instantly somewhere else.

When his companions disappeared inside the transport, Lieutenant Aiden Ford relaxed his stance, demonstrating to Dalera’s warriors that he had no intention of defying them. Lisera openly stared at him. Weapon poised, he had stood ready to defend her, just as her mother had often described the Ancient hero-warriors of the fabled Atlantis. “Lieutenant Aiden Ford.” His name was as exotic as his deep brown eyes and gentle smile.

He turned and moved back toward her. “Call me Aiden.” Removing his cap, he smiled and kneeled beside her again. “Morphine kicked in yet?”

“The potion has indeed rid me of much pain.” The memory of his strong arms gave her warmth despite the chill in the dank hall. Never in all of Lisera’s years had she dreamed that her mother’s tales were anything more than children’s stories — until the night that the Wraith had come. The hideous nightmare beings were indeed real, but then so too were the legendary warriors who battled them.

“See? I told you the needle would make you feel better.” Aiden gently probed her leg.

The striking woman who claimed not to be Dalera, but called herself Teyla, smiled her approval, then turned to the apothecary and said, “Is there a place of healing where we can take Lisera? The bones of her leg must be set properly to ensure that there is no permanent damage.”

A look of sympathy crossed the woman’s face. She was a merchant, a seller of healing potions capable of fixing many ailments, but her words confirmed what Lisera feared. “Only Dalera could heal such an injury so that the bones are set true. You truly are not her?”

Perhaps Lisera imagined it, but it seemed that Teyla’s smile took on an edge of regret. “No, I am not.”

Despite her determination to be brave, Lisera’s breathing hitched as she battled tears. The pain in her leg was now a dull throb. The pain of grief and fear could not so readily be eased. She would be crippled. To survive the Wraith she would have to to remain in the Citadel. With no coin to pay for her food and keep, she had but one option.

Many years ago, her mother had told her, the Citadel had been a fine place, and the Chosen honored as the protectors of Dalera. Then came the Great Plague. The Chosen had withdrawn to their Enclave, barbarians had taken over, and the Citadel had become a place of evil, the horrors of which could only be guessed at. But when the Wraith had returned, just a few short weeks ago, the Citadel had offered their only protection.

After the first wave of attacks, entire villages had been decimated. Those who had not been taken had lost their homes, their crops and their loved ones, and something more — their souls. The horrors of life in the Citadel had spilled out into the countryside, and now nowhere was free of the pillaging, raping, even killing.

“I know a healer that might help,” Balzar replied gruffly.

The flesh on her arms crawled. The chief’ s look was agonizingly familiar to Lisera, for it was not only strangers who could not be trusted. The day the Wraith had taken her brother, she and her mother had tried to escape to the Citadel. Balzar, a man she had believed to be a friend, had first refused them entry to the transport inn because their only form of payment was no longer acceptable. Lisera had not understood the promise that her mother had then made until Balzar had come to them that night, in the dank shadows of this same Sanctuary Hall. After defiling her mother, he had turned his attentions on Lisera. She had run away, desperately seeking a place to hide in the bowels of the great city. For two days she had roamed the streets, hungry and cold, barely one step ahead of men whose eyes gleamed with a different kind of hunger, one she now recognized in the merchants’ eyes.

“This one has no coin or goods to pay a healer,” Balzar continued. “Her family is dead, her home burned. Leave her with me and I will see what I can do.” He bent down to grip her arm.

Recoiling, Lisera grasped Aiden’s leg and clung to him.

“Then we will tend to her ourselves.” Teyla placed herself in Balzar’s path. Her smile remained in place, but her eyes held a warning.

Balzar was many times Teyla’s girth and weight, but Lisera saw his hesitation. The warriors who had attacked Teyla had both instantly been felled by her swift blows. These same men now exchanged an approving look with one another.

A deep pain drew Lisera’s attention back to Aiden. “I’m sorry,” he said, gently wrapping her leg again. “The pressure should keep the swelling down, but it needs to be X-rayed and set properly.” His words confused her, until he added, “Maybe we should take her back to Atlantis and have this taken care of.”

“You would do such a thing for me?” The brief surge of relief that swept through her abruptly fled. She bit her lip and shuddered, aware of the merchants’ eyes. Balzar’s expression gave her warning. One man or many, the choice was hers. “Balzar speaks true. I have no coin, nor even crops or goods to pay.”

“Yes, you do.” Teyla pulled a large bag from her shoulders and, reaching inside, withdrew a small packet. Handing it to the apothecary, she added, “This is our payment for your kindness in allowing us to remain here while we wait for our companions. Brew it as a tea to help the pain and bleeding of childbirth.”

The apothecary offered a toothless smile. “Such tea is always in great demand.”

“That was unwise.” Balzar’s eyes narrowed and he stepped back. “Such acts rarely go unnoticed.” Casting a warning look in Lisera’s direction, he pushed past the smirking warriors and stalked off.

“I am curious,” Yann said, sidling across to join them. “What sort of payment could a slip of a girl like Lisera have to offer?” He withdrew a red fruit from his pocket and bit into it.

The fruit sounded sweet and crunchy. Since escaping the Citadel and fleeing into the forest, Lisera had eaten nothing more than wild berries, birds’ eggs and a few fish she’d managed to trap in tidal pools. It was then that she saw something in Yann’s gaze which differed from Balzar’s. Yann looked at her as a merchant might appraise goods that he approved of. Then his eyes took in Aiden and Teyla’s strange weapons. Not having any understanding of what this meant, but fearful just the same, Lisera blurted, “What payment I can give you, I will.”

“Well,” said Aiden, packing his medicines away. “Our arrival accidentally set off your alarms. So really, the least we can do is make sure you’re okay.”

Teyla made herself comfortable on the ground, her back to the apothecary’s store of goods, the weapon resting lightly in her fingers. “Lisera, could you tell us of your world? Among my people, stories are believed to be a worthy trade item.”

Yann went to speak, but Aiden said, “I’d like to hear it from Lisera.” His smile reminded her of her brother, in times when they had shared a secret from their mother.

Shrugging, Yann squatted on the floor beside them. “I will fill in any details that Lisera might miss.” He bit into the red-fruit again, and Lisera stared longingly at the juices that flowed down his jaw.

“And your price for this would be?” Teyla inquired.

“A story from Atlantis?” Yann replied, pulling a cloth from his jacket and wiping his mouth. “Two stories, and I would forego the ale promised to me by Major Sheppard.”

Teyla’s eyes danced with amusement. “It seems a fair trade. Well, then, Lisera, perhaps you might begin by telling us of Dalera.”

Looking up to the first of the teaching windows, where Dalera was giving the laws to her people, Lisera swallowed hard. Balzar was right. They had blasphemed, and were now paying with their lives.