Unfinished WIP: excerpt: SGA: Upward Over the Mountain [d]
Upward Over the Mountain
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The area surrounding the stargate had been cleared down to bare, blowing dirt. The jumper's passage stirred it into the air, a haze of gray-brown. A winter pale sky faded invisibly into the sere bunch-grass that stretched to the horizon in one direction. Taking the jumper higher only showed them desolate plains and the eroded line of weather worn mountains, faded blue-mauve with distance.
"Empty," Ronon said and it certainly looked it, but someone had scraped away at the ground around the stargate. Holes pocked the earth, edges crumbling in, piles of dirt slowly sifting back down.
Lacos leaned forward, studying the area as the jumper circled the area. "Dry," he commented, pointing at the dust that lifted listlessly from the excavations. "Rain would have tamped that down."
Ronon grunted his agreement.
"What were they digging for - ?" John cut himself off as he spotted the dulled gleam of a metal plinth exactly where the DHD pedestal normally stood in relation to the stargate. "They thought the Wraith buried it?"
"Hoped, maybe," Lacos said.
"Where'd they go?" Rodney stared out and his hands were still for once. He'd managed to smudge his bandage again, a smear at his temple from absently pushing up at it there. His hand rose to rub at it again and John realized that he probably had a headache as a lingering effect of the concussion. The pinched line between his brows and his drawn thin mouth gave away that the pain was bad.
"Mountains," Ronon said. "They'd need water, some kind of shelter."
John brought the jumper around. "Lot of mountains here, buddy." They were low and old, like the Appalachians, but still mountains.
Ronon leaned over his shoulder and pointed. "Follow the trail."
Once he looked for it, John could see the path of tramped down grasses. It meandered, avoiding obstacles invisible from the air, but kept a steady heading toward the mountains, southwest by the sun. Given another month, a storm or the advent of spring, signs of that passage would have been impossible to pick out except by an experienced tracker. Which they had in Ronon, but they'd move a lot faster if they could stay in the air.
Ronon kept him on course, though John overshot a turn in the trail twice and had to circle back to spot it again, much to Rodney's amusement. Lacos observed quietly, though John saw his mouth quirk up in a swiftly hidden grin at one of Rodney's more creative insults towards John's sense of direction. The trail led them to a natural cut in the rounded hills that rose up from the end of the plain, the shaggy, ashen grass giving way at last to ragged trees twisted by the wind, and a wide river meandering north. The sky reflected off the polished platinum mirror of the river, cloudless and cold. Here gravel and dark sand flats edged the water, hemmed in by time-smoothed boulders. Everything was softened, blurred and blunted by time and the old leaves caught in drifts among the gnarled roots of the trees were the color of old pennies and tarnished brass.
The trail disappeared in the sand and gravel, but Rodney made a crowing sound. "Follow the river gorge," he directed. "I've got life signs."
John took the jumper deeper into the hills, following the winding silver rope of the water, passing into chilled shadows and startling a flock of birds from the thicker stands of trees and brush along its banks. Rodney jumped though they couldn't hear the sudden, panicked drum of wings; the flickering shadows of their flight slid across the front console of the jumper, onto his keyboard and his hands. John followed them with his eyes and found the first ripple of heated air, a faint smoke mark against the near white sky. He guided the jumper toward it, while Rodney hummed over his clutch of lifesigns.
"How many?" Ronon asked.
Rodney lifted his laptop so that Ronon could see the screen over his shoulder. It showed a blotch of white with dots outlying. Too many too close together to get a reliable count until they were closer.
They still might have missed the camp if it hadn't been for the fires that dotted a wide gravel bar, smoldering under rickety drying racks covered in fish. The huts were set back, above the gravel bar and out of flood danger, half hidden in the lee of the trees. Little more than lean-tos constructed from branches woven and bent together, chinked with river mud and the verdigris velvet moss that grew in thick blankets on the trees, the camp was nearly invisible.
John swung the jumper round as figures looked up and several ran into the open, jumping and waving their arms.
Rodney leaned forward. "Anyone we know?"
One of the people waving to them had a shock of black hair and towered over the rest, but John didn't recognize him. He picked out an open area on the gravel bar and set the jumper down.
It turned out that it had been a trader from Manaria caught up on another world during a culling. He'd recognized the Atlantean jumper. The other displaced people hung back, staring in a combination of exhausted wariness and hope. Nallan's wide grin and the more cautious smiles of the others who had heard of Atlantis were all that distinguished them from the rest of the stick-thin and ragged people, but it was a major difference. They looked like something out of a prison camp, aged years by the Wraith even if they hadn't been fed from; all the hope sucked out of them and everything else used up just staying alive.
Even just the people visible were too many to load in one jumper. John nodded to Ronon. "Check things out while we talk," he murmured. "Radio if you find anything...off." He didn't know what Ronon might find, but the Wraith had planted these people here. It occurred to him that there might be worshippers among them, though if Tyre had been any example they wouldn't have lasted long. Then again, he didn't know whether the worshippers got the same treatment Tyre had; maybe they kept him on a shorter leash than the people who came to them voluntarily. Maybe they just got a jolt of enzyme, while Tyre had been fed on and restored over and over. His own experience with Todd had been different than Ford's addiction to the wraith enzyme.
Ronon gave him a nod and casually sloped off. His ability to go unseen despite his size impressed John as always.
"Lacos," John said, "stick with me and Rodney, okay?"
"Agreed," Lacos murmured, casually placing himself on guard on Rodney's other side. His hand didn't rest on the butt of the pistol holstered at his waist, but it didn't stray far either. John suddenly liked him for recognizing that Rodney should be looked after and doing it without saying anything.
"We won't have to feed them too, will we?" someone said, bitter and angry, and John caught the glares being aimed at them, hostility he hadn't anticipated and he found his hand resting on his P90 without thinking about it. An unreasonable anger welled up inside him, at himself and everything they didn't do fast enough to find these people, and he wanted to turn it on the speaker but he knew better, knew what he was doing - redirecting - and forced his hand away from the weapon.
All John could do was snap, "No," and, "We're here - "
"We can get you home," Rodney said from beside him.
Another voice dismissed them. "There's no way to use the Ancestor's ring."
"The jumper has a DHD," Rodney explained. "We can open the stargate."
That news ran through the crowd, voices rising finally in excitement.
Nallan looked at them apologetically. "Everyone here has started from scratch and just when we think we can sustain ourselves, the Wraith bring more people. Many died over the winter."
Lacos breathed out something angry and obscene, drawing Nallan's attention. His eyes widened nearly comically as he saw Lacos' Genii uniform. "Who are you?" He drew back a half-step, suddenly wary. A shift in the breeze that had been slowly chilling John through his tac vest, uniform shirt and t-shirt beneath fanned hot, fish-smelling smoke from the nearest fire in his face. He suppressed a cough and prepared to move between them if Nallan did anything crazy. From what the Pegasus grapevine whispered, Manaria and Genea hadn't been on good terms since Kolya blackmailed them into double crossing Atlantis.
"Madar Lacos."
"The Genii have been helping, trying to find the people the Wraith took, once we realized they hadn't been culled, exactly," John explained.
"I hoped there would be a woman here," Lacos said. "Laisha Tragan."
Nallan shook his head. "She was here."
"What happened?"
"Wound fever. She fell onto a broken limb while hunting last autumn. Raila tried everything..."
Lacos drew in a harsh breath, then turned away. He walked back to the jumper and leaned against it. Rodney turned to watch him, commenting, "Crap."
"Colonel Sheppard?" Nallan asked. "Why is a Genii soldier with you?"
John realized how it might look and winced. "Hey, he's okay, besides Atlantis and the Genii are getting along all right these days. They're the ones who figured out how to find this planet."
Nallan eyed Rodney's bandaged head. "Is that how Dr. McKay was hurt, too?"
"It was, so you had better appreciate how hard everyone has been working to find you people," Rodney told him.
"Is everyone here in this camp or are there others?" John asked.
"Everyone is here," Nallan confirmed. "Though there are hunting parties out, trying to find any game besides birds. They'll be back before dark, though. Can you really take us home?"
"Why don't we take you straight to Atlantis and let the docs fix up everyone?" John suggested. "Then they can decide where they want to go."
Woolsey was going to have an infarction, but he just couldn't see dumping these people. They needed medical care, food and shelter. Taking in the rags and badly tanned - and stinking - skins they were wearing, he added clothes to that list. He saw bare feet and others wrapped in bark and moss. Jesus.
"We can load about twenty in the back of the jumper, ferry them to the gate, dial-up and send each group through," he said, thinking out loud.
"If you want to turn it into a sardine can," Rodney muttered, looking sour, "and smell like one too." He flicked a finger toward the drying fish. He was right. The smell permeated the camp and likely everything anyone was wearing.
John ignored him.
"Some will not believe it," Nallan warned.
"Well, they will when they see it," Rodney said. "Or are they an extra special variety of dumb?
Nallan laughed.
"So," John rubbed his cold hands together. "Let's get some folks together and do this."
"Put them in the residential wing of Tower Three with the Athosians, it's got that big central room and a transporter right there," Rodney said. "We'll get Teyla down there to tell them what's going on."
Probably not the brightest idea of any John had ever had, but Atlantis had the room; it was a city and the few hundred people stationed there rattled around even in the tiny area they occupied. Atlantis could house the entire population of more than one Pegasus world; space was no reason not to send the displaced victims of the Wraith through the gate. The city wouldn't sink under their weight.
Of course, according to Rodney, it might blow up if the wrong person activated the wrong thing, but they had a handle on how to keep people in the cleared as safe areas like Tower Three.
Maybe he should have sent them to the beta site rather than Atlantis. Not one of their allied worlds, because large numbers of ill-looking people coming through the stargate tended to scare the local populations, especially in the wake of the Hoffan chemical Michael had spread among so many worlds. Shoot first and apologize at the funeral seemed to be the operating procedure throughout the galaxy. John couldn't bring himself to send the displaced people anywhere but straight to Teyla's care.
His report would say he hadn't broached the possibility because of logistical difficulties and the need to maintain good relations with the Genii.
Good thing they had the jumper, aside from the built-in DHD. He doubted Woolsey would have okayed this plan if he hadn't been able to see that John and Rodney weren't under any obvious compulsion (like, say, a Genii gun to the head). Rodney had taken over convincing Woolsey too, brainstorming a quick and dirty fix in just a few minutes and browbeating him into agreeing.
The video feed from Atlantis showed Woolsey frowning, but he finally nodded and made a gesture.
"Lower the shield," he ordered.
John tapped his radio. "Ronon, send the first group through."
The twenty people that had been chosen to go first started forward into the ripple of the wormhole. After the last disappeared, John said, "We're heading back to pick up another group. Another couple of jumpers could make this move a hell of a lot faster."
Woolsey bit his lip. "Do you have a specific concern?"
"Yeah, it would suck if the Wraith showed up right about now," he replied.
"I'll have Major Lorne and one of the other pilots join you."
Ronon and Lacos reboarded the jumper and seated themselves.
"Thank you, sir," John told Woolsey. "Gotta go." He cut the transmission and headed back to the camp.
The long shadows of the mountains at dusk were sliding into true dark as he set a high, fast course to their destination. Nallan wasn't in charge of anyone and it had taken hours to convince everyone in camp that not only could they make the stargate work without a control pedestal, but their intentions were good. Then, when people started to believe them, it had been another fight to explain they had to leave what little they'd managed to make and sort themselves into groups.
There had been one brutal quarrel involving a flaked stone knife. Ronon had broken it up and confiscated the knife.
John felt a little hysterical bubble of laughter at the memory, despite the blood that had flowed. It was just the juxtaposition of the stone - literally - age weapon and the space-capable jumper.
One minute half of them had been scared to get in the damn jumper, the next they were ready to kill each other over who went first; scared it wouldn't be back, he supposed.
He sighted the fires and brought the jumper in, putting it down in the same place as before. Faster than last time because he didn't think anyone would run under it this time. Maybe they would manage to get their next twenty inside in less than an hour this time, he hoped.
He switched on the jumper's exterior lights and didn't bother getting out of the pilot's seat. Ronon and Lacos exited to bring in the next group. Someone had put together a hell of a bonfire. John watched the flames lick at the piled wood, orange and red shifting, sparks bursting as a pocket of sap ignited. The sparks snuffed out as they landed on the damp gravel.
The people here were using a good portion of all the firewood they'd gathered to light up the night, half celebration and half navigation beacon.
There hadn't been much time to explain what would happen once they were in Atlantis. Nallan was probably the best source of reassurance for the rest, even if comfort seemed to be that 'well, we did them dirt and they didn't blow us up in revenge.' It looked like the others had gotten the idea they wouldn't need the firewood, anyway.
The smell of smoke and fish and cold night air flooded into the jumper, along with voices and the rustle of movement. Ronon squeezed into the cabin.
"Let's go."
"Where's Lacos?" Rodney asked.
"Staying. Leaves enough room to breathe back there," Ronon replied.
John closed the rear hatch and took them up. Along the way, he spotted the moonlit gleam of another jumper. The comm system crackled and Evan's voice, calm as ever, sounded. "Lt. McCready's got Jumper Five coming through the gate, sir. Took a bit longer, we pulled everything we could to make more room inside."
Good thinking, that, but it didn't surprise him; Evan was the most sensible officer John had ever served with and he only wished that any of the ones he'd answered to over the years had been half as good.
"Don't try to overcrowd," he radioed back. "We spent the afternoon organizing everyone into groups. Breaking them up is a good way to leave someone behind."
The two jumpers passed each other without pause.
"Gotcha," Evan acknowledged. "I'm on the course you transmitted. Anything I should look out for?"
"Land on the north end of the gravel bar. The sand's pretty wet on the south," John advised. "Strike Leader Lacos stayed behind to reassure everyone we're coming back. They've got a hell of bonfire going, you should see it no problem."
"Yes sir. Lorne out."
John goosed the jumper a little faster. They passed McCready's jumper a few moments later and John instructed him to hover and wait to land until Evan had his jumper loaded and took off again.
The night passed that way, marked by the steady disintegration of the bonfire, hysterics in one case on the part of a man who didn't want to leave the graves of his wife and three children, and the familiar rhythm of take off and land, like helicopter operations back on Earth.
Second to last trip, Woolsey informed him that the Daedalus had arrived in orbit ahead of schedule. Something was up.
John grimaced at him. The marines were usually detailed to handle offload and inventory of the supplies any ships from Earth delivered, but they'd have their hands full with the refugees. That was going to be fun. "Sorry about that," he said.
Woolsey pursed his lips before shrugging it off. "That's the way it goes."
"Get Zelenka to put together an inventory team out of Engineering," Rodney said. "We have to go over all the equipment in every shipment and verify it arrived in working order before signing off. They can handle counting canned goods and ammo, too."
"Thanks, Rodney," John said.
Rodney pursed his lips. "It's better than dealing with snot-nosed kids and their shellshocked parents."
"That's a good idea, Dr. McKay," Woolsey said. "You can take over once you're back."
"I've been up all night," Rodney whined.
"So have we all."
"How's Teyla doing?" John asked. He watched through the viewport as Ronon chivvied the last of the latest group into the wormhole and started back to the jumper. "That's it. Major Lorne should be on his way with the next to last bunch. You can expect us to dial back in a couple hours. We'll do a sweep to make sure no is left behind."
"Ms. Emmagan's in Tower Three, helping settle the DPs," Woolsey replied. He glanced away, probably toward the gateroom floor. "We'll expect a check-in in four hours or before. I'll have Major Lorne wait at the gate. Just in case." He nodded at someone else and held up his hand. "Atlantis out."
Only a black and ashen pile remained of the bonfire as the jumper set down the last time, crumpling shapes collapsing into soot and white flakes that drifted like confetti. Sand had been used to smother it and all the smoke fires. The racks were kicked apart but left piled in the lee of the river bank. The huts were abandoned too, crude tools left inside, though someone had sacrificed clothing to make bags they filled with the cured fish and hung from the trees.
John stared at them in the thin light of pre-dawn, nothing but a line of rose on the horizon yet, after stepping out of the jumper to stretch his legs and take a piss in the brush, tucking and buttoning up again. The bags were black silhouettes, dangling from the highest limbs possible.
Part of him wondered why anyone had bothered and yet another, schooled in the harshest days of their first year in Pegasus, thought they should salvage every speck of food they could and take it back to Atlantis. Feeding the DPs would put a strain on the city and fish was good protein.
Not enough there to feed these people through the rest of the week, he realized and winced, wondering how many more would have starved here before spring if they hadn't found them.
Morning cold made him shiver and he headed back to where maybe fifteen people waited, picking his way over the rocks and gravel carefully, listening with half an ear to Ronon's low rumble and Nallan's high, voluble ramble, picking out Lacos' figure standing at the edge of the water, staring out, and Rodney waiting at the jumper's hatch. Just the set of his shoulders and the way he leaned against the jumper told John that Rodney had his eyes closed, though the light showed him little more than the shape of him, silhouetted by the interior lights.
The air tasted of river: wet and green, chilled and mud heavy. John bypassed the jumper and walked down to where Lacos stood. The gravel had given away to a shoal of stones, fist-sized and round as ostrich eggs, charcoal black and striated white.
John crouched and picked one up, rough to the fingertips, turning it and frowning. Wet where had been nested in the sand, not perfectly oblate; thinking, nothing in nature was so unrelenting and unforgiving as perfection. No room for adaptation, no flexibility, no place for fortuitous error in perfection. The stone weighed in his hand, dense and enduring. It seemed like something he should bring back to Atlantis, not to be labeled with a soulless numerical designation, but for the people to pick up and remember the ones who would never fly away from this place.
"Wraith-touched fucking bleak," Lacos said, startling John out of his thoughts.
He almost fumbled the stone, turned it in his hand and suddenly the white resolved itself into bones, birds' wings, and he could trace where they were crumpled and broken. John looked again and the dawn light glittered over the wet stones, but he could see the fossils caught in the dark matrix by it, all of them piled together in the in the river's curve, time's midden.
All the worlds are graveyards and there's no place where bones haven't been buried.
Every world, John acknowledged. He set the stone back down and got to his feet, knees creaking, back aching. Old bones. "Yeah," he said.
"Sheppard!" Rodney shouted. "You want to move your dumb ass so we can get back to Atlantis before Woolsey sends out a goddamned search party!? I'd like to get a shower and breakfast before morning staff, thank you very much."
"Coming?" John asked Lacos.
"Sure as the Ancestors not staying here," Lacos replied and walked back with him.
John looked around. The tops of the trees were turning gold with dawn. The camp was still and cold, hollowed out, everyone loaded in the jumper, only Rodney waiting at the hatch.
"We'll have to check back here regularly and pull out anyone else the Wraith maroon," he said. How often would be often enough, though? Every week would be pushing it and they would have to use the jumpers each time, but with no real shelter or food, even two weeks could see people die just from lack.
Rodney's hand brushed over his forearm as they reached the jumper, before he and John pushed through the crowd inside to where Ronon guarded the cockpit, keeping anyone from passing the bulkhead there, leaving Lacos with the DPs. Just a touch, fingers grazing over cloth, not even time enough to feel the warmth of flesh through his shirt, but John had to curl his hand into a fist to keep from reaching back and catching Rodney's hand in his. Not the time, not the time. Never going to be the time, he thought when he let himself think. Or they'd already squandered it, let it run away from them while they were busy just getting by.
He dropped into the pilot's seat a moment later and put such reflections away, to be brought out more properly in dim hours of the morning, those times he woke in his quarters, when things felt twisted in his chest and he ached to touch someone and let himself be comforted. A long day and night, otherwise it wouldn't be so hard suddenly; his walls were weakened lately with weariness and the afterimage of terror, the way he still saw Rodney's head, lolling and bloody, seared behind his closed eyes.
Dawn didn't make the camp any prettier. He took the jumper up and let Rodney run a final lifesign scan, spiraling out from the camp, just to make sure no one had been forgotten. Nothing bigger than another flock of birds, wings flashing, registered. If anyone was left here, they were there by choice, having hoofed it all night long to get far enough from the camp to avoid detection.
At the gate, he set the jumper down long enough to let Lacos out, then dialed Genea and waited for him to walk through.
Rodney watched the wormhole ripple for a breath then sent the signal that told the stargate to disengage. "He'll tell Ladon we found them."
John nodded.
Evan had Jumper Three hovering, ready to leave this planet behind.
"He wasn't bad, for a Genii."
Ronon chuckled behind them. "Shoots straight."
"The funny thing is you mean that literally," Rodney said. Then, "Home?"
"Yeah, Rodney, let's go home," John said.
He watched Rodney's hands move over the console, then activated the comm, sending their confirmation code through first. "Atlantis, this is Jumper Two and Three, we're ready when you are."
"This is Atlantis. IDC accepted. Come on back."
They went straight from the gateroom to the jumper bay, then had to escort Nallan and the fourteen others to Tower Three, hoping Atlantis wouldn't throw a quarantine fit, but Rodney's last adjustments seemed to have stuck. They'd only find out the quarantine strictures were too loose about the time a plague swept through the city, John figured.
They hadn't spent much time explaining what Atlantis would be like or what would happen once they arrived. The last group stared at the halls in shock and began panicking about the time John led them to one of the freight transporters. (Finding those had been a relief. Shuttling large groups of marines around in the tiny two person transporters had been damn inconvenient. Moving large pallets of supplies and major equipment had been a nightmare and simply impossible in many cases without resorting to using Asgard beaming tech when the Daedalus was in orbit. Which had translated into major, important repairs often going undone for months.)
He did his best to calm them down, wincing at the way their rising voices bounced off the transporter's walls, and Nallan reassured them as best he could. Rodney dodged away from one flailing man, yelling at him, "What the hell's wrong with you? Quit hitting me, you cretin!", and yelling at Ronon, "Why don't you stun him or something?"
"Because they're scared, Jesus, McKay," John snapped and then glared at Ronon, silently ordering him to keep his hands off his pistol. "No one's getting stunned." He let Rodney sidle behind him, though. His head wound didn't need to be exacerbated.
He turned back to the crowd in the transporter with them and said through gritted teeth, "Just everybody try to calm down." The transporter flashed and the doors opened behind. "And, hey, look, we're here."
The freight transporter took them to the subfloor of Tower Three and opened into storage area that lit up obligingly for John. Someone with the ATA gene had already been by and initialized everything the Athosians needed to use. One less thing for these refugees to fuss about. John doubted any of them had the gene. None of the Athosians did, they knew that, and outside of the Lord Protector's world and the royal line that produced Queen Harmony (John shuddered), they hadn't run into anyone else in Pegasus expressing enough of the ATA sequence to actually work the Ancient technology that keyed to it.
They took the stairs upward to the ground floor and the main hall where the rest of the refugees had been funneled. It looked like the entire population of the camp, hundreds of people, were all still there. They huddled together in bunches, staring around wide-eyed, or sat on the floor, too tired to move again.
John shooed his group in and scanned the room, spotting Teyla near the personal transporter, consulting with Lt. Halvorsen and one of Keller's nurses. She was pointing to something on a tablet with her good hand and had her casted arm in a sling again. Satisfaction seemed to radiate from her even from a distance. Saving people always pleased Teyla.
"Let's see what Teyla needs us to do," John suggested. Rodney and Ronon followed him, shrugging off the attempts of any of the refugees to talk with them.
Teyla looked up as they approached and smiled.
"John!" she called. She caught his shoulder with one hand, but he'd grown as used to the Athosian greeting as shaking hands and dipped his head to rest his forehead against hers automatically. Her hair smelled of flowers and soap, a relief after a long night spent in the jumper and the trapped stink of ill-cured leather, smoke and fish. Though he could smell it on his own clothes now, too.
He couldn't help smiling back at her though as he stepped back and Ronon bowed in his place.
Rodney offered an awkward, one-sided hug after pointing at his bandage.
As she released Rodney, Teyla stiffened, her gaze locking beyond Ronon. John looked back and realized several Athosians had arrived. He hadn't caught their names, but they'd been among those rescued from Michael. He figured they were looking for some clue to what to do with the new influx of people. It took him a second to process that Kanaan was with them. The last time John has seen him, Kanaan had been pasty and wrong looking.
"Kanaan," she breathed, hope and uncertainty in her voice.
Just hearing her made John worry and he glanced back again, wanting to see the why she sounded like that. But the look on Teyla's face tempered from shock into her negotiator's mask.
John looked back to the group, picking out Kanaan and seeing what Teyla had; he had his hands holding those of a dark-haired young woman who had been among those most upset in the transporter. He wanted to think Kanaan was just keeping her calm, but the way he stood with her, in close contact, conveyed more than comfort. John knew interest and chemistry when he saw it. So did Teyla, he realized.
Kanaan didn't look afraid, not even when his gaze reached John and Teyla. He looked interested, excited, and pleased. He pulled the woman a little closer and said something John couldn't hear, that seemed to calm her.
"Teyla," Kanaan called out. "Teyla, this is Irza of the Ish'pan'denali."
Teyla walked forward and John followed, along with Ronon and Rodney. She greeted the woman and introduced herself and the rest of the team formally, then began working with Kanaan to organize the other rescuees.
Irza never once let go of Kanaan's hand.
Teyla's gaze did not stray to Irza and Kanaan's clasped hands.
That was why Teyla belonged on the command staff, no matter what the IOA thought. John had seen her among the Athosians and known, while afterward Elizabeth had come to trust her quickly, that Teyla had a fundamental steadiness that made her someone they could rely on. She had spoken for all her people. Even now, when others led the Athosians and the man she searched for turned away, when someone else would have been bitter, she didn't let whatever betrayal she felt interfere. They organized the hundreds of refugees into new groups, made sure any families were together, trying to include an Athosian among each, as they at least had had contact with the various members of the Atlantis expedition and weren't uncomfortable interacting with the marines assigned to keep them from wandering where they shouldn't.
Kanaan didn't waste time on excuses, either. Whether he didn't recognize them as warranted or wanted to speak with Teyla in some privacy, it didn't matter. He and Teyla worked well together, and the main hall began to clear in a surprisingly orderly fashion. The nurse from medical agreed it would be better to settle everyone into quarters and then run them through the infirmary in small, manageable numbers for all but emergency care.
John couldn't help disliking Kanaan. The truth, though, was that he didn't know what understanding had been between Teyla and Kanaan. He figured Kanaan hadn't known about Torren until Michael captured Teyla, which absolved him of metaphorically abandoning mother and child. John knew Kanaan hadn't chosen to be taken by Michael, but he hadn't helped Teyla's escape until facing the team's guns, either.
He'd wanted to sock the sonovabitch since finding out Teyla was pregnant. Kanaan was lucky he had been snatched by Michael at that point, because the phrase 'shotgun wedding' would have come up otherwise.
Or, hell, John was the lucky one, because he knew trying to push Teyla into anything she didn't consider right would have resulted in her handing him his ass.
If Kanaan hurt her deliberately, though? Then all bets were off.
"Have any of you been chosen as leader?" Teyla asked.
John looked around, realizing he hadn't seen Nallan's lanky form among the crowd or among the camp's leaders. An ugly feeling of impending bad news hit him.
The radio earpiece fed Chuck's calm voice into John's headset. "Director Woolsey requests you report to the Control Tower conference room at your earliest convenience."
"Roger that, Sergeant," John responded. "We're still settling people in. Expect me in thirty minutes." He'd get Evan down here to take over.
He stepped forward to flank Teyla, Rodney at his side and Ronon just beyond her. Kanaan picked up the message. He was quick, but then Teyla wouldn't have wanted anyone stupid. "We can poll the people as they visit the infirmary."
Another group departed the hall, clearing a space to see where several people were gathered around others who had been lowered to the floor. John didn't see Nallan, but he recognized a short, dark-haired woman who had bossed everyone about back at the camp.
John nodded toward the group and Teyla followed his sight line.
She started across the hall. The rest of the team went with her, along with Kanaan and and his new shadow, Irza.
"Hello, I am Teyla Emmagan," Teyla said, and then, "Who is this?" of the gray-haired man on the floor. "Can you tell me what is wrong?"
The tiny woman with pixie-cut black hair knelt beside him. Her clothes looked Athosian to John. She looked up and smiled as she saw Teyla.
"Teyla!"
"Raila," Teyla answered, smiling as widely. "I did not know you had been taken."
Raila snorted. "I delayed three days with the monks on Daloose. Just long enough to be taken along with the rest of their people." She nodded at Kanaan, but visibly dismissed him in the next instant, studying John, Rodney and Ronon instead. "Your Atlanteans are responsible for finding us. Good allies, Tey."
John twitched. He'd never heard anyone shorten Teyla's name before.
"And our allies, the Genii," Teyla said.
Mention of the Genii made Raila screw up her face as if tasting something sour. "I heard about them as well, though not that they were allies," she commented.
"We are on better terms since Ladon Radim came to power there," Teyla said.
"You mean nuked Cowen and his cronies," Rodney muttered.
"What's wrong here?" John asked, finally spotting Nallan approaching their group.
"Bram has been ill," Nallan answered.
"Ill?" Rodney's voice squeaked. "You know, I should really be in Engineering, or finding Novak, since the Daedalus is here. Bright as she is, without Hermiod, she's surrounded by incompetents and morons. Someone has to make sure the hyperdrives don't go boom and scatter the ship across half the galaxy."
He took a step back, but John caught hold of his jacket collar before he could flee.
"Hey!"
"It is only buiko stomach," Irza said, speaking for the first time.
"Wow, bad enough to put him flat on his back?" Rodney asked. He peered around John's shoulder, his intention to flee any infectious plague forgotten.
Everyone in Atlantis knew about buiko stomach after the first few months eating native Pegasus foods. Buiko stomach was named for a tuber, but numerous foodstuffs in Pegasus included the same troublesome enzyme. Around a quarter of the Pegasans became ill from it and a full three quarters of the Earthborn suffered unpleasant reactions to the buiko enzyme. The symptoms were easily alleviated by either eating buki berries along with anything that had the enzyme or taking the supplements Medical had developed.
It was the Athosians who had taught them about the buki berries, which grew on worlds all over Pegasus and were high in several vitamins as well as the complimentary enzyme that let people lacking it tolerate buiko. Hearing anyone had gone and done so without it seemed strange.
"The Wraith didn't leave us any supplies," Raila snapped. "There's buiko there, but no buki we could find."
"Medical will have the supplement we use," John said. "Is everyone here suffering from it?"
"Temil has a broken leg," Nallan replied.
"Okay." He tapped his radio on. "This is Colonel Sheppard. I need a gurney and a medical team to Tower Three, main hall, ground floor ASAP. We have several people in need of immediate medical attention."
"Is this a quarantine situation?" came the voice of Abiki in Medical, patched in via the bridge communications center.
"No. We have one broken leg and several people suffering from a form of food poisoning, probably buiko stomach."
Abiki didn't waste time on chitchat. "Roger that. On our way. Out."
"We'll get everyone to the infirmary and taken care of," John said to Raila. He noticed Bram's eyes were open a slit and knelt beside him. "Hey, Bram, right? You're going to get taken care of real quick."
"You are Sheppard?" Bram rasped. "It is good."
John grinned at him. "You've heard of me?"
Bram seemed to search his face. "The Ancestor's Chosen."
John patted his shoulder, because he had nothing he could to say to that. It cut damn close. He and Elizabeth had debated selling themselves as the rightful descendants of the Ancestors based on his genes and given it a pass. The idea had taken hold on some planets anyway.
Bram nodded. "I never dreamed to see the Ancestor's city or to live when the Wraith came. I believe now," he said in a hoarse voice. "We will follow you."
Well, wasn't that going to be special.
John glanced away and found himself staring at Kanaan. Who was still locked tight to Irza. Ronon and Rodney were both glaring at them, while Teyla very deliberately didn't look at them at all, bent close and talking to Raila instead.
Yeah, this was going to be great.
Sometimes Rodney had the right idea. Emotional scenes were not John's thing. If you couldn't solve the problem by shooting it, then running away and pretending it didn't exist generally worked for him. He just plain didn't want to be around when Teyla told Kanaan's new girlfriend he was a daddy. Depending on how Irza reacted, John very well might dump her and Kanaan back on PY5-GX5 to play Pegasus Blue Lagoon.
He tapped his radio. "Major Lorne, I need you to report to Tower Three and take over here."
"Acknowledged."
"Rodney, we better get out of here and see what Woolsey and Caldwell have on the agenda."
Rodney gifted him with a look of absolute gratitude. "Yes, yes, as I said, I need to consult with Novak, too, so, yes - Teyla and Lorne can handle everything here, I'm sure."
The medical team arrived, followed by Evan and two more marine officers.
John retreated after sharing one last look with Ronon, knowing he'd stick with Teyla while they dealt with whatever troubles the Daedalus had brought. Maybe it would be something which would derail Woolsey from chewing him out for taking off on an unauthorized rescue mission.
A man could hope.
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Previous:
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The area surrounding the stargate had been cleared down to bare, blowing dirt. The jumper's passage stirred it into the air, a haze of gray-brown. A winter pale sky faded invisibly into the sere bunch-grass that stretched to the horizon in one direction. Taking the jumper higher only showed them desolate plains and the eroded line of weather worn mountains, faded blue-mauve with distance.
"Empty," Ronon said and it certainly looked it, but someone had scraped away at the ground around the stargate. Holes pocked the earth, edges crumbling in, piles of dirt slowly sifting back down.
Lacos leaned forward, studying the area as the jumper circled the area. "Dry," he commented, pointing at the dust that lifted listlessly from the excavations. "Rain would have tamped that down."
Ronon grunted his agreement.
"What were they digging for - ?" John cut himself off as he spotted the dulled gleam of a metal plinth exactly where the DHD pedestal normally stood in relation to the stargate. "They thought the Wraith buried it?"
"Hoped, maybe," Lacos said.
"Where'd they go?" Rodney stared out and his hands were still for once. He'd managed to smudge his bandage again, a smear at his temple from absently pushing up at it there. His hand rose to rub at it again and John realized that he probably had a headache as a lingering effect of the concussion. The pinched line between his brows and his drawn thin mouth gave away that the pain was bad.
"Mountains," Ronon said. "They'd need water, some kind of shelter."
John brought the jumper around. "Lot of mountains here, buddy." They were low and old, like the Appalachians, but still mountains.
Ronon leaned over his shoulder and pointed. "Follow the trail."
Once he looked for it, John could see the path of tramped down grasses. It meandered, avoiding obstacles invisible from the air, but kept a steady heading toward the mountains, southwest by the sun. Given another month, a storm or the advent of spring, signs of that passage would have been impossible to pick out except by an experienced tracker. Which they had in Ronon, but they'd move a lot faster if they could stay in the air.
Ronon kept him on course, though John overshot a turn in the trail twice and had to circle back to spot it again, much to Rodney's amusement. Lacos observed quietly, though John saw his mouth quirk up in a swiftly hidden grin at one of Rodney's more creative insults towards John's sense of direction. The trail led them to a natural cut in the rounded hills that rose up from the end of the plain, the shaggy, ashen grass giving way at last to ragged trees twisted by the wind, and a wide river meandering north. The sky reflected off the polished platinum mirror of the river, cloudless and cold. Here gravel and dark sand flats edged the water, hemmed in by time-smoothed boulders. Everything was softened, blurred and blunted by time and the old leaves caught in drifts among the gnarled roots of the trees were the color of old pennies and tarnished brass.
The trail disappeared in the sand and gravel, but Rodney made a crowing sound. "Follow the river gorge," he directed. "I've got life signs."
John took the jumper deeper into the hills, following the winding silver rope of the water, passing into chilled shadows and startling a flock of birds from the thicker stands of trees and brush along its banks. Rodney jumped though they couldn't hear the sudden, panicked drum of wings; the flickering shadows of their flight slid across the front console of the jumper, onto his keyboard and his hands. John followed them with his eyes and found the first ripple of heated air, a faint smoke mark against the near white sky. He guided the jumper toward it, while Rodney hummed over his clutch of lifesigns.
"How many?" Ronon asked.
Rodney lifted his laptop so that Ronon could see the screen over his shoulder. It showed a blotch of white with dots outlying. Too many too close together to get a reliable count until they were closer.
They still might have missed the camp if it hadn't been for the fires that dotted a wide gravel bar, smoldering under rickety drying racks covered in fish. The huts were set back, above the gravel bar and out of flood danger, half hidden in the lee of the trees. Little more than lean-tos constructed from branches woven and bent together, chinked with river mud and the verdigris velvet moss that grew in thick blankets on the trees, the camp was nearly invisible.
John swung the jumper round as figures looked up and several ran into the open, jumping and waving their arms.
Rodney leaned forward. "Anyone we know?"
One of the people waving to them had a shock of black hair and towered over the rest, but John didn't recognize him. He picked out an open area on the gravel bar and set the jumper down.
It turned out that it had been a trader from Manaria caught up on another world during a culling. He'd recognized the Atlantean jumper. The other displaced people hung back, staring in a combination of exhausted wariness and hope. Nallan's wide grin and the more cautious smiles of the others who had heard of Atlantis were all that distinguished them from the rest of the stick-thin and ragged people, but it was a major difference. They looked like something out of a prison camp, aged years by the Wraith even if they hadn't been fed from; all the hope sucked out of them and everything else used up just staying alive.
Even just the people visible were too many to load in one jumper. John nodded to Ronon. "Check things out while we talk," he murmured. "Radio if you find anything...off." He didn't know what Ronon might find, but the Wraith had planted these people here. It occurred to him that there might be worshippers among them, though if Tyre had been any example they wouldn't have lasted long. Then again, he didn't know whether the worshippers got the same treatment Tyre had; maybe they kept him on a shorter leash than the people who came to them voluntarily. Maybe they just got a jolt of enzyme, while Tyre had been fed on and restored over and over. His own experience with Todd had been different than Ford's addiction to the wraith enzyme.
Ronon gave him a nod and casually sloped off. His ability to go unseen despite his size impressed John as always.
"Lacos," John said, "stick with me and Rodney, okay?"
"Agreed," Lacos murmured, casually placing himself on guard on Rodney's other side. His hand didn't rest on the butt of the pistol holstered at his waist, but it didn't stray far either. John suddenly liked him for recognizing that Rodney should be looked after and doing it without saying anything.
"We won't have to feed them too, will we?" someone said, bitter and angry, and John caught the glares being aimed at them, hostility he hadn't anticipated and he found his hand resting on his P90 without thinking about it. An unreasonable anger welled up inside him, at himself and everything they didn't do fast enough to find these people, and he wanted to turn it on the speaker but he knew better, knew what he was doing - redirecting - and forced his hand away from the weapon.
All John could do was snap, "No," and, "We're here - "
"We can get you home," Rodney said from beside him.
Another voice dismissed them. "There's no way to use the Ancestor's ring."
"The jumper has a DHD," Rodney explained. "We can open the stargate."
That news ran through the crowd, voices rising finally in excitement.
Nallan looked at them apologetically. "Everyone here has started from scratch and just when we think we can sustain ourselves, the Wraith bring more people. Many died over the winter."
Lacos breathed out something angry and obscene, drawing Nallan's attention. His eyes widened nearly comically as he saw Lacos' Genii uniform. "Who are you?" He drew back a half-step, suddenly wary. A shift in the breeze that had been slowly chilling John through his tac vest, uniform shirt and t-shirt beneath fanned hot, fish-smelling smoke from the nearest fire in his face. He suppressed a cough and prepared to move between them if Nallan did anything crazy. From what the Pegasus grapevine whispered, Manaria and Genea hadn't been on good terms since Kolya blackmailed them into double crossing Atlantis.
"Madar Lacos."
"The Genii have been helping, trying to find the people the Wraith took, once we realized they hadn't been culled, exactly," John explained.
"I hoped there would be a woman here," Lacos said. "Laisha Tragan."
Nallan shook his head. "She was here."
"What happened?"
"Wound fever. She fell onto a broken limb while hunting last autumn. Raila tried everything..."
Lacos drew in a harsh breath, then turned away. He walked back to the jumper and leaned against it. Rodney turned to watch him, commenting, "Crap."
"Colonel Sheppard?" Nallan asked. "Why is a Genii soldier with you?"
John realized how it might look and winced. "Hey, he's okay, besides Atlantis and the Genii are getting along all right these days. They're the ones who figured out how to find this planet."
Nallan eyed Rodney's bandaged head. "Is that how Dr. McKay was hurt, too?"
"It was, so you had better appreciate how hard everyone has been working to find you people," Rodney told him.
"Is everyone here in this camp or are there others?" John asked.
"Everyone is here," Nallan confirmed. "Though there are hunting parties out, trying to find any game besides birds. They'll be back before dark, though. Can you really take us home?"
"Why don't we take you straight to Atlantis and let the docs fix up everyone?" John suggested. "Then they can decide where they want to go."
Woolsey was going to have an infarction, but he just couldn't see dumping these people. They needed medical care, food and shelter. Taking in the rags and badly tanned - and stinking - skins they were wearing, he added clothes to that list. He saw bare feet and others wrapped in bark and moss. Jesus.
"We can load about twenty in the back of the jumper, ferry them to the gate, dial-up and send each group through," he said, thinking out loud.
"If you want to turn it into a sardine can," Rodney muttered, looking sour, "and smell like one too." He flicked a finger toward the drying fish. He was right. The smell permeated the camp and likely everything anyone was wearing.
John ignored him.
"Some will not believe it," Nallan warned.
"Well, they will when they see it," Rodney said. "Or are they an extra special variety of dumb?
Nallan laughed.
"So," John rubbed his cold hands together. "Let's get some folks together and do this."
"Put them in the residential wing of Tower Three with the Athosians, it's got that big central room and a transporter right there," Rodney said. "We'll get Teyla down there to tell them what's going on."
Probably not the brightest idea of any John had ever had, but Atlantis had the room; it was a city and the few hundred people stationed there rattled around even in the tiny area they occupied. Atlantis could house the entire population of more than one Pegasus world; space was no reason not to send the displaced victims of the Wraith through the gate. The city wouldn't sink under their weight.
Of course, according to Rodney, it might blow up if the wrong person activated the wrong thing, but they had a handle on how to keep people in the cleared as safe areas like Tower Three.
Maybe he should have sent them to the beta site rather than Atlantis. Not one of their allied worlds, because large numbers of ill-looking people coming through the stargate tended to scare the local populations, especially in the wake of the Hoffan chemical Michael had spread among so many worlds. Shoot first and apologize at the funeral seemed to be the operating procedure throughout the galaxy. John couldn't bring himself to send the displaced people anywhere but straight to Teyla's care.
His report would say he hadn't broached the possibility because of logistical difficulties and the need to maintain good relations with the Genii.
Good thing they had the jumper, aside from the built-in DHD. He doubted Woolsey would have okayed this plan if he hadn't been able to see that John and Rodney weren't under any obvious compulsion (like, say, a Genii gun to the head). Rodney had taken over convincing Woolsey too, brainstorming a quick and dirty fix in just a few minutes and browbeating him into agreeing.
The video feed from Atlantis showed Woolsey frowning, but he finally nodded and made a gesture.
"Lower the shield," he ordered.
John tapped his radio. "Ronon, send the first group through."
The twenty people that had been chosen to go first started forward into the ripple of the wormhole. After the last disappeared, John said, "We're heading back to pick up another group. Another couple of jumpers could make this move a hell of a lot faster."
Woolsey bit his lip. "Do you have a specific concern?"
"Yeah, it would suck if the Wraith showed up right about now," he replied.
"I'll have Major Lorne and one of the other pilots join you."
Ronon and Lacos reboarded the jumper and seated themselves.
"Thank you, sir," John told Woolsey. "Gotta go." He cut the transmission and headed back to the camp.
The long shadows of the mountains at dusk were sliding into true dark as he set a high, fast course to their destination. Nallan wasn't in charge of anyone and it had taken hours to convince everyone in camp that not only could they make the stargate work without a control pedestal, but their intentions were good. Then, when people started to believe them, it had been another fight to explain they had to leave what little they'd managed to make and sort themselves into groups.
There had been one brutal quarrel involving a flaked stone knife. Ronon had broken it up and confiscated the knife.
John felt a little hysterical bubble of laughter at the memory, despite the blood that had flowed. It was just the juxtaposition of the stone - literally - age weapon and the space-capable jumper.
One minute half of them had been scared to get in the damn jumper, the next they were ready to kill each other over who went first; scared it wouldn't be back, he supposed.
He sighted the fires and brought the jumper in, putting it down in the same place as before. Faster than last time because he didn't think anyone would run under it this time. Maybe they would manage to get their next twenty inside in less than an hour this time, he hoped.
He switched on the jumper's exterior lights and didn't bother getting out of the pilot's seat. Ronon and Lacos exited to bring in the next group. Someone had put together a hell of a bonfire. John watched the flames lick at the piled wood, orange and red shifting, sparks bursting as a pocket of sap ignited. The sparks snuffed out as they landed on the damp gravel.
The people here were using a good portion of all the firewood they'd gathered to light up the night, half celebration and half navigation beacon.
There hadn't been much time to explain what would happen once they were in Atlantis. Nallan was probably the best source of reassurance for the rest, even if comfort seemed to be that 'well, we did them dirt and they didn't blow us up in revenge.' It looked like the others had gotten the idea they wouldn't need the firewood, anyway.
The smell of smoke and fish and cold night air flooded into the jumper, along with voices and the rustle of movement. Ronon squeezed into the cabin.
"Let's go."
"Where's Lacos?" Rodney asked.
"Staying. Leaves enough room to breathe back there," Ronon replied.
John closed the rear hatch and took them up. Along the way, he spotted the moonlit gleam of another jumper. The comm system crackled and Evan's voice, calm as ever, sounded. "Lt. McCready's got Jumper Five coming through the gate, sir. Took a bit longer, we pulled everything we could to make more room inside."
Good thinking, that, but it didn't surprise him; Evan was the most sensible officer John had ever served with and he only wished that any of the ones he'd answered to over the years had been half as good.
"Don't try to overcrowd," he radioed back. "We spent the afternoon organizing everyone into groups. Breaking them up is a good way to leave someone behind."
The two jumpers passed each other without pause.
"Gotcha," Evan acknowledged. "I'm on the course you transmitted. Anything I should look out for?"
"Land on the north end of the gravel bar. The sand's pretty wet on the south," John advised. "Strike Leader Lacos stayed behind to reassure everyone we're coming back. They've got a hell of bonfire going, you should see it no problem."
"Yes sir. Lorne out."
John goosed the jumper a little faster. They passed McCready's jumper a few moments later and John instructed him to hover and wait to land until Evan had his jumper loaded and took off again.
The night passed that way, marked by the steady disintegration of the bonfire, hysterics in one case on the part of a man who didn't want to leave the graves of his wife and three children, and the familiar rhythm of take off and land, like helicopter operations back on Earth.
Second to last trip, Woolsey informed him that the Daedalus had arrived in orbit ahead of schedule. Something was up.
John grimaced at him. The marines were usually detailed to handle offload and inventory of the supplies any ships from Earth delivered, but they'd have their hands full with the refugees. That was going to be fun. "Sorry about that," he said.
Woolsey pursed his lips before shrugging it off. "That's the way it goes."
"Get Zelenka to put together an inventory team out of Engineering," Rodney said. "We have to go over all the equipment in every shipment and verify it arrived in working order before signing off. They can handle counting canned goods and ammo, too."
"Thanks, Rodney," John said.
Rodney pursed his lips. "It's better than dealing with snot-nosed kids and their shellshocked parents."
"That's a good idea, Dr. McKay," Woolsey said. "You can take over once you're back."
"I've been up all night," Rodney whined.
"So have we all."
"How's Teyla doing?" John asked. He watched through the viewport as Ronon chivvied the last of the latest group into the wormhole and started back to the jumper. "That's it. Major Lorne should be on his way with the next to last bunch. You can expect us to dial back in a couple hours. We'll do a sweep to make sure no is left behind."
"Ms. Emmagan's in Tower Three, helping settle the DPs," Woolsey replied. He glanced away, probably toward the gateroom floor. "We'll expect a check-in in four hours or before. I'll have Major Lorne wait at the gate. Just in case." He nodded at someone else and held up his hand. "Atlantis out."
Only a black and ashen pile remained of the bonfire as the jumper set down the last time, crumpling shapes collapsing into soot and white flakes that drifted like confetti. Sand had been used to smother it and all the smoke fires. The racks were kicked apart but left piled in the lee of the river bank. The huts were abandoned too, crude tools left inside, though someone had sacrificed clothing to make bags they filled with the cured fish and hung from the trees.
John stared at them in the thin light of pre-dawn, nothing but a line of rose on the horizon yet, after stepping out of the jumper to stretch his legs and take a piss in the brush, tucking and buttoning up again. The bags were black silhouettes, dangling from the highest limbs possible.
Part of him wondered why anyone had bothered and yet another, schooled in the harshest days of their first year in Pegasus, thought they should salvage every speck of food they could and take it back to Atlantis. Feeding the DPs would put a strain on the city and fish was good protein.
Not enough there to feed these people through the rest of the week, he realized and winced, wondering how many more would have starved here before spring if they hadn't found them.
Morning cold made him shiver and he headed back to where maybe fifteen people waited, picking his way over the rocks and gravel carefully, listening with half an ear to Ronon's low rumble and Nallan's high, voluble ramble, picking out Lacos' figure standing at the edge of the water, staring out, and Rodney waiting at the jumper's hatch. Just the set of his shoulders and the way he leaned against the jumper told John that Rodney had his eyes closed, though the light showed him little more than the shape of him, silhouetted by the interior lights.
The air tasted of river: wet and green, chilled and mud heavy. John bypassed the jumper and walked down to where Lacos stood. The gravel had given away to a shoal of stones, fist-sized and round as ostrich eggs, charcoal black and striated white.
John crouched and picked one up, rough to the fingertips, turning it and frowning. Wet where had been nested in the sand, not perfectly oblate; thinking, nothing in nature was so unrelenting and unforgiving as perfection. No room for adaptation, no flexibility, no place for fortuitous error in perfection. The stone weighed in his hand, dense and enduring. It seemed like something he should bring back to Atlantis, not to be labeled with a soulless numerical designation, but for the people to pick up and remember the ones who would never fly away from this place.
"Wraith-touched fucking bleak," Lacos said, startling John out of his thoughts.
He almost fumbled the stone, turned it in his hand and suddenly the white resolved itself into bones, birds' wings, and he could trace where they were crumpled and broken. John looked again and the dawn light glittered over the wet stones, but he could see the fossils caught in the dark matrix by it, all of them piled together in the in the river's curve, time's midden.
All the worlds are graveyards and there's no place where bones haven't been buried.
Every world, John acknowledged. He set the stone back down and got to his feet, knees creaking, back aching. Old bones. "Yeah," he said.
"Sheppard!" Rodney shouted. "You want to move your dumb ass so we can get back to Atlantis before Woolsey sends out a goddamned search party!? I'd like to get a shower and breakfast before morning staff, thank you very much."
"Coming?" John asked Lacos.
"Sure as the Ancestors not staying here," Lacos replied and walked back with him.
John looked around. The tops of the trees were turning gold with dawn. The camp was still and cold, hollowed out, everyone loaded in the jumper, only Rodney waiting at the hatch.
"We'll have to check back here regularly and pull out anyone else the Wraith maroon," he said. How often would be often enough, though? Every week would be pushing it and they would have to use the jumpers each time, but with no real shelter or food, even two weeks could see people die just from lack.
Rodney's hand brushed over his forearm as they reached the jumper, before he and John pushed through the crowd inside to where Ronon guarded the cockpit, keeping anyone from passing the bulkhead there, leaving Lacos with the DPs. Just a touch, fingers grazing over cloth, not even time enough to feel the warmth of flesh through his shirt, but John had to curl his hand into a fist to keep from reaching back and catching Rodney's hand in his. Not the time, not the time. Never going to be the time, he thought when he let himself think. Or they'd already squandered it, let it run away from them while they were busy just getting by.
He dropped into the pilot's seat a moment later and put such reflections away, to be brought out more properly in dim hours of the morning, those times he woke in his quarters, when things felt twisted in his chest and he ached to touch someone and let himself be comforted. A long day and night, otherwise it wouldn't be so hard suddenly; his walls were weakened lately with weariness and the afterimage of terror, the way he still saw Rodney's head, lolling and bloody, seared behind his closed eyes.
Dawn didn't make the camp any prettier. He took the jumper up and let Rodney run a final lifesign scan, spiraling out from the camp, just to make sure no one had been forgotten. Nothing bigger than another flock of birds, wings flashing, registered. If anyone was left here, they were there by choice, having hoofed it all night long to get far enough from the camp to avoid detection.
At the gate, he set the jumper down long enough to let Lacos out, then dialed Genea and waited for him to walk through.
Rodney watched the wormhole ripple for a breath then sent the signal that told the stargate to disengage. "He'll tell Ladon we found them."
John nodded.
Evan had Jumper Three hovering, ready to leave this planet behind.
"He wasn't bad, for a Genii."
Ronon chuckled behind them. "Shoots straight."
"The funny thing is you mean that literally," Rodney said. Then, "Home?"
"Yeah, Rodney, let's go home," John said.
He watched Rodney's hands move over the console, then activated the comm, sending their confirmation code through first. "Atlantis, this is Jumper Two and Three, we're ready when you are."
"This is Atlantis. IDC accepted. Come on back."
They went straight from the gateroom to the jumper bay, then had to escort Nallan and the fourteen others to Tower Three, hoping Atlantis wouldn't throw a quarantine fit, but Rodney's last adjustments seemed to have stuck. They'd only find out the quarantine strictures were too loose about the time a plague swept through the city, John figured.
They hadn't spent much time explaining what Atlantis would be like or what would happen once they arrived. The last group stared at the halls in shock and began panicking about the time John led them to one of the freight transporters. (Finding those had been a relief. Shuttling large groups of marines around in the tiny two person transporters had been damn inconvenient. Moving large pallets of supplies and major equipment had been a nightmare and simply impossible in many cases without resorting to using Asgard beaming tech when the Daedalus was in orbit. Which had translated into major, important repairs often going undone for months.)
He did his best to calm them down, wincing at the way their rising voices bounced off the transporter's walls, and Nallan reassured them as best he could. Rodney dodged away from one flailing man, yelling at him, "What the hell's wrong with you? Quit hitting me, you cretin!", and yelling at Ronon, "Why don't you stun him or something?"
"Because they're scared, Jesus, McKay," John snapped and then glared at Ronon, silently ordering him to keep his hands off his pistol. "No one's getting stunned." He let Rodney sidle behind him, though. His head wound didn't need to be exacerbated.
He turned back to the crowd in the transporter with them and said through gritted teeth, "Just everybody try to calm down." The transporter flashed and the doors opened behind. "And, hey, look, we're here."
The freight transporter took them to the subfloor of Tower Three and opened into storage area that lit up obligingly for John. Someone with the ATA gene had already been by and initialized everything the Athosians needed to use. One less thing for these refugees to fuss about. John doubted any of them had the gene. None of the Athosians did, they knew that, and outside of the Lord Protector's world and the royal line that produced Queen Harmony (John shuddered), they hadn't run into anyone else in Pegasus expressing enough of the ATA sequence to actually work the Ancient technology that keyed to it.
They took the stairs upward to the ground floor and the main hall where the rest of the refugees had been funneled. It looked like the entire population of the camp, hundreds of people, were all still there. They huddled together in bunches, staring around wide-eyed, or sat on the floor, too tired to move again.
John shooed his group in and scanned the room, spotting Teyla near the personal transporter, consulting with Lt. Halvorsen and one of Keller's nurses. She was pointing to something on a tablet with her good hand and had her casted arm in a sling again. Satisfaction seemed to radiate from her even from a distance. Saving people always pleased Teyla.
"Let's see what Teyla needs us to do," John suggested. Rodney and Ronon followed him, shrugging off the attempts of any of the refugees to talk with them.
Teyla looked up as they approached and smiled.
"John!" she called. She caught his shoulder with one hand, but he'd grown as used to the Athosian greeting as shaking hands and dipped his head to rest his forehead against hers automatically. Her hair smelled of flowers and soap, a relief after a long night spent in the jumper and the trapped stink of ill-cured leather, smoke and fish. Though he could smell it on his own clothes now, too.
He couldn't help smiling back at her though as he stepped back and Ronon bowed in his place.
Rodney offered an awkward, one-sided hug after pointing at his bandage.
As she released Rodney, Teyla stiffened, her gaze locking beyond Ronon. John looked back and realized several Athosians had arrived. He hadn't caught their names, but they'd been among those rescued from Michael. He figured they were looking for some clue to what to do with the new influx of people. It took him a second to process that Kanaan was with them. The last time John has seen him, Kanaan had been pasty and wrong looking.
"Kanaan," she breathed, hope and uncertainty in her voice.
Just hearing her made John worry and he glanced back again, wanting to see the why she sounded like that. But the look on Teyla's face tempered from shock into her negotiator's mask.
John looked back to the group, picking out Kanaan and seeing what Teyla had; he had his hands holding those of a dark-haired young woman who had been among those most upset in the transporter. He wanted to think Kanaan was just keeping her calm, but the way he stood with her, in close contact, conveyed more than comfort. John knew interest and chemistry when he saw it. So did Teyla, he realized.
Kanaan didn't look afraid, not even when his gaze reached John and Teyla. He looked interested, excited, and pleased. He pulled the woman a little closer and said something John couldn't hear, that seemed to calm her.
"Teyla," Kanaan called out. "Teyla, this is Irza of the Ish'pan'denali."
Teyla walked forward and John followed, along with Ronon and Rodney. She greeted the woman and introduced herself and the rest of the team formally, then began working with Kanaan to organize the other rescuees.
Irza never once let go of Kanaan's hand.
Teyla's gaze did not stray to Irza and Kanaan's clasped hands.
That was why Teyla belonged on the command staff, no matter what the IOA thought. John had seen her among the Athosians and known, while afterward Elizabeth had come to trust her quickly, that Teyla had a fundamental steadiness that made her someone they could rely on. She had spoken for all her people. Even now, when others led the Athosians and the man she searched for turned away, when someone else would have been bitter, she didn't let whatever betrayal she felt interfere. They organized the hundreds of refugees into new groups, made sure any families were together, trying to include an Athosian among each, as they at least had had contact with the various members of the Atlantis expedition and weren't uncomfortable interacting with the marines assigned to keep them from wandering where they shouldn't.
Kanaan didn't waste time on excuses, either. Whether he didn't recognize them as warranted or wanted to speak with Teyla in some privacy, it didn't matter. He and Teyla worked well together, and the main hall began to clear in a surprisingly orderly fashion. The nurse from medical agreed it would be better to settle everyone into quarters and then run them through the infirmary in small, manageable numbers for all but emergency care.
John couldn't help disliking Kanaan. The truth, though, was that he didn't know what understanding had been between Teyla and Kanaan. He figured Kanaan hadn't known about Torren until Michael captured Teyla, which absolved him of metaphorically abandoning mother and child. John knew Kanaan hadn't chosen to be taken by Michael, but he hadn't helped Teyla's escape until facing the team's guns, either.
He'd wanted to sock the sonovabitch since finding out Teyla was pregnant. Kanaan was lucky he had been snatched by Michael at that point, because the phrase 'shotgun wedding' would have come up otherwise.
Or, hell, John was the lucky one, because he knew trying to push Teyla into anything she didn't consider right would have resulted in her handing him his ass.
If Kanaan hurt her deliberately, though? Then all bets were off.
"Have any of you been chosen as leader?" Teyla asked.
John looked around, realizing he hadn't seen Nallan's lanky form among the crowd or among the camp's leaders. An ugly feeling of impending bad news hit him.
The radio earpiece fed Chuck's calm voice into John's headset. "Director Woolsey requests you report to the Control Tower conference room at your earliest convenience."
"Roger that, Sergeant," John responded. "We're still settling people in. Expect me in thirty minutes." He'd get Evan down here to take over.
He stepped forward to flank Teyla, Rodney at his side and Ronon just beyond her. Kanaan picked up the message. He was quick, but then Teyla wouldn't have wanted anyone stupid. "We can poll the people as they visit the infirmary."
Another group departed the hall, clearing a space to see where several people were gathered around others who had been lowered to the floor. John didn't see Nallan, but he recognized a short, dark-haired woman who had bossed everyone about back at the camp.
John nodded toward the group and Teyla followed his sight line.
She started across the hall. The rest of the team went with her, along with Kanaan and and his new shadow, Irza.
"Hello, I am Teyla Emmagan," Teyla said, and then, "Who is this?" of the gray-haired man on the floor. "Can you tell me what is wrong?"
The tiny woman with pixie-cut black hair knelt beside him. Her clothes looked Athosian to John. She looked up and smiled as she saw Teyla.
"Teyla!"
"Raila," Teyla answered, smiling as widely. "I did not know you had been taken."
Raila snorted. "I delayed three days with the monks on Daloose. Just long enough to be taken along with the rest of their people." She nodded at Kanaan, but visibly dismissed him in the next instant, studying John, Rodney and Ronon instead. "Your Atlanteans are responsible for finding us. Good allies, Tey."
John twitched. He'd never heard anyone shorten Teyla's name before.
"And our allies, the Genii," Teyla said.
Mention of the Genii made Raila screw up her face as if tasting something sour. "I heard about them as well, though not that they were allies," she commented.
"We are on better terms since Ladon Radim came to power there," Teyla said.
"You mean nuked Cowen and his cronies," Rodney muttered.
"What's wrong here?" John asked, finally spotting Nallan approaching their group.
"Bram has been ill," Nallan answered.
"Ill?" Rodney's voice squeaked. "You know, I should really be in Engineering, or finding Novak, since the Daedalus is here. Bright as she is, without Hermiod, she's surrounded by incompetents and morons. Someone has to make sure the hyperdrives don't go boom and scatter the ship across half the galaxy."
He took a step back, but John caught hold of his jacket collar before he could flee.
"Hey!"
"It is only buiko stomach," Irza said, speaking for the first time.
"Wow, bad enough to put him flat on his back?" Rodney asked. He peered around John's shoulder, his intention to flee any infectious plague forgotten.
Everyone in Atlantis knew about buiko stomach after the first few months eating native Pegasus foods. Buiko stomach was named for a tuber, but numerous foodstuffs in Pegasus included the same troublesome enzyme. Around a quarter of the Pegasans became ill from it and a full three quarters of the Earthborn suffered unpleasant reactions to the buiko enzyme. The symptoms were easily alleviated by either eating buki berries along with anything that had the enzyme or taking the supplements Medical had developed.
It was the Athosians who had taught them about the buki berries, which grew on worlds all over Pegasus and were high in several vitamins as well as the complimentary enzyme that let people lacking it tolerate buiko. Hearing anyone had gone and done so without it seemed strange.
"The Wraith didn't leave us any supplies," Raila snapped. "There's buiko there, but no buki we could find."
"Medical will have the supplement we use," John said. "Is everyone here suffering from it?"
"Temil has a broken leg," Nallan replied.
"Okay." He tapped his radio on. "This is Colonel Sheppard. I need a gurney and a medical team to Tower Three, main hall, ground floor ASAP. We have several people in need of immediate medical attention."
"Is this a quarantine situation?" came the voice of Abiki in Medical, patched in via the bridge communications center.
"No. We have one broken leg and several people suffering from a form of food poisoning, probably buiko stomach."
Abiki didn't waste time on chitchat. "Roger that. On our way. Out."
"We'll get everyone to the infirmary and taken care of," John said to Raila. He noticed Bram's eyes were open a slit and knelt beside him. "Hey, Bram, right? You're going to get taken care of real quick."
"You are Sheppard?" Bram rasped. "It is good."
John grinned at him. "You've heard of me?"
Bram seemed to search his face. "The Ancestor's Chosen."
John patted his shoulder, because he had nothing he could to say to that. It cut damn close. He and Elizabeth had debated selling themselves as the rightful descendants of the Ancestors based on his genes and given it a pass. The idea had taken hold on some planets anyway.
Bram nodded. "I never dreamed to see the Ancestor's city or to live when the Wraith came. I believe now," he said in a hoarse voice. "We will follow you."
Well, wasn't that going to be special.
John glanced away and found himself staring at Kanaan. Who was still locked tight to Irza. Ronon and Rodney were both glaring at them, while Teyla very deliberately didn't look at them at all, bent close and talking to Raila instead.
Yeah, this was going to be great.
Sometimes Rodney had the right idea. Emotional scenes were not John's thing. If you couldn't solve the problem by shooting it, then running away and pretending it didn't exist generally worked for him. He just plain didn't want to be around when Teyla told Kanaan's new girlfriend he was a daddy. Depending on how Irza reacted, John very well might dump her and Kanaan back on PY5-GX5 to play Pegasus Blue Lagoon.
He tapped his radio. "Major Lorne, I need you to report to Tower Three and take over here."
"Acknowledged."
"Rodney, we better get out of here and see what Woolsey and Caldwell have on the agenda."
Rodney gifted him with a look of absolute gratitude. "Yes, yes, as I said, I need to consult with Novak, too, so, yes - Teyla and Lorne can handle everything here, I'm sure."
The medical team arrived, followed by Evan and two more marine officers.
John retreated after sharing one last look with Ronon, knowing he'd stick with Teyla while they dealt with whatever troubles the Daedalus had brought. Maybe it would be something which would derail Woolsey from chewing him out for taking off on an unauthorized rescue mission.
A man could hope.
[e ]