Fic: They Also Serve
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Title: They Also Serve
Author: Quasar
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Spoilers: Through 'Misbegotten' (okay, really through 'Common Ground')
Length: 1750 wds
Summary: How I came to Atlantis and what I hope to do here...
Author's Notes: Originally posted as part of the sga_flashfic "Villains" challenge.
I slept in the clinging shroud of the cocoon until powerful hands pulled me from the warmth. As I crouched gasping on the damp deck, a voice called over my head, "We got a live one here!"
Strange men hustled me along the ship's corridors, gripping my arm or shoulder impersonally but not cruelly. They were soldiers of some sort, but I did not recognize their uniforms or their manner of speech. They took me to a large room -- Her room, the throne room, I realized, and shrank back at the entranceway. Impatiently, they promised me it was safe.
She was not there; the walls that had whispered her name like some drug poured into the funnels of my ears were silent now, lifeless and sullen. Black blood glistened at the foot of the dais where Her throne stood.
Others were there, as dazed as I, still covered in shreds of webbing. A few I knew, but I did not meet their eyes or speak to them. Instead, I curled against the base of a pillar, as far from Her throne as I could get, shivering in the naked air.
Time passed. More soldiers brought in more cowering refugees. Containers of water were sent around, and food in strange silver packets that we had to be instructed to use. I drank, but shook my head at the oddly-colored paste. How long ago was it that the Queen had lectured me in this very hall on the nature of hunger? I though that I would never be hungry again.
I found the courage to ask, hoarsely, "What happened to the -- the Wraith? The crew of this ship?"
The soldier passing out water told me, "Almost all of 'em are dead. The ones that are left, they won't be bothering you anymore." He saw my shudder and assured me: "Nothing to worry about -- they're all locked away safe."
I turned my face into my knees.
The ship moved and thrummed, but it did not live. It swam through space as a dead thing might, controlled by a separate will. I had no need to ask; the Queen was dead.
Officers came, tall and grim-faced. Their uniforms, green and grey and black, were no different from the other soldiers', but I saw the the deference given to them. They brought another with them, a Wraith -- the strange short-haired one that had been so deep in the Queen's affairs. I crept slowly around the pillar to hide quaking in its shadow.
"A hundred and sixteen still alive," said the soldier who had spoken to me earlier.
"That's on top of more than two hundred converted Wraith," said the oldest officer, one of those wearing green. "Life support can handle it, but we'll be getting short of water in a few days."
"You would think there'd be more," said one of the two grey-and-black officers. "I mean, this ship was going on a pretty long trip with a crew of what, two thousand?"
"More. But most were in hibernation for the voyage," the Wraith answered. "Those awake would only need to feed perhaps once in ten of your days." The resonance of his voice struck to my bones.
"So what are we going to do with them all?" the second young officer said.
The first shrugged. "Same thing we do with all our refugees. Manarea, Belkan, the mainland, the delta site. Some of them will have homes to go back to, or relatives to look up. The rest, we help 'em find a new place to settle. We can handle a hundred, no problem."
Still discussing their plans, the officers and the unnatural Wraith left the throne room.
I lost track of time for a while. I felt warm, but I couldn't stop shaking as if with cold. Perhaps I slept. The next thing I knew, someone was looming over me, touching my shoulder.
"Hey, I think this one is sick!" the soldier called over my head.
I turned my face away, teeth chattering though I was soaked with sweat.
"Should we do a transport straight to the infirmary?" one soldier asked.
"I don't know, what if it's something contagious?"
I closed my eyes and ignored the voices.
When next I was fully aware, I found myself in a bed wrapped in soft, cool sheets. Yellow-white light revealed a room full of colors oddly soothing to the human eye, but the straight lights of the walls and ceiling unsettled me. Machines beeped and clicked in muted tones. The air had a strange scent to it, salty and astringent.
One of the less-straight lines fluttered as a curtain drew back.
"Ah! So you're awake. Feeling a bit better?"
I nodded cautiously, not trusting my voice.
"Welcome to Atlantis. I'm Doctor Beckett, one of the, er, healers here."
Atlantis. I had heard that word before. She had called it the place of their triumph. This must be where the ones who destroyed the Wraith ship had come from. This healer's accent wasn't the same as the soldiers, but his clothing was similar. His eyes, as blue as the lights on the Wraith ship, regarded me kindly. I wondered when that warmth would change to chill anger.
I shifted on the bed, testing my muscles -- no longer shaky -- and tried speaking. "I have been . . . ill?"
"Aye." He looked at me solemnly. "You were fed upon by the Wraith -- more than once, if the marks on your chest are any indication."
My hand crept up to my chest, now decently covered.
"D'you remember that part?"
I nodded.
"Well," he continued, "Wraith inject an enzyme into a person that strengthens the body during the feeding. When that enzyme wears off, it can leave the person feeling weaker than ever. Perhaps you've heard of someone surviving a feeding, yet dying afterward?"
"I have seen it." My voice was growing less raspy.
"That's essentially what we believe happened to you. Since you were fed on more than once, and kept cocooned in between, your body never had the opportunity to adapt to being without the enzyme. And so, even though you weren't drained too badly --" He stopped.
My heart raced. Did he know? Was this the moment when he would guess?
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask," he began, and I clenched my fists. "How old are you?"
What? That was not the question I was expecting. "I . . . don't know," I said slowly. "How long was I on the ship? I slept . . ."
"Aye, it seems those cocoons can work almost as stasis units when they want," said the healer. "All right then, how old were you when you were taken by the Wraith?"
By what calendar? I wondered, but did not ask. "I was just about to have my adulthood ceremony," I said. "Next hunting season, I was to make my first solo kill."
The kind blue eyes went sad. "Well, you look . . . not quite twice that now." He look relieved when I absorbed the news quietly. "I, er, I can get you a mirror if you'd like."
"Yes, please."
The mirror was brought to me by a new person, a woman with soft brown skin and coppery hair. "I am Teyla Emmagan of Athos," she told me while she held the mirror for me to look into. "May I know your name?"
It was so long since I had heard it spoken, I had to think. I pretended to be engrossed in the faint wrinkles at the corners of my eyes. "Joneed," I offered at last.
"And what world are you from?"
I glanced at her in surprise.
"We wish to ascertain if it would be possible to take you back to your home," she explained gently.
"I don't want to go back," I said at once, harshly. "They abandoned me. Barred the shelter against me and left me for the Wraith."
"Sometimes people in fear do things they are not proud of," she said softly.
I snorted. "I grew up on Abhav," I said in answer to her question.
She took in a sharp breath. "I am sorry. No one lives there now. But we do know of some refugees. Were you acquainted with a farmer named Orin, from the village nearest the gate?"
"No, my village was many days' travel from the gate. They thought it would keep them safe," I scoffed, "but the ships of the Wraith travel everywhere."
"We will find a new home for you," she said. "You will not be alone."
"I want to stay here," I said. "On Atlantis."
One of her eyebrows arched. "If you have skills that will be of use here in the city, you may be able to obtain approval to stay here. Or, if you prefer a more . . . peaceful existence, my people always have need of more hands to help with farming on the mainland."
"Under the protection of Atlantis?" I asked urgently. "Of the people who destroyed those Wraith ships?"
"That's correct," she said with a smile. "And there would be opportunities to come visit the city of the Ancestors on occasion."
I handed the mirror back to her and smiled. I realized they didn't know that my kind existed. They didn't even know it was possible.
-----
I live now in a village of Athosians and other refugees, on the mainland half an hour's flight from Atlantis. The Wraith do not come here. It took time for my hands to remember the tasks of farming and hunting, but I am becoming a valued member of this community. Some of them call me friend.
Sometimes the soldiers from the city fly here to the mainland, and sometimes I ask to fly back with them to spend a brief time in the place of the Ancestors. I am learning the ways of the city and the people who live there. When I have gathered enough information, then I will make my move.
I have lived more than three times as long as the wise elders of the village. I have sailed through deepest space in a ship that sang to me in my sleep, danced in drunken revelry with the Wraith after a culling, and accepted the gift of life that they took from the pitiful, crawling humans on the surface. When I am ready, I will have my revenge on the ones who killed my Queen.
-----
Closing Note: I'd be interested to know whether readers perceived the narrator as male or female. I went back and forth on that many times before I decided it didn't matter to me, and I should leave the gender in the eye of the beholder. What do you think?
Title: They Also Serve
Author: Quasar
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Spoilers: Through 'Misbegotten' (okay, really through 'Common Ground')
Length: 1750 wds
Summary: How I came to Atlantis and what I hope to do here...
Author's Notes: Originally posted as part of the sga_flashfic "Villains" challenge.
I slept in the clinging shroud of the cocoon until powerful hands pulled me from the warmth. As I crouched gasping on the damp deck, a voice called over my head, "We got a live one here!"
Strange men hustled me along the ship's corridors, gripping my arm or shoulder impersonally but not cruelly. They were soldiers of some sort, but I did not recognize their uniforms or their manner of speech. They took me to a large room -- Her room, the throne room, I realized, and shrank back at the entranceway. Impatiently, they promised me it was safe.
She was not there; the walls that had whispered her name like some drug poured into the funnels of my ears were silent now, lifeless and sullen. Black blood glistened at the foot of the dais where Her throne stood.
Others were there, as dazed as I, still covered in shreds of webbing. A few I knew, but I did not meet their eyes or speak to them. Instead, I curled against the base of a pillar, as far from Her throne as I could get, shivering in the naked air.
Time passed. More soldiers brought in more cowering refugees. Containers of water were sent around, and food in strange silver packets that we had to be instructed to use. I drank, but shook my head at the oddly-colored paste. How long ago was it that the Queen had lectured me in this very hall on the nature of hunger? I though that I would never be hungry again.
I found the courage to ask, hoarsely, "What happened to the -- the Wraith? The crew of this ship?"
The soldier passing out water told me, "Almost all of 'em are dead. The ones that are left, they won't be bothering you anymore." He saw my shudder and assured me: "Nothing to worry about -- they're all locked away safe."
I turned my face into my knees.
The ship moved and thrummed, but it did not live. It swam through space as a dead thing might, controlled by a separate will. I had no need to ask; the Queen was dead.
Officers came, tall and grim-faced. Their uniforms, green and grey and black, were no different from the other soldiers', but I saw the the deference given to them. They brought another with them, a Wraith -- the strange short-haired one that had been so deep in the Queen's affairs. I crept slowly around the pillar to hide quaking in its shadow.
"A hundred and sixteen still alive," said the soldier who had spoken to me earlier.
"That's on top of more than two hundred converted Wraith," said the oldest officer, one of those wearing green. "Life support can handle it, but we'll be getting short of water in a few days."
"You would think there'd be more," said one of the two grey-and-black officers. "I mean, this ship was going on a pretty long trip with a crew of what, two thousand?"
"More. But most were in hibernation for the voyage," the Wraith answered. "Those awake would only need to feed perhaps once in ten of your days." The resonance of his voice struck to my bones.
"So what are we going to do with them all?" the second young officer said.
The first shrugged. "Same thing we do with all our refugees. Manarea, Belkan, the mainland, the delta site. Some of them will have homes to go back to, or relatives to look up. The rest, we help 'em find a new place to settle. We can handle a hundred, no problem."
Still discussing their plans, the officers and the unnatural Wraith left the throne room.
I lost track of time for a while. I felt warm, but I couldn't stop shaking as if with cold. Perhaps I slept. The next thing I knew, someone was looming over me, touching my shoulder.
"Hey, I think this one is sick!" the soldier called over my head.
I turned my face away, teeth chattering though I was soaked with sweat.
"Should we do a transport straight to the infirmary?" one soldier asked.
"I don't know, what if it's something contagious?"
I closed my eyes and ignored the voices.
When next I was fully aware, I found myself in a bed wrapped in soft, cool sheets. Yellow-white light revealed a room full of colors oddly soothing to the human eye, but the straight lights of the walls and ceiling unsettled me. Machines beeped and clicked in muted tones. The air had a strange scent to it, salty and astringent.
One of the less-straight lines fluttered as a curtain drew back.
"Ah! So you're awake. Feeling a bit better?"
I nodded cautiously, not trusting my voice.
"Welcome to Atlantis. I'm Doctor Beckett, one of the, er, healers here."
Atlantis. I had heard that word before. She had called it the place of their triumph. This must be where the ones who destroyed the Wraith ship had come from. This healer's accent wasn't the same as the soldiers, but his clothing was similar. His eyes, as blue as the lights on the Wraith ship, regarded me kindly. I wondered when that warmth would change to chill anger.
I shifted on the bed, testing my muscles -- no longer shaky -- and tried speaking. "I have been . . . ill?"
"Aye." He looked at me solemnly. "You were fed upon by the Wraith -- more than once, if the marks on your chest are any indication."
My hand crept up to my chest, now decently covered.
"D'you remember that part?"
I nodded.
"Well," he continued, "Wraith inject an enzyme into a person that strengthens the body during the feeding. When that enzyme wears off, it can leave the person feeling weaker than ever. Perhaps you've heard of someone surviving a feeding, yet dying afterward?"
"I have seen it." My voice was growing less raspy.
"That's essentially what we believe happened to you. Since you were fed on more than once, and kept cocooned in between, your body never had the opportunity to adapt to being without the enzyme. And so, even though you weren't drained too badly --" He stopped.
My heart raced. Did he know? Was this the moment when he would guess?
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask," he began, and I clenched my fists. "How old are you?"
What? That was not the question I was expecting. "I . . . don't know," I said slowly. "How long was I on the ship? I slept . . ."
"Aye, it seems those cocoons can work almost as stasis units when they want," said the healer. "All right then, how old were you when you were taken by the Wraith?"
By what calendar? I wondered, but did not ask. "I was just about to have my adulthood ceremony," I said. "Next hunting season, I was to make my first solo kill."
The kind blue eyes went sad. "Well, you look . . . not quite twice that now." He look relieved when I absorbed the news quietly. "I, er, I can get you a mirror if you'd like."
"Yes, please."
The mirror was brought to me by a new person, a woman with soft brown skin and coppery hair. "I am Teyla Emmagan of Athos," she told me while she held the mirror for me to look into. "May I know your name?"
It was so long since I had heard it spoken, I had to think. I pretended to be engrossed in the faint wrinkles at the corners of my eyes. "Joneed," I offered at last.
"And what world are you from?"
I glanced at her in surprise.
"We wish to ascertain if it would be possible to take you back to your home," she explained gently.
"I don't want to go back," I said at once, harshly. "They abandoned me. Barred the shelter against me and left me for the Wraith."
"Sometimes people in fear do things they are not proud of," she said softly.
I snorted. "I grew up on Abhav," I said in answer to her question.
She took in a sharp breath. "I am sorry. No one lives there now. But we do know of some refugees. Were you acquainted with a farmer named Orin, from the village nearest the gate?"
"No, my village was many days' travel from the gate. They thought it would keep them safe," I scoffed, "but the ships of the Wraith travel everywhere."
"We will find a new home for you," she said. "You will not be alone."
"I want to stay here," I said. "On Atlantis."
One of her eyebrows arched. "If you have skills that will be of use here in the city, you may be able to obtain approval to stay here. Or, if you prefer a more . . . peaceful existence, my people always have need of more hands to help with farming on the mainland."
"Under the protection of Atlantis?" I asked urgently. "Of the people who destroyed those Wraith ships?"
"That's correct," she said with a smile. "And there would be opportunities to come visit the city of the Ancestors on occasion."
I handed the mirror back to her and smiled. I realized they didn't know that my kind existed. They didn't even know it was possible.
-----
I live now in a village of Athosians and other refugees, on the mainland half an hour's flight from Atlantis. The Wraith do not come here. It took time for my hands to remember the tasks of farming and hunting, but I am becoming a valued member of this community. Some of them call me friend.
Sometimes the soldiers from the city fly here to the mainland, and sometimes I ask to fly back with them to spend a brief time in the place of the Ancestors. I am learning the ways of the city and the people who live there. When I have gathered enough information, then I will make my move.
I have lived more than three times as long as the wise elders of the village. I have sailed through deepest space in a ship that sang to me in my sleep, danced in drunken revelry with the Wraith after a culling, and accepted the gift of life that they took from the pitiful, crawling humans on the surface. When I am ready, I will have my revenge on the ones who killed my Queen.
-----
Closing Note: I'd be interested to know whether readers perceived the narrator as male or female. I went back and forth on that many times before I decided it didn't matter to me, and I should leave the gender in the eye of the beholder. What do you think?