Atlantis fic - Shifting Sands (1/4) (John/Elizabeth, PG)
Title: Shifting Sands (1/4)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Word count: 24,440
fanfic100 prompt: #44. Circle. Prompt table
Summary: When caravan master John Sheppard meets Lady Elizabeth Weir, Governor of Atlantis, his life gets a whole lot more interesting. Between sandstorms and bandits, his life was already pretty interesting, but he doesn't really mind the addition.
Author's notes: Written for au_bigbang! Art by the amazing oparu! <3
Two days to Hoff. Offload the cargo, get paid. Grab some sleep in an inn. Get up, load up, hit the trail for... Providence? Nice to have that set up in advance. Less downtime means quicker paydays. Less time in cities, too, which is something to aim for.
John Sheppard tipped his head back, looking up at the brilliant blue sky above him. No ceilings, no walls, just him, his caravan, and the desert around them. Oh, he'd hole up in a city during the blistering heat of the summer, but in the spring there was no place he'd rather be than out there. He sighed deeply with content, closing his eyes. Life was good.
"Sheppard!"
His eyes popped open. Or maybe not. Life was rarely good when Ronon shouted his name like that. He peered down from his perch on top of his wagon. "What's wrong?"
The big man's look wasn't promising. Neither was the single word he spoke. "Storm."
John swiveled his head around to look ahead of them. "You're sure?" He reached for his binoculars even as he spoke. The moment he got them to his eyes, he swore. "Damn, damn, damn." There was definitely a smudge on the horizon. He traced it to the south. Far to the south. "Damn." He swung down from his perch, easily mounting his horse on the move.
"North looks clear."
"Think it'll stay that way?"
Ronon shrugged. "The wind keeps changing. It may shift, it may not."
"Helpful." He turned his horse, trotting back down the line of wagons. "Rodney!"
His business partner's head popped out of the door on the second wagon. "Sheppard! Zelenka says --"
"Storm. I know." John handed over the binoculars.
"Oh, that is not good." Rodney stared through the lenses.
"Zelenka say how big it is?"
"Big. As you can see. Jeez."
"Any idea if it'll shift?"
"The wind readings are too unpredictable. It might shift --"
"And it might not. Right." John eyed him. "Can you and your fancy gizmos tell me anything Ronon hasn't already?"
"What?" Rodney shot them both an offended look. "Hey --"
"Never mind. Just tell me if we better off swinging north or if we should hunker down."
Another head poked out of the door. "Swing north, definitely," Zelenka said urgently. "This is a very large, very strong sandstorm. It will last for a long time. Even if we stop here, it's likely to reach us -- the general motion is easterly. And this, this is not a storm I would want to risk trying to survive."
Ronon gave the scientist a skeptical look. "You can tell all that. How strong it is."
"Well, yes. I could go into detail about the readings --"
"No, thank you," John cut him off. "We'll take your word for it and swing north. How far north?"
Zelenka nodded to the horizon. "Until you do not see it."
John swore again, turning his horse. "Right." He trotted back up to the lead wagon, Ronon on his heels. Tying the horse, he pulled himself up into the cabin of the wagon. "Alright, north." He grabbed the map and unfurled it on the desk. North was... a whole lot of nothing. "We've got supplies enough for a week," he muttered, more to himself than to the burly guard who climbed into the wagon after him. "If we're lucky, we won't have to swing too far. We can hit this oasis here," he jabbed at the map, "and only lose a day on our way to Hoff."
"And if we're not lucky?"
"Well." John licked his lips, eying the page. He wasn't familiar with the far northern part of the desert, and the map only went so far. "If we're really not lucky, the storm will kill us all and it won't matter where we are. Anything less than that's a win." He slapped Ronon on the chest on his way to the wagon controls. "Tell the others what's happening, get everyone inside --"
"I know the drill." The big man ducked out of the wagon.
John pulled up the wagon's nav screen. They were heading almost due west at the moment. A shift straight north was the safest, but... could he edge it west and save some of the time they would otherwise lose? If the storm shifted... He swore again, quietly. After a moment's thought, he entered the new route -- north, but arcing westward after a ways. He could adjust it if it didn't look like they were clearing the storm.
As soon as he confirmed the course change, the wagon swung smoothly northward. John went back out to check on the rest of the caravan. The other wagons followed his without any prompting. Watching them make the turn, he made a mental note to thank Rodney for keeping the caravan systems up to date. The last thing they needed right now was a tech malfunction. Storms made things crazy enough without dealing with a rogue or broken-down wagon.
"John!"
He turned his horse, frowning when he saw the woman trotting her horse towards him. "Teyla. There's a storm --"
She cut him off. "So I see."
"It's better if everyone stays in the wagons."
"I disagree." The words were sharp. "Bandits often take advantage of the chaos caused by a sandstorm. So do wraith. If we are to be prey for neither, everyone capable of wielding a weapon should be positioned to do so."
He looked away briefly. She wasn't wrong. It took a pretty crazy bandit or really hungry wraith to attack during a storm, but... it happened. Teyla's suggestion was more than reasonable. On the other hand, this was his caravan, and he'd made it through plenty of storms without being attacked.
Which, if he considered the odds, probably meant he was due.
He nodded shortly. "Alright, keep guard. Tell the others, too -- but don't force it. If people want to stay in the wagons, let them. Anyone who might panic when the wind picks up wouldn't be much help in a fight, anyway."
"Agreed." She turned her horse, heading back down the line.
He turned, too, to look at the horizon. He could see the smudge of clouds with his bare eyes now -- not a good sign.
Two hours later, it was a hell of a lot more than a smudge. There was a wall of swirling sand and wind to their west, and it was growing. It also extended as far north as he could see. "Is the damn thing following us?" he demanded of Zelenka in the scientist's wagon.
"If by 'following us' you mean is it moving north as we do..." He spread his hands helplessly. "I do not know. It is possible."
John swore. "So if we'd gone south --"
"We had no way of knowing. And, in truth, we still do not. It is possible things would be just as bad or worse if we had gone south. The storm may simply be... massive."
Rodney stopped poking at the wagon controls long enough to give him a withering look. "A sandstorm that big. Really."
"It is theoretically possible! If two or more such storms merged..."
"I'm not interested in theory," John cut him off sharply. "What I want to know is, will it ever end?"
"Of course it will end," Rodney retorted. "It can't go on forever."
Zelenka shook his head. "But we cannot say when. Neither in time nor in space -- which is to say, will we pass it or will it blow itself out?" He shrugged.
"It's more likely it'll roll over us before either of those things happen."
"Ever the optimist, Rodney." Zelenka gave him a weary glance.
"I prefer the term 'realist.'" Rodney pointedly turned back to the controls.
John rolled his eyes at Zelenka. "Keep me updated."
He went back outside and made a quick check down the wagon line. When he got to the tail, he found Ronon and Teyla in close conference. They looked up at his approach, their expressions telling. He grimaced. "What?"
"We are being followed," Teyla said quietly, confirming his fears.
"Showed up ten minutes ago," Ronon added. "Extra dust cloud. Thought it might be animals, at first."
"Now..." Teyla nodded towards the smudge that was south of them.
John peered through his binoculars. The figures in the dust cloud were definitely not animals. "Human or wraith?"
"Too far to tell."
"But they are gaining on us," Teyla added. Her voice was grim.
John lowered the binoculars. "I guess it's too much to hope they're just travelers, like us."
"Probably," Ronon grunted.
After an instant's consideration, John nodded. "Whoever they are, I'd like to keep the distance between us. Our wagons can go faster."
He left before either of them could point out the obvious -- their wagons couldn't go faster than a galloping horse or a really determined wraith. He just had to hope the group behind them wouldn't push it. There was nowhere to run to out here; nowhere to hide. They would run until they couldn't, then fight if they had to.
He really hoped they wouldn't have to.
An hour later, the figures were closer. So was the storm. The wind whipped his horse's mane as they trotted behind the wagons, Ronon and Teyla beside him. "I guess they're not giving up."
"We could stop," Ronon suggested. "Stand our ground."
John licked his lips and shook his head. "Even if that would solve our bandit problem -- and I'm not ready to bet on us winning that fight -- it wouldn't solve the storm problem."
Teyla glanced to their right. "We could turn eastward, away from the storm."
"That doesn't solve our bandit problem."
"No, but it may prevent them from coming up on that side and trapping us between them and the storm."
"Or it could give them room to come up along the storm and hit us from three sides at once." It depended on how big the group was, and how organized. A lot of desert bands were small, preying on individual wagons or undermanned caravans. The fact that this one was still chasing them put them out of that category -- but by how much? Were they desperate or crazy? Crazy, smart, and high in numbers was definitely the most dangerous possibility. John shook his head. "We'll keep heading north. Maybe we'll catch a break and the storm will clear before the bandits reach us."
"They will still likely attack," Teyla pointed out.
"Yeah, well, I'm trying to stay positive."
She stopped him before he could ride off. "There is another thing to consider. The horses." Her hand stroked her mare's neck. "The wagons can maintain this pace indefinitely, but the animals cannot. We will have to slow down or stop entirely at some point."
He patted his own horse. The gelding wasn't tired yet, not really, but he was getting there. "They'll last a while longer. We can cross that patch of sand when we reach it." He glanced at Ronon. "We're sure the people following us are people, right? Not wraith?"
Ronon grunted assent. "Humans on horses, definitely."
"Well, then, if it comes to a fight, everyone's horses will be winded. Theirs more than ours, since they're going faster. Maybe it'll give us an edge."
"More positive thinking?"
John gave Ronon a humorless grin. "Something like that."
They continued fleeing, keeping their trajectory due north and pushing the speed. John had just started considering a slow down when riders were spotted to their east. "Friendlies?" he asked, riding to meet the guard who made the call.
The flash of sunlight on steel answered that question as the approaching figures brandished weapons. "I'd guess not," the guard said grimly. He drew his own sword, glancing at John even as he did so. "We're fighting?"
Ronon's shout from the tail of the caravan cut him off. "Incoming!"
John met the guard's eyes. "Looks like we don't have much choice." He stood in his stirrups, hollering, "Guards, stand ready! People in the wagons, if you're good with a weapon, we could use it! If you're not, keep watch or stay out of the way! Rodney, keep the wagons going, and keep an eye on that damned storm."
Rodney's pale face poked out of the wagon window. "Don't get killed," he commanded in return before disappearing back out of sight.
"I'll do my best," John muttered, dropping back into his saddle.
Sounds of battle reached his ears from the tail of the train. He glanced around, doing a quick mental tally. They had ten on horseback -- John, Ronon, Teyla, and a bunch of mercs hired in Manaria. All bonded and licensed, with good reputations and good attitudes; he hoped they would live up to it. He pointed. "Johnson, Denly, help them out down there. Everyone else, with me." The two he'd called out cantered south while John and four others pushed east. They formed a loose line parallel to the caravan, facing their oncoming opponents: eight men on horseback, coming up fast. A quick scan with the binoculars confirmed that they were all armed with swords. No bows or guns, thankfully. He hoped Ronon and Teyla's group was as lucky.
He drew his sword, his horse dancing under him at the sound. He steadied the gelding and then, as the bandits drew near, urged him forward. His men surged forward with him, meeting the enemy's rush with one of their own.
The moment the battle was joined, chaos reigned. John faced off with a big, burly type with a bad attitude and a decent sword arm. They traded blows, horses dancing and kicking. A grunt practically in John's ear distracted him; he glanced to see another bandit, unsettlingly close, fall with arrow in his chest. John's opponent took advantage of his lapse in attention and nearly skewered him. He managed to take the strike in the arm, instead, fierce pain blossoming. He swore and struck back, finally and fatally cutting through the bastard's guard.
He wrenched his sword from the dead man's gut and whirled his horse, quickly scanning the battlefield. One of his men was down, likely dead; another was unhorsed but still fighting. Four bandits were still up. As he watched, one jerked Conners out of his saddle, cutting his throat and throwing him to the ground.
He swallowed hard, doing the math. Three against four -- two and a half, with Montgomery on foot. It wasn't terrible odds. He pushed his horse forward to meet another foe's blade, grimly pushing him back, away from the wagons. More arrows flew their way, but in the melee, he wasn't sure any found their targets.
Over the clashing of the blades, he heard a shrill whistle. Ronon's group was in trouble. John had his hands too full trying to keep himself alive to respond in kind. If he could just dispatch this bastard, even up the odds --
"INCOMING! The sons of bitches have backup!"
The ugly grin on John's foe's face gave weight to Montgomery's shout. A sudden burst of fear lent strength to John's arm and he ran the man through. He spun before the dead man hit the ground, staring east -- at a rapidly approaching group on horseback. Even at a distance, he could tell they were dressed the same as their bandits; not much chance of them being friendlies on their way to help the caravan.
John put his fingers to his lips and whistled twice, sharply. Retreat. After a split second's thought, he whistled in another pattern, one that mad Montgomery and Fersin give him wide-eyed glances.
Storm.
He turned and raced towards the lead wagon, vaulting for the door without tying up his horse. He hated to lose a good mount, but it was better to leave the gelding behind for the bandits than to drag him along on a wild ride into a sandstorm.
Without pausing to consider how insane an idea it was, he threw himself down in front of the controls. In moments, he had a new course and speed laid in -- northwest, into the storm, as fast as the wagons could go. Before he finalized it, he smacked another button, setting the siren wailing loud enough to wake the dead. Translation: get your asses into the wagons NOW! He gave a five second count and then punched go on the controls.
The wagon leaped forward, throwing him back in his chair. He spared a moment's thought for his team and their passengers, hoping the jolt hadn't hurt anyone. On the other hand, better bumps and bruises than facing the bandits' swords.
Sharp winds buffeted the wagon almost immediately. It howled around them, shoving the wagons around so hard the inertial systems had trouble keeping the vehicles bottom-down. All John could do -- all any of them could do -- was hold on and hope that none of the wagons were toppled. Even if they stayed upright, though, strong enough winds could tear them to pieces. Debris could be thrown into them, ripping holes in the sides or damaging their systems. It was bad enough to hunker down and ride out a storm; it was practically unheard of to run into a storm. John could only hope like hell he hadn't made the wrong call.
He kept his eyes and hands on the controls, watching tensely for any sign of trouble. Time lost all meaning in the howling insanity of the storm. He didn't know how long they'd been running when a warning sound from the computer indicated a lost wagon. He swore, frustrated and helpless. It was a cargo wagon, but there was no way of knowing if any of the guards had taken shelter in there. No way to know if the wagon had tipped or gone rogue, either, not that it really mattered which it was. The rest kept following his, the last wagon in the train automatically speeding up to close the gap left by the one that was lost.
He pushed their course north as soon as he dared. The bandits had to be far behind them, now -- no one on horseback would travel into a storm. Now he just needed to get his caravan clear of it before they took any more losses.
It felt like hours passed. The smooth glide of his wagon over the sand became a shuddering, lurching motion, making him remember what Rodney had said about the dangers of the systems getting clogged. It kept moving forward, though, and the other wagons kept following.
Finally, finally the winds dropped. It happened abruptly -- there was one last gust of wind, the storm making one last grab at the caravan, and then it was calm. He waited another ten minutes until he was sure they were well and truly clear of it before slowing the wagons. He didn't dare stop altogether, not that close to the storm, but they didn't need to keep up the breakneck speed.
He immediately missed his horse when he climbed out of his wagon. Some caravans put walkways between their wagons, but he'd never needed them. He always had his horse. Sparing a brief wish for the animal's safety, he waited, flatfooted on the sand, for Rodney and Zelenka's wagon to reach him. At the slow speed, it was easy enough to pull himself up into it on the move. "Everyone okay in here?"
The place was a bit of a mess. Apparently they hadn't gotten around to strapping everything down. From a chair set up amidst the clutter, Rodney gave him a baleful look. "Peachy." A bandage was wrapped around his head.
"Rodney was conked on the head," Zelenka told him, swiveling in his seat to face John. "Other than that, we are fine."
"Fine? I might have a concussion."
"We must keep moving," the scientist said earnestly, ignoring Rodney. "The winds are not in our favor -- it would not surprise me if the storm continues to shift. We are lucky to have passed out of it. If we dally, we may not remain so lucky."
"Great." John grimaced. "I kinda hoped you'd say something different."
"How did we fare?" Rodney asked, his expression turning serious.
"We lost a wagon," John reported quietly. "Cargo, but I don't know if anyone was in it. I turned my horse loose, so I can't ride the line. We'll just have to find out specifics whenever we do stop."
Rodney grimaced. "Right."
"You know that in-wagon com system you two have been talking about making? That would be useful."
"Yeah, well, if we have any money after this, we'll look into it."
Back in his own wagon, John punched up their speed, mindful of Zelenka's warning. Then he pulled himself out and up to his lookout perch, binoculars in hand.
He looked backwards first, at the caravan straggling behind him. All of the wagons, including his own, had visible damage. There was a figure atop the last wagon in line -- Ronon, in the rear lookout perch. John's heart lifted a bit at the sight of his friend. It was unnerving, not knowing who had survived the attack and flight. At least he had one answer, now.
The storm still roiled angrily to the south and far to the west. How massive is this thing? he wondered, bewildered. He'd spent his adult life traveling this desert, and he'd never seen a storm as big and bad as this one. He wasn't superstitious enough to believe that it was wizard weather, that it was somehow sent after them, but it was damned weird nonetheless.
He scanned the horizon to their west, swinging northward. Nothing and more nothing -- no bad guys, no good guys, no oases. Just a whole bunch of sand dunes, rocks, and scrubby plants.
Light glinted in the northwest. He stared that direction as they crested a dune, and --
A city. From the looks of it, a big city, though distance made it hard to tell proportions. They were beyond the edge of his map, this far north, and he frankly had no idea what was out here. He'd take anything at this point, though, and this... this looked like more than just anything.
He did a quick calculation in his head and swung back into his cabin to alter their route. That city was their best bet right now. He let out a breath, daring to hope that they'd be able to stop running soon.
It took another hour for them to reach the city walls. When they did, the gate was closed. He brought the caravan to a stop and climbed up to his perch, waving to the guards on the wall.
They peered back at him. "Name?"
"John Sheppard," he called back. "This is my caravan."
"What's your business in Atlantis?"
Atlantis? "We need a place to stay -- food, drink, sleep, medical attention. We've got wounded. Plus, you know, we'd really like to get away from that storm." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the roiling clouds behind him.
The guard glanced that way nervously. He licked his lips. "Can anyone in the city vouch for you?"
"Vouch for --" John stood abruptly. "Are you kidding me? We just came through a damn sandstorm, we've got wounded, I've never even heard of your city before, and you're asking me for credentials? What the hell kind of place is this?"
"Franklin!" Another figure appeared on the wall, shoving the first one aside. "Don't be a jackass," the woman growled at the first guard. To John, she said, "Come inside. We can help you." At her nod, the gate finally opened.
The courtyard on the other side of the gate was wide and open. He followed the guards' directions and lined his wagons up to one side of the space. The moment the entire caravan was safely within the city walls, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't the biggest fan of cities, but after the hell of the day, it was nice to be somewhere relatively safe.
The woman from the wall met him as he left his wagon. She was petite and red-headed, with fair skin that somehow didn't seem touched by the fact that she lived in a desert city. "Laura Cadman, lieutenant in the governor's guard," she introduced herself briskly, shaking his hand.
"John Sheppard. Thanks for letting us in."
"Of course. I'm sorry for Franklin -- we've had trouble with bandits, and between that and the storm... he's a little nervous."
John grimaced. "Yeah, well, we've dealt with both today, so I can't say I blame him."
"Sheppard."
He turned at Rodney's call. Everyone was starting to come out of the wagons. They had the looks of people waking up from a bad dream, all wide eyes and slowly clearing expressions. He did a quick survey -- Rodney and Zelenka, Ronon and Teyla, most of their passengers, only a couple of the guards. He wondered how many were injured in the wagons. He gave Cadman a quick, apologetic nod. "I need to see to my people."
"Of course." She nodded easily. "I'll see about making arrangements for you. No reason for you to wander around an unfamiliar city looking for accommodations."
"Thanks." He strode over to Rodney, waving for the rest of the caravan to join them.
"Where are we?"
He shrugged at Rodney's question. "Atlantis?"
Rodney blinked his surprise. "Atlantis?"
"Apparently? I've never heard of the place."
"I have." He looked bewildered. "We are really far off track."
"Going on the run for several hours will do that," Zelenka pointed out dryly.
The rest of the caravan members had gathered around them, murmuring among themselves. John raised a hand, quieting them. "We're in a city called Atlantis. Yes, we're way off track and presumably nowhere near Hoff."
"Definitely not," Rodney muttered.
"We'll deal with that later," John went on, eying his partner. "For the moment, we're going to focus on things like food, sleep, and medical attention." He glanced over the gathered group, again noting the missing faces. "Do we have anyone who's seriously injured?"
"Denly," Ronon spoke up.
"He took a serious wound in the battle," Teyla elaborated, her face drawn. "We were not certain he would survive it."
"Still might not," Ronon pointed out grimly.
John nodded, swallowing. "We'll get a doctor here as soon as possible. Anyone else?"
One of the passengers raised a tentative hand. "Machelle broke her leg, or at least hurt it pretty bad. We gave her something for the pain, so she's sleeping now, but a doctor should see her, too."
He nodded again. "Okay." That meant all the passengers were accounted for. The only people who weren't were guards - and he had a bad feeling that they weren't in the wagons somewhere. He met Ronon's eyes briefly. The big man's head shake was enough confirmation for now. He let out a breath and moved on; better to distract the paying passengers than to remind them that a bunch of people had just died keeping them safe.
Clearing his throat, he said, "We'll also need to figure out the state of our wagons, cargo, supplies, things like that. We'll fix what we can, buy what we can't."
"How long until we're back on the road?" The question came from one of the passengers.
John grimaced. "I can't answer that yet. Once I can, we'll talk." They had paid him to get them to Hoff and Providence; he had to make good on that or return their money so they could make other arrangements. He hoped he could manage the former. It reflected badly on him to break a contract, even when it was due to things beyond his control. "That's all I've got for now," he said, raising his hands to forestall anymore questions. "I'll keep everyone in the loop. Excuse me."
He turned, looking for Cadman while the members of his caravan began murmuring amongst themselves. The lieutenant was talking animatedly to a dark-haired woman. He hesitated for a moment then, remembering Denly, strode over. "Lieutenant? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've got wounded. Can you point me at a medical facility, a doctor...?"
She'd turned at his first words, giving him her full attention. The dark-haired woman had paid attention, too. To his surprise, it was the latter who nodded at his request. "Get Carson," she instructed the lieutenant. Cadman nodded and quickly moved away. The dark-haired woman turned back to John. "Dr. Carson Beckett is my personal physician," she said by way of explanation. "He's the best in the city."
"Thank you." John hesitated. "I'm sorry, but - you are?"
"Elizabeth Weir," she replied easily, smiling and holding out a hand. "Governor of Atlantis."
Surprise nearly made him forget his manners. After a frozen moment, he shook the proffered hand, bowing his head. "Lady. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"And you. I'm sorry such unfortunate circumstances brought you to our fair city, though. Laura said you mentioned bandits and a sandstorm."
"Yeah." He grimaced, automatically glancing over his shoulder towards the city wall. "The same storm that's threatening to hit here." The wall shielded it from view, but the sky was already getting darker.
"We're protected, if and when that happens."
He met the lady's reassuring eyes and nodded, relieved. "That's good to know."
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear more about what you encountered out there. Every bit of information about what happens outside our walls is valuable."
"I'd be happy to. Once my people are situated, of course."
"Of course."
Cadman returned, nodding to the lady. "Dr. Beckett is on his way. Also, I checked with weather watch - they say the storm will be here within the half hour."
"Thank you." The lady gestured to John. "I think we were discussing accommodations for Mr. Sheppard's caravan."
Cadman nodded again. "There's a good inn near the tower. They should have plenty of room for your people."
"I know the one." The lady looked pleased. "There's an empty warehouse not far from it where you can store your wagons and cargo for the time being, if that would suit?"
"It would," he replied automatically, blinking. "You really know your city."
She chuckled depreciatingly. "To be fair, my assistant told me the warehouse was empty. He also mentioned that there is an office in that warehouse, which could be used as temporary quarters, if you like. However, I'd like to offer you accommodations in the tower, if you would prefer that."
He hesitated. "The tower?"
"The center of our city. It's... the equivalent of a palace in other cities, I guess. It's my residence, my place of business, the government offices - really, it's where the government is centered. There are plenty of quarters for my guests, as well."
On the one hand, he didn't entirely like the idea of leaving his wagons, cargo, and people. On the other hand, it was always good to make friends with the leader of a city. "I would be honored to stay there," he told her, smiling with what he hoped was charm. "Ah, I have a business partner --" He waved vaguely in Rodney's direction.
"I'll make sure he has a room, as well. Unless," her eyes widened as she verbally backtracked, "you'd prefer to share?"
"No," he replied quickly. "Thanks. Separate is good."
"Alright. I'll have my assistant make the arrangements."
"Thank you." She started to turn away, but he stopped her. "Lady Weir." Meeting her eyes seriously, he quietly repeated, "Thank you. For helping us."
She smiled. "Here in Atlantis, we take pride in helping people who need it."
"And here I thought it was my good looks that got you to help."
The corners of her mouth definitely twitched at that. "Mm." She didn't laugh or roll her eyes, but he suspected she was close to both. "I'll see you at the tower when you've gotten everything settled." With a nod at Cadman, she turned and walked off. Two guards he hadn't even noticed fell into step behind her.
John glanced at the lieutenant still behind him, who was restraining a grin. "You could have warned me she was coming."
"Sorry." She shrugged, clearly not meaning it. "I did tell you I'm in the governor's guard."
"True." He watched the lady and her guards disappear down the street.
"Lady Weir takes a lot of interest in what goes on in her city." Cadman caught and held his gaze. "She's a good leader. We're lucky to have her, and there's not a man or woman in the city who doesn't know it."
He thought about some of the cities he'd been in, some of the rulers he'd heard of, others he'd had the misfortune of meeting. There were other rulers out there who were genuinely concerned with their citizens, but it was rare, given the politics of the desert. He nodded slowly. "Then I'm glad my caravan found your walls." It was the first piece of luck they'd had all day. He hoped it signaled a change in the winds, and not just a lull in the storm.
The doctor showed up at a jog just a few minutes later. "Dr. Carson Beckett," he introduced himself breathlessly. "Where are the worst of the wounded?" He had an accent John couldn't quite place.
"Last wagon." John turned, waving an arm in the air. "Ronon!" To the doctor, he said, "The big guy will show you."
"Aye, thanks." And the doctor was off. Three attendants followed him, carrying various medical kits.
John watched their progress, hoping they were as good as Cadman said. The fact that they weren't wasting any time getting to their patients boded well.
In the end, the prognosis for Denly was tentatively positive. "I think he'll survive this, but it depends largely on keeping that wound from getting infected. I'd like to take him to the tower, where I can keep an eye on him."
"That's okay with your lady?" John asked him.
"She made him my patient." His tone indicated it was a non-issue. "The girl, Machelle, her leg is indeed broken. We've splinted it. I'd like to put a proper plaster cast on it, and her parents have agreed, so I'll be taking her to the tower, as well."
"Fair enough."
"As for the rest of you, I want to have one of my assistants check your various scrapes and bruises and whatnot, make sure there's nothing more sinister lurking beneath the surface." He pointed. "Don't think I haven't noticed your own wound, Mr. Sheppard."
John's arm twinged at the reminder. He grimaced. "It's nothing. Just a cut."
"Bandits aren't known for their hygiene, Mr. Sheppard. I've seen plenty of simple cuts get infected if they weren't properly cleaned." The doctor's look was chastising.
John licked his lips, nodding, suitably abashed. "I'll submit myself to your doctor's care, then."
"Good man. Where will you all be staying, then?"
"Rodney and I are both being put up in the tower. The rest - the Silver Sands Inn, I think?" He frowned, trying to remember what Cadman had told him before she'd left. She'd given him directions - pretty simple ones, thankfully. Silver Sands was definitely what she'd said.
His certainty was backed up by the doctor's nod. "Aye, that's a good place. I'll leave you to it, then, and I'll get my patients up to my office."
"Alright. Thank you, doctor." He shook the man's hand.
Once the two patients and their doctors were on their way, John and the rest of his people could get on theirs. He was grateful to finally be getting out of the courtyard - they'd been taking up room and serving as a source of way too much interest for the general public for too long. He climbed up onto his wagon, taking the manual controls on his upper perch. It was trickier to maneuver in the city, but he took pride in managing it without squashing any pedestrians. He also took pride in following the lieutenant's directions without getting lost in the unfamiliar place. He found the inn and then the warehouse without difficulty.
Ronon and Teyla volunteered to stay at the warehouse, to keep watch over their goods. John was grateful they'd offered; he was going to ask, anyway. The caravan master who didn't keep a watch on his wagons and cargo would one day wake up and not have either. The remaining guards, the ones hired on at Manaria, he sent to rest and relax. He had to deal with their guild regarding the men they'd lost, anyway; he'd discuss the continuation of the surviving men's contracts then.
Once everything was settled, he stood outside the inn, wearily rubbing his neck. It had been a damned long day, and the rest of the week wasn't looking much better. Right now all he wanted was sleep and food and a bath, not necessarily in that order. Instead, he had to head to the tower, to brief the governor on the state of things beyond her walls. Spending time with an attractive woman wasn't something he generally minded, but it somehow didn't seem as fun when they would be talking about things like bandits and sandstorms.
Thought of the storm made him glance up. The sky was steadily darkening, though the storm itself hadn't reached them yet. He snorted quietly - the "weather watch" here was apparently no better than anywhere else he'd visited.
"Sheppard!"
Rodney's call brought his gaze back to ground level. "Hey. We need to get going."
"Actually, Zelenka and I are going to stay here and start working on our wagons. They're not in great shape. The storm did damage, like you'd expect, and even just going as fast as we were took a toll. They weren't designed for that. So... yeah. We're going to stay here for a while. If you can handle talking to the governor on your own, of course." He stopped talking abruptly, giving John a hopeful look.
John tried not to roll his eyes at his partner. "You just want to get out of it, don't you?"
"Well, talking to people is really more your thing. Machines," he waved a hand at the open warehouse door behind him, "are mine. It's a fair trade. Besides, I figured you wouldn't mind the opportunity to chat up the lovely Lady Governor without an audience." His smirk was irritatingly knowing.
"Trust me, if I just interested in flirting with a pretty woman, I'd stay here and talk to the serving girls at the inn. It's safer."
"Yes." Rodney nodded sagely. "I guess they can't lock you up for insolence. And they're less likely to reject you outright."
John scowled. "Look, I'm not going to the tower to flirt or anything else like that. I'm going because the governor of this fine city asked me to fill her in on what's going on in the desert, and also because the beds there are probably twice as comfortable as the beds in the inn. And yes, I plan on sleeping in that comfortable bed alone. Not because someone has rejected me, or is going to reject me, but because I'm tired."
"Right, sorry. Wow, you are tired. Look," he added hastily before John could growl at him, "I'm looking forward to the same thing. The sleeping in a comfortable bed, I mean. If we weren't likely to be so low on money after this, I'd look into buying a better mattress for my wagon, because the one I've got just isn't doing the trick."
"Rodney." John gave his partner an exasperated look. "I need to get going."
"Right, of course. Don't want to keep the governor waiting."
He let that pass. Glancing around, he asked, "So where am I going?"
The look Rodney gave him in return suggested he was missing something obvious. When he pointed and John followed his finger, he saw that he had been: there was a tower rising into the air just beyond some nearby buildings. He stared, his eyes tracing the graceful spire. It shone in the waning light, a mottled mix of white, creams, blues, and purples. From a distance it was hard to say what it was made out of. He wasn't sure he would be able to tell up close, either. He'd never seen anything that curved so easily or reached so high, and there wasn't a material he could think of that would do the job. Not that he was a builder, but it was his business to know material goods, and this didn't look like anything he had seen.
"Huh" was all he said aloud, but Rodney had known him long enough to follow his train of thought.
"Yeah, I have no idea what it's made of. I can't wait to get closer. This whole city is amazing."
John glanced back down at him. "What do you mean?"
"What do I - you didn't look around at all on our way over here, did you?" Rodney's look was incredulous.
"I was a little busy trying not to run over any pedestrians. I figured the site-seeing could wait until later."
"Well, it's later. Look around on your way to the tower. Obviously there are a lot of normal buildings around, but there are other things like that tower - they look like smaller versions of it. I think they were probably taller, before. I'd bet there are passageways underground, maybe an entire complex." His eyes were wide, excited. "Can you imagine what might be down there? Or just what's in those other towers? If they weren't built by anyone here - even if they were! --"
John cut him off. "Rodney." He shook his head once the other man was silent. "Fascinating as this place is, we need to get back on the road as soon as possible. You need to work on the wagons, not go chasing after towers and hidden passageways."
Rodney blinked. "Right. Well, that's true. But while we're here, it wouldn't hurt to make some, you know, business contacts. Maybe even pick up some new cargo. We can add Atlantis to our territory, as it were. That way we're making money, and we can come back and explore this place more." He looked incredibly pleased at his logic.
John couldn't argue it, either. "We'll see how things go in the next day or two," he cautioned his partner. "We might not want to come back."
"You might not..." Rodney's eyes went back to the tower, undisguised curiosity and avarice in his eyes. "There's no way I'm going to find out everything I want to about this place in just a day or two."
"Right. Well, then, think about it this way: the sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back."
"That logic doesn't really work, you know." Rodney eyed him.
John shrugged. "Sorry. Go work on the wagons," he added before the other man could continue the discussion. "I'll see you up at the tower later."
"Yes. Go, have fun. I'll go work on the wagons." He sent one last look at the tower before waving to John and heading back into the warehouse.
Part 2
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Word count: 24,440
fanfic100 prompt: #44. Circle. Prompt table
Summary: When caravan master John Sheppard meets Lady Elizabeth Weir, Governor of Atlantis, his life gets a whole lot more interesting. Between sandstorms and bandits, his life was already pretty interesting, but he doesn't really mind the addition.
Author's notes: Written for au_bigbang! Art by the amazing oparu! <3
Two days to Hoff. Offload the cargo, get paid. Grab some sleep in an inn. Get up, load up, hit the trail for... Providence? Nice to have that set up in advance. Less downtime means quicker paydays. Less time in cities, too, which is something to aim for.
John Sheppard tipped his head back, looking up at the brilliant blue sky above him. No ceilings, no walls, just him, his caravan, and the desert around them. Oh, he'd hole up in a city during the blistering heat of the summer, but in the spring there was no place he'd rather be than out there. He sighed deeply with content, closing his eyes. Life was good.
"Sheppard!"
His eyes popped open. Or maybe not. Life was rarely good when Ronon shouted his name like that. He peered down from his perch on top of his wagon. "What's wrong?"
The big man's look wasn't promising. Neither was the single word he spoke. "Storm."
John swiveled his head around to look ahead of them. "You're sure?" He reached for his binoculars even as he spoke. The moment he got them to his eyes, he swore. "Damn, damn, damn." There was definitely a smudge on the horizon. He traced it to the south. Far to the south. "Damn." He swung down from his perch, easily mounting his horse on the move.
"North looks clear."
"Think it'll stay that way?"
Ronon shrugged. "The wind keeps changing. It may shift, it may not."
"Helpful." He turned his horse, trotting back down the line of wagons. "Rodney!"
His business partner's head popped out of the door on the second wagon. "Sheppard! Zelenka says --"
"Storm. I know." John handed over the binoculars.
"Oh, that is not good." Rodney stared through the lenses.
"Zelenka say how big it is?"
"Big. As you can see. Jeez."
"Any idea if it'll shift?"
"The wind readings are too unpredictable. It might shift --"
"And it might not. Right." John eyed him. "Can you and your fancy gizmos tell me anything Ronon hasn't already?"
"What?" Rodney shot them both an offended look. "Hey --"
"Never mind. Just tell me if we better off swinging north or if we should hunker down."
Another head poked out of the door. "Swing north, definitely," Zelenka said urgently. "This is a very large, very strong sandstorm. It will last for a long time. Even if we stop here, it's likely to reach us -- the general motion is easterly. And this, this is not a storm I would want to risk trying to survive."
Ronon gave the scientist a skeptical look. "You can tell all that. How strong it is."
"Well, yes. I could go into detail about the readings --"
"No, thank you," John cut him off. "We'll take your word for it and swing north. How far north?"
Zelenka nodded to the horizon. "Until you do not see it."
John swore again, turning his horse. "Right." He trotted back up to the lead wagon, Ronon on his heels. Tying the horse, he pulled himself up into the cabin of the wagon. "Alright, north." He grabbed the map and unfurled it on the desk. North was... a whole lot of nothing. "We've got supplies enough for a week," he muttered, more to himself than to the burly guard who climbed into the wagon after him. "If we're lucky, we won't have to swing too far. We can hit this oasis here," he jabbed at the map, "and only lose a day on our way to Hoff."
"And if we're not lucky?"
"Well." John licked his lips, eying the page. He wasn't familiar with the far northern part of the desert, and the map only went so far. "If we're really not lucky, the storm will kill us all and it won't matter where we are. Anything less than that's a win." He slapped Ronon on the chest on his way to the wagon controls. "Tell the others what's happening, get everyone inside --"
"I know the drill." The big man ducked out of the wagon.
John pulled up the wagon's nav screen. They were heading almost due west at the moment. A shift straight north was the safest, but... could he edge it west and save some of the time they would otherwise lose? If the storm shifted... He swore again, quietly. After a moment's thought, he entered the new route -- north, but arcing westward after a ways. He could adjust it if it didn't look like they were clearing the storm.
As soon as he confirmed the course change, the wagon swung smoothly northward. John went back out to check on the rest of the caravan. The other wagons followed his without any prompting. Watching them make the turn, he made a mental note to thank Rodney for keeping the caravan systems up to date. The last thing they needed right now was a tech malfunction. Storms made things crazy enough without dealing with a rogue or broken-down wagon.
"John!"
He turned his horse, frowning when he saw the woman trotting her horse towards him. "Teyla. There's a storm --"
She cut him off. "So I see."
"It's better if everyone stays in the wagons."
"I disagree." The words were sharp. "Bandits often take advantage of the chaos caused by a sandstorm. So do wraith. If we are to be prey for neither, everyone capable of wielding a weapon should be positioned to do so."
He looked away briefly. She wasn't wrong. It took a pretty crazy bandit or really hungry wraith to attack during a storm, but... it happened. Teyla's suggestion was more than reasonable. On the other hand, this was his caravan, and he'd made it through plenty of storms without being attacked.
Which, if he considered the odds, probably meant he was due.
He nodded shortly. "Alright, keep guard. Tell the others, too -- but don't force it. If people want to stay in the wagons, let them. Anyone who might panic when the wind picks up wouldn't be much help in a fight, anyway."
"Agreed." She turned her horse, heading back down the line.
He turned, too, to look at the horizon. He could see the smudge of clouds with his bare eyes now -- not a good sign.
Two hours later, it was a hell of a lot more than a smudge. There was a wall of swirling sand and wind to their west, and it was growing. It also extended as far north as he could see. "Is the damn thing following us?" he demanded of Zelenka in the scientist's wagon.
"If by 'following us' you mean is it moving north as we do..." He spread his hands helplessly. "I do not know. It is possible."
John swore. "So if we'd gone south --"
"We had no way of knowing. And, in truth, we still do not. It is possible things would be just as bad or worse if we had gone south. The storm may simply be... massive."
Rodney stopped poking at the wagon controls long enough to give him a withering look. "A sandstorm that big. Really."
"It is theoretically possible! If two or more such storms merged..."
"I'm not interested in theory," John cut him off sharply. "What I want to know is, will it ever end?"
"Of course it will end," Rodney retorted. "It can't go on forever."
Zelenka shook his head. "But we cannot say when. Neither in time nor in space -- which is to say, will we pass it or will it blow itself out?" He shrugged.
"It's more likely it'll roll over us before either of those things happen."
"Ever the optimist, Rodney." Zelenka gave him a weary glance.
"I prefer the term 'realist.'" Rodney pointedly turned back to the controls.
John rolled his eyes at Zelenka. "Keep me updated."
He went back outside and made a quick check down the wagon line. When he got to the tail, he found Ronon and Teyla in close conference. They looked up at his approach, their expressions telling. He grimaced. "What?"
"We are being followed," Teyla said quietly, confirming his fears.
"Showed up ten minutes ago," Ronon added. "Extra dust cloud. Thought it might be animals, at first."
"Now..." Teyla nodded towards the smudge that was south of them.
John peered through his binoculars. The figures in the dust cloud were definitely not animals. "Human or wraith?"
"Too far to tell."
"But they are gaining on us," Teyla added. Her voice was grim.
John lowered the binoculars. "I guess it's too much to hope they're just travelers, like us."
"Probably," Ronon grunted.
After an instant's consideration, John nodded. "Whoever they are, I'd like to keep the distance between us. Our wagons can go faster."
He left before either of them could point out the obvious -- their wagons couldn't go faster than a galloping horse or a really determined wraith. He just had to hope the group behind them wouldn't push it. There was nowhere to run to out here; nowhere to hide. They would run until they couldn't, then fight if they had to.
He really hoped they wouldn't have to.
An hour later, the figures were closer. So was the storm. The wind whipped his horse's mane as they trotted behind the wagons, Ronon and Teyla beside him. "I guess they're not giving up."
"We could stop," Ronon suggested. "Stand our ground."
John licked his lips and shook his head. "Even if that would solve our bandit problem -- and I'm not ready to bet on us winning that fight -- it wouldn't solve the storm problem."
Teyla glanced to their right. "We could turn eastward, away from the storm."
"That doesn't solve our bandit problem."
"No, but it may prevent them from coming up on that side and trapping us between them and the storm."
"Or it could give them room to come up along the storm and hit us from three sides at once." It depended on how big the group was, and how organized. A lot of desert bands were small, preying on individual wagons or undermanned caravans. The fact that this one was still chasing them put them out of that category -- but by how much? Were they desperate or crazy? Crazy, smart, and high in numbers was definitely the most dangerous possibility. John shook his head. "We'll keep heading north. Maybe we'll catch a break and the storm will clear before the bandits reach us."
"They will still likely attack," Teyla pointed out.
"Yeah, well, I'm trying to stay positive."
She stopped him before he could ride off. "There is another thing to consider. The horses." Her hand stroked her mare's neck. "The wagons can maintain this pace indefinitely, but the animals cannot. We will have to slow down or stop entirely at some point."
He patted his own horse. The gelding wasn't tired yet, not really, but he was getting there. "They'll last a while longer. We can cross that patch of sand when we reach it." He glanced at Ronon. "We're sure the people following us are people, right? Not wraith?"
Ronon grunted assent. "Humans on horses, definitely."
"Well, then, if it comes to a fight, everyone's horses will be winded. Theirs more than ours, since they're going faster. Maybe it'll give us an edge."
"More positive thinking?"
John gave Ronon a humorless grin. "Something like that."
They continued fleeing, keeping their trajectory due north and pushing the speed. John had just started considering a slow down when riders were spotted to their east. "Friendlies?" he asked, riding to meet the guard who made the call.
The flash of sunlight on steel answered that question as the approaching figures brandished weapons. "I'd guess not," the guard said grimly. He drew his own sword, glancing at John even as he did so. "We're fighting?"
Ronon's shout from the tail of the caravan cut him off. "Incoming!"
John met the guard's eyes. "Looks like we don't have much choice." He stood in his stirrups, hollering, "Guards, stand ready! People in the wagons, if you're good with a weapon, we could use it! If you're not, keep watch or stay out of the way! Rodney, keep the wagons going, and keep an eye on that damned storm."
Rodney's pale face poked out of the wagon window. "Don't get killed," he commanded in return before disappearing back out of sight.
"I'll do my best," John muttered, dropping back into his saddle.
Sounds of battle reached his ears from the tail of the train. He glanced around, doing a quick mental tally. They had ten on horseback -- John, Ronon, Teyla, and a bunch of mercs hired in Manaria. All bonded and licensed, with good reputations and good attitudes; he hoped they would live up to it. He pointed. "Johnson, Denly, help them out down there. Everyone else, with me." The two he'd called out cantered south while John and four others pushed east. They formed a loose line parallel to the caravan, facing their oncoming opponents: eight men on horseback, coming up fast. A quick scan with the binoculars confirmed that they were all armed with swords. No bows or guns, thankfully. He hoped Ronon and Teyla's group was as lucky.
He drew his sword, his horse dancing under him at the sound. He steadied the gelding and then, as the bandits drew near, urged him forward. His men surged forward with him, meeting the enemy's rush with one of their own.
The moment the battle was joined, chaos reigned. John faced off with a big, burly type with a bad attitude and a decent sword arm. They traded blows, horses dancing and kicking. A grunt practically in John's ear distracted him; he glanced to see another bandit, unsettlingly close, fall with arrow in his chest. John's opponent took advantage of his lapse in attention and nearly skewered him. He managed to take the strike in the arm, instead, fierce pain blossoming. He swore and struck back, finally and fatally cutting through the bastard's guard.
He wrenched his sword from the dead man's gut and whirled his horse, quickly scanning the battlefield. One of his men was down, likely dead; another was unhorsed but still fighting. Four bandits were still up. As he watched, one jerked Conners out of his saddle, cutting his throat and throwing him to the ground.
He swallowed hard, doing the math. Three against four -- two and a half, with Montgomery on foot. It wasn't terrible odds. He pushed his horse forward to meet another foe's blade, grimly pushing him back, away from the wagons. More arrows flew their way, but in the melee, he wasn't sure any found their targets.
Over the clashing of the blades, he heard a shrill whistle. Ronon's group was in trouble. John had his hands too full trying to keep himself alive to respond in kind. If he could just dispatch this bastard, even up the odds --
"INCOMING! The sons of bitches have backup!"
The ugly grin on John's foe's face gave weight to Montgomery's shout. A sudden burst of fear lent strength to John's arm and he ran the man through. He spun before the dead man hit the ground, staring east -- at a rapidly approaching group on horseback. Even at a distance, he could tell they were dressed the same as their bandits; not much chance of them being friendlies on their way to help the caravan.
John put his fingers to his lips and whistled twice, sharply. Retreat. After a split second's thought, he whistled in another pattern, one that mad Montgomery and Fersin give him wide-eyed glances.
Storm.
He turned and raced towards the lead wagon, vaulting for the door without tying up his horse. He hated to lose a good mount, but it was better to leave the gelding behind for the bandits than to drag him along on a wild ride into a sandstorm.
Without pausing to consider how insane an idea it was, he threw himself down in front of the controls. In moments, he had a new course and speed laid in -- northwest, into the storm, as fast as the wagons could go. Before he finalized it, he smacked another button, setting the siren wailing loud enough to wake the dead. Translation: get your asses into the wagons NOW! He gave a five second count and then punched go on the controls.
The wagon leaped forward, throwing him back in his chair. He spared a moment's thought for his team and their passengers, hoping the jolt hadn't hurt anyone. On the other hand, better bumps and bruises than facing the bandits' swords.
Sharp winds buffeted the wagon almost immediately. It howled around them, shoving the wagons around so hard the inertial systems had trouble keeping the vehicles bottom-down. All John could do -- all any of them could do -- was hold on and hope that none of the wagons were toppled. Even if they stayed upright, though, strong enough winds could tear them to pieces. Debris could be thrown into them, ripping holes in the sides or damaging their systems. It was bad enough to hunker down and ride out a storm; it was practically unheard of to run into a storm. John could only hope like hell he hadn't made the wrong call.
He kept his eyes and hands on the controls, watching tensely for any sign of trouble. Time lost all meaning in the howling insanity of the storm. He didn't know how long they'd been running when a warning sound from the computer indicated a lost wagon. He swore, frustrated and helpless. It was a cargo wagon, but there was no way of knowing if any of the guards had taken shelter in there. No way to know if the wagon had tipped or gone rogue, either, not that it really mattered which it was. The rest kept following his, the last wagon in the train automatically speeding up to close the gap left by the one that was lost.
He pushed their course north as soon as he dared. The bandits had to be far behind them, now -- no one on horseback would travel into a storm. Now he just needed to get his caravan clear of it before they took any more losses.
It felt like hours passed. The smooth glide of his wagon over the sand became a shuddering, lurching motion, making him remember what Rodney had said about the dangers of the systems getting clogged. It kept moving forward, though, and the other wagons kept following.
Finally, finally the winds dropped. It happened abruptly -- there was one last gust of wind, the storm making one last grab at the caravan, and then it was calm. He waited another ten minutes until he was sure they were well and truly clear of it before slowing the wagons. He didn't dare stop altogether, not that close to the storm, but they didn't need to keep up the breakneck speed.
He immediately missed his horse when he climbed out of his wagon. Some caravans put walkways between their wagons, but he'd never needed them. He always had his horse. Sparing a brief wish for the animal's safety, he waited, flatfooted on the sand, for Rodney and Zelenka's wagon to reach him. At the slow speed, it was easy enough to pull himself up into it on the move. "Everyone okay in here?"
The place was a bit of a mess. Apparently they hadn't gotten around to strapping everything down. From a chair set up amidst the clutter, Rodney gave him a baleful look. "Peachy." A bandage was wrapped around his head.
"Rodney was conked on the head," Zelenka told him, swiveling in his seat to face John. "Other than that, we are fine."
"Fine? I might have a concussion."
"We must keep moving," the scientist said earnestly, ignoring Rodney. "The winds are not in our favor -- it would not surprise me if the storm continues to shift. We are lucky to have passed out of it. If we dally, we may not remain so lucky."
"Great." John grimaced. "I kinda hoped you'd say something different."
"How did we fare?" Rodney asked, his expression turning serious.
"We lost a wagon," John reported quietly. "Cargo, but I don't know if anyone was in it. I turned my horse loose, so I can't ride the line. We'll just have to find out specifics whenever we do stop."
Rodney grimaced. "Right."
"You know that in-wagon com system you two have been talking about making? That would be useful."
"Yeah, well, if we have any money after this, we'll look into it."
Back in his own wagon, John punched up their speed, mindful of Zelenka's warning. Then he pulled himself out and up to his lookout perch, binoculars in hand.
He looked backwards first, at the caravan straggling behind him. All of the wagons, including his own, had visible damage. There was a figure atop the last wagon in line -- Ronon, in the rear lookout perch. John's heart lifted a bit at the sight of his friend. It was unnerving, not knowing who had survived the attack and flight. At least he had one answer, now.
The storm still roiled angrily to the south and far to the west. How massive is this thing? he wondered, bewildered. He'd spent his adult life traveling this desert, and he'd never seen a storm as big and bad as this one. He wasn't superstitious enough to believe that it was wizard weather, that it was somehow sent after them, but it was damned weird nonetheless.
He scanned the horizon to their west, swinging northward. Nothing and more nothing -- no bad guys, no good guys, no oases. Just a whole bunch of sand dunes, rocks, and scrubby plants.
Light glinted in the northwest. He stared that direction as they crested a dune, and --
A city. From the looks of it, a big city, though distance made it hard to tell proportions. They were beyond the edge of his map, this far north, and he frankly had no idea what was out here. He'd take anything at this point, though, and this... this looked like more than just anything.
He did a quick calculation in his head and swung back into his cabin to alter their route. That city was their best bet right now. He let out a breath, daring to hope that they'd be able to stop running soon.
It took another hour for them to reach the city walls. When they did, the gate was closed. He brought the caravan to a stop and climbed up to his perch, waving to the guards on the wall.
They peered back at him. "Name?"
"John Sheppard," he called back. "This is my caravan."
"What's your business in Atlantis?"
Atlantis? "We need a place to stay -- food, drink, sleep, medical attention. We've got wounded. Plus, you know, we'd really like to get away from that storm." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the roiling clouds behind him.
The guard glanced that way nervously. He licked his lips. "Can anyone in the city vouch for you?"
"Vouch for --" John stood abruptly. "Are you kidding me? We just came through a damn sandstorm, we've got wounded, I've never even heard of your city before, and you're asking me for credentials? What the hell kind of place is this?"
"Franklin!" Another figure appeared on the wall, shoving the first one aside. "Don't be a jackass," the woman growled at the first guard. To John, she said, "Come inside. We can help you." At her nod, the gate finally opened.
The courtyard on the other side of the gate was wide and open. He followed the guards' directions and lined his wagons up to one side of the space. The moment the entire caravan was safely within the city walls, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't the biggest fan of cities, but after the hell of the day, it was nice to be somewhere relatively safe.
The woman from the wall met him as he left his wagon. She was petite and red-headed, with fair skin that somehow didn't seem touched by the fact that she lived in a desert city. "Laura Cadman, lieutenant in the governor's guard," she introduced herself briskly, shaking his hand.
"John Sheppard. Thanks for letting us in."
"Of course. I'm sorry for Franklin -- we've had trouble with bandits, and between that and the storm... he's a little nervous."
John grimaced. "Yeah, well, we've dealt with both today, so I can't say I blame him."
"Sheppard."
He turned at Rodney's call. Everyone was starting to come out of the wagons. They had the looks of people waking up from a bad dream, all wide eyes and slowly clearing expressions. He did a quick survey -- Rodney and Zelenka, Ronon and Teyla, most of their passengers, only a couple of the guards. He wondered how many were injured in the wagons. He gave Cadman a quick, apologetic nod. "I need to see to my people."
"Of course." She nodded easily. "I'll see about making arrangements for you. No reason for you to wander around an unfamiliar city looking for accommodations."
"Thanks." He strode over to Rodney, waving for the rest of the caravan to join them.
"Where are we?"
He shrugged at Rodney's question. "Atlantis?"
Rodney blinked his surprise. "Atlantis?"
"Apparently? I've never heard of the place."
"I have." He looked bewildered. "We are really far off track."
"Going on the run for several hours will do that," Zelenka pointed out dryly.
The rest of the caravan members had gathered around them, murmuring among themselves. John raised a hand, quieting them. "We're in a city called Atlantis. Yes, we're way off track and presumably nowhere near Hoff."
"Definitely not," Rodney muttered.
"We'll deal with that later," John went on, eying his partner. "For the moment, we're going to focus on things like food, sleep, and medical attention." He glanced over the gathered group, again noting the missing faces. "Do we have anyone who's seriously injured?"
"Denly," Ronon spoke up.
"He took a serious wound in the battle," Teyla elaborated, her face drawn. "We were not certain he would survive it."
"Still might not," Ronon pointed out grimly.
John nodded, swallowing. "We'll get a doctor here as soon as possible. Anyone else?"
One of the passengers raised a tentative hand. "Machelle broke her leg, or at least hurt it pretty bad. We gave her something for the pain, so she's sleeping now, but a doctor should see her, too."
He nodded again. "Okay." That meant all the passengers were accounted for. The only people who weren't were guards - and he had a bad feeling that they weren't in the wagons somewhere. He met Ronon's eyes briefly. The big man's head shake was enough confirmation for now. He let out a breath and moved on; better to distract the paying passengers than to remind them that a bunch of people had just died keeping them safe.
Clearing his throat, he said, "We'll also need to figure out the state of our wagons, cargo, supplies, things like that. We'll fix what we can, buy what we can't."
"How long until we're back on the road?" The question came from one of the passengers.
John grimaced. "I can't answer that yet. Once I can, we'll talk." They had paid him to get them to Hoff and Providence; he had to make good on that or return their money so they could make other arrangements. He hoped he could manage the former. It reflected badly on him to break a contract, even when it was due to things beyond his control. "That's all I've got for now," he said, raising his hands to forestall anymore questions. "I'll keep everyone in the loop. Excuse me."
He turned, looking for Cadman while the members of his caravan began murmuring amongst themselves. The lieutenant was talking animatedly to a dark-haired woman. He hesitated for a moment then, remembering Denly, strode over. "Lieutenant? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've got wounded. Can you point me at a medical facility, a doctor...?"
She'd turned at his first words, giving him her full attention. The dark-haired woman had paid attention, too. To his surprise, it was the latter who nodded at his request. "Get Carson," she instructed the lieutenant. Cadman nodded and quickly moved away. The dark-haired woman turned back to John. "Dr. Carson Beckett is my personal physician," she said by way of explanation. "He's the best in the city."
"Thank you." John hesitated. "I'm sorry, but - you are?"
"Elizabeth Weir," she replied easily, smiling and holding out a hand. "Governor of Atlantis."
Surprise nearly made him forget his manners. After a frozen moment, he shook the proffered hand, bowing his head. "Lady. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"And you. I'm sorry such unfortunate circumstances brought you to our fair city, though. Laura said you mentioned bandits and a sandstorm."
"Yeah." He grimaced, automatically glancing over his shoulder towards the city wall. "The same storm that's threatening to hit here." The wall shielded it from view, but the sky was already getting darker.
"We're protected, if and when that happens."
He met the lady's reassuring eyes and nodded, relieved. "That's good to know."
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear more about what you encountered out there. Every bit of information about what happens outside our walls is valuable."
"I'd be happy to. Once my people are situated, of course."
"Of course."
Cadman returned, nodding to the lady. "Dr. Beckett is on his way. Also, I checked with weather watch - they say the storm will be here within the half hour."
"Thank you." The lady gestured to John. "I think we were discussing accommodations for Mr. Sheppard's caravan."
Cadman nodded again. "There's a good inn near the tower. They should have plenty of room for your people."
"I know the one." The lady looked pleased. "There's an empty warehouse not far from it where you can store your wagons and cargo for the time being, if that would suit?"
"It would," he replied automatically, blinking. "You really know your city."
She chuckled depreciatingly. "To be fair, my assistant told me the warehouse was empty. He also mentioned that there is an office in that warehouse, which could be used as temporary quarters, if you like. However, I'd like to offer you accommodations in the tower, if you would prefer that."
He hesitated. "The tower?"
"The center of our city. It's... the equivalent of a palace in other cities, I guess. It's my residence, my place of business, the government offices - really, it's where the government is centered. There are plenty of quarters for my guests, as well."
On the one hand, he didn't entirely like the idea of leaving his wagons, cargo, and people. On the other hand, it was always good to make friends with the leader of a city. "I would be honored to stay there," he told her, smiling with what he hoped was charm. "Ah, I have a business partner --" He waved vaguely in Rodney's direction.
"I'll make sure he has a room, as well. Unless," her eyes widened as she verbally backtracked, "you'd prefer to share?"
"No," he replied quickly. "Thanks. Separate is good."
"Alright. I'll have my assistant make the arrangements."
"Thank you." She started to turn away, but he stopped her. "Lady Weir." Meeting her eyes seriously, he quietly repeated, "Thank you. For helping us."
She smiled. "Here in Atlantis, we take pride in helping people who need it."
"And here I thought it was my good looks that got you to help."
The corners of her mouth definitely twitched at that. "Mm." She didn't laugh or roll her eyes, but he suspected she was close to both. "I'll see you at the tower when you've gotten everything settled." With a nod at Cadman, she turned and walked off. Two guards he hadn't even noticed fell into step behind her.
John glanced at the lieutenant still behind him, who was restraining a grin. "You could have warned me she was coming."
"Sorry." She shrugged, clearly not meaning it. "I did tell you I'm in the governor's guard."
"True." He watched the lady and her guards disappear down the street.
"Lady Weir takes a lot of interest in what goes on in her city." Cadman caught and held his gaze. "She's a good leader. We're lucky to have her, and there's not a man or woman in the city who doesn't know it."
He thought about some of the cities he'd been in, some of the rulers he'd heard of, others he'd had the misfortune of meeting. There were other rulers out there who were genuinely concerned with their citizens, but it was rare, given the politics of the desert. He nodded slowly. "Then I'm glad my caravan found your walls." It was the first piece of luck they'd had all day. He hoped it signaled a change in the winds, and not just a lull in the storm.
The doctor showed up at a jog just a few minutes later. "Dr. Carson Beckett," he introduced himself breathlessly. "Where are the worst of the wounded?" He had an accent John couldn't quite place.
"Last wagon." John turned, waving an arm in the air. "Ronon!" To the doctor, he said, "The big guy will show you."
"Aye, thanks." And the doctor was off. Three attendants followed him, carrying various medical kits.
John watched their progress, hoping they were as good as Cadman said. The fact that they weren't wasting any time getting to their patients boded well.
In the end, the prognosis for Denly was tentatively positive. "I think he'll survive this, but it depends largely on keeping that wound from getting infected. I'd like to take him to the tower, where I can keep an eye on him."
"That's okay with your lady?" John asked him.
"She made him my patient." His tone indicated it was a non-issue. "The girl, Machelle, her leg is indeed broken. We've splinted it. I'd like to put a proper plaster cast on it, and her parents have agreed, so I'll be taking her to the tower, as well."
"Fair enough."
"As for the rest of you, I want to have one of my assistants check your various scrapes and bruises and whatnot, make sure there's nothing more sinister lurking beneath the surface." He pointed. "Don't think I haven't noticed your own wound, Mr. Sheppard."
John's arm twinged at the reminder. He grimaced. "It's nothing. Just a cut."
"Bandits aren't known for their hygiene, Mr. Sheppard. I've seen plenty of simple cuts get infected if they weren't properly cleaned." The doctor's look was chastising.
John licked his lips, nodding, suitably abashed. "I'll submit myself to your doctor's care, then."
"Good man. Where will you all be staying, then?"
"Rodney and I are both being put up in the tower. The rest - the Silver Sands Inn, I think?" He frowned, trying to remember what Cadman had told him before she'd left. She'd given him directions - pretty simple ones, thankfully. Silver Sands was definitely what she'd said.
His certainty was backed up by the doctor's nod. "Aye, that's a good place. I'll leave you to it, then, and I'll get my patients up to my office."
"Alright. Thank you, doctor." He shook the man's hand.
Once the two patients and their doctors were on their way, John and the rest of his people could get on theirs. He was grateful to finally be getting out of the courtyard - they'd been taking up room and serving as a source of way too much interest for the general public for too long. He climbed up onto his wagon, taking the manual controls on his upper perch. It was trickier to maneuver in the city, but he took pride in managing it without squashing any pedestrians. He also took pride in following the lieutenant's directions without getting lost in the unfamiliar place. He found the inn and then the warehouse without difficulty.
Ronon and Teyla volunteered to stay at the warehouse, to keep watch over their goods. John was grateful they'd offered; he was going to ask, anyway. The caravan master who didn't keep a watch on his wagons and cargo would one day wake up and not have either. The remaining guards, the ones hired on at Manaria, he sent to rest and relax. He had to deal with their guild regarding the men they'd lost, anyway; he'd discuss the continuation of the surviving men's contracts then.
Once everything was settled, he stood outside the inn, wearily rubbing his neck. It had been a damned long day, and the rest of the week wasn't looking much better. Right now all he wanted was sleep and food and a bath, not necessarily in that order. Instead, he had to head to the tower, to brief the governor on the state of things beyond her walls. Spending time with an attractive woman wasn't something he generally minded, but it somehow didn't seem as fun when they would be talking about things like bandits and sandstorms.
Thought of the storm made him glance up. The sky was steadily darkening, though the storm itself hadn't reached them yet. He snorted quietly - the "weather watch" here was apparently no better than anywhere else he'd visited.
"Sheppard!"
Rodney's call brought his gaze back to ground level. "Hey. We need to get going."
"Actually, Zelenka and I are going to stay here and start working on our wagons. They're not in great shape. The storm did damage, like you'd expect, and even just going as fast as we were took a toll. They weren't designed for that. So... yeah. We're going to stay here for a while. If you can handle talking to the governor on your own, of course." He stopped talking abruptly, giving John a hopeful look.
John tried not to roll his eyes at his partner. "You just want to get out of it, don't you?"
"Well, talking to people is really more your thing. Machines," he waved a hand at the open warehouse door behind him, "are mine. It's a fair trade. Besides, I figured you wouldn't mind the opportunity to chat up the lovely Lady Governor without an audience." His smirk was irritatingly knowing.
"Trust me, if I just interested in flirting with a pretty woman, I'd stay here and talk to the serving girls at the inn. It's safer."
"Yes." Rodney nodded sagely. "I guess they can't lock you up for insolence. And they're less likely to reject you outright."
John scowled. "Look, I'm not going to the tower to flirt or anything else like that. I'm going because the governor of this fine city asked me to fill her in on what's going on in the desert, and also because the beds there are probably twice as comfortable as the beds in the inn. And yes, I plan on sleeping in that comfortable bed alone. Not because someone has rejected me, or is going to reject me, but because I'm tired."
"Right, sorry. Wow, you are tired. Look," he added hastily before John could growl at him, "I'm looking forward to the same thing. The sleeping in a comfortable bed, I mean. If we weren't likely to be so low on money after this, I'd look into buying a better mattress for my wagon, because the one I've got just isn't doing the trick."
"Rodney." John gave his partner an exasperated look. "I need to get going."
"Right, of course. Don't want to keep the governor waiting."
He let that pass. Glancing around, he asked, "So where am I going?"
The look Rodney gave him in return suggested he was missing something obvious. When he pointed and John followed his finger, he saw that he had been: there was a tower rising into the air just beyond some nearby buildings. He stared, his eyes tracing the graceful spire. It shone in the waning light, a mottled mix of white, creams, blues, and purples. From a distance it was hard to say what it was made out of. He wasn't sure he would be able to tell up close, either. He'd never seen anything that curved so easily or reached so high, and there wasn't a material he could think of that would do the job. Not that he was a builder, but it was his business to know material goods, and this didn't look like anything he had seen.
"Huh" was all he said aloud, but Rodney had known him long enough to follow his train of thought.
"Yeah, I have no idea what it's made of. I can't wait to get closer. This whole city is amazing."
John glanced back down at him. "What do you mean?"
"What do I - you didn't look around at all on our way over here, did you?" Rodney's look was incredulous.
"I was a little busy trying not to run over any pedestrians. I figured the site-seeing could wait until later."
"Well, it's later. Look around on your way to the tower. Obviously there are a lot of normal buildings around, but there are other things like that tower - they look like smaller versions of it. I think they were probably taller, before. I'd bet there are passageways underground, maybe an entire complex." His eyes were wide, excited. "Can you imagine what might be down there? Or just what's in those other towers? If they weren't built by anyone here - even if they were! --"
John cut him off. "Rodney." He shook his head once the other man was silent. "Fascinating as this place is, we need to get back on the road as soon as possible. You need to work on the wagons, not go chasing after towers and hidden passageways."
Rodney blinked. "Right. Well, that's true. But while we're here, it wouldn't hurt to make some, you know, business contacts. Maybe even pick up some new cargo. We can add Atlantis to our territory, as it were. That way we're making money, and we can come back and explore this place more." He looked incredibly pleased at his logic.
John couldn't argue it, either. "We'll see how things go in the next day or two," he cautioned his partner. "We might not want to come back."
"You might not..." Rodney's eyes went back to the tower, undisguised curiosity and avarice in his eyes. "There's no way I'm going to find out everything I want to about this place in just a day or two."
"Right. Well, then, think about it this way: the sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back."
"That logic doesn't really work, you know." Rodney eyed him.
John shrugged. "Sorry. Go work on the wagons," he added before the other man could continue the discussion. "I'll see you up at the tower later."
"Yes. Go, have fun. I'll go work on the wagons." He sent one last look at the tower before waving to John and heading back into the warehouse.
Part 2