Title: Red Flowers
Author:
temarisPairing: McKay/Sheppard (established)
Rating: PG
Recipient:
pollittSpoilers: Fourth season casting only.
Summary:
On Canlaon, anything is for sale.
Caveat emptor -- let the buyer beware.
Author's Note: This was intended to be a straightforward team thing, and then it got a little away from me :-) I hope you enjoy :-)
Many thanks to my last minute beta readers! You know who you are (and after the reveal everyone else will too :-) ) and you are fabulousity itself.
Red Flowers
"Well?"
Rodney glanced up at Sheppard and frowned at him. "Well nothing," he said, suppressing a yawn. It was way too early for this. He leaned on the wall of the cave and pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his knees protested the sudden change. He threw the shattered piece of Wraith Dart back onto the rocks.
"Didn't your mother tell you about littering?" Sheppard jibed and Rodney rolled his eyes at him.
"Yes, of course, it's so important here to make sure that the pristine landscape is preserved." He gestured broadly at the battered cave, bits of destroyed Wraith Darts strewn across the floor, the sides pocked with impact craters. "Not a bad idea though, turning the Gate to face into the side of a nice solid hill," he added.
"I thought you said you could use any pieces we found?"
"When I said 'pieces', I was anticipating that some might be larger than my fist, and not have most turn out to be smaller than your brain, Colonel." He shook his head. "What hitting the rocks didn't destroy, the Gate backwash finished. There's nothing here large enough to identify without more time than we've got, never mind use."
"Then I believe we should proceed to Canlaon," Teyla called from outside. "We can be there by the time the gates open if we leave now."
"Fine. Move it, Rodney," Sheppard said. He chivvied Rodney out with a firm hand on his tac vest, then turned. "Ronon!" Rodney tried really quite hard not to mutter 'heel!' and shrugged innocently when Sheppard threw a narrow-eyed glance at him.
Ronon followed reluctantly. "I still don't think this is a good idea."
Rodney rolled his eyes, and Sheppard raised his hand before Teyla could start. "We already argued this out yesterday. The market may be the only place we can get the seed stock we need," he said to Ronon, "And," he said to Teyla," We are going to be careful, even if you have known them for years. Okay?" He looked at each of them in turn, and nodded, apparently seeing whatever it was he'd been looking for. "Okay then."
-+-
The early morning chill wasn't helping Rodney to wake up in the slightest -- he just felt tired and cold. There just wasn't enough time for everything -- the mission briefing had been argued so long yesterday they'd been delayed to this morning, which gave him extra time in the labs, which segued into a midnight session fixing the DHD and finally getting to his own -- empty -- bed at three am. Empty bed meant no early morning sex, which just went to show how irritated John had been with him. They could have fitted in a quick blow job in the shower, he thought resentfully.
Unexpectedly his foot slid out from under him on the long, wet grass and he nearly tumbled headfirst into Teyla's back, only a hard hand on his elbow stabilizing him.
"You know, McKay, if you got to bed at a reasonable hour, then maybe you wouldn't have these little 'accidents'."
"If Atlantis was in shop floor condition I would get to bed at a reasonable hour," he snapped back. He caught John's eye and added a grudging, "Thank you."
"You're welcome. You okay?" Sheppard's hand stayed on his arm, grip gentling. Rodney nodded. "You gonna fall over if I let go?"
"Thank you, I'll be fine," he said with wounded dignity. John grinned, and Rodney couldn't help smiling back.
The sun was hidden behind the hill, making their footing pretty much invisible. Water was slowly soaking into his pants and socks from the wet grass. Sooner or later he was going to break his neck on the damn stuff. A moment later, Rodney nearly slipped again, grumbling under his breath about stupid planets and stupid Ancients with their stupid ideas about Gate positioning, even as Sheppard's grip on his arm stopped him from taking the high speed route down.
They walked down and around the hill, shaded from the rising sun until they turned a last bend, and then suddenly the light split the air in front of them, slicing past the hillside, an enticing warm wall of sunshine just yards ahead of them, motes rising in it above a track rutted deep into the landscape.
"The road to ancient Canlaon," Teyla said softly, and they all walked a little faster, glad to get out of the shadow of the hill.
-+-
The track was baked hard, cut deep into the plain, the sides a good four feet high. At first Rodney was grateful not to be slipping every few steps, and that his feet and ankles were slowly drying out. Soon though, his drying socks were chafing painfully. The dry earth was pitted and uneven, and crumbled at every step unless he kept inside the ruts, stumbling painfully either way. His feet burned inside his boots, too warm, sore, every joint and muscle bitterly protesting the continuous effort of keeping his balance on the atrocious path.
Sweat trickled down his back, laptop heavy and hot, black vest soaking up the heat and it prickled on his skin. Heat stroke was creeping up on him, he thought gloomily. If it wasn't one thing it was another.
"I should have brought a hat," he muttered, swiping at his forehead. "We're going to die of this heat, you know. Brains curdling inside our skulls."
"You were complaining about the damp a minute ago," Sheppard said dryly, and he replied just as dryly,
"Half an hour ago -- your time keeping is as bad as your navigation, Colonel -- and that was when I was skidding down soaking cliff edges, in peril of breaking my neck. Right now, I'm more likely to collapse from heat exhaustion. Or break my ankle in a pot hole."
Teyla breathed out slowly, nasally, and then said, "The road improves closer to the city. There is much work, and little return in mending roads for the Wraith to walk on."
"She has a point," Sheppard said mildly, and Rodney scowled, overheated and unwilling to concede anything.
"Wraith wouldn't walk to the city," he said, and squinted at the distant walls standing out against the plain. "That doesn't make any sense, you know," he added. "Surely the Wraith can beam them out straight through those walls?"
Teyla smiled, "Not according to their legends. They say that they have not lost a person inside the walls to culling in twenty generations."
"But that's just--" he stopped at her raised eyebrow, and backtracked, "that's just, ah, really, and, so, wow, twenty generations? And it's the stones? Really?" He frowned, "How?"
"Only on this world," Ronon said shortly. "Doesn't work anywhere else."
"I wasn't--"
"Well, I was," Sheppard said frankly, and let the sunglasses slide down his nose to squint at the towering walls, "Really can't beam through?"
"I have not seen it for myself, but it is widely known."
"And people don't come flocking?" Rodney said, puzzled.
Ronon shook his head. "On Sateda we were told that no outsiders were permitted within Canlaon when the Wraith came. Once, the stories say, they would throw people out of the walls to keep the Wraith happy." He stared challengingly at Teyla who glared right back.
"Stories from those who feared what they did not understand."
"Well, it wouldn't exactly be the first time," Sheppard said.
"And the, uh," Rodney waved his free hand at the town. "Bricks?"
"People have tried to take the stone off world to build a safe haven of their own, but it has never worked. They are culled. Only here does the protection hold," Teyla told them, and McKay sighed.
"Atmospheric conditions?" Sheppard speculated, looking up at the innocuously blue sky.
"Protection of the Ancestors, they say," Teyla said firmly, and Rodney couldn't stop an eye roll.
"Maybe we're going to find another ascended Ancient." He scowled.
"Rodney." Sheppard smiled sweetly at him. "We're going to be polite to the nice people who might be willing to sell us grain and meat. Aren't we?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Even if I have to pretend that the local voodoo religion is actually science of any credibility whatsoever." He even meant it -- sort of. He pulled out his scanner and sighted it on the town. Maybe the stone was some odd sort of material or structure that -- he frowned at it, then shook it. He bent closer over it, trying to understand the meaning of the data shifting across the screen. Huh. Then maybe -- he waved it at the team, and frowned harder at the new results. That made perfect sense, which meant that the first set -- he waved the scanner in the direction of the town again then glared at the results disapprovingly-- didn't. "Oh. Hmm."
"Rodney?"
"Busy!" Every time he said anything they would ask what, what? If he knew he'd've said. If he didn't know, then he didn't know. "When I know something, you'll know something, I'd have thought you'd known me long enough to realize this, Colonel."
Teyla smiled, her eyes crinkling, "It is true what he says," she agreed, and Rodney looked at her dubiously, then figured he might as well take it at face value.
"Thank you," he said, and glared at first Sheppard, who just grinned back at him, and then Ronon, who ignored him completely, taking long strides over the uneven ground, apparently untroubled by trip hazards, random boulders and sink holes.
"Sooner we're there, the sooner you can poke at the rocks, McKay," Ronon said flatly. "We need to move faster."
Sheppard nodded and picked up the pace, even as Rodney grumbled about the rough ground and how bad boots were for his ankles and how the packs were getting heavier.
"If your pack's heavy, it's because you packed it, McKay," Sheppard said mildly, and there wasn't really much he could say to that except,
"If I end up rescuing the entire mission, again, as is all too often the case, then you'll be glad that I chose to prepare my pack properly."
Ronon looked interested. "How many knives are you carrying?"
Rodney tried to clamp it down, and only a very faint sigh of exasperation escaped. Ronon might not even have heard it, except he clearly had and was eyeing Rodney in a way that suggested that he was remembering that brute force might only win in the short term, but the results were oh so satisfying. "Three," he said grudgingly. Utility knife on his belt, Swiss army knife in a pocket, and a plastic knife tucked in alongside the MRE, which was a knife, those things were sharp, you could cut yourself on them if you weren't paying attention, even if it wasn't exactly what Ronon had meant. Four if he counted the spork.
Ronon grunted, looking amused, which Rodney decided would do as acknowledgment that he'd won this round, and didn't push the point -- just in case. In an argument with Ronon about knives, not even he would give good odds on himself.
He glanced down at the scanner again and tapped it absently, trying to decide whether it was worth asking for half an hour to study the readings. They really didn't make sense. If he just had the initial data readings from the planet to hand then maybe -- but that was all on the laptop strapped to his back.
He stumbled and a hard hand was on his elbow instantly, keeping him upright even as he yelped and flung out his hands for balance. He didn't lose his grip on the scanner, but it was a near run thing.
"McKay, if walking and scanning is too much for your giant brain to compute all at once, how about you put the scanner down and concentrate on your feet, hmm? Then you won't fall on your face and ruin my day."
"Considering no one except me can manage walking and talking, you're a fine one to talk."
"We'd talk if we thought we could get a word in edgewise."
Rodney smirked, "If you're too slow to keep up, Colonel..."
"Fast enough to catch you," Sheppard said meaningfully, and Rodney had to look away to hide his grin.
"Point," he conceded, gave a last puzzled look at the scanner, and put it away.
"What was so interesting on that thing anyway?"
"I don't know." If there was one thing he hated it was not knowing. Admitting his ignorance was rarely believed, so the next question was hardly unexpected.
"The great McKay found something he--" Sheppard sounded amused, but he was frowning faintly.
"Yes, yes, yes, all very amusing I'm sure," but that was almost reflexive. "I don't see how they're doing it."
"Doing what?" Teyla asked, dropping back a little to listen.
"Hiding the rest of the city."
There was a pause.
"The rest of the city?" Sheppard said sharply. He stopped and pulled his sunglasses off, squinting across the mile or so to the red and gold walls. "There's more of it?"
"Well, it's the only explanation for the level of energy readings I was getting. I'd expect that sort of heat generation from a major conurbation, not a market town."
"It's hot?" Sheppard sounded relieved and he slid his glasses back on one-handedly, clapping Rodney's shoulder with the other. "Maybe they're all cooking breakfast."
"I know you're not actually that stupid, so don't give me that."
"What range?"
"Infra red. On a satellite sweep it would show up like the restaurant section of a mall. Food central, and I'm not talking about what they're eating."
"What's eating them," Sheppard murmured, and winced, adding, "sorry," at Teyla's sharp look. "All lit up, like --"
"Like a nice shiny feeding ground." Rodney winced a little, but hell, it was his planet too.
"As I said before, the Wraith do not eat here." Teyla reminded them. "They have thrived without the fear of being culled."
"Maybe, but that doesn't explain how these people're generating that level of heat without any discernable power structures, or how those stupid walls are keeping the Wraith away." He gestured at the walled city when they just stared at him, and added impatiently, "No smoke. No air pollution."
Sheppard brightened, "Does that mean they have a ZPM?"
Rodney looked at him. "Oh yes, Colonel, I accidentally forgot to mention that in the briefing. No. No ZPM." He paused a second, and nodded when Sheppard said softly,
"What giant underground bunker?"
"Yeah." He squinted at the city then back at the scanner.
Teyla shook her head. "They are not like the Genii, Colonel. They do not hide their power and technology, and they share it with those who can pay for it."
"And we haven't heard of them before because...?"
Ronon grunted. "Because smart people don't like their prices."
"They are expensive, it is true, but they trade with many people, and we may find it simpler to trade for parts than to continue spending our strength in scavenging." Teyla said firmly.
"And we had nothing worth trading," Ronon said tersely.
-+-
The town gates were open, great reinforced things of dark wood, forming a wide arc from the walls and spanning a four or even five meter width, minimum, a sharp contrast to the pale grey slabs paving the road and the yellow stone of the wall. Very decorative. Rodney rolled his eyes. Flashback to D&D-ville. Carts were trundling in, maybe six ahead of them, but more behind them on the road. Each one paused for a moment at the gate, talking to uniformed guards. Something would exchange hands, and then they'd trundle on in. Livestock, people, grain, piles of fruit and vegetables. Everything from creaking covered wagons to tiny two wheeled, one man barrows.
"It is good we are early," Teyla said softly as they waited their turn in the queue to get inside the town walls, "The crowds become much worse as the day proceeds."
Ronon nodded, "The Great Market was just as busy on Sateda most days." There was a little pause, and Rodney looked up at the walls, itching for a chance to walk right around them, figure out the 'protection of the walls'.
The stone was just stone. There was no hidden field embedded in it, no special reflective properties or crystalline structure, no new minerals or energy anomalies -- nothing to suggest why a Wraith beam wouldn’t pass straight through. He wasn't sure what good walling the place did them beyond some sort of psychological bolstering that any over-flying Dart would surely destroy.
Granted, the walls were impressive, with great sandstone blocks stacked high and wide, golden in the early morning light and scattered with deep green and blazing scarlet: some garish plant crawling out of crumbling cracks and over towers with the persistence of ivy, the bright flowers hanging bell-like in the dark leaves. They were probably what was causing that odd, not entirely unpleasant smell. He sneezed. The roots were probably eating away at the stone, eroding the sharp, unmorticed edges and slowly pulling it apart, accelerating the work of the weather and pollution. Another few hundred years and the walls would probably be little more than leafy hillock.
"Pretty," Sheppard said, and Rodney glanced at him.
"Yes, if you like the idea of the pretty plant life eating away the structural integrity of something you’re trying to live in and one ton blocks falling down around your ears," he said acerbically. "They should tear it all down."
Sheppard looked at him sardonically, "I don't think we're in any immediate danger."
"The city has been here many generations," Teyla agreed, "And they are very proud of the selath. Its fragrance lifts the heart." She smiled, "Small bottles are valued at a sum larger than I have ever seen bartered." Rodney sighed, not irritated enough to press the matter.
"So you'll make a really sweet smelling corpse. If something lands on your head, don't come running to me."
Sheppard eyed him with amusement. "I guarantee, Rodney, that if one of those stones comes landing on my head, I will not say a word."
"If one lands on your head, McKay," Ronon added helpfully, "I promise not to say a word either."
"Except perhaps peace, blessed peace," Teyla murmured. At McKay's sharp look she smiled beatifically and said earnestly, "It is an ancient prayer for the newly deceased."
He eyed her sourly, but he wasn't certain she was mocking him. And even if she was... He avoided meeting anyone else's eyes and shuffled forward with the queue.
-+-
If this was a quiet day, Rodney wasn't sure he wanted to see it busy. He didn't do shopping. Malls were his idea of hell, online shopping a blessing second only to takeout delivery. He took a bigger bite of the vecris fruit pie, savoring the sour-sweetness blissfully, licking up the juice, and catching the flaking pastry with one hand under his chin.
"Are you listening? You must keep these on you at all times. Do not lose your tokens, Colonel, Doctor McKay," Teyla said firmly, and held out a pair of small bone discs. "They will assure your safety should you be challenged by anyone from the House of the Exterior. And do not litter," she added sharply as he accidentally -- accidentally! Hello! -- dropped the pie's packaging on the sidewalk.
"Challenged?" Rodney said, a little muffled. "This is very good," he added, somewhat incoherently to Ronon through a mouthful of pie. Either way, Ronon grinned wordlessly as he stuffed the last of his own pie into his mouth, red brown juice drizzling into his beard. "You've got some--" he pointed at his chin and Ronon grinned at him and wiped his face with his free hand and licked the palm clean.
"Rodney..." Teyla said firmly, and he sighed.
"I was just getting it." He leaned down and stuffed the sticky paper into a pocket. It would be disgusting in his jacket pocket later, but god forbid it be disgusting on the street. Though to be fair, it was a very clean street, as packed dirt went.
"Thank you."
"Told you you'd like it, McKay." Ronon said, swallowing the last of his pie down, and chasing it with water from his canteen.
"Thank you, yes, I live in awe of your intuition about Earth allergies." His wrist was still a little sticky, and he sucked at the test patch idly. Maybe they could take some of those vecris berries back to Atlantis. "What do you mean, challenged?"
Teyla eyed him sternly. "You were told in the briefing, Rodney. The House of the Exterior monitors and manages all visitors." She held up her own tag, "If you cannot show you are legitimately within the walls, you will be removed."
"Right, got it, hang on to the tag or the INS will get me."
"Any ideas about who we should be talking to, Teyla?" Sheppard had refused the offer of pie, as had Teyla. He was looking at Rodney and Ronon with a sort of horrified resignation. "You two have absolutely no self control, do you?" Which meant that Rodney had two more for later. Sheppard could insult them all he liked. He still wasn't getting the extra pie.
She smiled, "Of course. We are expected at the House of the Exterior."
"Exterior?" Rodney hurried after her, "I thought you said they were just immigration border control? Import and export?"
"Everything that is outside the walls, Doctor McKay, is ours to consider before allowing it inside the walls."
They all turned. The speaker was in his fifties, maybe even older, and Teyla smiled, holding out both hands, palm up.
"Fierb, are you well?" she asked as he brushed his hands lightly over hers.
"Oh, not so bad, Teyla Emmagan," he took a half step back and looked at the rest of the team.
"These are Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Doctor McKay, and Ronon Dex. Fierb is a Master of the House of the Exterior."
Fierb nodded to each of them as they were introduced, but made no effort to touch hands with them. Rodney considered his fingers, and conceded this might not just be because they'd only just met.
"An interesting group, Teyla," Fierb looked expectantly at her, "there must be some tale in this?"
She smiled faintly, "Only the sort of tale too familiar these days. Athos was culled, Sateda also; we joined my friends on their planet, and now we look for ways to survive until Hibernation comes again."
"Hmm. Can't be a day too soon, if you ask me," he said. "What those idiots thought they were doing--"
Sheppard shifted fractionally, and Teyla's hand gripped his sleeve out of Fierb's sight.
"We will survive this, as we have endured before," Teyla said. Fierb looked hard at her, but stopped.
"Well, if that's sorted out, then maybe we can move on to the interesting part of the --ow!"
He jerked his foot away from where Sheppard had stood on it.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rodney," he smiled innocently, and Rodney glowered at him.
"Yes, that was my foot, you near-sighted clodhopper." He cautiously wriggled his toes inside his boot. Nothing seemed damaged, but it could be too early to be sure.
Teyla ignored them both, "Fierb, it is very fortunate that we found you so early in the day," she smiled at him warmly, "we are looking to trade for grain, seed and foodstuffs, and of course we were on our way to your illustrious House, but this chance meeting may be to both our benefits."
"Hrm," he said, puffing up a little under the implied compliment. "My dear, it has been a poor year, few crops, and less trade, and many deaths among our partners with the Great Culling. We cannot guarantee any deal at all." He was shaking his head, and as Teyla drew breath to speak, he put a hand on her wrist, "But we may be able to accommodate you somewhat. If you and--" He looked at them, seemingly reluctant to pick one from the group.
Teyla glanced at the three of them as though she had no trouble understanding why Fierb was unwilling to invite them all along. "Perhaps Colonel Sheppard could accompany us? And if you would not mind, I believe that Doctor McKay would be interested in the histories of your city. He has a keen interest in architecture and the stories of the past."
"Oh, yes. Keen."
"Ronon, I think you can stay with Doctor McKay," she glanced pointedly at their juice stained hands and faces.
They looked at each other, and back at her. "Yes, mother," they said in unison. Sheppard shrugged, and Fierb looked visibly relieved.
"The Records House would be of most interest to Doctor McKay," Fierb said. "If you walk to the end of this street, and turn left you will see it -- it is not far. The House of Records is the white gated building at the end. And, should you wish, there are public washrooms on your way," he chuckled cheerfully.
"Try not to mess up the books, McKay," Sheppard said brightly.
"Colonel Sheppard, I'm not the one who hasn't yet gotten to the end of the first book I brought with me on the trip. I think I know something about taking care of books."
Rodney turned and stalked away. Ronon quickly caught him up, and grinned at him.
"Not your best come-back, McKay. Maybe you were allergic to those pies after all--" he reached for the small bag tucked into the top of Rodney's pack, "I could help you with that."
Rodney dodged away, ran through the likelihood of getting to hang onto some versus none of his fruit pies, and grudgingly handed one over. "Here. And I'm worried about those readings."
"Have you found something?" Ronon asked, humor gone instantly.
Rodney glanced around, but the street was getting more busy, not less. "I don't want to take the scanner out here."
Ronon bobbed his eyebrows. "Good call."
"Thank you. I can show some inklings of common sense, I assure you, especially when it means we won't get mugged at knife point and our bodies left in a local garbage pile."
"You might get mugged."
Rodney considered that. "Huh. You're probably right. All the more reason that I shouldn't be seen wielding valuable Ancient tech in the middle of a busy street."
"Or talking about it," Ronon said sagely.
"Or talking abou-- Right." He pursed his lips and kept moving up the street. A couple of minutes later, he said softly, "If you see somewhere we could-- you know?"
Ronon smirked at him and Rodney sighed.
"Yes, very mature. The -- you know what?" he said pointedly, jerking his chin towards the scanner in the top pocket of his vest.
"Washrooms." Ronon nodded up the street.
"How do you know?"
"Can smell it."
He sniffed without thinking it through, then grimaced. He swallowed hard, and wished that he had a stuffed up nose. Or some of those clips swimmers used. "Right. Smell."
-+-
Rodney was gleeful as they walked out of the washroom.
"Well?" Ronon murmured.
"I have some ideas," he said, pleased that the trip into unmitigated filth and the horror of squat toilets had had some good points -- like privacy to use the scanner. "We should--"
"We should go to the House of Records," Ronon said firmly, gripping his elbow -- the one already thoroughly bruised by Sheppard earlier that morning.
"Careful, ow! Hey!"
"Quiet. Someone’s watching us," Ronon said tersely.
"Really?" He looked around. "Why--"
"Probably Fierb’s people. They’ve got a name for that sort of thing.”
“What, spying on guests?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” Rodney looked around again, trying to spot them.
“McKay--" Ronon growled, and Rodney straightened up.
“I’m sorry, I’ve not been spied on before, oh, except that’s probably not true, but hidden cameras are so much more discreet.”
“City hasn’t fallen in a few hundred years, I guess you start thinking you want to keep it that way.” He looked around casually, and added, “Move it, McKay.”
Rodney scowled as Ronon encouraged him with a shove.
“Mind the backpack!” he snapped, mindful at the last second not to say ‘laptop’ or anything else. In fact, he probably shouldn’t make it look like the backpack was important at all, and stymied, he glared at Ronon. “Ow, my back,” he said instead, a little louder and shoved a hand under the backpack to rub it. Ronon just looked amused. “Are they still there?” he asked and Ronon just looked at him. “Okay, fine, fine, they’re still there.” He shrugged a little, “If these people have kept the Wraith out for centuries, then I guess they’d go with whatever works.”
“The walls keep the Wraith out. Exterior just keeps the walls,” Ronon corrected, and Rodney shook his head.
“No, no, no. The walls are just big pretty rocks stacked in a geometric fashion. Something else is keeping the Wraith out of this place.”
Ronon frowned at him. “The legends say that it’s the walls.”
“And god bless the walls, yes, I got that part. But--“ his hand moved towards his scanner then he remembered and stuffed it into a pocket, “--that doesn’t make it a fact.”
Ronon just shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.”
Rodney grunted, torn between irritation -- of course he would figure it out, that was what he did -- and a certain gratified smugness at Ronon’s confidence.
They kept walking down the street; the sun hadn’t yet risen high enough to drive away the shadows, and Rodney tried not to stare twitchily into each doorway and half hidden side street and alley as they passed.
"So these House of the Exterior people have been running things all this time?"
“Yup,” Ronon nodded.
Rodney frowned. "Is that normal?" The whole set up was making him uneasy, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. The anthropologists, or the political scientists would be having a great time teasing out the details of what was going on here, he suspected. Or possibly not.
"Save it for when we get home, McKay," Ronon advised him.
"But--" he began, and Ronon frowned deeply at him.
"McKay--"
"Sure. Don't ask, don't -- except that doesn't really apply here, although I suppose it might if they're living in some sort of Stalinist police state-- although plenty of free trade going on--"
"Not in public.” Ronon growled, albeit quietly. “Not everyone will trade with Canlaon. We never came here. Sateda," he clarified, “Sateda never traded with them,” he shrugged, “we never really needed to.” His hand brushed over his weapon.
“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Rodney muttered, but Ronon just pushed him forwards.
"We’re drawing attention, McKay. Move."
"Oh? Oh! Here!" Rodney dug into a pocket and handed Ronon a chocolate bar, not without a pang. But in the name of preserving the integrity of the mission, sacrifices would have to be made. Funny how the sacrifices always seemed to end up being his. "There, you asked me for this and I gave it to you. Perfectly innocent."
Ronon ripped open the chocolate and took a big bite out of it, before saying, "They can probably hear us from where they are."
"And you couldn't have told me that-- give me that back!" But Ronon held it away from him.
"You going in or what?" Ronon asked, and stuffed the rest of the chocolate into his mouth. It had melted in his hand and Rodney sighed.
"I'm going in. You're finding somewhere to wash up. Again."
Ronon just looked at him and followed him into the cool foyer of the House of Records.
In the event, Rodney wasn't quite sure whether to be pleased that the librarian in charge of the House of Records had concurred with him about the cleanliness required to handle books, or to be worried that he was now on his own. He assured Ronon that he'd be fine (‘books aren't known for their lethal scientist eating qualities,’), and promised to check in regularly.
As Ronon left he bounced on his heels and rubbed his hands together. "Excellent," he said. "Now, how do I find out about--"
Arde, the master of the Records House, held up a hand, smiling. "Your enthusiasm moves you faster than I. Doctor McKay, this is Teram, and he will be happy to guide you in your research." Teram looked about fifteen years old, all out of proportion and pimples. He bounced on his heels, grinning widely at Rodney.
"Guide?" He looked at the teenager, and said nothing.
"It is a tradition of the House, Doctor," Arde said firmly. "Guests are always welcome, but there are many places difficult to find here -- and once found, difficult to leave."
"Rolling stacks," Rodney muttered, and shook his head at Arde's puzzled look. "Never mind. Guide. Fine." He turned to Teram and gestured towards the main entrance to the records collection. "Shall we?"
"Shall we what, Doctor McKay?" Teram asked cautiously, and Rodney groaned.
"Explore the wonders of the House of Records," he said, restraining himself considerably. He could intimidate after he'd got to the good stuff.
-+-
A little later he was in an alcove, surrounded by little plasticky boxes -- almost like floppy disks if floppies had been four inch cubes that spun on a diagonal axis, and contained what appeared to be something in the region of a petabyte of data each. Warmer than glass, but not oil based. Of course, it was all encoded in an astonishingly inefficient way -- it was blindingly apparent why they needed data storage of that caliber for even the shortest documents, but even so...
"Teram, where do these come from?"
He lifted one of the boxes and Teram tilted his head, clearly puzzled. "Doctor McKay?"
"The data storage units? Where do they come from?"
"That one came from the section on Histories of the Gex; and this one is from the History of the House of the Interior, and--"
"No!" He gritted his teeth and drew a deep breath. "Who makes them? Who puts the data into them?"
"Oh!" Teram laughed, "I almost forgot you were from outside! No, that is one of the higher mysteries. I will not learn such things for many years." He nodded and leaned in confidingly, "For now, I learn the fundamentals, the root and core of the scholarship." He straightened the nearest pile of boxes with a proprietary hand.
Rodney stared at him. "Shelving and filing. Right."
"And maintenance of the readers and copiers." Teram added earnestly.
"Christ, I rated the student help." Rodney groaned and dropped his head onto the desk with a hard thump.
"Doctor McKay?"
"Never mind. I'll just work my way through these."
"If you need any more help, Doctor McKay--"
"I'll shout."
"Oh no, please. You should put your House of the Exterior tag into the slot here, and ask for me when the beacon lights." Teram nodded at him happily, and before Rodney could stop him and ask for more information, was gone. He stared at the pile of books, and slid the first one into the reader. The title sprang up brightly: A History of the Houses of Canlaon
Wait a minute --
-+-
"Where's Rodney?" John said sharply, if quietly. Ronon had come into the Great Hall of the House of the Exterior alone apart from a guard. He'd deliberately caught John's eye and shook his head very faintly. John had excused himself from the haggling at the table immediately, his whole body tensing. Shit. He let the man out of his sight for barely even a half hour and, bam! One missing scientist.
Ronon shrugged minutely, "I don't know. We went to the House of Records: he went inside, I waited outside for him."
"You did what? Ronon!" he snapped, "You know better than to let McKay go off on his own."
"They wouldn't let me in with him," he looked vaguely shifty, and with a shock John realized that Ronon was actually worried. "They said my hands were too dirty to be allowed in." He rolled his eyes in disgust at the idea, "So I went back to a public washroom and when I went back a second time, they said he had left. When I hailed him over the radio he didn't respond." He hesitated for a second, and added, "He said he would check in regularly, and if he is studying he might forget --"
"But he wouldn't ignore us. Probably," John amended. "Either he's found something huge or --" His eyes met Ronon's and they were in agreement. "Let's see if I get a better answer."
Ronon moved a little, and John was bracketed between him and the wall. He slid a hand to the radio and tapped it.
"McKay. McKay, get your damn head out of whatever damn geek toy you've found and respond." He paused. "McKay. Rodney, dammit."
He waited, hand over the earpiece to catch the least sound. "Shit. Stay here."
He walked back up to his empty chair and leaned on its back, smiling easily at the others at the table. "Teyla, Fierb, something's come up, and I was wondering if you'd mind putting the negotiations on hold for a while?"
"John?" Teyla asked, rising to her feet immediately.
"Doctor McKay has gone for a walk without telling us," he said as mildly as he could manage. Her eyes flickered to his side, and then back in a fraction of a second.
"I am sorry, Fierb, but Doctor McKay can be a great enthusiast in pursuit of knowledge, and a little forgetful. May we resume this later?"
Fierb frowned at her. "Teyla, you know better than that. The negotiating table is either abandoned or completed. There is no hedging the deal."
She looked at John, waiting for his say so.
"Can we just -- get a pit stop?" John asked mildly, not a hint of his thoughts on his face. Fierb looked confused. "Rain check? Look, we just want to discuss this without disturbing the, the deal, for five minutes and then we'll be right back with you."
Fierb nodded, still looking dubious. "I suppose -- Teyla, I have put aside other business to accommodate you and your friends. If we cannot come to some profitable arrangement, I will have to make an accounting to the House Elders."
"Of course, "Teyla said steadily, "and we appreciate your understanding, Fierb." Teyla looked at him thoughtfully, but only added, "Is there anywhere we may speak without disturbing others?"
Fierb nodded. "Soundproofed chambers outside this door and along the corridor to the left."
"Thank you," she smiled, and turned on her heel.
-+-
"We should not speak too openly, even here," she murmured as they settled themselves into the small meeting room, and Ronon nodded.
"Agreed," he said grimly, then dived straight in. "Teyla, McKay went into the House of Records on his own, and when I went back for him, they told me he'd left."
Teyla rubbed at her ear thoughtfully, and John shook his head. No. No contact by radio.
"But he has his tag?"
Ronon nodded, then at Teyla's somewhat exasperated glare, began to elaborate in a loud voice on the entirety of his and McKay's walk to the House of Records.
"How many men of the House followed you?" she whispered underneath his words.
Ronon drummed three fingers against his belt.
"Wait, followed?" John looked sharply from one to the other. "You didn’t mention followed."
"You were told that this might happen, John," she said patiently. "We are traders, and under the protection of the House of the Exterior."
"You said they kept a close eye on off-worlders. Not followed them everywhere they went and spied on them in private meeting rooms," he whispered furiously.
"And so I believed, but clearly not all the stories were as exaggerated as I believed them to be," she whispered back defensively.
John took a deep breath. "Don't you think that might be something you should have told us before we wandered in here, fat and happy?"
Teyla shook her head. "You would not have understood--"
"I understand plenty!"
"John!" she said urgently, and he breathed in and out on a four count. Fine. Right. Quietly.
"We're inside a fucking police state, and we can't find Rodney, who's off wandering on his own looking for a reason why the city is -- hot--" he stopped. "Shit. It's the Genii all over again."
"Canlaon is well known for their," Ronon paused, choosing his words, "their caution." He looked directly at Teyla. "There were reasons we of Sateda did not barter with these people."
"Sateda had its own resources," Teyla said, "Not all are so privileged, and I have always found them fair." Ronon scowled, and seemed ready to argue the point.
"This isn't finding McKay," John snapped, and they both stopped.
"It is not essential we trade here," Teyla said after few seconds.
"We should not put ourselves in debt to them. We should find McKay and go."
Teyla didn't back down. "We are in need of seed for the new season. If we are ever to be free of our reliance on supplies traded in or brought to us," she paused, the implications clear, and John nodded. They couldn't survive forever if they couldn't support themselves. The Menarians had made that clear, and they had only been the first planet to decide that the benefits of selling Atlantis out were higher than the benefits of trading with them. Others had followed suit.
He looked from one to the other, then shook his head. "We'll go back to Athos if we have to; get them the send us cuttings from home the next time the family drops by."
"Colonel Carter will be disappointed."
John smiled edgily. "Right now, I'm pretty disappointed that Rodney is not currently here to argue the point with us. But he's not. We find him; then we go home. If the condition of trading with them is leaving McKay to wander on his own -- assuming that he went of his own free will -- and then become incommunicado.... Then I don't think these are the kind of trading friends we need."
"They have strict rules --" Teyla paused, "We should ask Fierb to talk to the men of the House. They will probably know where he is."
"Yeah. Because they took him," Ronon growled.
"You do not know that!"
"I can add up. No McKay. No armsman. No trace. No witnesses. No radio contact." Ronon folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.
Teyla looked away, slumping a little. "It is a little worrying."
"And if we don't negotiate?"
"We will not starve. We will miss the best season for planting, but we can survive as long as there are no more great storms."
John nodded curtly. "Fine. We go back, tell Fierb that we withdraw from the negotiations, track down McKay, and I kick his ass for forgetting about stranger danger."
-+-
"This is incredible!" Rodney was deep into the oldest areas of the House of Records. "These are -- can I take one apart?"
Teram looked horrified, "No, it takes many years--"
"Of training, yes, yes, I have many years of training," he said sharply and snapped his fingers in demand. Teram looked at him helplessly then moved out of the way. Rodney dived straight for the 'printer'. "Nearly twenty-four years of training, in point of fact," he muttered, "and more education than -- oh. I see. Hmm."
"Hmm?" Teram said warily. Rodney rolled his eyes and waved the boy over.
"Look, here?"
"Yes?" he said hesitantly.
"That's an Ancient crystal. Ancestors to you, probably."
"Yes, elder McKay."
"You knew they had -- why didn't you say so?" he sighed impatiently.
"You didn't ask?"
"Anticipate! A scientist must imagine! Anticipate! Extrapolate!" And obfuscate, he added silently, as he dismantled what appeared to be a defunct and abandoned portable 3-d printer, rapidly cataloging and analyzing as he went, longing for the chance to properly examine the crystals and circuits built in, an odd mish-mash of familiar and strange. Hmm. "What do you put into the hopper?"
"The what?"
"Here!" he pointed at the wide bin that presumably took that material that was printed on -- if it was a printer. "What goes in?" he asked, enunciating slowly and clearly.
"Oh, whatever is to hand. Selathi, waste food, dead leaves. It rejects anything not suitable."
"Organic matter?" He narrowed his eyes at it. "And it extrudes--"
"Whatever we tell it. As long as it's in the data core, it'll make it."
"Do you ever have to add anything -- does it ask for specific materials?"
Teram nodded eagerly. "Sometimes. It wanted sand when we needed a new reader last year."
Rodney sat back, vaguely wishing he knew more materials chemistry. Sand: silicates. And it could take crude organics -- plants and convert them to, what? Carbon. Not just carbon. Hydrocarbons? Plastics. Energy. The reverse of a ZPM.
What powered all of this? The sky had been clear, no signs of industrial scale power generation -- it could have been in the hills somewhere, but the town lit up like a rock concert against an otherwise quiet background. Power without pollution. Naquada would have shown up. Surely it was too diffuse for a ZPM. Several ZPMs? The range though was not sufficient to guarantee -- maybe he could convince Sam to bring the Daedalus, scan the planet from space. He brightened. Then stared at the printer, mouth open. Could this be how the Ancients built their ZPMs?
Objections crowded in, and he shook his head. Later. Later, when he got one of these back to Atlantis and could disassemble it at his leisure. A ZPM printer?!
He snatched a quick look at Teram and said nothing. He was definitely getting himself one of these -- especially if it really did turn out to be a ZPM making machine.
He lifted out what appeared to be some sort of separation chamber, a series of filters getting finer and finer layered being grinding plates. At the base a series of trays with some sort of energy based cover. At any rate, he couldn’t stick his fingers into it, even with the power off. Must be battery operated. His fingers itched at the thought of a battery powerful enough to run a small force field indefinitely. "How long has this been turned off?"
Teram shrugged. "I don't know. Couple of months?"
"A couple -- a couple of months? Seriously? Do you have any idea -- of course you don't, because if you did, you clearly wouldn't be working here." He followed the wires away looking for the power source. His fingers felt faintly sticky, and he rubbed them together, then sniffed them. Hmm. Floral scented machinery. Novel.
"Teram, what is this? Perfume?” he asked Teram, wondering what a chemical analysis would make of those selath plants that the Canlaon were supposedly so proud of. Proud enough that they let its roots pull apart the brickwork of their vaunted walls. There was no reply, just an odd sort of gurgle. "Teram, I said--"
"I don’t think he heard you, Doctor."
Rodney turned around sharply, and froze.
-+-
Part 2 Part 3