“We’re not sure enough,” Ladon said. “And if the Pride is there, she’s in desperate straits. We can’t risk it.”
Dahlia made no further protest, but fell in with his escort, and they made their way back to Ladon’s office. Lunch had been laid out, a tray of small square-cut sandwiches and round sweets beside a tea tray, but Ambrus, unusually, was looking harried.
“I’m sorry, Chief. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?” Ladon put down his sandwich, his appetite suddenly gone.
“After the announcement, some of the families of the Pride’s crew have gathered in the Plaza. They say they will wait there until their loved ones are returned.”
Ambrus’s voice had been carefully empty of emotion, but Ladon flinched. That was a clever way to keep his possible failure hanging before everyone’s eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it that wouldn’t make it worse. “Do we know who they are?”
“I’m working on that,” Ambrus said. “So far, it’s mostly folk from this area, mothers of the gun crew and juniors —“
“Cowen’s people,” Dahlia said, with disgust, and Ladon waved her to silence.
“But we think that’s because they were the ones who were closest. Also, the wife of a senior technician and sisters of several mid-rankers who had been invited to the Remembrance Day festivities. There were just under thirty people there at last count,” Ambrus said, “mostly women.”
Mothers, sisters, wives. All of them with every right to their questions, every right to an answer. Ladon closed his eyes. “What are they doing?”
“Nothing,” Ambrus answered. “They’re just… standing there.”
There was no sound of trouble, but anything less than a riot wouldn’t filter through the solid stone. “Cameras,” Ladon said, and Ambrus turned the surveillance screen so that he could see. The Plaza was every bit as busy as usual, workers hurrying from job to job, or stopping at the shops that lined the arcade opposite the palace. Only at the point where the plaza widened to accommodate the slender pillar of the Manorem Memorial was anything different. There a knot of women had gathered, all soberly, properly dressed, uniforms for some, plain dark dresses and coats for others, their hair hidden under scarves that provided the only splash of color. They were indeed just standing, some with their arms folded tight across their chests, others knotting a handkerchief or pleating and unpleating the hems of their jackets. Someone had brought benches, and the oldest of the women were sitting, along with one younger woman who had to be nearing the end of her pregnancy. She cradled her belly as though it were the child itself, and another woman patted her on the shoulder.
“We can’t clear the street,” Ambrus said. “They’re not doing anything.”
“Have you asked them what they wanted?” Dahlia said, sharply, and Ambrus scowled.
“Of course. They say they’re waiting for news, holding vigil. We’ve passed the word to the local shopkeepers not to give them any more chairs or benches, that may help them move on.”
“No,” Ladon said. “That’s a mistake, rescind that. We need to treat them with kindness, with the same care we’d treat our own mothers and sisters, and we need to be seen to do so.”
“This is Balas’s idea,” Dahlia said, through clenched teeth. “Damn the man, it’s clever, too.”
“If that’s true, I want solid proof,” Ladon said. “See to it.”
Ambrus nodded. “We’re working on it, Chief.”
“When you get an answer, don’t do anything until you’ve talked to me about it.” Ladon took a deep breath. Cowen would have gone down to the Plaza with an escort of his best-looking guards, jollied and joked with the women and made it clear that they would leave, or else. Ladon couldn’t afford that, but, more to the point, he didn’t want to. That was Cowen’s way, Kolya’s way, iron fist in an iron glove, entirely the wrong thing to use against people who were afraid for their families… “In the meantime, I’m going down to talk to them.”
“Are you sure?” Dahlia demanded.
Ladon nodded. “It’s the best way to deal with this.”
“Do you want media,” Ambrus said. “And how many men for your escort?”
“No media,” Ladon said, “and you’ll do.” Ambrus looked blank, and Ladon smiled. “Yes, just you, Ambrus. This is between us and our people.”
He signaled for the guards at the entrance to keep their places, though he knew that, in practice, they could cover him within seconds. Still, the back of his neck prickled as he walked down the polished stairs and made his way toward the knot of women. Another couple of benches had appeared from somewhere: he doubted there had been time to get permission to the shopkeepers, so this was done in defiance of Ambrus’s order. One more sign that he was choosing the right approach, he thought, and started toward the woman. Ambrus followed, two steps back partly in deference and partly to take any bullet aimed from behind. Ladon knew he was a perfect target, an easy target, and felt the familiar nagging itch between his shoulder blades, the awareness that someone, anyone, could kill him now.
He closed that thought out of his mind, and managed a slight smile as the first of the women turned to face him. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him, hands going to her hips as she braced herself to answer yet another attempt to move them on. A younger woman rose to her feet beside her, scowl turning to astonishment as she recognized him and reached to tug the other woman’s sleeve.
“Chief Ladon!”
They were all on their feet then, scrambling to face him, and he hastily raised his hands. “Please, sit down — especially you, Grandmother.” He held out his hand to the oldest woman, old-fashioned mountain courtesy, and she let him return her to her bench. “And you also,” he added, to the pregnant woman, and she sank silently down. He waited, expecting questions, protests, accusations, tears of grief, but instead they were silent, watching him without expression. He would have to make the first move, and his tongue dried in his mouth, unable to find words in the face of their silence. But if he had schemed and clawed and fought his way to the top, to the point where he could murder Cowen and take his place, then he owed them more than Cowen would have given them. He took a breath. “I’ve come to tell you the latest news.”
There was a murmur of response, wary surprise and fear, and he straightened his shoulders. “We know where they were headed — they had chosen to divert to Inhalt before returning to the homeworld — and we’ve dispatched a scout team to see if they made it there. So far, there’s no indication that they did, unfortunately, but we’ve asked the Lanteans to send one of their jumpers to be sure that the Pride hasn’t crashed on the far side of the planet. We’re still waiting for an answer, but I’ll let you know as soon as we have one.”
“And if they’re not there?” That was someone in the back, brave in her anonymity.
“Then we’ll keep looking,” Ladon answered. “We’re already sending teams to all the accessible worlds along her likely course. And the Lanteans are continuing to search as well.” He put all the conviction he could muster into his words. “We will find her.”
~#~
Radek Zelenka pushed his glasses back up onto his nose, then scanned the early crowd already filling the mess hall. Many of them were people assigned to the search teams, and he was not surprised to see Lorne at one of the side tables, his plate pushed aside and both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He was alone, and Radek allowed himself a small smile as he threaded his way through the tables. This would be an easier discussion one-on-one.
“May I join you?” he asked, and Lorne looked up, blinking as though he’d been startled.
“Sure, but I’m just about done…”
“I had a proposition,” Radek said, setting down his tray. “Something I wanted to run by you. I have an idea for another way to look for the Pride.”
“That I want to hear,” Lorne said.
“You remember when we first encountered the Travelers, when Colonel Sheppard and the jumper
were kidnapped?”
Lorne nodded.
“Rodney found an Ancient program that could pick out artificial patterns in the background noise of subspace, which in turn was able to pick up the SOS Colonel Sheppard was sending using the hyperdrive. It occurred to me afterward that the program might be refined to pick up other subspace signatures, and I have been working on it off and on since then. So far, it is not much use for the sort of ship we normally encounter — not much use for the Wraith, for example — but Ancient ships are different. Their use of power is different, they run, you might say, on different frequencies. I am wondering if we could pick out the Pride’s signature and follow that. Since the Hammond is still out of service.”
“Where would you want to start?”
“Teos,” Radek said. “We can be sure the Pride was there.”
“Will the vibrations have lasted?” Lorne looked thoughtful. “It’s been a long time since the Pride left Teos.”
“The subspace disturbance is persistent,” Radek answered. “Which means that the Ancient engines leave a lasting trace. And the program is very sensitive. I think it’s worth a try.”
“I like it a lot better than what we’ve been doing,” Lorne said. “We’ll need to get Colonel Sheppard’s permission, but — yeah, I’m for it.”
They caught up with Sheppard in the jumper bay, giving instructions to Jumper Four’s crew. He listened to Radek’s explanation and nodded slowly. “Yeah, try it. If you pick up their course, let Atlantis know — Colonel Carter says they’re hoping to have the Hammond back on line by tonight.”
“That’d be a help,” Lorne said.
Sheppard’s shoulders twitched as though he suppressed a shrug. “We can’t afford to wait for them to finish the repairs. Jumper Six didn’t find any signs of the Pride on Inhalt. I’ve just spent half an hour explaining that to Dahlia Radim.” He shook himself. “You’re planning to start from Teos?”
Radek nodded. “It is the one place we can be almost certain that any trace of an Ancient hyperdrive belongs to the Pride.”
Sheppard gave him a wary look. “Do you really think there are other Ancient warships floating around out there?”
“We know very little of the Travelers’ capabilities,” Radek said. “And — would you actually bet against that?”
“No.” Sheppard grinned. “I don’t bet on anything any more.”
“Very wise,” Radek said.
They hauled their gear aboard Jumper Three — spare clips for the P90s, boxed meals from the mess hall, a selection of MREs in case they were out longer than anticipated — and Radek settled himself in his usual seat, sipping cautiously at his travel mug. In the seat opposite, Lance Corporal Peebles was doing the same thing, and she gave him a companionable grin.
“So we’ve got a new way to track these guys, Doc?”
“I hope so.” Radek patted his laptop, reassuring himself of its presence. “We’ll find out.”
“Jumper Three, ready for departure,” Kaminsky said, and the first chevrons lit.
It was cloudy again when they emerged on Teos, but this time, at least, it wasn’t raining. Kaminsky started to pull the jumper around in a sweeping bank that would set them up to rise toward orbit, but Lorne said, “Hold on. There’s a welcoming committee.”
Radek strained to see out the windshield, caught a glimpse of half a dozen armed men and another of the steam-powered trucks running toward the gate. One of the men was waving a flag, and there was what looked like a fairly large cannon mounted on the back of the truck, steam wafting from its breech.
“Get us out of here, sir?” Kaminsky asked.
Lorne touched keys, and voices came faintly through the exterior speakers. “— need to speak with you! Atlantis! Please wait!”
Radek leaned forward again. There was something about the cannon… “Put the shields up!” he exclaimed, and the cannon belched a cloud of steam and smoke. Something clanged off the side of the jumper, and Radek grabbed for the edge of his seat as Kaminsky swung the jumper up and away.
“They’re shooting at us,” Lorne said, and in answer bullets rattled against the hull like a handful of hail. “Get us out of range, Kaminsky.”
“Yes, sir.”
The jumper tipped back and sideways, inertial dampeners cushioning the steep attitude, and Radek caught a glimpse of another, larger group running toward the attackers, followed by trucks of their own mounted with what looked like machine guns. “I think there is a counterattack?”
“Looks like it,” Lorne agreed. “Kaminsky. Circle back, but keep us out of range.”
“Any idea what counts as in range, sir?” The jumper dipped again, and Radek saw the cannon-truck jouncing across the field, the machine gunners in hot pursuit.
“Doc?” Lorne asked.
“I do not think that cannon can elevate very high,” Radek answered, “but to be safe — five hundred meters?”
“Seven hundred meters it is,” Kaminsky said.
In the field below, the cannon-truck had vanished into the distant line of trees, one of the machine-gun trucks still in pursuit. The other truck had turned back toward the group that was now rounding up the original attackers.
“What the hell was that all about?” Lorne shook his head.
A light flashed on the communications console, and he frowned, reaching out to adjust the settings before realizing that the jumper was there ahead of him.
“Atlantis jumper! Come in, please! We apologize for the attack, it was none of our doing! Please respond!”
Lorne and Kaminsky exchanged glances, and then Lorne said, “No harm in talking, I suppose.” He touched a key. “Teos Gate, this is the Atlantis Jumper. We come in peace —”
“Atlantis Jumper, Atlantis Jumper! Thank you for answering! This attack is not, I repeat, not the work of our government. Please, you are safe to land now!”
Kaminsky looked at Lorne, who made a face. “What do you think, Doc? How likely is it to be a trap?”
Radek said, slowly, “It would be a strange trap — they have nothing that can match the jumper’s weapons or penetrate its shields, and if they were trying to trick us, get into the jumper that way, they would have been better off not letting someone shoot at us first. But — that’s no guarantee.”
“At least they’re not Genii,” Lorne said. “They’d be double or triple-thinking us.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of the control board for a moment, then shook his head. “I want to know what the hell’s going on. Kaminsky, stay at the controls and keep her hot. I want us to be ready to run if anything smells even a little funny. Peebles, you’ll cover me.”
“Yes, sir.” She slapped her helmet onto her head and cocked her P90, the sound loud against the jumper’s quiet systems.
“And you, Doc, hang back and see if you spot anything abnormal, anything that might mean they’re going to attack again.”
I’m not an anthropologist, Radek thought, not for the first time, but said only, “Yes.”
“Right.” Lorne frowned at the comm console. “Teos Gate. Stand by, we’re coming in to land.”
Kaminsky brought the jumper down in another sweeping curve, giving them plenty of time to see if there were any more attackers hidden in the trees. As they came around a second time, Radek could see the attackers being bundled into a third truck and hauled away across the field: a good sign, surely, he thought. They landed a hundred meters from the gathered Teosians, and Lorne spoke into the radio again.
“Teos Gate. No offense, but only one of you should approach the jumper.”
“Understood, Atlantis Jumper, and entirely reasonable! We don’t blame you at all! We are sending the Duty Gatekeeper with our abject apologies.”
Lorne thumbed off his mic. “I’d rather have an explanation. All right, Peebles, I’m opening the rear door.”
“Ready, sir.”
Lorne lowered the ramp and Peebles advanced toward the edge of the opening, P90 at the ready.
“All clear, sir,�
�� she announced, and Lorne moved past her, his own P90 not quite in the firing position. He could flip it into readiness in less than a second, Radek knew, but it didn’t ease the knot of tension in the pit of his stomach. He levered himself out of his place and moved toward the door, keeping his P90 lowered but ready. Peebles gave him a look, and then a nod as though she approved.
It was the same man they had met before, Radek saw, tall and thin, his knee-length coat flapping open over plain shirt and trousers. He lifted both hands, showing them empty. “Major — it is Major Lorne?”
Lorne nodded. “Gatekeeper Parabantha?”
“I am honored that you remember me,” Parabantha said. “Oh, Major, I apologize on behalf of myself and my guard and on behalf of all our government! They had authorization from the capital, we thought they were here to meet you.”
“Who are they?” Lorne asked. “What did they want?”
“We don’t know,” Parabantha answered. “At least, not yet. The survivors are being taken into town for questioning — if you will wait, I expect we will have some answers shortly.”
“I don’t know that we have the time,” Lorne said. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“As I said, they came from the city. They had papers that said they were a detachment of one of our Scout units, which handle off-world intelligence, so we assumed they were legitimate. But then they opened fire.” Parabantha shook his head. “Their rifles were of Genii manufacture, but many people trade with the Genii.”
That was certainly true, Radek thought. The cannon had been Teosian, though, or at least very similar to other Teosian technology: protective coloring, or just what a Genii operative could get his hands on, or an indication that someone local was involved? There was no way to tell, not from the evidence at hand.
Lorne turned back to the jumper, leaving Parabantha behind, and came halfway up the ramp before he spoke. “Ok. Parabantha seems to think that the survivors are going to be willing to talk — ‘to brag about their deeds,’ to use his words. And he says he’ll have the capital radio us as soon as they find out anything. In the meantime…” He grimaced. “That cannon shot hit us before the shields were fully formed. Doc, I’d like you to take a quick look at the hull before we take off for orbit or anywhere else airless.”
Stargate Atlantis #24 Page 15