“Orsolya. Report.”
“Sir.” The systems engineer sounded breathless, as though she’d been running. “Everything’s under control now. We hold the engine rooms. But we’ve got wounded, and I don’t know what the conditions are outside our compartment.”
“This is Hajnal, Captain. We’ve secured the forward sections and are preparing to sweep aft. Permission to assist the Systems Engineer?”
Bartolan felt the hint of surprise and doubt from Sheppard, but the Lantean held his tongue. “Yes, go ahead, Hajnal. Take prisoners if possible.” He felt more surprise from Sheppard at that, and lifted an eyebrow. “I have questions.” And I don’t want to kill my people if I can help it. That was none of the Lantean’s business, and he was unsurprised when Sheppard shrugged.
“It’s your ship.”
“Yes,” Bartolan said, though they could both feel the Pride’s attention divided between them, a warm presence that could almost feel like affection. “Doctor Innyes, report.”
“All secure here now, sir,” Innyes answered. “We were locked in the infirmary, but the hatches are open again. I have four minor casualties so far —“
“Two dead here,” Ronon said, and Bartolan repeated the words.
“Also there are wounded in the engine room, speak to Orsolya directly for their condition.”
“Very good, Captain,” Innyes answered.
Bartolan closed the connection and looked at Sheppard. “What was that? What did Agosten do to my ship?”
Sheppard hesitated, then lifted his hand from the gel. Bartolan copied him, and Sheppard gave a little nod. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said, “but — you found this ship crashed on a desert world, her crew long dead. Did you ever look to see if any records had survived from those days?”
Bartolan blinked. “As far as I know, there were none. The scientists who did the original refit would know better.”
“I think there must have been,” Sheppard said. He levered himself out of the pilot’s chair and came to stand beside Bartolan, lowering his voice. “Maybe not easily available, or maybe your scientists thought they removed them, but I think they had to be there. These Ancient ships have a kind of neurosystem, that’s how the interface works. I wonder if the crash got written so deeply into those circuits that you never could get rid of it.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Something like that happens to people who’ve been through serious trauma…”
Bartolan nodded. “Yes. We call it ‘battle nerves.’” A trite term for something profoundly complicated, but it was easier to give such things small names. “You think the Pride — when she was Avenger, she suffered something that she could not… forget? Erase from system memory, I suppose I should say.”
“Yeah. Something like that. And somehow your guy found that record and made her look at it, tangled her up in her own past, so that all she could see, all she could do, was what she had done before, that last time.” Sheppard stopped, his mouth twisting into a humorless grin. “I don’t know what your scientists or ours would say about it, but that’s what it felt like, anyway.”
Bartolan nodded again. “Yes. That is what it felt like.” He shivered, remembering the ship’s thin scream. Surely that had just been an acoustic effect, air pressure on some broken part of the hull, not the cry of loss he had felt in his bones. “Whatever the scientists say, I think you have the right of it.”
Sheppard’s hand moved, as though he wanted to stroke the ship in reassurance, but he stopped himself from touching the captain’s chair. “She’s a good ship.”
“She is,” Bartolan agreed.
Sheppard paused. “But this guy…” He jerked his head at Agosten’s body.
“I have house cleaning to do,” Bartolan said, and didn’t bother to hide his anger. “I trusted him, which was my mistake. Now we need to find his accomplices.”
An odd look, almost of distaste, crossed Sheppard’s face. “You don’t mind if we don’t help with that.”
“I don’t expect you to,” Bartolan answered, and stopped abruptly. “You cannot think — it’s too late to beat answers out of anyone, that’s for before an attack. It will be clear enough who was part of his faction.”
Sheppard’s expression was still doubtful, but he made no further protest. Not that it would be a pleasant job, Bartolan thought, but it was necessary. And it was his job, and his alone: this was the captain’s responsibility. He pushed himself up out of his chair, his fingers not quite touching the connective gel, and reached for the intercom. “Doctor Innyes. When you have a moment, there are two bodies in the control room.”
~#~
John lounged at the end of the council table, listening with half an ear to the reports from Fredek’s juniors. There were, he gathered, a total of six more dead, including Agosten and the man he’d killed in the control room. Several more had been wounded, mostly belonging to Agosten’s faction; two of them were under guard in the infirmary and three more were locked securely behind force fields in the Pride’s confinement area. Two more junior crewmen had apparently been Agosten’s protegés, but denied having anything to do with Agosten’s plans. John thought they were probably telling the truth, but Fredek locked them in their cabins anyway, promising them a Security hearing on their return to the homeworld. Neither of them had looked particular happy about that, and John guessed that even if they were cleared, they’d never get another position on the Pride.
“— and with the Lanteans’ help, we have been able to repair enough of the control room consoles that we should be able to get back to the homeworld safely.” The systems engineer tried and failed to suppress a yawn: she had to have been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight, John thought. Even with both McKay and Zelenka helping, there had been a lot of work to do.
“Excellent, Systems Engineer,” Fredek said. “Get some sleep before you fall over.”
“Thank you, sir.” Orsolya pushed herself away from the table and let herself out of the compartment.
“And that is that,” Fredek went on. We’re ready to leave orbit. Colonel, we have room in our cargo bay, we’d be glad to take you back to the homeworld with us.”
“That’s ok,” John answered. Part of him was tempted, on the grounds that he wasn’t going to feel entirely confident that they’d won until he saw the Pride safely landed, but he could tell from Fredek’s expression that he was merely being polite. Or whatever passed for manners among the Genii. “We need to be getting home ourselves. We’re just glad we could help.”
“We’re in your debt,” Fredek said. “Gentlemen.” He began to clap his hands, and around the table the others joined in, a long and heartfelt round of applause that left John blushing painfully. He managed to endure another round of thanks, and then the meeting ended.
“I’ll walk with you to the cargo bay,” Fredek said. “Without your help, we would not have understood how we had been attacked, and we’d still be trying to find a cure for something that wasn’t a disease at all.”
“Thanks,” John said again. He glanced sideways at Fredek, trying to gauge the answer to his question. “What’s Radim going to do when he finds out the Teosians double-crossed him?”
“That’s an excellent question.” Fredek gave a wry smile. “I’m glad it’s not my responsibility. And also glad I’m not Teosian.”
“War won’t be good for anybody,” John said. What would Elizabeth say? Or Teyla? “Except maybe for the Wraith.”
“The Chief is… subtle,” Fredek said. ”I doubt there will be a war. But there will be recompense — and should be. Too many people have died on what should have been routine.”
And that was also true, John thought. They stopped at the hatch that led to the cargo bay, and he held out his hand. “Good luck, Captain. I’m glad things turned out as well as they did.”
“She is a good ship,” Fredek said. “I thank you for her.”
John nodded, not quite sure what to say to that that wouldn’t sound weird or cocky, and
ducked through the hatch. The two jumpers barely fit into the cargo hold, and there were marks on the walls and on the jumpers’ hulls that testified to how tight a fit it had actually been. Well, sometimes the paint gets scuffed, he told himself, and swung around the stern of Jumper One. The ramp was down, and Teyla greeted him from the opening.
“John. It is good to see you. Are we ready to depart?”
“Unless somebody has a reason we need to stay,” John answered, and Ronon looked up from his MRE long enough to shake his head.
“Not me, either,” McKay said. “I’m tired of sleeping on what are essentially somebody’s couch, and having nothing to eat but MREs —“
“I’ll take yours,” Ronon offered, without looking up, and John saw Teyla smother a smile.
“It will be good to go home,” she said.
“Yeah.” John took his place at the pilot’s console, adjusted the radio. “Jumper Three, this is Jumper One. Ready to go home?”
“Ready when you are, sir,” Lorne answered.
“Pride of the Genii, this is Jumper One. We and Jumper Three are ready to leave the cargo bay.”
“Jumper One, this is the Pride. The cargo bay is clear.” Red lights began flashing along the bay’s ceiling and over every hatch. “Opening the cargo bay doors.”
“Copy that.” John watched as the enormous clamshells slid back, any noise they made damped by the jumper’s hull. “I show doors fully open.”
“Pride confirms, Jumper One. You may leave at your discretion.”
“Thank you, Pride of the Genii,” John said. For a flashing moment, he wished he could tell the ship directly, send it his good will, but he shoved that aside, and changed the communications channel. “Jumper Three, this is Jumper One. I’ll go first. Unless you’d rather?”
“Go ahead, Jumper One,” Lorne answered. “We’ll follow.”
“On our way.” John lifted the jumper a scant meter off the floor plates — there was only a little more clearance overhead — and edged her backward, turning once he’d cleared the other jumper to skirt an awkward piece of cargo machinery. McKay opened his mouth to say something, looked at the sensor display, and thought better of it. They slid past the side of the opening with centimeters to spare, and then at last they were in open space and John spun the jumper so that he was facing away from the Pride. “Jumper Three, Jumper One. We’re clear. It’s all yours.”
He deliberately didn’t watch as Jumper Three made its way cautiously out of the opening, but he could hear the relief in Lorne’s voice as he informed the Pride.
“Thank you, Jumper Three.” This time it was Fredek who answered. “We are all clear. I hope to see you on the homeworld soon. Pride out.”
The Pride’s engines flared, and the ship shot forward, picking up speed. As it disappeared into the distance, space shimmered around it, and it vanished.
“That was a hyperspace window,” McKay said. “Looks like a successful transition, too.”
“Right.” John swung the jumper so that he could line up on the Stargate, just visible above the planet’s curve. “Let’s go home.”
~#~
It was late at night when the Pride’s message finally arrived. Ladon himself was not quite in bed, though he had shed his uniform for a civilian pullover. Ambrus brought fresh tea while the rest of the council was summoned, and then waited at the door to admit them personally before he locked the door behind them and put his back to it, one hand resting on the pistol in his pocket. Ladon felt the weight of a matching pistol in his own pocket as he greeted the others: Dahlia, of course, and Elek; Vendel on the civilian side, and Karsci and Tivador among the generals.
“Gentlemen,” he said. His voice was deliberately quiet, but he could see them stiffen as though at the call of a hunter’s horn. “We have word from the Pride.”
At his left hand, Dahlia gave a gasp of relief, ducked her head as she realized she had been heard.
“They have been able to put a name to their saboteur, although unfortunately the man was killed in a last attempt to destroy the Pride and her mission. Agosten Levente, the first officer.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Karsci lifted his head. “Appointed by General Balas, according to this convenient list your man gave us.”
Ladon nodded.
“That’s not proof of anything,” Tivador said, but his tone was less certain than his words.
“General Balas was Cowen’s man,” Elek said. His voice was very dry. “He opposed any alliance with the Lanteans in those days, and has continued to argue against it since the Chief’s accession. He is particularly opposed to the treaty with the Wraith —“
“As are most of us,” Karsci said. “Ladon, if that’s all you have —“
“Wait,” Ladon said.
Elek glanced at his notes again. “He has consistently voted against funding, or in some cases to defund, both the ATA gene project and the Ancient Warship Recovery Project. All of this is public record.” He shifted to a different sheet of paper, this one pale orange. “We have also traced significant outlays of cash from accounts controlled by General Balas in the names of his mother, aunt, and two children. The bulk of this money has gone for the purchase of arms and materiel, though we haven’t been able to trace the destinations of two and possibly three large payments. We believe, however, that they have gone to the same place. Subsequent inquiry traced one of the weapons purchased to the recent attempt on Chief Ladon’s life.”
There was a stir and a sighing around the table. Ladon knew what that meant: this was evidence that they could justify accepting, even if they might always suspect that at least some of it had been fabricated. The irony of it was, this time he hadn’t had to invent anything — but that didn’t matter, as long as they were prepared to support him.
“Things that we cannot prove, but strongly suspect.” Elek chose a third sheet of paper, this one gray. “First Officer Agosten has more money in his possession than can be accounted for. The discrepancy is close to, but does not match, outlays from Balas’s older child’s account. This suggests that Balas paid for the sabotage committed by First Officer Agosten aboard the Pride. We have also traced connections between Balas’s staff and certain members of the Science Services, all connected in the gene therapy project. We suspect, but again, cannot prove, that information was obtained from those persons that was instrumental in creating a genetic weapon of his own that was also used in an attempt to sabotage the Pride by incapacitating her crew.”
“My people are loyal!” Dahlia said.
“There is no evidence that they knew what they were being asked, or why,” Elek agreed.
Karsci narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said the Teosians infected the ship.”
“That’s what the Lanteans were told,” Ladon said, “and they promptly passed it on to us. I think in all honesty. But tell me, who benefits most if we turn on one of our most advanced allies?”
“Not Balas,” Tivador said. “Be reasonable, Chief. I can see him backing an assassination attempt, but all of the rest — that’s way too subtle for the man.”
“He’s gotten some new allies,” Karsci said thoughtfully. “That mountain girl he married, she has brothers who are just as subtle as you like.”
“My people have been aware of unrest centered around General Balas’s household,” Vendel said. “Which I have passed on to Colonel Elek.”
Elek nodded in acknowledgement. “And which is duly factored into my reports.”
“So what do you want us to do, Ladon?” Karsci asked.
Ladon spread his hands. “The obvious. He has to be brought down.”
Tivador stirred. “He has two regiments personally loyal to him.”
Elek looked down modestly. “Not entirely loyal.”
“Even so.” Tivador glared. “There’s every chance of starting another civil war.”
“The regiments are in the south,” Karsci said. “Where’s Balas?”
“At this moment, he’s in the
Western Hamlet. He has about fifty men with him, all told,” Elek said. “That count includes non-military personnel.”
“He has family there,” Karsci said.
Elek nodded. “We believe him to be staying with them.”
Dahlia looked up at that, and Vendel said, “That does complicate things.”
“Only if he chooses to fight,” Tivador said. “And if he does, he’s putting them in danger, not us.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Dahlia said. She had the stubborn look that she got when she was prepared to go down defending something unpopular and womanly, and Ladon lifted a hand.
“I don’t want anyone put at risk if we can help it. Not his family or any other civilians. Elek, I believe you had further information on the delving in West Hamlet?”
“Yes, Chief.” Elek sorted through his paper again. “The General’s assigned property is on the outskirts of the settlement, and recently had tunnel work done to install a new sewer outflow. However, a discreet inspection suggests that the tunnel is in fact larger than necessary, large enough for a man to walk through easily.”
“An escape tunnel,” Vendel said, with some disgust. “My people signed off on that?”
“Yes, sir,” Elek said, and had the grace to look apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll want names.”
“Of course, sir,” Elek said, and Tivador shook his head.
“That just makes things worse. The minute he hears there are troops, or even civil police, in West Hamlet, he’ll pop out his back door and head south to raise an army.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for,” Ladon said.
EPILOGUE
THE CONVOY PARKED their vehicles under cover at the end of the canyon, the drivers bustling to spread camouflage netting against the coming dawn. Ladon listened as the officers gave low-voiced orders, and two columns of men moved almost silently up the rutted road, clinging to the sides of the canyon. At his side, Ambrus worked the radio, listening to first one frequency and then another, then looked up to say, “Vendel reports his people are in position.”
Stargate Atlantis #24 Page 28