“Wait for our man to get further in.” Ladon suppressed a shiver. It was very late, or far too early, the bleak hour when the River of Stars had set but there wasn’t the slightest hint of dawn on the eastern horizon. Psychologically, an excellent time to strike, to take Balas by surprise, though of course Balas had used the tactic himself many times over the years.
“Yes, Chief.” Ambrus turned his attention back to the radio and Ladon leaned back in his seat, very aware of the man who sat behind him. A little less than half the men were Karsci’s troops, perfectly fine as long as Karsci was reliable. And if he wasn’t, if he had thrown in his lot with Balas, as one set of Elek’s reports suggested…? This would encourage him to betray himself, Ladon told himself firmly, and tried not to feel like the bait in the trap.
“How much longer?” Karsci leaned forward, his breath showing white in the faint blue light from Ambrus’s radio.
“Just until our men are in position,” Ladon answered.
Ambrus looked up. “Almost there, Chief — wait.” He listened for a moment, then looked up again. “Correction. Our team is ready. Vendel is waiting for your signal.”
“Tell him to go ahead,” Ladon said, and turned to look at Karsci. “Shall we?”
“You’re going up there?”
In the dim light, it was hard to tell, but Ladon thought Karsci looked genuinely shocked. He nodded. “Oh, yes. I intend to be there for his arrest.”
They started up the canyon road, following the tracks of the men ahead of them. A small stream ran down the center of the road, barely more than a slightly deeper groove cut into the rocky ground. Water whispered over stones, a gentle sound, and Ladon could smell the resin from the stunted trees that clung to the steep walls. At the end of the canyon, the sky was a shade lighter than the cliff, and scattered with stars. Somewhere in the shadows, Balas’s escape tunnel opened into the canyon, but even the camouflage was invisible in the darkness.
He had lagged a few steps without meaning to, the weight of the night pressing in on him, and at his shoulder Karsci stirred.
“You’re very confident, Ladon.”
“Am I?” Ladon didn’t look back. If it was going to go wrong, now was the time, and there was nothing he could do but trust to luck. The pistol at his belt was a familiar weight, but he felt no temptation to reach for it. This part was not going to be resolved by weapons.
“You’re taking a lot of things for granted.”
“I trust my people,” Ladon said, deliberately obtuse. “Elek’s intelligence is generally reliable.”
“Balas and I were friends,” Karsci said. “We disagreed about Cowen, yes, but — friends, Ladon. Maybe I don’t want to see him shot.”
“He chose to attack the Pride,” Ladon said. There was no answer, and he tried again. “The Pride matters, Karsci. You saw it as plainly as I did, from the first moment Dahlia proposed we retrieve it. Our one best chance to stand equal with the Lanteans.”
Karsci laughed softly. “You’ve got balls, Ladon. You always have.”
That wasn’t the ringing endorsement he had been looking for, but it would have to do. Ahead on the path, Ambrus turned, the light form the portable radio momentarily catching his face and the shapes of the men in cover behind him, and then he had covered the controls again.
“They’re at Balas’s door, Chief.”
“Good.” Ladon stepped off the trail and into the shelter of the scrubby trees. The young captain started, seeing him, and managed a quick salute, which Ladon returned. “Astol, isn’t it? Be ready.”
“Yes, Chief.” Astol turned back to face the canyon’s end, tapping a quick code on the shoulder of the man ahead of him.
It was very quiet in the canyon, just the water trickling in the stream, the distant sound of wind in the dying grass on the canyon’s rim, the occasional half-whisper from Ambrus at the radio. Overhead, the sky was very black, the canyon too narrow for him to see more than fragments of the familiar constellations. The cold bit deep, and he clenched his gloved hands into fists in the vain hope that would warm them. If he’d guessed wrong… If he’d guessed wrong, and Balas made a fight of it, then Vendel and the civil police would fall back and let Tivador handle the fighting. It would be a mess, and if there were civilian casualties, it would be worse, but he could survive that. He would lose Karsci’s respect, but not his support. Worst would be if Balas had somehow gotten wind of this, and had gotten out ahead of them. If he had, if he was already headed south to raise an army, well, that would be the civil war that everyone had been trying to avoid since Cowen’s death. They couldn’t afford that, not now, and if he’d botched it that badly, Karsci deserved to take over — He shook that thought away. Elek’s intelligence was good, and he knew Balas. The man was too confident; he would still be there.
Something moved in the shadows at the end of the canyon, shadow flickering across darker shadow. Ladon touched Astol’s sleeve and pointed, and saw the same gestures being passed down the waiting line. Stone scraped against stone, and a faint wedge of light appeared, the familiar pale blue of a tactical team’s flashlight. Astol stirred, but Ladon closed his hand tight on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Wait.”
Discipline held. Ladon watched, barely breathing, as the light spread, resolved into several lights carried by several uniformed men. All of them were armed as well, but none of them were Balas. He kept his hand closed on Astol’s shoulder, straining to see through the dark. Two more men, carrying a heavy box between them; another man with a light and a rifle, two more men with rifles ready. Then, at last he saw a bulkier figure, pushing forward between two of the armed men: Balas himself.
“Wait,” he breathed again, feeling the tension winding ever tighter in Astol’s shoulder. Let them come all the way out. He didn’t need to say it; his people, and Karsci’s, were well-trained to this work. Now he could hear voices, not actual words, but the murmur of orders given and received. The last of the group was out of the tunnel, their lights now trained low to avoid the stream, and stone scraped on stone as someone strained to close the tunnel’s door.
“Now.” He released Astol’s shoulder, and an instant later the canyon was full of light, bright white beams that crossed and centered on the fleeing men.
“Drop your weapons!” someone shouted, and most of Balas’s men obeyed. “Drop them! Hands in the air!”
Ladon took a breath, and stepped out into the road. “General Balas.”
“Chief Ladon.” Balas shouldered his way to the front of his group. For a moment, Ladon wondered if he was going to try to bluff his way out, and saw the moment when Balas realized it was impossible. “Karsci.”
“You shouldn’t have tampered with the Pride,” Karsci said.
“I —” Balas paused. “I admit nothing.”
“Allow me to suggest an alternative,” Ladon said. “If you do admit your part in the attacks on the Pride, a signed confession and a filmed statement, I will let you and your family go into exile. Otherwise, you will be tried and shot.”
“You’re confident of the verdict,” Balas sneered.
“I have proof,” Ladon answered.
“My people won’t believe you.”
“I have the proof,” Ladon repeated. “And it’s a chance I’m prepared to take.”
“What about my people?”
“They’ll be broken up into new units, or they can resign with their earned pensions,” Ladon answered. “Now. The choice is yours. Exile — with a full confession — or trial.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Balas heaved a sigh. “We’ll take exile.”
“Very wise.” Ladon stepped back. “Gentlemen. Take them into custody.”
“He’ll set up his own little kingdom somewhere out there,” Karsci said. “And then he’ll come looking for you.”
“He’ll try,” Ladon said. “On Teos, I expect, though I think his allies will prove a good deal less cooperative in his current circumstances. If he succeeds, he’
s welcome to try his hand at stirring trouble here. But by then, it will be too late. We’re the Genii, Karsci. We’ll rally to the homeworld.”
“Rally to you, you mean,” Karsci said, without rancor.
“There’s no one else who can do it.” Ladon turned to watch his troops marching the prisoners back down the canyon, feeling exhaustion dragging at his bones.
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Karsci said, and together they started down the path.
~#~
The Pride of the Genii left hyperspace without a pause, came to a flawless halt in orbit above the Genii homeworld. Bartolan leaned back in the hastily-cleaned captain’s chair, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. “Well done, all.”
“Signal from the homeworld, sir,” the comm tech said. “Welcome home, and we are cleared to land.”
Home. The familiar brown and green disk swelled in the view screen, mountains rising from a sea of forest as they crossed into daylight. There were no visible cities, thanks to the Wraith, everything safely hidden away, but beneath those mountains were settlements, and still more were hidden beneath the fertile plains. The Pride had come through, in spite of everything that had been thrown against her; that it had taken help from the Lanteans was bitter, but their survival was sweet indeed.
“Very good,” he said. “Pilot, bring us in.”
The Pride tilted down into the atmosphere — a careful angle, this time, with all shields in place and full power ready. If anyone was watching from the ground, they would see the trail of smoke crossing the zenith, fading as the pilot slowed, turned and circled, flying now like a bird in atmosphere, to line up with the familiar beacons on the plain beneath the capital. In the main screen, the land took on texture and detail, streams appearing and then roads, and they crossed the last line of trees to see the landing field laid out before them, the portable tower rolled out to meet them. Joska reduced power, adjusting the gravitational fields at the same time; Bartolan felt the ship slow and tilt, balancing on ventral thrusters for a long moment before settling gracefully to the ground.
“Down and solid, Captain,” Joska said, and an answering cheer echoed through the ship.
“Well done,” Bartolan said again. “Very well done.”
“Signal from the tower,” the comm tech said. “Permission to open the hatch?”
“Open the hatches,” Bartolan ordered, but could not quite bring himself to drag himself from his chair. They had come safely home after all, when for a long while he had been sure they would die in space or be forced into permanent exile. He needed a moment to feel the home world’s gravity, to believe he was truly there.
How long he sat there, he didn’t know, though he was aware that new technicians were moving into the control room, opening consoles and beginning more permanent repairs. It wasn’t until a voice spoke his name that he looked up to see Ladon Radim enter the control room, followed as usual by a fair-haired aide.
“Captain.”
“Chief Ladon.” Bartolan shoved himself to his feet, but Ladon waved away further formalities.
“Be easy. I wanted to congratulate you. You did well.”
“I let us be rescued by the Lanteans,” Bartolan said. He might as well put his greatest mistake up front. “And I was completely fooled by Agosten.”
“So were my security people,” Ladon said, with a wry smile. “I probably ought to apologize to you.”
Bartolan tipped his head to one side, frowning. “But you warned me, Chief —“
“Warned you?” Ladon blinked in what seemed to be genuine confusion.
“There was a note, in the last cargo container,” Bartolan said. “It told me to trust no one.”
Ladon shook his head, and the aide stepped forward, clearing his throat nervously.
“Ah, Chief — it was me who sent that.”
“Ambrus?” Ladon turned on him, both eyebrows rising, and Ambrus came hastily to attention.
“At the security chief’s suggestion. It was intended to be motivational, sir. To keep everyone on their toes.” Ambrus shook his head. “I’m ashamed to say we didn’t actually suspect anything.”
Ladon shook his head. “We’ll discuss this in more detail later.”
“It did no harm,” Bartolan said. “I didn’t think anyone on the ship would hurt her.”
“There’s always someone,” Ladon answered. “You’ll be pleased to know that we’ve caught and exiled the man behind the plot. He and his family are banished from the homeworld in perpetuity.”
Banishment, not death. That was unexpected, a change in Genii policy, and Bartolan looked quickly away, but not before Ladon had seen.
“Yes, we’re changing. We have to change — we have to choose how to change, if we’re going to remain Genii.”
“Yes.” Bartolan nodded. The Chief was right — and that was why he followed him. They would change, but they would always be Genii.
~#~
John settled himself in the chair he still thought of as Elizabeth’s, fixing a smile on his face as he looked up at the screen. Ladon Radim smiled back at him, and he thought he heard Colonel Carter, sitting to his left at the long table, give a soft sigh.
“Colonel Sheppard, Colonel Carter,” Radim said. “I wanted to take a moment to thank you personally for your help in locating and retrieving the Pride of the Genii. Without your assistance, we would not have had such a happy outcome.”
“Glad to be of help,” John said, cautiously.
“Also, I’d like to inform you that we’ve uncovered and arrested the person responsible for the sabotage — General Balas, formerly a member of Chief Cowen’s household. We have evidence that he was not only responsible for the damage done directly to the Pride, but for the poisoning as well.”
“Really,” John said. “That’s — interesting.”
“We’ve put together a dossier, if you’d be interested in viewing it,” Radim said.
John nodded. “Thank you. We’d definitely be interested.”
“Our people on Teos were told that the Teosians themselves were responsible for the poison,” Carter said.
“We believe that this was an attempt to sow discord among allies,” Radim answered, still with that slight smile that always made John want to punch him. “Also, the Teosians aren’t capable of manipulating genetic structures on that level.”
If you say so, John thought, and saw the same doubt on Carter’s face.
“In the meantime, I am happy to send our dossier. I should also inform you that Balas and his family have been exiled from the homeworld. I doubt they will try to settle on any Lantean worlds, but just in case.”
I’m surprised you didn’t shoot them. John swallowed the words as tactless, and said, “I appreciate the warning. I’m very glad things have worked out for you. And for the Pride.”
Radim’s face abruptly sobered. “We’re in your debt. And not for the first time, where the Pride is concerned. I hope we’ll be able to repay you someday.”
“We’re allies,” John said, and tried to sound as though he believed it. “It’s what allies do for each other.”
“Nevertheless,” Radim said. “We are grateful.” He paused. “We’re sending the dossier now, and I hope you find it… enlightening. Radim out.”
The connection closed, and a moment later Airman Salawi spoke from the Gate Room. “Colonel Sheppard, we’ve received the Genii transmission.”
“Thanks,” John said. “Wrap it up and send me a copy, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “You really think it’s going to say anything useful?”
“I think it’s going to say exactly what Radim wants it to say,” John answered. “But it’ll be good to have it on record.” He shook his head. “Teyla thinks Radim wouldn’t have put the Pride in danger — that he’s invested too much of his political capital to risk its destruction.”
“That makes some sense to me,” Carter said. “It’s his sister’s project, too, which
has to make a difference.”
“Carson thinks he’s genuinely fond of her.”
“But you don’t believe it?” Carter tilted her head to one side.
“Radim intends to stay Chief,” John said. “Whatever the price. And it’s awfully convenient that his biggest rival turns out to be behind all the problems. Except who’s going to attack him if not his biggest rival? I hate politics.”
Carter grinned. “The thing that’s hardest for me to swallow is the Teosians. Except — I’d agree that they aren’t sophisticated enough to come up with gene therapy like this.”
“Both Lorne and Zelenka think the Teosians would like a closer relationship with Atlantis,” John said. “This might be Radim’s way of discouraging that.”
“That’s possible. Not that better relations with Teos mightn’t be a good idea, but it’s… complicated.”
“So,” John said. “It’s the same old question. Can we trust the Genii?”
“That’s always the question,” Carter said.
“He said he was in our debt,” John said, slowly. “From him, that’s a big statement.”
Carter nodded. “It is.”
“So for now I’m going to assume he meant it.” John flattened his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. Carter copied him. “I think we can call this one a win.”
About the author: Melissa Scott
Melissa Scott was born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas, and studied history at Harvard College. She earned her PhD from Brandeis University in the comparative history program with a dissertation titled “The Victory of the Ancients: Tactics, Technology, and the Use of Classical Precedent.” She also sold her first novel, The Game Beyond, and quickly became a part-time graduate student and an — almost — full-time writer.
Over the next thirty years, she published more than thirty original novels and a handful of short stories, most with queer themes and characters, as well as authorized tie-in novels for Star Trek: DS9, Star Trek: Voyager, Stargate SG-1, and Stargate Atlantis, the latest being the eight-book “virtual season” Legacy series. Most recently she was commissioned to write a Hera Syndulla story for the Star Wars collection Rise of the Empire.
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