Sheppard's radio crackled. "Colonel!" cried McKay. "They're sending in reinforcements!"
"Thanks for the update, Rodney," John replied dryly, "but we're a little busy right now. We'll talk later, if we don't die horribly first."
The Hounds were coming toward the hill in a silver wave, laying down everyone who stood against them. Sheppard started firing, moving forward with the L85 at his shoulder, advancing down to meet the attackers.
Ronon took a second to draw a bead on one of the armored warriors as it loped up the shallow hill toward him. Truth be told, there was a part of the Satedan soldier that had wondered about the figures in silver plate when he'd first laid eyes on them, a part that measured himself against them and wondered what they might be like in a fight. So far, he hadn't been very impressed with the quality of Halcyon's fighters; the bluecoats and tancoats were a poor match for a seasoned veteran like him, badly trained recruits who seemed to fight more with numbers and scattershot fire than they did with anything like skill. But these ones, these Hounds, they were something different. Just from the way they moved, he could see they were dangerous. The name was a good one, because these warriors sprinted across the ground like attack dogs let off a leash; and they didn't kill with the cold detachment of a career soldier. The Hounds were savage, and they liked shedding blood.
The lead Hound bobbed and he fired at it. The energy bolt clipped the warrior and he stumbled, but kept coming. Dex grimaced, for a second wondering if he had neglected to switch the particle magnum's beam setting from low-level stun intensity to the higher killing force. The second shot hit home and a red glow flashed over the metal chest plate as the Hound went down, a final snarl echoing from inside its helmet.
Sheppard was having similar difficulty, the ballistic projectile weapon in his hands barking as he fired bullet after bullet into the advancing enemy. "Next time, I'll bring armor-piercing," he quipped.
Vekken worked the muzzle of his weapon and twisted the choke on the gun to narrow the cone of fire. Steam clouds spat as the rifle ejected a swarm of steel needles and Ronon saw one of the Hounds blown back off its feet to tumble back down the hill.
The three of them kept up the firelight, but the Hounds were too fast. They came into hand-to-hand range and threw themselves at the three men, clawed hands out. Ronon had his sword at arms and beat back a warrior who went for his throat with a vicious downward slash. Armor plate distorted and the blade tore a rent in the chain mail beneath. Dex had a momentary impression of dark, oily blood, but then he was moving on to his next challenger, dispatching it with a point-blank pistol blast. On they came, storms of claws and spitting fury, mad with bloodlust. He could taste a harsh metallic scent in the air from the aggressors, and it flashed a warning in his memory; but he was too deep into the fight to dwell on it, mov ing from second to second, trading sword blows for kicks, punches for claw strikes. It was all instinct now, all down to one simple equation. Fight or Die.
He heard Sheppard snarl as a Hound came at him; a ripping discharge of bullets from the colonel's rifle slammed into the torso of the warrior and it spun away, trailing blood. For his part, Vekken had reversed his grip on his gun and was fighting off a pair of growling Hounds with the spiked butt of the stubby weapon.
Claws raked his back and Ronon roared in pain, turning away from the blow and swinging the short sword. The Hound that struck him dodged backward, unwittingly falling into Sheppard's field of fire. The colonel saw Dex's situation and took the sliver-armored attacker down with a burst of shots.
Ronon returned the favor as another Hound reared up behind Sheppard, ready to tear his head from his neck. Dex threw his sword and the blade buried itself in the warrior's stomach. The Hound stumbled to the ground and lay still.
"Runner!" shouted Vekken. "Clear my way!" He barely had time to duck as the adjutant fired both barrels at once, blasting solid slug rounds as thick as a hammer's head into the enemy.
The ex-soldier knew that only minutes had passed, but in the fury of the fight it had seem far, far longer. The Hounds lay ruined across the hillside around them, their pristine armor and powder blue scarves dirty with thick, black blood. A couple were still alive, but not for much longer.
Vekken, bleeding, crossed to one of the still-twitching corpses and shot it in the head. He spat out a stream of pink spittle and wiped his mouth. For a brief moment, the arch, aristocratic mask he wore slipped and Ronon saw him for what he really was; a coldeyed killer.
Sheppard was breathing hard. His jacket had claw marks across the arm and he bore a shallow cut on his forehead. "That all you got?" he shouted defiantly to the air. "I'm barely breaking a sweat here!" He met Ronon's gaze and Dex knew that the opposite was true. The brief, vicious confrontation had staggered all three of them in its intensity, and it wasn't something the Satedan wanted to go through again any time soon.
Ronon stepped to the corpse of the Hound he had dispatched with his short sword and recovered his weapon with a sickly sucking pop. The blood on the blade glittered darkly, and he smelt the rough metallic scent again. Despite the heat he felt from the exertion of fighting, Dex went cold. "Sheppard," he said in a quiet voice. "You had better take a look at this."
The colonel was beside him, rifle stowed, bending at the knees. Sheppard leaned over the body of the dead Hound and ran his hands over the enclosed steel helmet. There were latches at the neck ring, and they came open easily even though the metal was wet with fluids. The halves of the wolf-head helm fell away on to the mud underfoot, and Ronon felt his gut twist in a reflexive churn of hatred and disgust.
The head beneath the helmet was all too recognizable. Where he would have expected to see thin tresses of white hair there was a forehead shorn down to bare gray fuzz, but everything else was familiar. Ashen, pallid skin lay slack and waxy in death, a tracery of blue-green capillaries visible around a heavy brow and two scar-like pits on the cheekbones. A mouth flecked with dots of foam was gaping, revealing lines of jutting, serrated teeth. And the eyes; black, doll-like eyes stared up at them, still hateful and feral in lifelessness.
Vekken chuckled. "Was I not correct, gentlemen, when I told you in the palace that you would learn the fate of our prisoners soon enough?"
Ronon saw hard anger flare in Sheppard's eyes. "These Hounds of yours... They're all Wraiths!" He spat the last word like a curse. "Are you people insane?"
"Far from it," Vekken seemed unconcerned by the colonel's anger. "We have taken our greatest enemy and made them our slaves."
Teyla tried to push the word from her mouth, but she couldn't. The sheer folly of the thought stopped her dead-that someone dared to think they could tame the Wraith like a man might domesticate a canine? It was inviting chaos and destruction!
Daus tipped a wineglass to her in a coy salute. "Ah, the girl has it, at last. I see the understanding in her eyes." He threw a languid look at his daughter, and Erony nodded awkwardly.
McKay had watched the unfolding battle on the hillside through the telescope, hissing in sympathetic pain as Sheppard and Ronon fought off the Hounds, and now he was pacing, flapping his hands in distress. "Let me see if I have this right," he said, his voice high and strident. "Those iron-clad psychos out there are... are..." He blinked. "Good grief, I can barely wrap my head around it... Those things are Wraiths?"
Kelfer tittered. "Bravo, Dr. McKay. Your insight does you credit."
"Don't mock me, you lab hack," Rodney snapped back, angry and afraid all at once, "at least I'm smart enough to know that letting Wraith run wild on your homeworld is a recipe for annihilation!"
"They do not run wild," said Erony, trying to calm the tense atmosphere, "we have tamed them. They are completely under our control."
"Tame?" McKay spluttered. "I'm sorry, but are we talking about the same beings here? Pale faces, teeth and claws, sucking the life out of you through their hands, living off human misery? And you expect us to believe you've taught them to roll over, play dead, and do back-flips?"
Daus shifted in his seat. "Calm yourself, Dr. McKay. You're disturbing the other guests. My dear Erony is quite correct. The Hounds that you see down there, in my palace, or elsewhere... Teyla Emmagan was so eager to know what befell the Wraith taken on the ice moon, and now she does. This is the fate of the Wraith captured alive by our hunt splinters, on dozens of worlds beyond the Great Circlet. We bring them back to Halcyon and teach them discipline, we break them of their free will."
"How can you control them?" asked Teyla.
Minister Muruw touched a finger to his neck. "The Hounds wear a tore about their throat, a choke-collar. It can be adjusted by a trainer to starve them of air and cause them pain. We prevent them from feeding, and instill a service-reward regimen. They obey, and they live. They disobey, and they die. They soon learn to submit."
"And you use them like, what, shock troops?" said Rodney. "That's so twisted its almost clever. No one would ever want to fight hungry, mad Wraith, would they?"
The next question formed in Teyla's mind, and she was almost too afraid to ask it, for fear of what the answer might be. "What do they feed upon?"
"Enemy soldiers on the battlefield, prisoners of war or criminals. Sometimes each other, if they are desperate enough." Kelfer sniffed. "Admittedly, their ongoing well-being is not of great concern to us. They are considered as a military resource, and those that die are regularly replaced by captures from our hunt sorties."
McKay advanced on Daus, but Linnian blocked his path. "Listen to me, you can't treat these things like pet Dobermans, pretending they're house-trained! They are intelligent, ruthless beings! They were smart enough to wipe out the Ancients and you can bet they are smarter than you!"
The Magnate's eyes narrowed. "We have owned Hounds for hundreds of years, Dr. McKay. In all that time, we have remained their masters. Believe me, you have nothing to fear." He smiled again and stifled a mock yawn. "But now, I grow weary and I feel this day's war has become a poor amusement for all. I rule that this match is null. The honor debt of both parties is satisfied, and the battle is at an end." Mingled gasps of disbelief and relief rose in the gallery.
"All that for no result?" said Hill quietly. "Bloody hell."
Daus continued speaking. "Kelfer, we must see to our guest's request to view the dolmen in the coming days, yes? You will liaise with my daughter to see this comes to pass." The Magnate rose, and the assembled nobles bowed. Daus left the room, never seeing that the Atlantis team stayed standing, fighting down the churn of emotions that each of them felt.
The return journey to the capital city took place in grim silence. Sheppard made a curt throat-cutting gesture to the rest of the team as they boarded the gyro-flyer to take them back. Despite a few attempts to start small-talk conversations with them, Erony's adjutant Linnian got nothing but monosyllabic answers. It was only when they were back in the guest quarters that they spoke freely-and even then, only after the colonel had ordered them to check every shady corner for spy holes or possible listening devices.
The Atlantis team sat in a tight circle, heads bowed and voices low. Sheppard briefed Mason and the others in blunt, quick terms, outlining what had taken place out at the war zone. Now and then, Teyla would add a point. Mason said nothing, but once or twice he sucked air in through his teeth. It was the most animated Sheppard had ever seen the dour SAS soldier.
"These toffs are off their heads if they think they can keep the bozos on a chain," said Corporal Clarke. "I mean, you've seen that bunch of chinless wonders. They'll get eaten alive when the Wraith turn up looking for their mates."
"The question is," said Mason, "why hasn't that happened already? His lordship said they they've been at this for what, hundreds of years?"
"True, but you have to remember that the majority of the Wraith have been dormant," noted McKay, flicking a look at Sheppard, "although that's changed recently thanks to certain people."
"Are you ever gonna let me forget about that?" said the colonel tersely. "I don't keep reminding you about that planet you blew up." He puffed out a breath. "Mason's right, though. You have to wonder why the Wraith haven't culled this place into the dirt, and I'm pretty damn sure it's not because the Halcyons are the great warriors they brag they are."
"Location," said Rodney. "Halcyon is a long way off the galactic axis. I'm willing to bet that only reason the Wraith aren't here is because they haven't got around to it yet. There are plenty of rich, cull-able planets much closer to the main concentrations of Wraith activity in the Pegasus Galaxy. But it's only a matter of time. Could be weeks, years, decades... But sooner or later, they'll pop in for a snack."
"So what do we do in the meantime?" said Ronon. "Daus and his nobles are treating us like something to amuse themselves with. I don't think we're going to get anything out of them Atlantis can use."
Mason spoke again. "They may have a rod up their backsides and be in love with the sound of their own voices, but let's not forget, if this city is anything to go by, then Halcyon must have a huge standing army. If we did have a treaty with 'em, they could end up as a strong ally..."
Teyla nodded. "That is true, but could we ever find common ground with them? We share the fight against the Wraith, yes, but their morality is callous and ruthless. I find it difficult to believe that Dr. Weir would be willing to make a pact with someone like Daus."
"There's no getting around it, Staff," added Hill, "the big man, he's a dictator. I joined up to put blokes like him out of a job, not to make friends with them."
Bishop chimed in. "Isn't there anyone else on this planet we could talk to? Get a different point of view?"
"Nice idea, if Daus would let us," said Rodney. "I get the impression he's a bit of a control freak, don't you?"
"Lord Daus rules Halcyon through superior military might," Teyla noted. "Lady Erony's adjutant Linnian took great pains to emphasize this point to me. His clan, the Fourth Dynast, has the largest number of Hounds of all the noble houses on Halcyon. This is how his family have stayed in power for so long."
Ronon snorted derisively. "No wonder he didn't like hearing what McKay wanted to tell him."
Sheppard glanced at his watch, studying the display that showed what the Stargate teams had taken to calling AMT -Atlantis Mean Time. "Look, we're due to touch base with Atlantis soon for our regular sit-rep. Before I talk to Weir, I want to have a handle on this place, from all sides."
"What are you proposing?" asked Teyla.
John got up and walked toward the balcony. He pointed at the streets and buildings beyond the walls of the High Palace. "There's a whole city out there that we haven't seen yet. Everyone we've talked to so far has been rich folks, or the people in their pockets. I think we should hear what the man on the street has to say about life on Halcyon, don't you?"
"Daus will never let you out unescorted," said McKay. "I had three riflemen trailing me the whole time I was with Erony and Kelfer, and we never even left the palace."
"I wasn't thinking about asking permission." Sheppard gave Ronon a crooked smile. "You up for walk?"
Hill frowned. "Boss, you won't get ten feet dressed in our gear. You're gonna need some sort of cover."
As the soldier spoke, a knock sounded at the door and two brown-hooded servants entered, delivering a trolley of food and drink for the evening meal. Ronon gave the servants a measuring stare and smiled. "I don't think that will be a problem."
he setting sun threw a golden glow through the hexagonal windows of the Sword Gallery. The light glittered off the aged steel of a hundred ceremonial blades where they hung in glass cabinets, suspended on spun wires so thin that from a distance the weapons appeared to be floating in the air.
The Magnate glanced up at the sound of Erony's footsteps on the marble flooring and he gave her the slightest of frowns. Her father was taking a schooner of blackbrandy and a pipe while Vekken and one of the senior generals talked him through the day's conflict results. The Magnate liked to have his briefings held here, in the museum quiet of the colonnade
. Erony imagined her father thought it a subtle way of reinforcing his own reputation with a blade; but in all honesty, he hadn't used a weapon in anger for years. She recalled the last time with exact clarity; Lord Daus had run through an assassin disguised as a wine waiter. Vekken's agents later determined the interloper was some sort of dissident from the farmlands. She didn't remember the details of the dead man, just the slam of the falling body echoing through the Chamber of Audiences. Vekken stepped back to allow her to approach her parent. Yes, with Vekken never beyond arm's reach, she doubted the Magnate would ever need to touch the hilt of his sword again. The Wraithkin adjutant was as swift as he was disquieting.
Despite herself, Erony's gaze flicked to the largest of the cabinets, just behind her father, just for an instant. Inside there was a curved scimitar broken around two thirds of the way down the length of the blade. She knew the runes and tracery along it like she knew the lines across her own palm. Her mother had perished with that sword in her hand, cut down in some nameless forest on some nameless planet. The body that had returned was of an elderly, frail lady, not the vibrant and imposing woman that had left her daughter waving goodbye at the lip of the Circlet. In darker moments, Erony wondered what manner of death her mother had delivered to the Wraith that took her life force. She hoped it had been a painful one.
"Daughter," Daus inclined his head.
"Father," she returned. "A moment, if you please?"
The Magnate nodded, the implied order sending Vekken and the general away, off toward the windows and out of earshot. "What is it, child? Speak to me."
"Today's display..." Erony began haltingly, "the outcome raises conflicts in my thoughts."
"You doubt my wisdom in this matter?" Her father's voice held a faint note of reproach.
"I question the presence of the Atlanteans there. Was it necessary? It brought only discontent, among our own cadres as well as in theirs. The incident with the Runner... It might have been avoided."
Stargate Atlantis: Halcyon Page 11