Stargate Atlantis: Halcyon

by James Swallow

  "One thing is certain," said Dex, "there'll be no change while Daus is on the throne."

  "Aye." Rifko looked into his beer.

  Sheppard produced the leaflet the youth had forced upon him. "But what about all this? Someone's clearly not taking things lying down."

  The other man's face went pale and he snatched at the paper, tearing it from the colonel's hands and knocking over his beer mug. "You shouldn't be showing that in a place like this!" He crumpled the leaflet in his fist, squeezing it into a roll and jerked a thumb at a grand portrait of the Magnate over the bar. "This isn't a basement smoke-den for mouthy kids and fire starters! Them noisy red-bands out there just make things worse for all of us!" Rifko's face colored and his voice rose. "Maybe you two oughta head back to the countryside-"

  "What's all this ruckus?" said the barkeep, approaching with a hard glint in his eye. "Rifko Tenk, what is that you've got in your greasy mitt there?"

  "It's nothing," began Sheppard, but the burly tavern owner slammed a fat hand down on the table and trapped the errant pamphlet beneath it.

  "Red paper." His voice was a growl. "In all my years, Rifko, after you've been warned not to talk out of turn about his Lordship, you brought a red paper into my pub?"

  "It's not like that," said the kitesmith.

  The barkeep stabbed a thick finger at Rifko's face. "I let you off the other times, seeing as how you had a skin-full then. But you're sober now and you're bringing this filth into my establishment!" Before anyone could react, the tavern owner backhanded Rifko on to the floor.

  Sheppard and Ronon were on their feet in an instant. "Hey!" snarled the colonel, "there's no need for that! The paper is mine, I didn't know what it was."

  "I don't recognize you!" barked the barkeep. "You got the look of a troublemaker on you, though! Betcha both bomb chuckers and sneak thieves too!"

  "No, no..." Rifko was saying thickly, struggling to get up. "No trouble..."

  But they were past the point of no return now. In his peripheral vision, Sheppard saw other figures moving from their tables, ready violence in their tense poses. Voices were rising around them

  "So what if he's a red-band? They're right, what they say -

  "Scum! The Magnate's made this planet what it is-"

  "Unseat the lot of them snobs if we could-"

  "Children on the streets begging and starving-"

  "You oughta be grateful for them-"

  "Dying of the rot and no-one cares-"

  "Saved us all from the Wraith, and for that alone they-"

  Something glass shattered, and the fight erupted. The barkeep swung a ponderous haymaker that narrowly missed Sheppard's head, the wind of its passing tickling his cheek. Ronon belted the big man with the beer jug and sent him reeling backward, but the tavern owner did not go down. On other tables, shouts and punches were flying thick and fast as quietly-held viewpoints that had long been silent now came alive.

  Ronon's hand went for his particle magnum, but the colonel stopped him. "No guns," he snapped, "let's just get the hell out of here."

  Sheppard pulled Rifko to his feet amid the melee. "Sorry about all this."

  "Woulda happened sooner or later," he mumbled through swelling lips.

  Dex batted away a thrown mug with one hand and pushed a chair aside. "Sheppard, come on!"

  They were making for the door when it slammed open and four figures entered. The first three wore uniforms similar to the soldiers of the Dynasts, but these were dark green and accented with silver badges. They had high hats with a bronze shield upon them. Something in the back of John Sheppard's mind instantly threw the word Police to the front of his thoughts.

  But it was the fourth member of the group that made the brawl in the tavern die away. The colonel's gut tightened as a Hound followed the men into the pub, and in the sudden silence following their arrival, he found he could hear the enslaved Wraith panting inside the canine mask of its helmet.

  "Peace Officer," said the leading greencoat. "You people know the punishment for affray." He looked to the barkeep. "I want an explanation."

  Here it comes, Sheppard thought, glancing at Ronon. He was starting to regret not drawing his pistol while he'd had the chance.

  The tavern owner thrust the leaflet at the officer and pointed at Rifko. "He brought this trash into my establishment." Not a single soul was moving now, all of them staring at the Wraith with naked fear. For all intents and purposes, it was as if the fight had never broken out.

  "That's not true," said Sheppard.

  "You'll get your chance." The peace officer didn't look at the colonel as he approached Rifko. "You there, show me your hands."

  "He has nothing to do with this," Ronon growled.

  One of the other greencoats produced a blunderbuss-pistol and brandished it at Dex. "Shut up, vassal. You'll speak when you're told to, or else."

  "Your hands, man," repeated the first officer. Rifko reluctantly turned his palms upward; and there on his skin were smears of red ink. "Well, well. Why don't you dissidents ever think about wearing gloves, eh?"

  "I..." Rifko blinked. "S'not what it looks like."

  "It never is," said the peace officer. He turned to address the tavern. "We live in a society of rules and codes, thanks to the honorable leadership of our great Magnate. But there are always some who think they know better than he does. My job is to show them the error of their ways." He turned back toward Rifko. "The best means for that is an object lesson."

  "You're not going to kill him," snarled Sheppard.

  "Of course not," said the greencoat, and he drew a thin whistle from a chain around his neck. He blew into it, and on the very edge of hearing, there was a reedy squeal of noise.

  It happened so fast; the Hound threw itself forward, the swiftness of its movement raising cries of surprise and fear from the other people in the pub. The Wraith snatched at Rifko and pulled him into an embrace, one hand ripping through his jerkin.

  "No!" Sheppard and Ronon went after him, but the armed officer had the gun at the ready, blocking them. John watched, sickened, as the Wraith fed on the kitesmith, dragging years off his life. Rifko's cheeks became sunken and hollow, his hair thinning and turning white. Sheppard felt ill, for one moment recalling the face of Colonel Sumner trapped in the belly of a Wraith Hive Ship, the look of pleading on the Marine's face as his life force was drawn out of him.

  After a moment, the lead peace officer tugged on a dangling lanyard from a collar around the Hound's neck and metallic cogs in the mechanism whirred. The Wraith choked and stumbled backward, releasing Rifko. The kitesmith sagged, holding his newly wrinkled hands up before his face.

  "The Lord Magnate does not tolerate dissent. Halcyon is a society of laws." The peace officer pointed at Rifko. "If any of you doubt that, look to this man. His punishment is your warning."

  "He was innocent!" spat the colonel, advancing, daring the man with the gun to shoot him. "You took twenty years off him for nothing!"

  The greencoat nodded. "And now I'm wondering how much I should take from you."

  "You can't!" The voice came from the corner of the room, and Sheppard turned to see a young boy in a brown cloak similar in cut to the ones he and Ronon had appropriated. With a start he recognized the youth; it was the servant boy from the monorail conveyor who had stumbled and broken a cup. John hadn't seen him there, hidden in a corner. "Those men are guests of the Lady Erony."

  "Really?" The peace officer nodded to one of his men. "Search them."

  Sheppard and Ronon grudgingly allowed the rough checking. He took a moment of dark satisfaction from the look of surprise when the greencoat discovered their guns. Finally, the search turned up the dockets that Erony had given them on their arrival.

  The senior officer studied the papers in silence, his expression rigid. "These appear to be in order," he said, after a long moment. "You shouldn't be down in the lower city. Lucky for you the boy was here."

  "Lucky for you," retorted Ronon.


  "Come with us," continued the greencoat officer, "you may consider yourself now within our protective custody."

  "I'm not done sightseeing yet," said Sheppard.

  "You are," said the other man, "unless you'd like to stay a while and watch the Hound dispense another lesson?"

  The peace officers took them to a special funicular tram that in turn had them back in the grounds of the High Palace in a few minutes. Sheppard half-expected to be clapped in irons or slammed in some dingy stone dungeon, but the greencoated men simply handed them over to a cohort of the Magnate's soldiers, weapons and all, and descended back into the city with their Hound trailing at their heels. The troopers escorted them to one of the citadel's larger terraces where a garden was open to the night sky. The contrast of the garden's elegant fragrance to the sour taint of the smoggy lower city was stark and jarring.

  Daus was waiting for them, with First Minister Muruw and Vekken. The Magnate had a conflicted expression on his face. He was trying to pretend he was amused, but Sheppard could see the annoyance just beneath the surface in the way he gestured with his smoking pipe. "Lieutenant Colonel. I must apologize. I had thought that the quarters we provided to you and your party were more than adequate. Imagine my surprise when the telekrypter brought us a report that you had been seen in the lower city." He tapped the bowl of the pipe on a stone pot, emptying spent ashes into an ornamental fishpond. "If you wished something a little more coarse and unrefined, you had but to ask. I could have placed you in the cellars."

  "I'm not much for taking the package tour," said Sheppard. "I like to get my own view of things."

  "What were you doing down there?" demanded Muruw. "We would be within our laws to have shot you!"

  "From what I've seen, you've got worse punishments than that," Sheppard replied, working to keep his voice level.

  Daus nodded. "Hmph. It is regrettable that you had to witness such a thing, but our justice must always be swift and terrible to behold, or else it has no power."

  "Your thugs attacked an innocent man," growled Ronon. "What kind of justice is there in that?"

  "Innocent?" Daus said lightly. "How can you hope to know that, Ronon Dex? How long were you in the man's company for? Have you known him all his life? Were you aware of his numerous transgressions against the nobility?" The Magnate shook his head. "I understand your indignation, but you must trust that my peace officers did what was right for the people."

  Sheppard's hands were tightening into fists. "So, no trial, then? No due process or appeal, just step up and let a Wraith suck the life outta you? I guess it saves on building prisons, huh? Why lock up a man for ten years when you can just drain the time from him on the spot?" He resisted the urge to spit. "Bad enough you use those creatures on the battlefield, but on the streets of your own city? As a deterrent? Is life that cheap to you people?" John shot an acidic glare at Vekken, but the adjutant remained silent, content to hover like a shadow at the Magnate's side.

  "Life is nothing if not lived in strength," retorted Muruw. "The Hounds remind us all that to survive we must be strong."

  "What is it with this `only the strong survive' stuff you keep spouting?" John's mouth twisted in a humorless sneer. "You live a life of luxury up here but you talk like you're an inch away from death-and meanwhile, all the poor saps who really are living on the poverty line are barely holding on! Destitution and disease... I bet it's the same in every damn city on this planet!"

  Daus smirked. "You are a conundrum, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard. You and your Atlanteans, you show courage, strength and martial prowess, and yet, you are so weak inside. You gnash and cry at the wounding of inferiors, you encourage vulnerability and you glory in your failings. You look like soldiers but you talk like commoners. I cannot even begin to understand the kind of society that breeds a man like you."

  "Yeah, well, we're complicated that way."

  "The bone-rot only strikes the infirm or the frail," noted the nobleman, "people whose contribution to our culture is negligible at best. They are not missed."

  "Have you even tried to find a cure?" snapped Ronon.

  "We have other, more important endeavors to occupy our scientists."

  "You think you are better than us because you show cornpas- sion," broke in Muruw, making the last word a mocking insult. "But what has your empathy earned you? The Precursor City obliterated, your people scattered and so desperate for help that it takes a mere slip of a woman and her cadre to rescue you from the Wraith?"

  Daus stepped closer to the colonel. "Our hearts are harder than yours, Atlantean, because Halcyon is cruel." He spread his hands. "You do not see it now, but in the time before my Dynast came to rule this world, the hardest winters and the worst famines in our recorded history swept the planet. Millions perished. Wars raged out of control. Life here was pitiless and brutal. Only though sacrifice, through determination and spirit, were my forefathers able to bring Halcyon under control and into this golden age. Our people are colored by that experience, Lieutenant Colonel. Perhaps if we had lived on a world no doubt as soft and pleasant as your distant Earth, then we too might share your flaws of character."

  "Compassion isn't a flaw," Sheppard locked gazes with the Magnate, "cruelty is."

  The other man ignored his interruption. "We are not afraid to take the hard road. We do not shy away from making choices that you might consider to be ruthless or callous. Until the last Wraith dies, we are at war!" Daus's voice became a snarl. "Like every living human in this galaxy, we are fighting for our lives each day. One moment of inattention, one instant of weakness and the Wraith will strike at us! Halcyon must be ever strong, always ready!"

  Ronon snorted. "And what happens along the way? You give up what it is to be a human being? You become killers and predators, you become like them?"

  Daus turned and walked away, refilling his pipe. His moment of ire faded, his calm and condescending demeanor returning. "It has come to me now," he said, "I think I see the root of your problem, Lieutenant Colonel. You Atlanteans, you are naive. Oh, yes, you fight hard when your backs are to the wall, and in those moments perhaps you touch the iron will that hides deep inside you... But I warrant there is a part of you that hopes one day to end the war without bloodshed, yes? Peace. You want peace."

  "Every soldier wants peace," said Sheppard, "it's why we fight."

  "Perhaps. But we have been fighting the Wraith for centuries, and we know them better than you ever could. And one day-perhaps within your lifetime, I truly hope-one day you will understand that to defeat them you will have to take the hard road." He gave the colonel a level, flinty stare. "You hate the Wraith as much as I do, I see it in your eyes... But how far are you willing to go to vanquish them?"

  Sheppard found his throat turning dry. "Not as far as you," he managed, after a moment.

  Daus smiled and lit the pipe, the flare of the match giving his face a brief demonic cast in the twilight. "Mark those words well, my friend, because you will remember them. On the day the Wraith swarm across your Earth, you will remember them, and you will know that I am right." The Magnate turned, dismissing them, and walked away into the darkness with Muruw.

  When the other men were out of earshot, Vekken spoke for the first time since they had arrived in the garden. "Ah, Sheppard, you would be wise not to test the Magnate's munificence any further. Muruw counseled him to have you put to the Hounds for daring to leave the palace environs. His Highness may not be so quick to disagree the next time you try him."

  "I'll take that under advisement." The colonel frowned. "It's been a big day. I think we've had enough excitement for now." Sheppard and Ronon began to walk off in the direction of the guest quarters.

  "I've doubled the guard," Vekken called after them. "Do not attempt any unescorted sojourns again. I have left orders to have any man who allows you to escape to be executed."

  Sheppard froze and threw Vekken a hard glare. "You wouldn't do that."

  "I would," said the adjutant. "Cruelty has its
uses, Sheppard, and right now I am using it on you."

  John turned on his heel and walked away.

  Ronon gave Sheppard a sideways look. He hadn't often seen the man angry, but he was seeing it now, the cold fury burning in the colonel's eyes and the set of his jaw. "Where do we go from here?" he asked, watching Sheppard's expression.

  "If I had to call it, I'd scrub this whole mess right now, Zero Point Module or no Zero Point Module. Everything's a game to these people, us included, and I'm getting pretty damn sick of it."

  Dex's head bobbed in agreement. "You'll get no argument from me."

  Sheppard blew out a breath. "But McKay's champing at the bit to take a peek inside that dolmen, and if there is a ZPM..."

  "...It might serve them right if we just helped ourselves to it." Ronon finished.

  "The thought had crossed my mind." Sheppard hesitated. "But I'm not going to shut this down without talking to Weir first. Like it or not, this is still technically a diplomatic mission, and she gets the last word on those."

  The two men walked in silence for a few moments before Dex spoke again. "Sheppard. I hate to give him any credit, but Daus was right about something. One day we might have to go places we don't want to... to beat the Wraith."

  John didn't look at him. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. But not before."

  he open wormhole lit the Gate Room with soft, silvery light.

  "I'm receiving Colonel Sheppard's IDC," said the technician.

  Dr. Weir patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Keith. Go ahead and lower the force field. Have the guards stand down."

  The invisible energy barrier enveloping the Stargate flashed as it fell, allowing unfettered egress through the metal ring. Weir was halfway down the broad staircase from the control room when John Sheppard marched through the Gate, his face unreadable. With a whoosh of displaced energy, the wormhole evaporated behind him. Elizabeth saw it instantly; the man's body language rang a warning bell in her mind. Questions crowded her thoughts. Why was he here in person, instead of just sending a radio message? Where were the rest of the squad?