Stargate Atlantis: Halcyon

by James Swallow

  "That doesn't sound promising. What's it doing here?"

  "The Wraith use them to tag a planet. Their scout craft scope out systems where there might be large populations and then leave one of those behind. Hive ships come in later and do the actual culling."

  Sheppard turned the Jumper's sensors to run a wide scan of the surrounding space. "No sign of any other vessels in the system. It can't have been put there recently."

  Ronon frowned at the console. "Might be able to get a reading..." He hissed a particularly nasty Satedan curse under his breath. "Why couldn't he have made working this thing simpler?"

  "You got something?"

  "Wait!" snapped Dex. "I'm not as smart as McKay, I can't figure this out as quickly!" He was silent for a few moments, working through the data. At last, the console gave an answering beep. "Here. Radiation scan indicates that thing was at least ten thousand years old."

  "It must have been dropped here when the Ancients and the Wraith were still duking it out for the galaxy," Sheppard opined. "Question is, has it been talking to any of its friends in the meantime?"

  Ronon shrugged. It annoyed him that this was beyond his skills. "I don't know, I can't decipher this. Maybe Teyla..."

  The colonel was silent for a moment. "All right, we're going back down. Daus will have to be told what we found. We can't detect Rodney from up here anyhow." The Jumper's engines rose in pitch as the spacecraft turned about and dipped back into Halcyon's gravity well. "We're going to have to find another way to get to him."

  "One thing," rumbled Dex, "when we find McKay, don't tell him I said he was smarter than me. If you do, I'll break your legs."

  Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say."

  Dr. Rodney McKay rolled awake and sneezed violently, his entire body contorting in a sharp spasm. His hands came up to his chest in claws and he gagged; the entire effect was as if he was attempting the comical impersonation of a rat. It was this unfortunate physical tic that had earned him the nickname `Rodent' from some of the more unpleasant pupils who had shared his time at junior high school.

  Of course, that was in the days before he had left them all behind, before his teachers had finally had the intelligence to move him from the category of `bright' to `child prodigy' and then to `quite staggeringly clever'. So what if they said it had stunted his social skills, so what? He was smarter than them. The jocks and popular girls who had called him names, what were they doing with their lives now, huh? Living in some dreary suburban nowheresville with their stupid gas-guzzling SUVs, their drink problems, their spiraling debts and their two-pointthree ugly children, while Rodent-no, damn it, my name is Rodney'-got to make world-changing science, travel through wormholes, visit strange new worlds and get shot-

  Get. Shot.

  It all came thundering back to him and he blinked out of his half-aware daze. He remembered the heavy metal weight of the pistol in his hand, the way it bucked and snapped when he fired blindly at the men in gray fatigues. He remembered Erony screaming, calling out his name. And most of all, he remembered the blunt prow of the stunner pistol tracking toward him, the sliver weapon lit by the sullen green glow of its power cell.

  Rodney went tense as his muscles recalled the horrific, heartstopping shock as the energy blast took him, consciousness flooding out as the unblemished floor of the dolmen's control room rose up to meet him. Then darkness, black and cold. And now here.

  He blinked; his vision was blurry but it was improving with every passing second. Feeling with his hands, McKay found a wall and used it to get to his feet, fighting down the woozy after-shock as he dragged himself up it. The wall was cold and clammy, and it gave a little in the way that something organic might.

  A deep breath; and then another. The air was chilly too, and there were mingled scents on it. Dust, eons and eons of dust beneath something appallingly familiar. A metallic stench, like battery acid.

  The room he was in took on solidity as his eyes focused, and the blue-black walls of chitinous matter gave him the answer as to where he was. The most terrible, awful answer that he could have had. "No," he muttered, "no no no No NO!" Rodney threw himself at the narrow entrance to the dim little cell, his fingers digging into the web of thick, fibrous ropes that blocked the doorway. He pulled and shouted, fear rolling up inside him in a dark tide; at that moment he would have given anything to be in nowheresville, in junior high, anywhere but here.

  McKay's cries echoed out along the corridors of the Wraith Hive Ship, ignored and unanswered.

  olonel Sheppard looked out through the Jumper's canopy at the Fourth Dynast blackcoats milling around outside the ship. They had emerged from the cloisters around the open plaza within moments of the ship landing there. John wasted no time getting Teyla inside and closing the hatch behind her. He wanted this conversation to be just between the three of them.

  She was nodding as Ronon replayed the events of their short venture into orbit and back. The Athosian woman's expression hardened when Dex spoke about the Wraith machine they'd obliterated. John knew that look of old; he could read Teyla's feelings, the same thoughts that had clouded his mood now forming in her. He opened his mouth to speak and realized there was a Halcyonite rifleman standing just a meter or so away on the other side of the canopy glass. The trooper was staring directly at him, blankly intimidating with his lance-rifle held at arms.

  Sheppard very deliberately turned his back on the soldier before he started speaking. The movie of the week on Atlantis last month had been 2001: A Space Odyssey, and John suddenly recalled the scene in the pod bay where the Hal computer had lip-read the plans of the human astronauts. He didn't want to chance that Daus trained his men with the same kind of skills. "With that satellite in pieces, any immediate danger is over," he began, "but clearly the bigger problem we've got to consider is if that thing has been broadcasting. There could already be Wraith Hive Ships in hyperspace and on their way here as we speak."

  "That all depends on how long the satellite had been transmitting for," noted Ronon, "and we don't know for sure if it was. But given our usual fortunes, I wouldn't count on us being that lucky."

  "Upbeat as ever," said Sheppard. "Teyla, you wanna chime in here?"

  The woman took McKay's station and scrutinized the data captured from the Wraith device. "I have an idea how we might determine if it was in communication with other craft. From what I know of these marker beacons, they operate in a dormant mode, often for centuries, until triggered by a command from a Wraith vessel." She paged through the reams of information, searching for something. "Interstellar communications require a lot of power, John. These beacons run on solar batteries."

  Sheppard got it. "Right, so transmitting a message would take a lot of energy. If the batteries are low, it's likely it sent out a dinner call." He smiled with gallows humor. "Like a Wraith equivalent of those neon signs by the highway-Good Eats, Next Exit..."

  "Here," said Teyla, halting the flow of text. She pointed at a string of computer code. The tension in her shoulders visibly lessened as she read through the data. "I think you may be wrong about our luck, Ronon. According to this, the power reserves on the satellite were barely depleted. It was still in an information gathering mode when you happened upon it."

  "If you're right, then it must have been activated recently," added Dex, "but why now, after thousands of years of drifting up there in silence? It doesn't make sense."

  "We're missing a piece of the puzzle here," said Sheppard, "a big piece, and you gotta know that McKay's connected to it."

  Teyla looked away. "If he still lives."

  "If they wanted him dead, we'd be looking at his corpse," Ronon said flatly, "we know the nobles aren't squeamish about bloodshed and murder."

  Sheppard sat and worked it through, thinking aloud. "If they just wanted a hostage, why take him?"

  Ronon shrugged "He's the weak link, he can barely handle a weapon. He's the one I'd choose if I wanted a captive."

  "I don't buy that. If they
just wanted non-combatants, they could have tagged Beckett and the medical team. No, they took Rodney for what he knows. Or what he found out at the dolmen."

  "We can't rule out that it was Erony who set him up," added Dex. "I don't buy Vekken's explanation as to why they left her behind."

  Teyla shook her head in disgust. "The more I learn about these people, the less I understand them. Making false glory out of warfare and taking innocents for barter. On Athos, no tribe would ever be allowed to do such things."

  "Hostage-taking is just another weapon."

  A sharp tap on the Jumper's canopy drew John's attention. Vekken stood at the prow of the ship, peering in at them. The adjutant made no attempt to hide the lingering, appraising look he gave the interior of the Ancient craft. "Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," he called. "I bring good news. Dr. McKay's whereabouts have been located."

  "What? Where?"

  Vekken inclined his head. "His Highness the Lord Magnate will provide you with the specifics, if you would accompany me."

  The Magnate met them in the gardens where they had spoken before. Sheppard had to admit he was getting royally sick of being `summoned' every five minutes and submitting to 'audiences' at Daus's whim. He toyed for a moment with the idea of ordering Vekken to bring the ruler to them, just to throw a wrench in the works, but relented. It was their planet, and they expected the Atlantis team to play by their rules. He thought of Weir's advice about letting Daus remain convinced he had the stronger position, and chewed his lip. With each passing moment, it was getting harder and harder to play that role. As ever, First Minister Muruw was hovering at his leader's side, open contempt on his face.

  John didn't wait for the usual florid phrase of greeting to spill from Daus's lips; he went straight for the jugular instead. "Where's McKay?"

  The Magnate's eyes flashed with irritation at this breach in protocol. "Safe, for the moment. One of my most trusted hunt splinters has located him and determined that he is unharmed and in good spirits."

  That's a lie if ever I heard it, thought Sheppard. `Good spirits' would be the last thing Rodney would exhibit if he'd been held prisoner. "We want our team mate back, right now."

  "That is in hand," Daus replied, ignoring the implied or else in Sheppard's statement, "but in keeping with the codes of conduct, I am afraid that it would not be proper to merely hand him over to you without... Recompense."

  "Proper?" grated Ronon. "You think just because you make war with a rulebook at your back that you can play games with men's lives?"

  It was as if Dex had never spoken. "There must be a balance, Lieutenant Colonel. Give and take."

  Sheppard folded his arms. "Fine. You want something in return for McKay's rescue, then how about this? I just shot down a Wraith marker satellite in orbit around your planet, thus saving your entire world from the arrival of a culling fleet. I figure that's a fair trade."

  Muruw made an explosive snort of scorn. "Is that so? Then, pray tell, where is the proof of such a daring exploit? Please, do show us the evidence of your kill!"

  Ronon pointed into the sky. "It's burning up in your atmosphere right now."

  "Oh," the minister continued in an arch tone, "so then you have no trophy? Nothing that corroborates this wild claim? I am afraid that with empty palms you have no stock with which to trade."

  John's hands contracted into fists. The man's patronizing tone was like nails down a chalkboard. "I could take you for a look, if you'd like," he retorted, "you might find it a little chilly up there, though." Ronon's suggestion about the airlock was starting to seem like a good idea.

  Daus gave a languid nod of his head. "The people of Halcyon thank you for your bravery in their defense," he noted, "but I am afraid that this matter requires a different solution."

  Inwardly, Sheppard sagged. "Let's hear it. What do you want?" This is going to be the Genii thing all over again...

  "You recall the rogue Wraith I spoke of? The one we call Scar?"

  "Yeah..."

  "It is to my eternal disappointment that I have never been able to kill that creature, and our recent venture to the forest of Carras rekindled my hate for the beast. My proposal is a modest one, Lieutenant Colonel. Bring me Scar, dead or alive, and in return my men will see that Dr. McKay is safely returned to your company."

  Sheppard blinked. "You want us to hunt the Wraith for you?"

  "If you think you are capable," sniffed Muruw.

  "That's all?" Ronon asked. "What's the catch?"

  Daus smiled, showing teeth. "Ah, such bravery! But be warned, Runner. Scar is a deadly adversary. He has the blood of many hunters on his hands."

  Sheppard exchanged looks with Teyla and Ronon. Each of them knew that there was more to this than the Magnate was letting on, but they had little choice. Once more, they were being forced to play along. "All right. We get you something you can have stuffed and mounted, you deliver Dr. McKay."

  The Magnate clapped his hands. "Splendid! Muruw will provide you with charts of Scar's known feeding grounds. Best of luck, Lieutenant Colonel!"

  Vekken watched the Atlanteans depart, letting the dagger-like glares from the Runner and the Athosian woman roll off him. He considered them both; the Runner was unapologetic about what he was, and in a way, he was to be admired for such honesty. But the man was crude and artless, and for all his prowess he lacked an understanding of combat's true grace and glory. Vekken understood that no amount of instruction would ever change Ronon Dex's mind. He was like the wild Wraith that way, too unstable to ever be made into Hounds, to be domesticated. On the other hand, the woman Teyla Emmagan was a contradiction. He found her attractive on the most visceral level and the adjutant had to admit that her skills were good; and yet, even though they shared the bond of the Wraithkin, he could not help but think of her as inferior. After all, she came from a planet of tribals who still participated in ridiculous deity worship rituals. Even though her master Sheppard had tried to dress her up in his people's uniform, she was still a primitive underneath. Vekken had hoped at the beginning that he might have been able to barter something to Sheppard in return for her indenture, but he saw now that this was unlikely. Sheppard was the strangest of them all, a peculiar mixture of the strong and the weak who had no right to call himself a soldier... And yet here he was, against all odds. Vekken looked up and the Lord Magnate beckoned him closer. He wondered if his master would order him to kill these Atlanteans today. The adjutant sensed that such a decision was very close at hand, and it surprised Vekken how contemplation of it troubled him. But then, he was not a man to challenge his master's commands; Vekken was, above all things, a weapon in the hands of the Magnate. He did not have the luxury of questions, of guilt, of hesitation.

  He bowed low. "Your Highness?"

  "Have a gyro-flyer track the Atlantean vessel's movements. I want you to keep yourself informed via telekrypter of all that transpires during their hunt."

  "Your will, My Lord."

  Daus considered him for a moment. "Tell me, Vekken. Do you think the Atlanteans will be able to fulfill my mandate? As a warrior, how do you estimate their chances of taking Scar?"

  "A difficult question, Highness," admitted the adjutant. "They fight with competence, their weapons are formidable... But they find it hard to kill. The purity of that instinct is lacking in them, their leader most of all."

  The Magnate bent close to Vekken, his voice falling to a low murmur. "Just so," he agreed. "I find myself hoping that the beast Scar will serve me today. I imagine that the Wraith will kill them all, and rid me of these outworlders."

  Vekken felt a thrill of shock but did not show it. "If I may beg to say, Highness, but what will you do if they succeed in the hunt?"

  "Ah," said Daus, sounding out the word. "In that event, it would be better that Sheppard's people never live to tell of it. After all, it would be detrimental to the well being of our society if our people believe that outworlders made so important a kill. Better that the nobility be seen to have done such a
thing. Don't you agree?"

  "As you command," Vekken replied.

  The Magnate nodded again. "I do indeed."

  The Puddle Jumper made it across the countryside in half the time of the fast helo that had taken them to the forest enclosure the previous day. Sheppard concentrated on flying the ship at tree top level while Ronon, Teyla and Private Bishop went through weapons checks in the back of the cabin. With poor grace, Staff Sergeant Mason accepted Sheppard's orders to remain with the injured Corporal Clarke and Beckett's team. He had insisted the senior man stay behind, putting his trust in the SAS soldier to keep the others safe while John's team went on their hunter's outing.

  There was one other command Sheppard had given, this time to Carson, and it wasn't an order that sat well with him. Things were moving fast now, and despite Teyla's suggestion that the Wraith orbiter hadn't been broadcasting, the colonel didn't want to take that for fact. He gave Beckett the full story and reluctantly told him to get in contact with Atlantis. Weir had to be told what was going on here, and if that meant risking a radio signal through an open wormhole to the ocean planet, then so be it. He knew that Carson had the ear of Daus's daughter, and he trusted the doctor to use his influence to get a message through the Gate even if he didn't trust Erony. After all, the Magnate had decreed that nobody was allowed to travel through the Stargate; he hadn't said anything about beaming communications through it.

  "Any sign of that chopper that was following us, boss?" asked Bishop, slamming an ammunition clip into his assault rifle.

  The colonel glanced at a sensor-scope on the head-up display. "He's still out there behind us, runnin' his throttle at maximum in a vain attempt to keep up."

  "Maybe you should cloak us," said Ronon, "give them a real fright."

  Sheppard shook his head. "Nah, I'm saving that surprise in case we need it. Never hurts to keep an ace up your sleeve."

  They made a quick circuit of the enclosure as Teyla pored over the paper map that Muruw had grudgingly given to them. "This document shows several locations where the Wraith Scar was sited." She pointed to the west. "That is the most recent."