"Must you continue to chatter on the same issue over and over again?" she snapped, silencing the adjutant. "I do not wish it! "
Linnian took a breath. "But, My Lady, your father has made it quite clear to me on many occasions that he does not look with favor on any ventures into the common quarters."
Erony made a show of looking around. "Is my dear father here on this vessel?"
"Ah, well, no, Highness."
"And is his adjutant Baron Vekken here, carrying his word and authority in the Magnate's stead?"
The man looked at the deck. "No, Highness. He has joined the Lord Daus on a errand of state in the Great Ward."
"Then by your own admission, it appears that I am the noble of highest rank on board this aircraft, and as such my word is the law."
Linnian bowed, suitably intimidated. "I meant no disrespect, My Lady. It is merely that I am confused by your sudden desire to visit so base and squalid a place as the environs of the lower city." He sniffed archly. "It is beneath one of your great standing."
The flyer was banking over the dockside district now, circling as the pilot searched for somewhere suitable to put down. Erony returned to the view through the window-slit as the sunlight shifted around the cabin. Although she would never admit it to him, her adjutant's words were correct, and she had no doubt that if her father were to discover that she had set out on this jaunt, his anger would be great indeed. Many was the time that Lord Daus had imposed his beliefs on his daughter, that the commoners be left to live their lives and that the nobles were not to walk freely among them. The people, he had often told her, should only be able to lay their eyes on the scions of the Fourth Dynast on annual occasions such as Unification Eve or when a funeral or betrothal was enacted. He stressed the importance of the places Halcyon's society had for them, and for Erony. To ignore the barrier between them, he said, was to invite chaos and confusion among the simple folk of the cities. It was for their own good.
And yet... Since she was a youth, Erony had observed the lower city second hand, through telescopes and the overheard chatter of her servants. In her more private moments, she had wondered if it were fair that she should live elevated above them, while the common folk endured fresh hardships with each new dawn.
But it grew easy to ignore those voices that prickled her conscience. Erony's life was a world where she wanted for nothing, insulated and safe. But the arrival of these people from Atlantis had stirred up long-forgotten feelings. They were so close to the surface, these Atlanteans, so direct in thought and deed. They could not stand to see an injustice go unanswered, even if it would put them in harm's way to challenge it. These were men and women who saw no class or boundary, they worked as a team despite their diverse backgrounds. Educated men like Rodney McKay and the good Dr. Beckett side by side with rough soldiers, tribals even like the Runner and the huntress from Athos. She admired the easy bond they so clearly shared, and she felt jealous of it.
Erony glanced at Linnian. He had been her adjutant since she was a child, and yet she had never once felt in all those years that they were friends, that she might be able to trust him. On Halcyon, the children of noble families were taught the rules of their society from the earliest age, learning the manners of polite intrigue and courteous back-stabbings. They were taught that they were superior, and that their wealth and power was not just deserved, but their birthright.
The gyro-flyer dipped towards the rooftops, and Erony caught sight of figures huddling in doorways to shield themselves from the aircraft's prop wash. But what birthright do these people have? she asked herself.
The rotors were still chopping at the air as Linnian dropped the hatch and fairly bounded out of the flyer with two armed riflemen at his sides. Immediately he began shouting warnings to the commoners, the braver ones who had dared to approach the grounded aircraft. Erony pulled the ornate shawl about her shoulders and kept the half-veil of her traveling hood over her eyes as she followed him out. Deliberately, she had left her clan sword in her chambers and carried nothing but a compact gold revolver on her hip. The gasps of the citizens at the sight of her made Erony feel suddenly vulnerable and afraid. Perhaps Linnian is right, perhaps I should go back, it's not safe here...
"Lady Erony?" From the open doors of a wide, low warehouse came Dr. Beckett, his sand-colored jacket standing out among the darker hues of the people around him. The soldier who had been injured at the dolmen followed him cautiously. "I'm, ah, surprised to see you here."
"I have brought news..." Her words dried up in her mouth as she caught sight of the commoners milling around the entrance to the warehouse. This place was one of the locations where Beckett had set up a treatment center for the victims of the bone-rot, and Erony found her fright rising as she realized that these poor, hobbled souls were all suffering from the terrible malaise.
The doctor saw the question in her eyes. "Oh aye, that's your bone-rot, right there. We call it `rickets' on my planet. It used to be quite widespread hundreds of years ago, but now it only turns up in places where there's contaminated food and water."
"Contaminated," she echoed, unable to take her eyes from the twisted limbs of the people around her. She felt a sudden jab of shame as a few of the younger ones bent and shivered. They were trying to bow to her, to show the proper obeisance to a noble, even though it must have pained them severely to do so. Erony shook her head. "No. Tell them, they do not need to do that."
"My Lady," began Linnian, "protocol demands-"
"It is all right," she continued, addressing the commoners directly. "You do not need to bow."
Beckett came closer. "Why don't you come and see what we're doing here? These people have you to thank, after all." He offered his hand to her.
Linnian interposed himself between them. "You will not touch the person of a noble."
The doctor gave the adjutant a withering stare. "I've told you once already, wee fella, don't get in my way, not when I'm doing my job."
"Linnian," said Erony, and he stood aside. "Doctor, please continue."
A pregnant hush moved before them as Beckett led her into the dank interior if the warehouse, inside the sharp tang of the nearby river waters mingling with medicinal odors and human sweat. She saw another Atlantean soldier opening crates of supplies. Beds made of canvas squares and metal rods had been set up here and there, and the doctor's female assistant was hard at work moving between them. Erony watched her smile warmly at a worried young boy as she applied a gun-shaped device to his bare shoulder. The apparatus coughed and the boy rubbed at a red mark where the gun's nozzle had touched him.
"The nurse is giving him a booster shot of vitamins and calcium enhancers," explained the doctor. "It's a stop-gap measure but it will hopefully be enough to reverse the spread of the ailment in most patients. Others... Well, it's already too late for a lot of folk here."
She saw a youth in the brown robes of a palace servant helping an older man secure a brace to his twisted leg. "Who is that?" Erony didn't know his name, but she'd seen the young man before, engaged in servitude on board the royal conveyor.
"We asked around for some volunteers," noted Beckett. "Corporal Clarke organized a few locals to help us set things up."
"Very impressive," offered Linnian in a bored tone.
Erony ignored him and lent closer to Beckett. "And once you are finished here, this bone-rot will no longer trouble them, yes?"
The doctor frowned. "Well, no, lass. What we're doing here is holding things back a little. But it's not a cure. For that, you need to seriously re-think your city's food, water and medical infrastructure."
She watched the man with the brace struggle to get back to his feet. With his deformed bones, he looked like a wire doll that had been twisted about by a petulant child. Cold certainty flooded her veins, the shocking realization coming at once that she was responsible for this. Erony, her father, her Dynast, all of the nobles. The pain of these commoners was the product of their arrogance. Her earlier thought retur
ned to her. What birthright do these people have?
"My Lady," said the adjutant with a sniff. "I think this visit is at an end. We should return to the palace."
Erony blinked hard, and pulled back her veil, giving Beckett her full attention. In her distraction, she had almost forgotten the very excuse that she had used to journey down here. "Doctor, forgive me, I am remiss. I came here to give you urgent news of Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard and your friends."
Beckett's face paled. "What's wrong?"
"My father has observers following their hunting venture from the enclosure's observation towers. Gunfire was reported in several locations, after which the group was lost to sight. The observers also reported increased Wraith activity in the area." Her lips thinned. "I fear for the safety of your comrades."
The older soldier, the one called Mason, spoke into the communications device on his tunic. "Jumper Three, this is Mason, respond. Colonel Sheppard? Do you copy my transmission?" The communicator hissed back at him.
"They're out of range," said the trooper with the bandaged arm. "Could be in trouble, Staff."
Beckett looked at her. "Erony, this has gone far enough. We cannae stand by and do nothing. You have to help us put a stop to all this."
She answered without stopping to consider it. "I will."
"Highness!" protested Linnian, but she ignored his outburst.
"You," she said, pointing at one of the blackcoat riflemen. "Disarm yourself and take Dr. Beckett's place here. You will do whatever his nurse tells you to, and render whatever assistance she demands, as if the words came from my lips. Is that clear?"
The rifleman bowed. "By your command, Milady."
Erony turned to Beckett. "Come with me, Doctor. Bring one of your warriors, if you wish. My gyro-flyer is a racing model, and with it we can reach the enclosure with great speed."
Her adjutant spluttered. "My Lady, I must protest! This is most irregular!"
"Linnian," replied the woman, putting every ounce of her noble will behind the word, "relay my instructions to the pilot and do not tarry."
"But-"
"Now."
The man threw Beckett an acid stare, bowed, and then scuttled away.
"Clarke," snapped Mason, "keep watch here, got it? You don't hear back from us by nightfall, you evac the civvies and get your arse through the Stargate."
The soldier saluted. "Yes, Staff."
"Thank you, Erony," said the doctor.
She gave her sick and ailing subjects a last look and then nodded. "Follow me."
he Puddle Jumper moved quickly over the treetops, the gravity drive whining. To an outside observer, all that would have been visible was a sudden glimmer, there and then gone, a swift disturbance in the air as the cloaked spacecraft tracked back and forth in a grid pattern.
Sheppard kept his eyes firmly on the ship's head-up display, frowning at the flickering dots that showed Wraith life signs. "They keep appearing and disappearing..." He shifted uncomfortably; the tension and exertion of the day was taking its toll on him, his black uniform t-shirt damp with sweat beneath his ballistic body armor and webbing vest. John toggled a control to set the sensors to a deep penetration mode, and the display changed, showing a faint network of channels under the surface. "There are tunnels and caverns all over this part of the enclosure."
Ronon weighed a hand-held Ancient scanner in his grip. "That figures. This Wraith they call Scar, he wouldn't have lasted long in here if he didn't have some kind of safe haven."
The colonel's eyes narrowed. "They could have a nest down there, like termites, or something." He shuddered. "That whole Wraith-Bug thing makes my skin crawl."
Suddenly, Ronon gave a shout. "There!" He stabbed a finger at the trees. "Bring us around, there's a clearing! I saw something!"
Sheppard slowed the Jumper and drifted it gently around in an arc, keeping the blunt nose of the craft aimed forward where Dex had indicated. The Satedan had been right. "Good eye," noted John, spotting a figure in the dark blue of an Atlantis combat uniform sprawled on the ground. "Can't make out who it is, though..."
Ronon stuffed the scanner in the pocket of his coat and drew his particle magnum. "Drop the ramp, I'm going down there."
"Wait, I gotta land us first," The pilot put the ship into a hover, carefully rotating it as he gradually descended below the level of the leafy canopy. The open copse was small and setting the ship down in it would be like threading a needle.
"No time," snapped Dex, "she could be hurt." He reached past Sheppard's shoulder, slapping the glassine control that opened the Jumper's rear hatch. Before John could stop him, the other man vaulted out of the craft and threw himself down into the clearing.
Ronon landed hard and rolled to absorb the impact, the shock of it singing up through the bones in his legs. From the corner of his eye he had a moment of optical illusion, where the open portal of the Jumper seemed to be hanging in the air like a door in the sky; then Sheppard dropped the cloak and the drum-shaped ship was there, dithering like a hawk unsure where to settle.
He sprinted across the grassy clearing, vaulting over rocks and brush, towards the slack form he'd spotted from the air. The body was lying face down and curled away from him, head tucked beneath the crook of an arm. In split seconds, impressions crowded Dex's mind. It definitely wasn't a male, the body was too slim and the proportions were off. But the blue Atlantis jacket seemed too big, and it hung wrongly.
"Teyla!" he called, crouching low, moving to the slumped shape. Ronon grabbed the body's shoulder and turned it over. "Teyla?"
The Wraith female wearing Private Bishop's uniform screeched and threw herself at the Satedan, the shock of the corpse-white face and the sudden movement catching him unawares. Ronon snarled as the alien struck him, knocking his pistol from his grip. They rolled into one another and tumbled down a shallow incline, punching and clawing. Dex felt hot and fetid breath as the Wraith tried to bite him and he snatched at her crimson flood of hair, grabbing a handful and jerking it backward. Black claws raked his side, slicing into the material of his jacket, reaching through layers of cloth to his torso.
He struggled to hold off the wild creature's feeding arm, the Wraith howling and shrieking. Ronon brought his head forward and butted the alien on the nose, hearing the satisfying crack of breaking cartilage. In return, the Wraith tore at him with fresh rage, mad and hungry for his life energy. At last, Dex managed to bring his free hand up and flicked it out. A concealed mechanism in his leather wrist guard clicked, releasing a spring-loaded knife, keen and wide with a petal-shaped blade. With a snarl of effort, Ronon punched the weapon into the flesh beneath the Wraith's jawbone and up into its skull. The female gurgled and died.
Dex let the body fall and drew his short sword. More Wraiths were streaming out of the woods and dropping from the upper branches of the trees.
"Whoa!" shouted Sheppard, the Jumper gaining new and unwelcome passengers as it descended toward the ground. No sooner had Ronon jumped ship, so to speak, than there were Wraith throwing themselves from the tops of the forest canopy and on to the floating ship. A singularly ugly-looking male landed squarely on the bow and bellowed at him, banging a blunt-bladed halberd on the cockpit canopy. More thuds and bangs along the outside of the hull told the colonel that this Wraith bruiser wasn't alone. Gripping the throttle and yoke, Sheppard reversed the Jumper's fall and took her up again.
"Sorry to disappoint you," he told the creature, "but I don't pick up hitchhikers!" With a flick of his wrist the colonel shifted the output of the gravity drives, putting the port outrigger up to full reverse and the starboard to full forward velocity. The instant effect was to spin the Puddle Jumper around like a top. The forest and sky became a green and blue blur, and for one brief moment, the Wraith on the bow hung on before centrifugal force tore him away and flung the creature into the trees. Sheppard felt a moment of giddiness as he came back into a hover, but it passed. Without the powerful inertial dampeners the Ancients built into their ships
, the maneuver he'd just pulled would have spread him along the inside of the Jumper like chunky salsa.
There was a flicker of motion on the canopy glass, and the colonel saw the monstrous grin of a hungry Wraith reflected there. One of them had got inside. He twisted in his seat as the alien went for him, claws out. The hatch, John, his mind screamed, you left the damn hatch down!
Sheppard stabbed at the on-off controller for the dampener, then slammed the throttle forward, instantly canceling out the gravity-neutral bubble inside the Jumper. The quick burst of velocity threw the Wraith intruder off its feet and sent it tumbling back down the length of the ship, sparks flying where it clawed at the decking, out the open hatch and away. The colonel felt the g-forces press into him, a suffocating leaden pressure all across his chest, compacting him into the pilot's chair. He managed to tap the dampener circuit again and the pressure evaporated.
"Whew." John blinked sweat away from his lashes, and after a quick check to make sure he was flying solo again, he brought the Jumper back around for a combat landing.
The frenzied Wraith came at Ronon in a hooting wave of teeth and claws, and he met them with energy bolts and the edge of his blade. With one single strike he took an attacker at the throat and the Satedan battle sword parted head from torso in a jet of black blood. He fell into the red haze of his rage, tapping into the hate that had carried him through all the years of his life on the run. The fury of it burned hot, a livid brand like the Wraith glyph etched into the flesh of his throat.
In the thick of the fight, Ronon was dimly aware of the Jumper landing, of Sheppard's cries and the chattering of his machinegun, but it was all second to his anger, which he turned on the Wraith in its full force. He had lost so much at the talons of these repellent freaks of nature, friends and family, a whole world, a life without battle. And perhaps now Teyla Emmagan, the only person among these Atlanteans with whom he had felt any real kinship.
Stargate Atlantis: Halcyon Page 22