A small smile crossed Yann’s lips. “Gene.”
“Okay, fine,” Rodney said impatiently, “now that we’ve all bonded, can we please get on with the plan?”
His head nodding in sage acquiescence, Ushat turned his attention back to the Major.
“See where these Stations are located?” Sheppard pointed to the specially marked buildings around the Citadel. “I’m betting that their height would extend the range of the EM fields.” He glanced at Rodney for confirmation.
“That would be true up to a point.”
“The Chosen once lived in all of the Stations,” Ushat said. “But it has not been that way since the time of the Great Plague.”
Well, that confirmed it. “If we can get people with Shields up in, say, these fifteen Stations—” Sheppard pointed to the marked buildings on the map. “I think we’d have a darned good coverage. It won’t be perfect, but given the low-level flight performance of those Darts, once they hit an EM field, they drop out of the sky fast. I don’t know that it would take too many crashes before they get the picture and back off entirely.”
“I could go to a Station,” Lisera offered. “There is one close by and I know the way.”
Ford went to object, but Rodney got in first. “The girl’s right. Those in the Stations don’t have to do anything except keep hold of the Shields and stay put.”
“I believe I know where most of the other Genes are hiding,” Yann said.
“In those areas where the Wraith Darts crashed?” Ford suggested.
“Not necessarily.” The Major shook his head. “Anyone holding an activated Shield is more or less marked for death, right?”
Yann nodded curtly and pointed to the map. “Here, inside the transports around the city, is the only place where the Genes are safe.”
Sheppard’s lips pursed thoughtfully. “We need eight Chosen—” He cast a quick, apologetic smile at Rodney. “Genes, to man the tallest, outer Stations first. That will cover a good portion of the perimeter.”
“The five transports near each of the bridges are somewhat smaller, and open to the market squares,” Yann added.
“To facilitate movement of goods coming into the Citadel by foot.” Teyla nodded in understanding.
“I believe it is where the other Genes have hidden.”
“Okay.” John turned to Lisera. “Let’s have you man this Station here, and as Yann locates more Genes, they can take the others. Next, and before we man these inner Stations, we need to deploy Genes to the outlying towns and villages, to evacuate everyone—and I do mean everyone—into the Citadel.”
“What?” One of the engineer’s faces hardened. “We do not have time to concern ourselves with the lives of those outside.”
“Particularly barbarians,” growled Yann in agreement.
“Well, you better start making time,” snapped the Major.
“He’s right,” added Rodney. “You lose all your farmers and fishermen, what are you going to eat once this is over?”
Sheppard waved his hand dismissively. “That’s the least of their problems. It’s like Kesun told Ushat. For every person you leave outside the Citadel, that’s one more meal for a Wraith. That’s why Dalera didn’t want anyone farming or settling outside of the protected areas. The people who live in unprotected lands, the ones you call barbarians, endanger everyone, because they become sustenance for the enemy. And it’s for that very reason that you can’t leave them behind. I’m betting that in the days when warriors lived outside the Citadel, the whole purpose of this—” He gently rapped a knuckle against Ushat’s chest armor. “—was designed to prevent a little Wraith snacking on the run. The more people we leave outside for the Wraith to harvest during the night, the more we’re potentially aiding the enemy. That could make a difference when the main assault force hits us at dawn.
“Now.” Sheppard turned to Yann. “I know Gat set up those food storage areas purely for himself and his cronies, but we can still use them. Depending on how long this siege is likely to last, we’ll also need to bring as much fresh food as possible, including livestock, inside the Citadel.”
“We will also need water from the village of Nemst.” Another engineer type pointed to a village sitting on the river northwest of the Citadel.
“Why?” Rodney demanded. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’re surrounded by two perfectly good river channels.”
The man’s fingers moved across the map to the western mountains. “During the spring melt, which is upon us now, the waters rise, bringing with them a sheen of colored rainbow lights. The fish die in great numbers. We cannot drink from the rivers when the lights appear.”
“Rainbow lights?” What the hell was that supposed to indicate?
“It lasts but a short time. The children are fascinated by the colors, but when they look close, they, too, see that the rainbows hide black clouds in the water. Where it rests in the rocks and hollows by the shore, the destitute collect every drop of this blackwater and sell it in the markets. The quality is poor, for the people of Nemst also collect blackwater from the vast pools within Black Hill.”
Yann’s humorless laugh was laced with scorn. “Nemst thrives not because of its iron, but because Gat led us to believe the Chosen demanded blackwater to keep their lights and ovens burning in winter.”
That was the second time someone had mentioned blackwater. Rodney was struck with a flash of comprehension. “Oil!”
“I do not know this word,” said the engineer.
“Nor do I,” Ushat added.
“A black liquid that floats on water and burns when you light it?”
The Dalerans exchanged looks, the animosity between them apparently forgotten. “It is as you describe,” Yann said.
Rodney’s mind was racing ten steps ahead of his ability to articulate his ideas. This answered the question of why most of the fountains he’d seen around the city looked well used, but were currently dry. Once again, Ford decided to contribute the obvious. “The high water level during spring floods must wash over an exposed oilfield.”
“Another astounding observation by the Lieutenant. Give the man a brownie.” Rodney ignored Ford’s indignant expression and turned to the engineer. “Where’s this Black Hill?”
The man’s finger barely moved. “It lies between the Citadel and Nemst.”
There was nothing even vaguely like a scale on the map. Impatiently, Rodney snapped, “Yes, of course it lies between them, otherwise Nemst wouldn’t have untainted water. But how far away? One mile? Ten? A hundred?”
“What does it matter?” Yann shrugged. “A transport will bring us there within moments.”
“So that’s your grand plan?” Ford’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “Pour boiling oil on the Wraith when they storm the battlements ?”
“How stunningly medieval of you.” Rodney began pacing. Rapid thinking was always easier when he was active. So was scoffing at unhelpful teammates. “They teach you that in field training? Of course we’re not going to just pour boiling oil on them. If, on the other hand, we can release enough oil to cover the river—”
Suddenly, Sheppard’s interest was tweaked. “We can set it on fire.”
As soon as the plan was verbalized, a potential roadblock occurred to Rodney. He let out a frustrated bark. “No, no, that’s not good. Assuming this ‘blackwater’ is crude oil, up to half of it would evaporate.”
“So?”
“We’d blanket the entire Citadel with a host of volatiles even more toxic than the polyaromatic hydrocarbons and assorted carcinogenic particulates that would erupt even before we set a match to it. And once ignited, the smoke would make the Citadel and probably the surrounding area completely uninhabitable. The ecological consequences would make the Exxon Valdez incident look like a bottle of spilled ink. I’d probably suffocate. Then you’d have no one to save your over-coiffed ass.”
Sheppard’s eyes narrowed at the concept rather than the jibe. “What about just part of the river?”
Running a hand across his jaw, Rodney examined the map. “What direction does the wind normally blow?”
“From the mountains,” replied Ushat.
“The west,” Rodney affirmed.
“I thought a compass was useless in an EM field?” remarked Ford.
“It’s purely a point of geographical reference.”
Looking at the engineer, Sheppard asked, “What’s the weakest part of the Citadel’s walls?”
The Daleran pointed to the wall on the opposite side of the Citadel, the east. “With enough men, if we work through the night, we could strengthen the fortifications.”
“No, that’s the perfect location,” said Sheppard. “The weaker, the better.”
Teyla frowned. “I do not understand.”
“The Wraith pilot said that the main force was coming at dawn,” explained the Major, his gaze focused on a point far distant. “Since it has to be a ground attack—they won’t risk Darts after the first few crashes—they’d go for the weakest point, preferably with the sun behind them. That’s the eastern side. If we could set fire to just that quadrant of the river, the prevailing westerly winds will drive the smoke directly back over the attacking forces.”
The Dalerans’ enthusiasm for the idea was obvious, and mutters of approval circulated the room.
“The transport in Nemst is close to Black Hill,” said Yann. “For the barrels of blackwater are heavy.”
“We’re going to need considerably more than a few barrels for a sustained blaze,” Rodney warned, trying not to be irritated by the fact that no one seemed to be locking on to the plan. “The entire point of my original question was to establish how long it would take for a large quantity of oil to travel down the length of the channels either side of the Citadel.”
A second engineer slapped Rodney’s back with enough force to herniate several discs. “Of course! An ambitious but achievable strategy. From Black Hill, you can see the river’s divide. The North Channel travels at a fast walking pace—four hours to reach the far end of the Citadel, and rejoin the South Channel.”
Yann scratched a bloody scab on his cheek. “I have seen myself the great pools of blackwater.”
“You have?” Rodney’s head shot up. “How big are they?”
“It is hard to say, for they are underground, but they are not nearly as large as Quickweed Lake.”
“Lake?” Sheppard said. “I didn’t see any lake, black or otherwise, when we flew over. Just farms and meadows.”
“Quickweed Lake lies close to the northeast face of the Citadel,” said Ushat with an understanding nod. “Strange mosses grow across its surface, giving it the appearance of a pasture. When the unwary tread upon its surface, they do not progress far before they begin to sink within a sticky black mud.”
“Mud?”
“It is used in our boats and buildings. Many a farmer’s animal has been lost to Quickweed Lake, and not a few wayfarers, for the ground appears solid until it is too late.”
All but dancing in excitement, Rodney shouted, “Tar pits!” He ignored the Major’s raised eyebrows, and demanded, “Where?”
“Here.” The warrior pointed to a long, inverted C-shaped patch not far from the northern bridge leading into the Citadel. It extended down past the area that would be blanketed in smoke.
“With the prevailing wind, once the river is burning,” Sheppard said, “the Wraith will either fall back the way they came.” His finger pointed east. “Or they’ll be forced to head north—”
“Directly into Quickweed Lake!” Ushat gave an approving nod to Sheppard and Rodney.
“I can’t see them going home hungry,” Ford declared.
Rodney nodded. “On that point we agree, Lieutenant.”
“Which is why we concentrate our forces right here, in this narrow section between the tip of Quickweed Lake and the North Channel.” Sheppard tapped the location on the map.
“You wish us to confront the Wraith outside the Citadel?” Ushat looked at him in horror.
Yann’s expression turned sour, and he took a step toward the other Daleran. “We have been forced to confront them in our homes and our villages, while your warriors remained hiding behind these walls—”
“Okay, okay,” the Major interrupted. “I thought we’d agreed to get past the finger-pointing stage. This is not going to be an unplanned confrontation. Even better, we’ll entice them in that direction by deliberately keeping this side of the Citadel free of the EM fields and leaving the bridge unprotected. They probably won’t risk using their Darts this close to the walls, but they’ll assume they can use their stun weapons to capture people.”
The look in Ushat’s eyes did not exactly reflect boundless enthusiasm.
“Listen,” Sheppard added, making short, firm gestures for emphasis. “The Wraith have absolutely no intention of killing anyone—at least not at the outset. They’re interested only in harvesting live food, preferably in good condition.”
“Still, to go unprotected—”
“Not unprotected. This is where we concentrate all the warriors, and anyone else who can: A, fit into that chest armor; B, wield those nets and bolas your men carry around; and,” he added, glancing around at the Dalerans, “C, take orders. The idea is not to engage in hand-to-hand combat, but to set up a trap. The Wraith will see a bunch of people, presumably villagers, running around trying to get to the undefended bridge near Quickweed Lake. They’ll also see that the EM fields aren’t covering much of the wall, especially in the area of North Bridge.”
Ford was nodding, warming to the plan. “When the Wraith get close enough, we activate an EM field to disable their stun rifles, and then counterattack with nets, driving them either into the flames or the lake.”
“This is a good strategy,” Teyla said, placing a gentle hand on Ushat’s arm. “I will go with you and stand by your side as we fight the Wraith.”
Rodney was watching Ushat’s eyes. The engineers were crowding in behind, pointing to the map and suggesting refinements to the plan. They were buying it. He had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea, even if he did so say himself.
“If we have to withdraw, we retreat to this village.” Sheppard’s fingers moved to a small hamlet about half a mile northwest. “From there we can use a transport to escape back into the Citadel. Then the rest of the North Channel can be set on fire. The winds will still blow most of the smoke away from the Citadel. Again, the Wraith will be unable to see. Hopefully a few more will end up in Quickweed Lake.”
“How can one set an entire river ablaze?” Teyla wondered.
“It’s been done before—not deliberately, but it happened several times to the Cuyahoga River,” Rodney said.
“Then how is it that you intend to contain the blaze to this section, between North Bridge and the eastern end of the Citadel, and not have it spread back up the entire length of North Channel and thence to the river?”
“We can do that with little difficulty,” another engineer said, stepping forward. “The stone bridges that span the channels into the Citadel also have weirs. When blackwater flows in the spring melt, we raise the weirs. This allows only clean water to travel down the channels through submerged tunnels, which can be opened or closed at will.”
“While the oil pools on the surface behind it. Excellent!” Rodney was a little surprised at the engineering skills demonstrated by such an archaic society. Still, he mused, the principles of weirs and canal locks had been used throughout Europe for hundreds, if not thousands of years.
“The system is not perfect,” the engineer continued. “Especially now, at the peak of the spring melt, some blackwater finds its way through. This is why we cut the flow of water to public fountains, and why Nemst must supply us with drinking water at this time of year.”
“I believe we can achieve more,” another man said. “Past the Citadel, where the North and South Channels rejoin, there is a dam. The southwestern bank of the river is a high cliff at this point, while the northeas
tern shore is low. We sometimes force the level of the water to greater heights, flooding the eastern fields, in order to grow certain crops. My men can control the flow so that the fields can be flooded with blackwater, while the freshwater is allowed to drain through the pipes beneath the dam.”
The Dalerans gripped each other’s arms in a fraternal gesture, their murmurs growing stronger and more confident. For the first time, Rodney was certain they’d hit upon a plan that could work. “If the fire jumps upstream, the smoke coming off it will still be driven away from the city.”
“Either way,” Sheppard reasoned, “the Wraith are going to be stumbling around blind. They’ll have to withdraw and regroup in order to attack from another direction, presumably with a number of their comrades doing a good impression of a woolly mammoth.”
“I doubt they would reattack, Major,” said Teyla. “The Wraith are unaccustomed to defeat. Once they see that they will not have such easy access to the Citadel as they assume, I believe they will withdraw entirely. There are other worlds out there whose inhabitants will be easier to cull.”
“If we timed it just right,” he replied with a dark grin, “we could wait until they’re climbing the walls and toast a few.”
Rodney closed his eyes. As if he hadn’t already seen enough trauma-inducing things to last a lifetime. “Thank you, Major. I really needed the image of a greenish marshmallow with bad hair forever etched in my mind.”
“Once again, it was your idea, Rodney. Even if it doesn’t kill them, it’s sure gonna make a mess of their attack plan.”
“Just one question, sir,” Ford began.
“Only one, Lieutenant?”
“How can you be certain you’ll be able to release enough oil?”
One of the engineers fielded the query. “The people of Nemst have had long battles to prevent the blackwater from flowing into the river. Even what little escapes during the spring melt finds its ways to the hands of those who sell it in the market.”
“Which reduces their profit,” said another. “Each year the Nemst engineers shore up the cliffs of Black Hill, praying to Dalera that little will escape. And when it does, the Chosen…” He paused and corrected himself. “Gat and the leaders of the Citadel told us that it was the Chosen who demanded that Nemst deliver fresh water to the city, until the blackwater passes. The villagers of Nemst are embittered by this demand. There has been much talk amongst them of releasing the fortifications that hold the blackwater in place.”
Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis) Page 19