Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis)

by Whitelaw, Sonny

  “Are you complaining? It just saved your life.” Turning to the men supporting his commander’s weight, Ford froze. “Oh, damn it!”

  “Not the turn of phrase I would have used, Lieutenant, but—”

  “Can it, doc! The Major’s not breathing.”

  The transport doors folded open as McKay jerked toward him in shock. “And you’ve only just now noticed this?” he yelled. “What the hell kind of medical training did they give you?”

  “Battlefield triage!” the Marine shouted back. “This look like any battlefield you’ve ever seen?”

  Understanding that McKay’s reaction was born of panic rather than true anger, Teyla used a gentle hand to pull him out of the way of the others. The two Daleran men lifted Sheppard’s body out of the transport and laid him on the floor of the Sanctuary Hall. Ford crouched down to check the Major’s pulse. “Still steady,” he reported, studying the man’s color, which even Teyla could see was unhealthy under the smears of black on his face. “His airway’s blocked by tar—who knows how much he inhaled when he fell. We have to either clear it or—”

  His hesitation told her that he didn’t like the alternative. “Or what?” McKay demanded. “Did that battlefield medical training include instructions on performing a tracheotomy?”

  “Yeah, it did, but it’s not like I’ve actually done one!” Ford’s voice rose in volume as he repeatedly clenched and unclenched a fist. “If I have to do it, we should get him to the Command Center first. I left most of our medical supplies there, including the instruments that I need to make the incision.”

  McKay flinched at the word ‘incision’ but charged ahead. “Forget about the ‘ifs’ and make a decision, Lieutenant, because as we stand here and debate, the Major is losing brain cells and he is dying. I know he’s been there before, but this time it’ll stick.”

  With a flash of resolve that seemed motivated by both irritation and fear, Ford turned his back on McKay and reached down to tilt Sheppard’s head back. “I think the tar’s hardened into a solid piece blocking both his nose and mouth. Teyla, if I can get this stuff off, be ready to start breathing for him.”

  Remembering the resuscitation techniques that Dr Beckett had taught her, she nodded once and knelt by the Major’s head. Ford grasped the thick black gunk and ripped it free, exposing abraded skin and lips with an alarmingly blue tint. Teyla bent forward and breathed into her friend’s still form.

  Upon the second breath, Sheppard gave a choking gasp, and she and Ford rolled him onto his side to expel some lingering oil. The gagging subsided, but he did not fully wake.

  As relief washed over her, Teyla heard one of the children cry out, and she shot to her feet—only to see their bugler pierced by the blade of a rebel assailant. Another man who had been with them since before Quickweed Lake was quickly felled, and a gang of nine soon surrounded their group. The one she presumed was their leader held a long knife at the struggling child’s neck.

  She burned, both with fury toward those responsible and with rage toward herself for being unable to protect the others. The bugler had stayed faithfully beside them for so long, unarmed throughout much of this madness, and in letting their guard down, they had failed him.

  The gang’s intent was clear as they bound her wrists and did likewise to Ford, McKay and Yann. They looked her up and down, openly appraising. Their leers did not frighten her. With or without the use of her hands she would quite swiftly take away their ability to procreate. Glancing around, she noticed that several of the children, including Peryn, had slipped away into the murky darkness of the Sanctuary Hall. They at least would be safe for a time.

  A muted groan from the floor signaled the beginnings of Major Sheppard’s return to consciousness. As pleased as she was to hear it, the timing was unfortunate. One of the gang delivered a merciless kick to the side of his head, and her teammate went limp again.

  Under his breath, Ford uttered a word Teyla suspected was a particularly foul epithet. “Oh, that’s what he needed to round out his day,” McKay muttered.

  “What purpose do your actions serve?” Yann demanded of the gang’s leader. “We all battle the Wraith now. Kill us and there will be fewer left to stand against them!”

  “We don’t plan to kill all of you.” The leader, a man whose brutish demeanor reminded Teyla of Balzar, turned a knowing sneer on her. “Only the ones we have no use for.” He all but slung the whimpering child aside, and she landed in a sprawled heap at Dr McKay’s feet.

  “This one is known to me.” Another rebel spoke up, giving Yann a hard jab in the shoulder. “You are the one who became Chosen. These are the visitors who bring the genetherapy!”

  “We reject the name Chosen,” Yann said, defiant. “We are Genes.”

  His protest was lost amid a sudden flurry of arguments between gang members. Clearly they wanted to be a part of this new elite, the Genes, but none agreed on how to achieve that aim.

  “You can provide this genetherapy.” The leader stopped in front of McKay, assessing him. “We have no need of the others.”

  “I’d rethink that if I were you.” McKay stood rigidly straight, his features conveying an odd mix of apprehension and exasperation. “The only person who can administer the genetherapy is this man here—” He indicated Ford with a jerk of his chin. “—and the only person who can get it for you is the one you just brain-damaged.”

  Unmoved, the leader stepped back over Sheppard’s sprawled body, apparently to position himself for a wider swing, and raised the long handle of his axe. Smirking at McKay, he adjusted his grip on the weapon. “So you are not needed after all?”

  Eyes widening in alarm, McKay’s gaze followed the motion of the axe, but his voice was more impatient than fearful as he replied, “Oh, for crying out loud, would you just slow down for one damn—”

  A pack of children appeared from within the darkest recesses of the hall, shrieking, “The Wraith come! We beg your protection !”

  Teyla recognized the children, and the look in their eyes. She’d seen that same contrived expression of terror when they had enticed the Wraith into Quickweed Lake.

  The thugs hesitated, their glances darting back and forth between the deepening shadows of the Sanctuary Hall. “They hide in the darkness,” one girl whimpered, clutching at the first meaty hand within reach.

  It was a masterful ploy, Teyla acknowledged. The sunlight was growing fainter in the windows, and the smoke still hung in the air, creating many potential places for danger to lurk unseen. But although she trusted the children, she was not assured that their cries might not have some truth to them.

  A piercing scream broke the tension, as a Wraith arm sprang out of the shadows and snatched one of the children out of sight. The scream became a horrific plea for mercy that quickly faded into the oily blackness.

  That was enough to convince the thugs, who fled the Hall with frantic shouts. “And now you’ve changed your minds yet again?” McKay yelled over them, his voice pitched high. He jumped when a figure emerged from the shadow where the child had disappeared. “Holy—”

  The figure coalesced into Peryn, the taken child perched on his shoulders. Both grubby faces were lit by victorious grins, and the smaller child held a lifeless Wraith arm like a prize.

  Yann gave a throaty chuckle. “Well done!” he congratulated the children, who scampered out of the darkness to help free the adults.

  Her bonds untied, Teyla offered an approving smile, admiring the skills garnered by the young of this world. She could not mask her amusement at Dr McKay’s face as he slumped in sheer relief. The girl who’d been thrown to the floor now patted his hand reassuringly.

  The moment of levity passed, and Teyla joined Ford at the Major’s side.

  “Still breathing okay,” Ford judged. “But that second blow to the head couldn’t have done him any good. We should get him back to the Command Center.”

  Yann bent to lift the unconscious man again, and this time McKay stepped in to assist. Te
yla enlisted the children to help her collect their packs and weapons, and they made their way outside to the road. Her eyes were constantly in motion. They had been ambushed once. She would not allow such a thing to occur a second time.

  On the road, they passed groups of people clustered together, protecting themselves as best they could. The illumination provided by the flames from the burning North Channel was only minimal, and the oily smoke further hampered their vision. There were few warriors in evidence until they were almost to the base of the Command Center Station, where a large number of Dalerans were concentrated. From within the throng, the two warriors who had become Teyla’s personal guards noticed the group’s approach and hurried toward her.

  “Thank Dalera,” one greeted. “We believed you to be lost when we became separated.”

  “I am pleased to see you well,” Teyla replied.

  One of the men looked over her shoulder. “Where is Ushat?”

  Teyla felt the pain of loss anew. She held the man’s eyes and said, “Ushat fell bravely, as a true warrior of Dalera.”

  His eyes showed his grief, but he lifted his chin and nodded once.

  “We have much to do still. Can you organize the other warriors? They are needed to protect the refugees entering the Sanctuary Hall. Now that night falls and the transports are no longer necessary to evacuate outlying villages, we should move as many people as possible inside for their security.”

  “What of the Wraith? Have they not fallen back from the Northern Wall?” the other asked, pointing in the direction of the flames. “We lowered the weir as ordered. The entire Northern Channel is now ablaze.”

  “You have done very well,” she assured them.

  McKay, however, was less gracious. “In an ideal world, sure, but I think we’ve demonstrated conclusively that this is anything but. What’s to stop the Wraith from changing gears and attacking from the south?”

  While it was normal for the Wraith to attack with ferocity, Teyla had never before heard of them continuing a cull in the face of such resistance. Reluctantly conceding Dr McKay’s point, she said, “Your people are not yet safe. Go now and protect them.”

  The warriors exchanged a glance, then thumped their breastplates in acknowledgement and departed.

  “Would it have been too much to ask that they help out a little before dashing off?” McKay grumbled, struggling to stay upright as he and Yann muscled Sheppard up the steps.

  At the first landing, they were met by Lisera, who had rushed down from the upper level with as much haste as her leg would allow. “Yann!” Flying past Ford, she clung to the young merchant’s arm. “I feared you dead.” The girl pulled Yann forward, leaving the majority of Sheppard’s weight to fall on McKay. The scientist yelped a warning, and Ford moved immediately to to his aid, sparing a bewildered glance for Lisera’s sudden change in affections.

  Rather than express gratitude for the assistance, McKay commented, “Lost your admirer, did you?”

  The Lieutenant smirked. “At least I had one.”

  There was an empty bed in the corner of the first level, onto which they maneuvered the Major. Yann sent one of the children off to find a healer. Teyla was deeply concerned to see no sign of awareness from her team leader. They had need of his guidance, and she found his stillness troubling.

  “I wish I could tell how serious his concussion is.” Ford made an abortive attempt at pacing beside the bed. “He needs Beckett and Atlantis, not this.”

  “And how do you suggest we accomplish that?” McKay snapped, carefully rearranging the chain of Shields around his belt. “Considering he’s the only one who can actually fly the jumper in space?”

  “You were awfully hot to prove you could fly it when we came in.”

  But as it was apparent to all that since there was no way to reach the jumper, the debate was meaningless.

  Through cracked and smoke-clouded windowpanes, Teyla could see that darkness had now completely fallen on the city. In the distance, beyond the walls of the Citadel, she imagined that she could see the glow of flames. The Wraith appeared to be setting the abandoned villages and the fields ablaze. As on other planets, here, too, the Wraith were determined to ensure that any humans who survived their culling were robbed of even a modest ability to restore their world.

  With nightfall had come an uneasy quiet. Inside the room they occupied, warriors and the city’s engineers continued to discuss strategies in low tones, allowing the soft moans of the wounded and the whispered reassurances of their caregivers to be heard. It was a scene that the Athosian had never witnessed before. In her experience, battles with the Wraith were swift and decisive. This strange state that was neither victory nor defeat was most unusual. Though it was better than constant terror, Teyla found herself hoping that it would not last long.

  Rodney snapped out of his light doze when someone rushed in, calling a halt to the few moments of rest they’d managed to grab. Typical.

  “I bring news,” called the warrior, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Where is the one called Major Sheppard?”

  “Indisposed, unfortunately.” Rodney stood from his singularly uncomfortable seat on a wooden chest by the door. All the halfway decent chairs had been taken upstairs, where most of the wounded were. “Why? What’s gone wrong now?”

  “Before night fell, the Wraith could be seen massing in the forest on the far side of South Channel,” the man announced, catching his breath.

  “Just as they did before their initial attack on the East Wall.” Teyla’s puzzlement was evident. Rodney shared it.

  From a purely theoretical point of view, he had understood that the Wraith might regroup and attack from the south. Fortunately, he’d had the foresight to leave the oil in the South Channel in the first place. Still—“That makes no sense. They’ve seen the oil. They have to realize we’ll light it. What the hell are they planning?” It was a rhetorical question, and the others treated it as such, but he would have appreciated an answer. It was all very well for him to come up with his standard brilliant solution, but that solution was predicated on comprehending the problem first. And with no clear idea of the Wraith’s plan, there was no way to predict what that problem would be. Think, damn it.

  A glance toward the bed told him that Sheppard’s condition was unchanged. In a brief departure from rational thought, Rodney felt a flicker of envy toward his teammate. What he wouldn’t give for just a few minutes of actual sleep. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all your help here,” he told the Major under his breath.

  “We need intel on their movements,” Ford said, moving out of Lisera’s way as she stepped in to remove Sheppard’s oil-slicked boots. “We’re blind without it. And the only way to acquire that is to transport into the nearest village, take a look around, and report back.”

  Teyla nodded. “I agree.”

  “How nice for you.” Rodney squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back a burgeoning tension headache. “Has it occurred to you that the Wraith have almost certainly figured out the trick with the Shields by now? If I were them, and I was amassing an assault force, I’d immediately put a guard on the village transports to pick off the first Gene who sticks his head out.”

  “So we’ll take a bunch of warriors, transport into one of the villages further out, and walk in.”

  “And how many is ‘a bunch’ when you have no idea of the size of the opposing force?”

  “Which brings us back to why we need the intel!” Ford stalked across the room, visibly frustrated. “Staying back here out of their reach might seem safer, McKay, but if we don’t do something, pretty soon there won’t be any place out of their reach.”

  “You are missing my point!” Rodney bristled at the Lieutenant’s insinuation. His instincts toward self-preservation were unmatched, but this was about common sense and staying alive long enough to accomplish something of value. “They could cross the river and build up their forces and equipment to scale the wall under the cover of darkness. We need to igni
te the oil that’s already there. And sooner is preferable to later.”

  Both Teyla and Ford turned inquisitive glances toward him. “When did you start looking at the tactical big picture?” the Lieutenant wanted to know.

  “When our resident field commander went down for the count and left us in a thoroughly untenable situation. Do your best to keep up.” A bothersome side effect of looking at the big picture was that Rodney immediately saw the big obstacle as well. He was reasonably certain that there was an insufficient volume of oil in the South Channel to maintain the sustained conflagration that appeared necessary to dissuade the Wraith. That left only one solution. “We’ll also have to adjust the boom to increase the flow of oil.”

  “Won’t that allow the fire to jump upstream?” Yann asked, obviously nervous about the prospect.

  Behind him, some of the children ducked closer, drawn in by the conversation. Lisera made a vain attempt to guide them away, which only added to Rodney’s increasing exasperation. He needed to pace without these small hindrances cluttering up the floor. “If anything, reducing the oil flow in North Channel will reduce the risk of the flames jumping past the West Bridge and igniting Black Hill.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Ford wiped sweaty, oil-streaked hands on his pants. “Lighting that first quadrant was one thing; it’s contained by the raised weirs and bridges. But if we do this in the South Channel and the Wraith react the same way they did the first time, by diverting west—”

  “I’m aware of the ramifications,” Rodney snapped.

  “There won’t be anything to stop the fire from spreading all the way to Black Hill,” Ford persisted. “The smoke will cover the entire Citadel.”

  “Don’t stop there, Lieutenant. If you’re going to insist on stating the obvious, go all the way with it.” The difference between himself and most people, Rodney reasoned, was that his own imagination was limitless to a fault. “Should we be unable to control the spread of the fire, with an oil source this rich, the resulting underground blaze could last for years, if not centuries. Fumes and smoke would make the Citadel and probably the surrounding area completely uninhabitable. It’s a worst-case scenario. I’ll state that on the record. Now you tell me what other choice we have.”