Casualties of War

by Elizabeth Christensen

  Though his discomfort would be apparent to anyone who knew him well, Carson spoke with calm patience. "I've studied the sample we were given and found that the energetic properties of the ore damage the mind. Difficulty with short-term memory is the first symptom, as evidenced by some of our people after only a brief exposure. I believe the long-range impact to be quite serious." He faced Galven. "Minister, you told Dr. Weir that many Nistra suffer from poor health. Are your miners commonly among those afflicted?"

  Gray brows knitted as the older man considered the question. "It is possible," he allowed. "But they ail because they are hungry, not because they are forgetful."

  "I'm afraid it may be a bit more complicated than that, sir," said Carson, his bedside manner on display. "Memory is only the most significant area of influence we've identified; our people also have reported headaches and difficulty thinking clearly. A memory deficit could potentially cause a kind of ripple effect, impacting higher-level function in addition to simple tasks, like eating or washing, that could lead to health concerns."

  "If this were so, we would have realized it." The Nistra leader was understandably skeptical. "We have been mining the adarite for generations."

  "The damage may be partial or limited, and it's likely your people have unconsciously adapted their behavior to compensate over the years. They may also have become inured to the discomfort our people felt upon first exposure. The current generations of your people have spent almost all their lives in the mining territory or near adarite in some manner-they don't know what it would feel like to be free of the effects. You had no way of making the connection. We have sophisticated equipment which diagnoses such hazards." Carson withdrew a printout from his pocket and unfolded it. "These two images represent the brains of two of my people. One was exposed to adarite, while the other was not. Can you see the difference?"

  Both leaders examined the picture, looking unconvinced. Elizabeth couldn't fault them for their resistance to the concept. They had no frame of reference for the data they were seeing and had only the word of some offworlders to demonstrate the danger.

  "The Falnori have not been so afflicted." Cestan put the printout aside. "We are in need, but we have health. You believe that to be a consequence of not working in the mines?"

  "Not entirely. There's an additional wrinkle."

  The doctor paused for a moment before Elizabeth interceded. They'd given enough variations of this speech in the past that she barely had to think about how to tailor it for her current audience. "Governor, the Falnori are descended from the offspring of the Ancients. As such, many of them possess an ability, as you call it, to use Ancient tools. That hereditary ability is marked by a physical trait we call a gene."

  "This gene also appears to make the brain resistant to the effects of adarite," Carson continued. "I'd wager that all your warriors are gene carriers, just due to natural selection. Because of the cognitive effects, those without the gene would never become proficient with an adarite whip."

  The governor's heightened interest came as little surprise. "Should your theory be correct," he said thoughtfully, lacing his fingers together on the table, "it would imply that the Falnori are better suited to handle adarite than the Nistra."

  Galven didn't bother to hide his disdain. "A fortunate possibility indeed for the Falnori."

  "Gentlemen, I see solutions here." Elizabeth could see apprehension stiffening the minister's spine and worried that her proposal would do nothing to lessen it. "A job swap of some type may be feasible. If Falnori gene carriers took over the mining duties, we could improve the overall health of the Nistra dramatically-"

  "And now the true goal is brought to light." Galven's eyes glittered. "You mean to steal our livelihood by whatever means necessary," he accused Cestan. "The raids were not sufficient, so now you conspire with these offworlders to manufacture a reason to take the mines from us.

  "Now wait just a minute," Carson objected. "The damage caused by adarite exposure is very real. I could demonstrate it for you if I wanted to risk the neurological fitness of everyone present. Since I'm not willing to do that, I'd ask that you let me examine some of your miners to provide evidence."

  "I should trust you?"

  "Yes, you should." Elizabeth leaned forward. "What would we have to gain from feeding you a lie? Even if the adarite was harmless and my people could use it, we have no reason to favor trade with the Falnori over trade with the Nistra."

  "The absence of an obvious reason does not mean there is no possible reason," remarked Galven, sitting back in his chair with an air of tranquility that was plainly false.

  "We can help you re-center your economy," she persisted. "You don't have to be slaves to this ore-any of you. It's been the source of far too much conflict over the centuries, and it will continue to poison your relations with each other for as long as you let it."

  "Don't be foolish, Galven." Cestan's expression, receptive only moments earlier, was beginning to close down. "You stand in the path of progress."

  "I stand for the rights of all Nistra. And I will stand in your path should you attempt to take the mines by force."

  Damn. Until this point there had been no overt mention of violence. Elizabeth had hoped to avoid it for a while longer. "No one is suggesting the use of force here," she tried, but the Falnori leader quickly ran over her attempt at pacification.

  "Neither am I ruling it out. My people will no longer remain idle as our places of honor are defiled and our allies attacked."

  "Save the propaganda for your war-hungry public. Perhaps it will comfort them when their children march off to enact an invasion."

  Human interaction was the same irrespective of galaxy, it seemed. Elizabeth had recognized the gradual shift in the leaders' posturing, from outrage to resolve, even as it occurred. For all her training, so far she'd been helpless to sway them from their intractable anger. There could be little doubt now that armies were being readied, and she had no idea what would happen if the two sides met on a battlefield.

  By nightfall, the hunting party had amassed a considerable bounty. More than any previous hunt had accomplished, if Dantir's triumphant chatter was to be believed. Ronon's tracking abilities were razor-sharp from years of necessity, but he had to admit that these hunters were skilled as well. Each time someone located a paledon, he or she would give a silent signal: right arm extended straight ahead, then bent to tap the forehead. If the animal was in a group, bows and spears were put to use; if alone, Ronon's gun became the weapon of choice, as its effect was louder yet cleaner.

  The efficient strategy had netted them almost twenty paledon, which seemed to be as many as ten people could carry. Once they had reached their load capacity, Ilar had directed them to make camp in the foothills of the nearby mountains and transport their game to the village in the morning.

  Dantir proved to be adept at building fires, and a circle formed to share a meal and trade tales. The stories felt more fanciful than historical, similar to the fairy tales sometimes referenced by the Earth team. The hunters' earlier suspicion had given way to frank curiosity and openness. Ronon devoured a chunk of tough meat and listened to Teyla recount a legend from her youth, a fable about a young man who showed kindness to an old woman and received great wisdom in return.

  He continued to sit near the dying flames after most of the hunters had found places to bed down. Watching the tendrils of smoke weave through the canopy of trees, he tried to remember when he'd started to relax around these people. Trust didn't come naturally to him, at least not anymore; there had been instances in the past of easilywon faith causing harm, either to him or to those he had trusted. It had taken great effort to make himself feel comfortable on Atlantis, let alone consider it his home. Yet, in the span of mere hours on this planet, he'd accepted a place among the hunters, maybe because they'd been so willing to accept him.

  Finding a way to use the gate was tomorrow's matter. Tonight they had the bond of a hunting circle.

 
Ilar sat down beside him, having returned from inspecting the results of the day's hunt. "We are in your debt," she told him warmly. "Your weapon results in a neat kill. Good skins are always in demand for clothing, especially before winter."

  "Seems like the least we could do, since you let us join your group." Ronon glanced behind her to where Dantir had finally surrendered to sleep.

  Ilar's smile grew fond as she followed his gaze to her son. "All we know of other worlds comes from stories such as the ones told tonight. You must forgive his eagerness. He has never seen anyone like you."

  "It doesn't bother me."And it didn't. "You really didn't know what the ring was for? No one's ever come through it before?"

  She tucked her legs up underneath her and folded her hands in her lap. "As I said, we do not have many records. If other visitors have come, their stories have been lost."

  "What about the raiders-the marauders?" Although he could see her face darken even in the flickering light, he pushed onward. "They came through when we did. For all you know, they may use it all the time."

  The hunter hesitated. "We may not be speaking of the same marauders. The rogues who rob our villages come from distant lands on this world. They believe themselves the children of the Ancestors, superior to us and possessed of the right to do whatever they please. We fight them on the occasions when we discover them in the act, but they rarely make the same mistake twice." Her contempt was evident as she prodded the fire with more force than necessary. "The Wraith take lives, and the marauders try to take everything else."

  Watching her, Ronon attempted to reconcile the conflict inherent in what little he knew of her people. "You didn't have to trust us," he said. "In your place, I wouldn't have trusted us."

  Ilar turned to face him, her features sharpened by the flames. "Our lives are not easy," she replied. "We are aware of this, but we cannot let it shape us or sway our choices. Simple though we may be, we cling to our honor."

  He admired her viewpoint, and wasn't sure how to say so. "I can tell."

  With another smile, she reached for a folded blanket at the end of her bedroll. "A spare, brought in case Dantir found a way to ruin his. Since he did not, you should take 1t.

  "Thanks. I'll give it to my friend-she could use it more than I could." It occurred to him that Teyla had not lingered near the fire, and he twisted around to scan the area. Locating her, a solitary figure standing next to a massive tree trunk and staring off into the distance, he climbed to his feet. "Excuse me."

  By the time he approached, Teyla had summoned a serene expression. Their hosts might have believed it. Ronon didn't. "You all right?"

  "Of course. Weary from the hunt, perhaps." Her fingers brushed across her temple before she accepted the blanket he held out to her. "Thank you."

  "Thank Ilar."

  Teyla nodded. "These are good people. We were fortunate to find them."

  "Yeah, we were." He folded his arms. "So why are you over here while they're over there?"

  She returned her gaze to the forest and the mountains beyond. "They are good people," she continued quietly, "who know nothing of the Stargate."

  The implication was clear. "You're afraid no one on this planet will be able to help us, and we'll be stuck here."

  Her eyes flicked to him. "And you are not?"

  "I am." Not in the same way, though. That much he could tell just by watching her.

  Seeming to understand his unspoken question, she said, "I have never faced such a separation from my people before. There have been times when death appeared likely, of course, but...I truly fear a lifetime spent without them." She held the blanket tight to her chest, looking deeply troubled. "For Athosians, home is defined more by personal bonds than by location. We survived the cullings of our world and the challenges of coming to Lantea because we depended on each other. Even though I now live apart from my people for much of the time, I continue to draw strength from them. The possibility that Athosians will be born, and die, and I will not even know... The loss is unimaginable."

  He could think of nothing to say. His experiences had been so vastly different. After a moment, Teyla must have realized that, because she dropped her gaze to the ground in obvious contrition. "Ronon, forgive me. I didn't mean to suggest that this would be easier for you because you were alone for so long."

  "I know. But it probably would be." In truth, he envied her, just as he envied the Earth-born Atlanteans, who often took for granted how lucky they were simply to be together. He suspected that Teyla, having lived her life under the shadow of the Wraith, understood him better than anyone.

  "It's not going to matter, anyway," he said, out of impulse more than confidence. He wasn't at all used to giving comfort. Still, he reached out and closed a hand around her shoulder, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. "We'll find a dialing device, or Sheppard and McKay will find us. Don't give up yet."

  She managed a small, tolerant smile. "I have not."

  Of course she hadn't, and in hindsight he felt a bit embarrassed for implying it. Fatigue was beginning to weigh him down, though, so he just squeezed her shoulder and tipped his head toward the last glowing embers of the fire. Acquiescing, she selected a flat piece of unoccupied ground and unfolded the blanket. He found his own space not far away and settled in for the night.

  At first light, Ronon found himself less rested than he would have liked. He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking to clear both his vision and his scattered thoughts. It took a moment for him to recall his surroundings and the events that had led him there, and he grimaced. Sleeping outside had been a common occurrence not so long ago. A year on Atlantis had made him soft.

  Dantir instantly appeared in front of him, somehow looking worn-out and enthusiastic at the same time. "If we set out soon, we will be home well before supper," he urged. "Will you show my friends how you hide the blades in your hair? They will not believe it if I tell them. We could even win a wager on it."

  Tired or not, Ronon had to grin at the young man. As he started to respond, a blast sliced through the still morning air.

  Instinctively, he threw himself flat. Before he could draw his gun, Dantir was sprawled limply on the ground, and bolts of energy rained down on the hunting party.

  "Marauders!" someone hissed. Dantir didn't move. Surging with fury, Ronon tracked the source of the shots, forced to squint into the dawn light, and aimed his weapon at the silhouettes crouched near a tree. He took down only two before a blast caught him in the back.

  As a gray veil smothered his senses, he spared some anger for himself, for letting down his guard.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  othing ever failed quietly on Atlantis. Radek Zelenka had come to this conclusion quite early in the expedition. Inevitably, experiments went one of three ways: brilliant success, marginal success, or catastrophe.

  Rodney's head poked out from behind the lab bench, and he peered with suspicion at the still-sparking components of what might have been a small-scale Ancient weapon utilizing extreme heat. Alternatively, it might have been a curling iron. For all they knew, it might have been a waffle iron. "Right," he said brusquely. "Anybody missing any limbs? No? Moving on, then, to a rapid explanation of what the hell just happened."

  Radek fixed a murderous glare on Kendall. At almost the same moment, Miko murmured something behind her hand that sounded like `miscalculation.'

  "Hold on!" Kendall protested. "You're already pinning this on me? What about-"

  "Save it." Rodney cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Exactly how bad are we talking here?"

  "Do you measure `bad' in wasted effort or broken equipment?" Radek grumbled.

  "Never mind. As much as I appreciate being asked to witness this delightful fiasco, I'm going back to some productive research. Call me when you fix your theories and/or your test rig."

  Atlantis's chief of science stalked out of the lab, leaving the others to survey the damage. Radek sighed and opened a tool drawer. The heat emanating from the unident
ified gadget had warped the test stand's casing, and he'd need to clamp the entire apparatus in order to work it back into place.

  The directed energy team had been eager to begin studies of the adarite sample, developing numerous potential experiments in the span of a single day. When adarite investigation as a whole had proved unwise, the scientists had quickly turned to other pursuits. Each of them had experienced research setbacks in the past. They were professionals, and they would not spend time licking their wounds.

  Kendall had proposed a battery of tests on a cylindrical object they'd once located in one of the city's storage areas. Not understanding its purpose, they'd initially put it aside, but Kendall believed that it might operate on a similar principle to the adarite whips. It appeared that he'd been approximately half correct. Immense heat, yes; easily directed, no.

  While the dejected engineer downloaded the data from the failed test, Miko drifted back to her own workstation. Her spare time had been devoted to scouring the Ancient database. There were extensive records on the battle for P7L-418, containing multiple subcategories beyond the main files that had previously been translated, and Miko had expressed to Radek a belief that some further information about the research conducted on that planet must be contained within.

  No one seemed willing to believe that such an efficient power source could be completely unavailable to them. Too much was at stake. If not adarite specifically, then some aspect of the Ancients' weapons technology ought to provide them at least a head start.

  "Message from Linguistics," Miko announced, raising her voice just enough to carry across the lab. It was entirely possible that the Japanese scientist did not in fact know how to shout. "Salazar made a refinement to the database translation program."

  Radek kept his focus on the C-clamp he'd been cranking into position. Tweaks to their Ancient translation algorithm weren't uncommon. There were limits to what a computer program could do, and Ancient, like most languages, had numerous subtleties and logical exceptions. "Did he provide a software patch?"