Casualties of War

by Elizabeth Christensen

  "Heads up," called Sheppard, abruptly dropping the jumper's nose as a piece of unidentifiable metal sailed past. It continued on its path until impacting another Dart, altering the course of both objects.

  Radek shook his head, amazed. In a way, it looked almost as if the battle of so many centuries ago had never ended.

  "So the black box specified an orbit for the station, right?" Sheppard verified. "You're not just guessing at a distance above the planet?"

  "We recovered a specific orbital height from the emergency procedures, yes." Although Rodney's reply sounded calm and characteristically pedantic, his fingers were wrapped tightly around the armrests. "Unfortunately, as you may have noticed, everything up here is quite effectively demonstrating Newton's laws of motion. Any of this junk could have gotten knocked into the station segment and affected its position sometime in the last ten thousand years. Just get us into orbit and I'll find it on the sensors."

  More than once Radek had had cause to appreciate the Ancients' style of computer design. Their technology was highly compatible; it nearly always recognized its own. As long as there was at least a minimal level of power left in the station, it would emit a signal that would light up on the jumper's sensors.

  The Colonel navigated smoothly through an array of Darts. Radek had never quite gotten used to seeing things tilt outside the jumper without feeling an associated physiological shift.

  "This is a damned minefield," Rodney muttered, ducking his head to study the sensor screen.

  "Relax, Rodney," Sheppard advised. "I'd rather fly through this than dodge rocket-propelled grenades. And, unlike any of my rides on Earth, the jumper has a shield."

  "Up until we have to dock with the station, sure. At that point, we'll have to shut the shield down, and the whole contraption will be little more than a glorified tin can."

  "Let's wait and worry about that if and when we have to, all right?"

  As it happened, they didn't have to wait long before Rodney's concern moved from the theoretical to the practical. "Got something," he reported. "Turn right thirty degrees."

  Sheppard complied, bringing into view an industriallooking construct in an orbit slightly higher than the jumper's. "I take it that's what we're looking for?"

  "That's it."

  The station, thankfully, appeared to have sustained little damage in the millennia following the battle. There were some dents, and one side bore the telltale scorch marks left by a laser cannon, but the jumper dock was unharmed. God only knew how, since there were plenty of stray engine pods and bits of Dart nacelles drifting nearby.

  Radek pretended not to notice the Wraith cruiser looming behind the station. Lifeless or not, it was an unsettling sight.

  "May I suggest leaving the shield in place until the last possible moment?" asked Rodney, eying the debris surrounding them.

  "Can do." Sheppard turned the jumper cleanly and used the HUD to keep track of their alignment. When only inches separated the back hatch from the dock, he slid his hand across the control panel, and the shield blinked out of existence. A not-quite-gentle thud reverberated through the craft, followed by the whisper of an airlock sealing shut. The Colonel twisted in his seat to face his passengers. "Over to you, guys."

  Radek leaned over to examine the screen that reported outside conditions. "The interior of the station is not pressurized," he read. "We will have to wear the suits."

  One corner of Sheppard's mouth quirked upward. "Stylin'."

  Half an hour, four bruised shins, and two dozen multilingual curses later, the trio was sufficiently outfitted. Spacious though the jumper's interior was, it had not been designed to accommodate the expedition's bulky spacesuits-or the clumsy flailing of three people attempting to climb into said suits.

  "Maybe the Ancients had a more compact version," theorized Rodney, huffing a little as he tightened the seal around his boot.

  Sheppard reached toward his earpiece and made an irritated noise when he inadvertently smacked his glove against his helmet. "The less time we have to spend in these, the better. Let's move out."

  Upon lowering the hatch, Radek found himself buoyed, and he couldn't repress a small yelp of surprise. Zero gravity was certainly a new experience. Almost immediately, however, a panel on the wall of the dock flashed, and a hiss could be heard even through their helmets. His boots sank back toward the deck, and he bounced lightly.

  Reacting quickly, Rodney used the wall of the jumper to push off, propelling himself toward the panel. "The station must have sensed our arrival. It's trying to restore pressure and oxygen for us."

  "Hospitable," remarked the Colonel, keeping one hand on each of the tool cases they'd brought along as they settled back to the floor. "Why do I get the feeling it's not exactly working?"

  Radek swallowed hard. The rapid sensations of rising and falling hadn't done much for his equilibrium. A shudder ran through the station, muted because of the lack of gravity. He grabbed onto the edge of the jumper nonetheless.

  "Because there isn't enough power," Rodney replied, still studying the panel. The combination of the radio and helmet gave his voice a nasal overtone. "If I'm reading this correctly, the station's got about two percent of its reserve left, and apparently it just tried to draw more than that for the environmental system. That little jolt may have been a bit like our attempt at operating the transporter in the Hall-the equivalent of blowing a fuse."

  "Now you're okay with simplified explanations. So we're going to be bouncing around in half a G the whole time we're here?" Sheppard asked.

  "It's all we've got, Colonel. Take it or leave it."

  "I'll take it. As you're always reminding me, your equipment's heavy."

  The cases were indeed pleasantly easy to move in the semi-gravity environment. Radek carried one down the sterile gray corridor, acclimatizing himself to the added spring in his step. The repeating geometric pattern on the walls looked to be more decorative than descriptive, so they relied on the map they had recovered from the black box. Rodney called it up on his datapad and held it out in front of him while he led them through the winding corridors. A left, another left, then a right. Through it all their surroundings never seemed to change.

  "Sometimes," Sheppard commented as they walked, "I wonder if the Ancients are playing a practical joke on us, what with all the weird crap we get into. Then we end up in a rat maze like this, and I know they're screwing with us."

  Radek found that viewpoint difficult to dispute.

  "The control room for this segment is just up here," Rodney said brusquely, lengthening his already bounding stride to reach an access ladder. Rather than beginning to climb, he stood at the foot of the ladder and waited for Sheppard to bring up the rear. "Why don't you go up first, and we'll hand the tool cases up to you?"

  It was hard to tell through the helmets, but Radek suspected the Colonel was watching his teammate with mock surprise. "Don't tell me you're creeped out by the ghost station, Rodney."

  "Nice work, Colonel Horror-Movie Cliche. You're just asking for a mummified Ancient to fall out of a broom closet on you. Climb, will you?"

  Dutifully, Sheppard climbed, his oversized boots fumbling slightly on the rungs, and opened the hatch above him. Radek held both tool cases and handed one at a time up through the gap. His own climb was even less graceful. At last Sheppard reached down and hauled him up by his arms, resulting in a slow-motion tumble to the deck on the higher level.

  Radek's head banged against the inside of his helmet. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself upright. The control room resembled a ship's bridge, with a long window dominating one side. The adjoining wall consisted of a huge docking port: an oversized, sealed-off version of the one they'd used for the jumper. This had to be the junction point for the missing gate segment of the station. Had he been present ten thousand years ago, he would have seen a Stargate standing here instead of a bulkhead.

  "Aha." Sheppard approached a familiar-looking console in the center of the room. "Come on,
Rodney, shake a leg," he urged. "Looks like the dialing computer's going to have to come out of here in pieces."

  Another console had caught Radek's attention, glowing with a single line of text in red. He had yet to encounter a form of technology where red did not mean something undesirable. "Rodney!"

  "Keep your pressurized pants on," Rodney grumbled, hoisting himself up onto the deck.

  "You must translate this." Radek tugged him over to the console almost before he'd gained his footing.

  After only a moment, Rodney paled behind his transparent visor. "It's a proximity alarm. We must be close to some of the wreckage."

  "No kidding."

  That statement of dismayed awe came from Sheppard, who stood stock-still at the window. Both Radek and Rodney crossed the room to join him-and Radek felt his stomach lurch in a manner that had nothing to do with the reduced gravity.

  The Wraith cruiser he had seen earlier from a distance was no longer quite so distant. Situated below them from this angle, it grew slowly but steadily in the window.

  "Are we that unlucky?" the Colonel asked bleakly. "These things have been up here for ten thousand years, and they choose today to collide?"

  "We must have exerted enough force when we docked to alter the orbit," Rodney breathed, hurrying back over to the console with a demented pseudo-skipping gait. "Even if the station has some kind of a stabilizing system, there can't be enough power left to run it. Objects in motion will continue that motion until acted upon by an outside force, remember?"

  Sheppard's expression turned dark. "That Newton was a real son of a bitch."

  "How long until impact?" Radek asked.

  Rodney checked the readout. "Assuming we don't cause any further alterations to the orbit-eighty-one minutes."

  "Okay, it took us about fifteen to get here from the jumper. Give it a little cushion because we'll be carrying a whole bunch of parts..." Chewing on his lower lip, Sheppard looked at the scientists. "Let's see how much of the dialer we can disassemble in fifty minutes."

  Radek closed his eyes. It was confirmed: he worked with madmen. Murmuring a short prayer, he opened one of the tool cases and slapped a screwdriver into the Colonel's glove. "Three will accomplish more than two. Just do not touch anything unless or until you are told."

  Teyla went quickly to the gate-room as soon as she heard the activation announcement. When she arrived, Ronon was already there, watching the Marines file out of the event horizon. To her surprise, Carson was the last to emerge before the gate shut down.

  Ronon's gaze sharpened. "Where's Dr. Weir?"

  "She and Major Lorne stayed behind. I'm meant to send Sekal back with the Marines to aid in proving the Cadre's existence to the Falnori and Nistra leaders." The doctor spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I can't imagine how Dr. Weir thinks she can avoid a war at this point. ANistra group came in and took control of the gate not long ago."

  "ANistra group?"

  "Aye, working for Minister Galven. He called them hunters-said they'd allow him to negotiate from a position of strength." Carson sighed. "If you call that negotiation."

  Exchanging a look with Ronon, Teyla saw her concern reflected in his eyes. Since the miners' greater exposure to adarite weakened them, it made sense that hunters would compose the majority of the Nistra force. And that meant... "Ilar," she said quietly.

  Ronon's response was grim. "And Dantir."

  A silent understanding reached, they moved as one toward the main-level doors and the weapons lockers just beyond. "Wait a minute," protested Carson, trailing behind them. "What do you two think you're doing? Where's Colonel Sheppard?"

  "He took McKay and Zelenka to the station orbiting 418 to get a dialer and shield for the Nistra gate." Ronon strapped his sword to his back.

  "So the Colonel just had to go along, did he?"

  "He is the most skilled pilot, and they have a time con straint. We believe shielding the Nistra gate from raids may help to head off the conflict." Teyla tucked a stun pistol into her belt along with her staffs.

  "Then they'd bloody well hurry up." Carson stared at them both with bewildered eyes. "And that didn't answer my first question."

  "Elizabeth has been appealing to the leaders," explained Teyla. 'No one has tried to tell the people themselves about the raiders' off-world origins. They are marching off to battle under the belief that they'll be defending their homes."

  "We got to know one of the hunting parties." Ronon did a cursory knife check. Teyla had seen him make the motions a hundred times and still was not certain where he kept them all. "They're pretty open-minded. Maybe we can convince them of the truth, and they can convince others before the fighting begins."

  Carson grabbed his arm. "Lad, I don't mean to be a spoilsport, but did you not hear me say that the gate is no longer under our control? Noble as your intentions are, is this really worth the risk of getting shot on sight?"

  It was a fair question. Teyla glanced at Ronon. The choice was clear in her mind, but she would not decide for him.

  "We owe them," Ronon said simply. With that, he turned to go back into the gate-room.

  Teyla followed, tapping her radio to alert the control room. "Please dial the main gate on P7L-418."

  "Everyone's gone batty around here," the doctor sputtered as the lights began to chase each other around the gate. "Hold on! Does this mean I'm meant to be supervising the city?"

  "Have fun," Ronon called over his shoulder.

  When they stepped out of the gate on 418, all that was visible through the wavering torchlight was the expected swarm of bows and spears. "We come as friends," Teyla said, extending her right arm and then touching her forehead. Catching on, Ronon quickly did the same.

  The demonstration of their hunting signal gave the Nistra soldiers pause. "Where did you learn this?" one demanded.

  "From the hunting party of Ilar," Ronon answered. "They gave us aid when we were in need. We'd like to return their kindness."

  One of the hunters stepped forward. Teyla recognized him as a member of Ilar's group-Temal. "Teyla, Ronon," he greeted them with surprise and relief. "We feared you had been killed by the marauders."

  "They tried. We outwitted them." Ronon gave a smirk.

  "We have information about your adversary," continued Teyla. Not a lie, but perhaps not the complete truth, either. "Can you tell us where your forces are assembling so that we may deliver it?"

  "They make camp for the night in the Bella Plains." Temal pointed toward the northeast. "I will take you there. You will need a mount to reach them before dawn. We can spare one for you, can we not?" He looked to the apparent leader of the guard detail, who nodded, seemingly won over by the promise of enemy secrets.

  Partway down the hill grazed a small herd of creatures like the one that had pulled their cart to the Falnori capital. Had that first visit only been a few days ago? Teyla felt unaccountably aged. "Thank you," she told the leader. "We will make sure it is returned to your people."

  Neither she nor Ronon was an experienced rider, certainly not on this type of animal. Ronon took the reins, and they both kept a tight grip on the saddle. Temal climbed onto another mount and led them off toward the plains. It was a bumpy, if not wholly unpleasant, journey, complicated somewhat by the darkness.

  At last they came upon a field speckled with peladon- hide tents and campfires. So many people, all preparing to fight and die for little more than a mistake.

  "I say we avoid the headquarters." Ronon dismounted the animal and nodded toward the larger, sturdier tent visible above the others. "We know Galven's already made up his mind."

  At that, Temal looked at them curiously but said nothing.

  "I agree." Teyla placed a hand on Ronon's shoulder in order to climb down as well. "Beyond that, I am not sure where to start."

  A group of hunters solved the dilemma for them, walking up to them with frank curiosity. Teyla repeated the hand signal and the explanation she'd given at the gate. When Temal questioned them abou
t a group leader named Ear, the hunters shook their heads but suggested a group five tents away who `knows everyone.' The process repeated three more times before a young voice from behind shouted, "Ronon! Teyla!"

  As they turned, Dantir ran toward them, a wide grin causing his face to glow. "You're alive! We thought-"

  "We're not so easily beaten." Ronon caught the boy's shoulders before a collision could occur. "How did you know we were here?"

  "Word spread quickly. You don't really blend in."

  Looking around at some of the hunters and other soldiers who had gathered, Teyla noted that most of them were closer to her height than to Ronon's. "Where is your hunting party? We must speak to your mother."

  "Come." Dantir led them down a row of tents.

  At their approach, Ilar rose quickly from the fire she tended. "The Ancestors smile on you," she exclaimed. "We believed you dead by the hand of the Falnori."

  The rest of the party swarmed around them, offering sincere greetings. "That is why we have come." Teyla settled beside the fire and motioned for the others to return as well. "We have learned the identity of the marauders who plague your people. They are not Falnori."

  Ilar's expression blanked, as if uncertain of what she'd heard. `But they are. They have stolen from us for many seasons-

  "Someone has been stealing from you," Ronon interrupted. "After they took us, we managed to trap some of them on our world. They're called the Cadre, and they steal from societies on lots of planets. They use the ring, the same one we came through, to sneak into your territory. They've been doing it to the Falnori, too."

  Surprise and confusion were displayed openly on Dantir's face. Hesitant, he asked, "Can that be true?"

  "No, it cannot." One of the older men of the party spoke, his voice more resigned than angry. "Our histories may not be well-preserved, but all who have encountered the Falnori know how they view us-as an inferior race, unworthy of being treated as equals."