Allegiance

Chapter Seventeen Negotiations

Ladon Radim clasped his hands more tightly behind his back as yet another militia unit made its way past the reviewing stand. Normally, the largest caverns were cold, but today, filled with marching men and the small, happy crowd, the pace was uncomfortably warm. He felt a trickle of sweat creep down his spine, felt his eyes and mind wandering. He made himself focus again on the parade of sweaty, half-trained farm boys marching eight abreast. That was to fit the dimensions of the cavern; what other multiples were possible? He conjured up alternate formations, calculated the number of men — standing perched impossibly on each other’s shoulders, and therefore discounting heads — that it would take to fill the cavern’s volume, calculated the height of the average men and then the dimensions of the parade ground in that unit of measurement. Still, he was afraid his boredom would show all too clearly on the television feed, and he composed his face to what he hoped would pass for thoughtful interest. At least his speech was done, carefully worked out and, he thought, well received, at least by the audience here. His intelligence operatives would brief him soon enough on the more general reaction, what the average Genii was saying in cavern and farmhouse, but he didn’t think he’d be surprised. He had always been good at the balancing act, nudging people toward the outcome he wanted while persuading them that nothing was really changing.

He glanced sideways at his sister Dahlia, tall and straight-backed in her severe uniform, the double spiral of the Chief of Sciences at her collar her only jewelry. There was the faintest of smiles on her face as she looked across at the Elite Guard in their tight trousers. She might as well enjoy the view, Ladon allowed, and stifled a yawn.

“Excuse me, Chief,” Ambrus said softly at his elbow, voice almost drowned in the tramp of feet.

That was never a good sign, and it took all of Ladon’s willpower to keep from turning toward his aide. “Yes?”

“The Sateda project has been compromised.”

Ladon bit back a curse that would have made even Dahlia raise an eyebrow. “Compromised how?”

“The Lanteans know we are on Sateda,” Ambrus said.

“Has anyone been shot?” Ladon asked.

“Not yet,” Ambrus answered. “Apparently there’s been no direct confrontation, but the Satedans weren’t going to conceal our presence.”

“And the current position?”

“The Lanteans have withdrawn,” Ambrus said. “And Sora has been ordered to stay in camp for now.”

The Lanteans wouldn’t attack without provocation, Ladon thought. He was reasonably sure he could count on that. Sora was, still and always, a loose cannon, but if the Lanteans had pulled out, all the reports suggested that the remaining Satedans would go out of their way not to start a fight. Not ‘remaining’, the returned Satedans: he was going to need to remember that phrasing. Not for the first time, he directed a vague breath of gratitude toward any supernatural being that might exist for the fact that Ushan Cai had been unable to persuade any of the surviving Satedan military units to return to their homeworld.

“Reiterate to Sora that she’s to keep her head down. No contact with the Lanteans — with anyone — unless it’s completely unavoidable.” Ladon kept his eyes fixed on the parade, mercifully drawing toward its end.

“Yes, Chief,” Ambrus said, backing away, and Dahlia glanced sideways.

“Trouble?”

“Later,” Ladon said, and she looked away, frowning.

They weren’t able to return to the Chieftain’s suite until well after dark, and by then Ladon’s head was buzzing from round after round of toasts. There was no way of avoiding them, no way of faking, either, without losing respect, and he tugged at the chain that opened the surface ventilator. The cold night air spilled down, smelling of rain and dead leaves, and he stood for a moment in the draft, letting it clear his thoughts. Ambrus was already brewing tea on the spirit burner, and Dahlia loosened the neck of her formal coat.

“So,” she began, and Ladon answered, “Sora.”

“Not again.” Dahlia had kicked off her polished shoes, and was massaging her toes, looked up with a scowl.

“I’m afraid so,” Ambrus said. He poured her a small brandy — she had retired with the other ladies, had missed most of the drinking — and turned back to the tea service.

There was a silence, broken only by the hiss of the lamp and the murmur of the water as it came to a boil. Ambrus finished the cup, but Ladon waved it irritably aside.

“Yes, something has to be done,” he said, and Dahlia nodded.

“It does,” she agreed, and behind her Ambrus nodded in turn.

“She’s too much of a liability.”

Reluctantly, Ladon pulled himself away from the fall of cool air, let himself drop into the patched armchair. It was one of the few pieces of furniture that had been his own, and the cushions were worn to his shape. He leaned back, letting his head rest on the cushions. He had known Sora a long time, had served with her under Kolya, and he had always known this day would come.

“So.”

“Do you remember Jennet Sarbres?” Dahlia asked.

Ladon blinked. “No — kin of Sarbres Tel?”

“Her father,” Dahlia said. “He’s still chief of mines in the western province, but Harkis is going to propose him as his successor.”

Ladon nodded.

“Jennet is engaged to Faber,” Dahlia said. “The announcement will be official tomorrow, but she was showing the bracelets to everyone in the withdrawing room.”

“So,” Ladon said again, and heard the weariness in his own voice. Faber Marz was the reason Sora had lived as long as she had: the colonel was a rising man in the Genii army, with connections and the skill to back them up, and a needed ally. Sora had also been his mistress for the last year — but if he was engaged to a politically important woman, he wasn’t in any position to protect Sora. In fact, he’d probably be relieved to have the problem solved for him… Ladon couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her, hot-headed and obsessed with her father’s death, but he buried the treacherous sympathy.

“There’s plenty of cause for arrest,” Ambrus said, tentatively, and Ladon shook his head. The last thing he wanted was a show trial, particularly on the kind of trumped-up charges they’d have to bring against her. He owed her that much — owed Dahlia, too, not to bring down one of the few other women who had held any official position.

“An accident,” he said, and saw Dahlia’s brief, rueful smile. “Arrange an accident.”

“Yes, Chief,” Ambrus said, and offered the tea again. This time Ladon took it, cradling the cup in both hands, and Dahlia sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ladon said. “We knew it was coming.”

The telephone buzzed in its alcove, and Ambrus moved to answer it. Ladon watched incuriously, lifted an eyebrow as Ambrus turned back to face him.

“It’s the Lanteans, Chief. They want to talk to you.”

“Of course they do,” Ladon said. “Tell them it’s the middle of the night here, and unless it’s an emergency, you’re not going to wake me. Find a mutually agreeable time — sometime when it’s daylight here — and get back to me.”

“Yes, Chief,” Ambrus said again, and stepped back into the alcove.

“Sateda was always a gamble,” Dahlia said.

“Yes.” Ladon took a sip of the cooling tea, the brandy curdling in his stomach. “But — you said it yourself. We need to get our new ship battleworthy, and Sateda has the artifacts.”

“I did say it.” Dahlia sighed again. “And it’s still true. We’re making progress, but — it’s slow going. Maybe Woolsey will be reasonable.”

“Maybe,” Ladon said, but he knew she heard the doubt.

The team from Atlantis came through the gate to Sateda on their guard this time, but there were no Genii uniforms visible in the square. It was near dark, with lights visible in some of the windows, and the smell of cooking strong in the air. Ronon lifted his head, testing the familiar odors.

“That smells good, whatever it is,” Lynn said.

“We are not here for dinner,” Radek said a little shortly.

“Let us find Ushan Cai,” Teyla said in the tones of a children’s teacher telling everyone that it was time to paint pictures of happy animals. Standing here in the familiar square, the memory was unexpectedly vivid, his old schoolroom and the chalky brightness of tempera paints wet on the paintbrush.

Ronon shook his head to clear it. “Let’s,” he said.

Cai was in the old hotel, eating dinner with several other men and women, but he stood at once when he saw them. “Ronon,” he said. “Come, share our dinner if you will.”

Teyla glanced at Ronon, ready to take her cue from him about whether the offer was meant to be taken or just polite words. Lynn did as well, which surprised Ronon a little, since in his experience most of the Earth people tended to do whatever they thought was polite without asking questions.

“We’d like that,” he said, and took one of the empty chairs. The rest of the team followed him, and although he suspected Radek thought they were wasting their time, it didn’t show. That made him think of Rodney, who’d have made his impatience clear enough even if he didn’t say anything about it. It wasn’t the same without him, even if it meant they didn’t have Teyla shooting Rodney warning looks across the table.

He waited until someone had found them plates and served them stew that looked to be made with whatever from offworld would store well, sausage and root vegetables over cooked grains. Radek and Teyla were more earnest than effective in their attempts to eat with proper sticks instead of the Lanteans’ forks, but Lynn managed well, although he held them strangely.

“We came to talk about making another trade,” Ronon said.

Cai smiled, although it wasn’t entirely an easy gesture. “And here I was hoping you’d had a chance to consider our request already.”

“We can talk about that,” Ronon said. “But we think there’s something in the museum that we could really use.” He nodded at Radek, and Radek put his laptop on the table to show Cai the picture of the ZPM. Cai looked both at the picture and at the computer.

“We found records that suggest that this device may be somewhere in storage at the museum,” Radek said.

“Of course it’s possible that it’s not still intact,” Lynn added. “It’s apparently a fragile device, but I think the museum curators would have recognized that simply looking at it. They may well have taken sufficient precautions for it to have survived, especially since it doesn’t seem to have been on display at the time of the Wraith attack.”

“It’s pretty enough,” Cai said casually. “What is it?”

Radek hesitated, only for a moment, but Ronon didn’t think Cai missed it. “A power source,” he said. “We call it a ZPM, a zero-point module.”

Cai frowned for a moment, probably trying to make the connection between the word and the phrase before recognizing that “ZPM” must be an abbreviation in someone else’s alphabet. Then he nodded and said, “What kind of a power source?”

“One that can be used to power parts of the city of the Ancestors,” Teyla said. “It was specially designed by them to be used in their devices.”

Cai gave her a trader’s smile. “You mean that it won’t work for us here. I have to tell you, though, right now power is our greatest challenge. We’re relying on coal, and that takes people to mine and transport. If this device could supply electric power — ”

“I think there is no way for it to interface with your electrical power system,” Radek said. “Please do not take offense, but it is simply not advanced enough. Neither are the systems on our own world. The Ancients had amazing technology.”

“If you could connect it, though, make it power our systems,” Cai said. “How much power are we talking about? How long to light the center city, or to heat it?”

Radek glanced at Ronon, looking like he was torn about how honestly to answer that.

“It may not be possible to know until we know how fully charged the ZPM is,” Teyla said.

“But suppose you find it charged enough for it to be useful to you,” Cai said. “Otherwise, there’s no reason to talk of trading, is there?”

Radek let out a breath. “It is highly unlikely that it could be used to power your city at all,” he said. “The amount of power required to light and heat this small part of the city would be very small compared to the ZPM’s capacity, yes, but creating an interface that would conserve the power in transmission and not cause the ZPM to overload destructively in the process… I am not sure it can be done.”

“Overload as in explode,” Cai said, not sounding particularly daunted by the prospect. Steam power generation wasn’t exactly risk-free, although it didn’t have the potential that some of the Ancestors’ stuff had to blow up large parts of cities.

“It could happen,” Radek said. “I would not recommend playing around with it if you have no idea what you are doing.”

“It’s possible that there are improvements to your power generation that we could help you make,” Lynn said. “Hydroelectric power — do you use dams for power generation?”

“You mean Avedan wheels? Water wheels? We’ve replaced those in most industries with steam turbines.”

“No, using water-powered turbines as a means of electrical power generation. I’m no expert, but we have experts, and there may be other improvements we could suggest as well.”

“That’s worth finding out more about,” Cai said. “I’ll see when my engineers have time for that. But I think there’s only one thing we want in exchange for letting you continue to rifle through our historic treasures for things that might prove useful to you.”

“I can’t promise we’ll fight the Genii for you,” Ronon said.

Cai looked undaunted. “Then who can promise that?”

“Colonel Sheppard is willing to set up a meeting between you and the leaders of the Genii,” Teyla said. “He believes we may be able to help you to come to some peaceful resolution to the situation.”

“Only if they’ll agree to leave without us putting up a fight,” Cai said. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

“We might be able to make a deal,” Ronon said.

“We’re not willing to pay extortion to the Genii,” Cai said. “If they get our artifacts and our goods without even having to work to salvage them, we’re no better off than we are with them camped here robbing the dead.”

“It may not be a matter of payment,” Teyla said. “We may be able to persuade the Genii that it is in their interest to deal fairly with the Satedans.”

Cai considered her for a moment. “You mean you’ve got something to hold over them.”

“We can end our alliance with them,” Ronon said.

“I had not heard that the Lanteans and the Genii were allies.”

“Our interests have often been similar,” Teyla said. “I believe the Genii would like for that to continue to be true.”

“I’m not sure it’ll do any good,” Cai said. He shook his head, looking Ronon and the team over, and then shrugged. “But I don’t see that it’ll do any harm, either. Tell Colonel Sheppard that we’re willing to talk to the Genii.”

“We need to have the meeting here,” Ronon said. “The Genii don’t like having visitors, and we don’t want the Genii running around the city of the Ancestors.” He wasn’t planning to explain the reasons behind the last, and he hoped Cai would take it as an insult to the Genii and not to him.

“Nor do we want them here, but we seem to have them already despite our wishes,” Cai said. “Tell Colonel Sheppard that the Genii are welcome here to negotiate as our guests. With the understanding that guests eventually outstay their welcome.”

“I’ll tell him,” Ronon said. “We’ll leave a radio here so that we can get in touch with you once we’ve heard from the Genii.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” Cai said.

Radek and Lynn both looked intensely disappointed. “I don’t suppose we could just have another look around the museum, with your people along, of course?” Lynn tried.

“I think that’s not a good idea,” Cai said. “I wouldn’t want you to run into the Genii and wind up in a situation with them that might jeopardize your alliance. Or that might end with your valuable power source in Genii hands.”

Ronon felt he couldn’t very well say that they’d fight the Genii if the Genii tried to take the ZPM, not when he wasn’t promising to fight the Genii for trying to take over Sateda. He tried not to grit his teeth. Diplomacy was something Teyla was good at, something Dr. Weir had been good at. He’d rather be out in the field with something to shoot.

His only small comfort was that he was pretty sure that Sheppard felt exactly the same way.

Sora paced at the edge of her camp, staring at the now-familiar wreckage of the street in hopes of catching some sign of movement. Ambrus had made it abundantly clear that he intended to keep them bottled up while Radim made nice to the Lanteans, but of course if the Satedans came poking around she’d have to run them off. That might get things moving again.

It was maddening having so much to do and being unable to do any of it. She’d never been good at being idle, not since she was a child tagging along after her father, learning to work machinery and to fight like a boy when most of the other girls were playing with dolls. It was tiresome enough having to play farmer’s daughter when they had visitors from offworld, weaving flowers in her hair and letting silly fools like Teyla Emmagan tell her how much she’d grown.

She tried to put both Teyla and the Lanteans out of her mind. They were here to scavenge too, as far as she could tell, and hopefully once they’d found whatever they wanted, they’d go back to Atlantis and stay there. It was hard not to dwell on what they might be making off with, though. It was like them to think that any artifact of the Ancients belonged by right to them.

She’d explained as patiently as she could to Ambrus that she couldn’t afford to wait. The museum was a treasure trove of devices that they’d be able to use as soon as Radim’s experiments in activating the Ancient gene paid off. Or as soon as they found someone who could use Ancient technology naturally and who could be trusted to work for them. The devices could take them years ahead in their development of weapons, or make Radim’s space program more than a long-term gamble.

The problem was that Radim was too narrowly focused on his own plans to see how anyone else’s ideas could fit into them. That was the problem when scientists presumed to be soldiers as well. He was more sensible than Kolya had ever been, that she would be the first to admit, but at least Kolya had never been over-cautious.

A movement caught her eye, and she drew her pistol in one smooth motion, but it was only one of the birds that seemed to be everywhere in the ruined city. She aimed and fired, and the bird dropped like a stone.

There was the sound of feet hurrying toward her, and she turned as Jan came up behind her, shouldering his rifle to cover the empty street. “No excitement,” she said. “Just a little target practice.”

He lowered his rifle, but didn’t visibly relax. “There’s a call for you on the radio.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “I hope this means we can get back to work.” She thought it was more likely that it would be another reminder to stay within the boundaries of their camp and do nothing. She had already pointed out that their supply of fresh water wouldn’t make that practical forever, apparently to no effect.

She ducked into the tent where the radio was set up and impatiently waved the radio operator out. She adjusted the knobs to tame the old set’s perpetually annoying crackle and picked up the transmitter. “Sora Tyrus reporting.”

“Sora, this is Ladon Radim,” said the voice on the other end, and Sora’s hand clenched on the transmitter in the effort not to swear. Having the chief himself on the line couldn’t mean a single thing that she was going to like.

“Chief Radim,” Sora said. “What news of the Lanteans? Have they finished their business on Sateda?”

“I’ve just spoken with the Lanteans,” Radim said. “They want us to sit down with Ushan Cai and his people and negotiate our respective interests there.”

“I hope you told them no,” Sora said.

“We’re scheduling the meeting now,” Radim said. “I’ll be bringing some of my people, and of course you’ll be present to explain our activities so far.”

“That’s — ” Sora began. She took a deep breath and strove for calm. “I’m sure you’re already aware that this is only going to give Cai’s ‘provisional government’ more legitimacy. I’m just wondering why you don’t seem to think that’s a problem.”

“I think it’s unfortunate,” Radim said. “But I think right now it can’t be helped. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to present our case that the Satedans are private individuals with no claim to anything but their own personal property.”

“’Present our case’? To the Lanteans? Who made them the judge?”

“It’s called diplomacy,” Radim said, his tone more sharp than usual. “You may have heard of it. In any event, this is not a request. You’ll remain in camp and do your best not to antagonize the Satedans until we can arrange a time for the meeting.”

“Yes, of course,” Sora said. She sat fuming for a moment after she’d silenced the radio set, and then told herself there was no use in expecting Radim to be reasonable.

She’d have to work out a way of getting their hands on the artifacts. And if Radim couldn’t appreciate that, there were certainly other people — highly-placed people — who would. The thought made her tired, though. She didn’t want to start playing that game again.

Part of the appeal of Kolya had been that it seemed like he might actually hold onto the reins for a while if he ever managed to take them. Then they could all have spent their time doing things that actually got results rather than endlessly maneuvering for power. It was a waste of time, when time was the one thing they didn’t have, with the Wraith threat growing stronger and new horrors like the Replicators appearing every time it seemed they might be getting the upper hand.

But if that was the game they had to play, she didn’t intend to lose.