Allegiance

Chapter Nineteen Diplomacy

The sun was setting behind the broken roofs, sending long shadows across the gate square. The last of the light shimmered on the top of the gate, the naquadah gleaming as though it were oiled or wet, the shadow of the ring stretching out behind it. Cai’s people were setting up trestles, laying out food and drink they’d gotten from somewhere, and John frowned, trying to think what was wrong. Or, no, not wrong, but missing. Because there was an absence, something that should be there… Children, he realized abruptly. On almost every other world he’d visited, when the party began, the food came out and the torches were lit, there would be children in the background, either helping, or watching with excitement to see the latest travelers from another world. That was the thing he still couldn’t get his mind around — well, yes, his mind, but not his heart, not the bone-deep certainty that anyone at all could open the Stargate and walk to another world. That Sateda might be destroyed, her cities burned, but her people could find refuge, and a way home again. Not like Afghanistan…

He shied away from that thought, and saw Teyla give him a curious look. She did not comment, however, merely held out a wide-mouthed cup. He took it, sniffing warily, but it smelled only of smoke and herbs.

“Dr. Lynn says he believes it to contain something like caffeine,” Teyla said.

“Yeah?” John took a careful sip, decided it tasted a little bit like lemons and mint. And smoke, which was disconcerting. “You know, I don’t remember including him in this.”

Teyla smiled. “He says this is his job.”

John smiled back, took another sip of the — he supposed it was a tea. “It’s not going to replace coffee,” he said. He looked back at the tables, where the Marines were hauling lamps into place, and Radek was tinkering with the generator: Atlantis’s contribution to the party, light and pole heaters for the chill ahead. “How do you think it’s going?”

Teyla’s smile widened. “It is… going. This will take time, and I do not believe that Ladon Radim wishes it to be settled quickly.”

“Not so much,” John said. He glanced over his shoulder, checking the rest of the Atlantis team. One of the Satedans had come over to look at the generator, and he and Radek were talking now, gesturing as though they were sketching plans on the air. Ronon was talking to Cai and one of the Satedan Band — not Yan, a younger, more lightly built man with crooked teeth and a wide smile. Caldwell, stiff-backed and poker-faced, was listening to Sar and one of the other Genii officers, and Dahlia Radim was talking to Sora. Hopefully telling her to be sensible, John thought, but knew better than to believe it. “It’s not exactly to his advantage.”

“No…” Teyla’s expression changed, and John turned, not surprised to see Radim approaching, the blond aide Ambrus at his heels.

“Chief Ladon.”

“Colonel Sheppard.” Radim gave a thin, unfriendly smile. “I am sorry Mr. Woolsey is unable to be with us. When will he be back, can you say?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” John said, with a smile of his own. From Teyla’s lifted eyebrow, he guessed it hadn’t been successful. “The situation was fluid. But he left me with full authority.”

“I’m sure he did,” Radim said.

He thinks I killed him. John felt his mouth drop open, closed it sharply. Son of a bitch. That was about the last thing he’d expected, and it annoyed him more than he would have imagined. “How’s it going with Avenger?” he asked, and Radim frowned.

“Avenger? Oh. We’ve renamed her Pride of the Genii.”

“Her name’s Avenger,” John said. It was unreasonable to be angry about that, but the Ancient warship he’d rescued for them had had a name, and a personality: a sweet ship, willing, glad to be awakened. He had liked her a lot. “How is the project coming?”

“We’re making progress,” Radim said, stiffly. “And it would be going faster if we were free to make use of the technology abandoned here.”

John could see Teyla looking at him as though she would like to kick him, and forced another smile. “Well, that’s what we’re here to work out.”

“Both your people and mine need what’s here,” Radim said. “You can’t seriously mean to maintain that this is a viable government. Fifty people — at the most — squatting in the ruins, bringing in supplies from off-world.” He shook his head. “And if the Wraith come, what happens then?”

“They will hide,” Teyla said. “As we have all done before.”

“And what’s the chance that the Wraith would finish the destruction they started?” Radim asked. “This wasn’t Queen Death. She would leave nothing behind. Surely you don’t mean to risk losing everything that’s here.”

“And what, exactly, are you looking for?” John asked. Radim had a point, that was part of the problem.

“The same things you are, I imagine,” Radim said. “Ronon will have told you that there was an important collection of Ancient artifacts in their museum, and among that collection were things that we could use on our warship. Crystals, for one thing, and tools we don’t know how to make. I am sure there are things Atlantis needs as well.”

Things you can’t make, his tone implied. John said, “Yeah, plenty of things we can use. And we’re happy to trade for them. It seems to me it would be to your advantage to do the same.”

“And if we agree to trade with Cai, do we also pay extortion to the next group of returning Satedans who set up a so-called government?” Radim shook his head. “And the one after that? Because, to speak frankly, I can’t see you wasting the manpower to shore up Cai’s authority.”

“Right now, the only people who are questioning his authority are the Genii,” John said. “Really, we wouldn’t want to have to break off relations over this.”

“I don’t think you could afford that,” Radim answered. “Not given the threat we are both facing.”

“I’m seriously hoping it won’t come to that,” John said. “Excuse me.”

He turned away, Teyla at his side, and nearly ran into Caldwell beside the meeting tent.

“Any progress?” Caldwell asked.

John took a careful breath. “Well. I think I’ve made our position clear.” He paused, but couldn’t quite stop himself. “That little bastard thinks I murdered Woolsey to take his place.”

To his surprise, Caldwell grinned. “Tell me you never thought about it, Sheppard.”

“Not to get this job,” John answered. Teyla was smirking, though, and he couldn’t help smiling himself, even as he shook his head. “Diplomacy.”

“Don’t knock it,” Caldwell said. “You might have a knack for it after all.”

Sora ducked out of the meeting tent and made her way toward one of the long tables laden down with food. There was little point in staying inside at the moment. Sheppard didn’t seem to be making any effort to get everybody back to the table rather than letting them gather in little groups spread across the square, and the conversation in the tent at the moment bore little relation to what was supposed to be the point.

She spotted Cai at the end of one of the tables, apparently setting out bottles of some kind of drink as if he had nothing better to do. She shook her head. As if alcohol was going to help anyone to keep their minds on business. But then that was Sateda. If they’d devoted more of their people’s energies to fighting the Wraith rather than to distractions, clothing and music and games, all the absurd little luxuries she kept finding in the ruins —

“Sora Tyrus,” Cai said when he saw her. She wasn’t sure if his nod in her direction was meant as a courtesy or simply an acknowledgement that he knew who she was. “Will you have a drink, then? We’ve found more liquor bottles than we expected intact, but it’s still in scarce supply for the moment.”

“I’m surprised you’re not relying on the Lanteans for your supplies,” Sora said. She waved away the cup he offered her.

“We haven’t yet,” Cai said. “You’re sure you won’t have a drink?”

“You’re just relying on them for protection.”

“Something the Genii haven’t offered. So far I can’t see that you’ve offered anything, except on entirely unacceptable terms,” Cai said, fairly mildly.

“Believe me, the Lanteans’ terms won’t stay so pretty,” Sora said. “Don’t make the mistake of believing they can be trusted.” She glanced across the square to where Teyla Emmagan was talking intently to Dahlia Radim with a false smile, no doubt making excuses for having taken Dahlia prisoner and tried to steal their Ancient warship. As if there were any to make other than we wanted it, so we thought it should be ours.

Sora wished she were close enough to make sure that Dahlia wasn’t fooled. She’d had more than enough experience with Teyla’s ability to spin pretty words until you found yourself losing track of your original purpose, starting to have doubts —

“The Lanteans defeated the Replicators,” Cai said. “And they’ve done much to fight the Wraith in the last years.”

“So have we,” Sora said. “And we haven’t laid waste to the galaxy in the process. It was the Lanteans who unleashed the Replicators in the first place, and who woke the Wraith. Before they came — ”

“Sateda fell before the Lanteans came,” Cai said flatly. “They’re not responsible for the Wraith doing what Wraith do.”

“And are you happy that so many worlds have now met the same fate? The Lanteans don’t know how to defeat the Wraith. All they’ve done is make things worse and interfere with our plans.”

“And your plans involve Sateda?”

“We are so close to being able to use the technology of the Ancestors,” Sora said. “To have their weapons in our own hands, not the hands of the Lanteans who claim to be here to protect us. Why should they care about any of us? They’re here for their own purposes. They want what’s in that museum, too.”

Cai picked up one of the cups and drank deeply before he answered. “No offense,” he said. “But if our choice is to be robbed of our treasures by the Genii or to sell them to the Lanteans, I would prefer to deal with the Lanteans. At least they didn’t come as robbers demanding we hand over our wallets.”

“More like vandals setting your house on fire,” Sora said. “Did you hear about the Travellers’ colony, the one destroyed in a moment when their gate exploded? It wasn’t the only world where that happened.”

“Wild rumors,” Cai said. “People hear of many things that aren’t true. If worlds have had their gates destroyed, there’s no need to go looking for a cause other than the obvious. The Wraith Cull more deeply every year.”

Sora gritted her teeth. She’d heard this too many times on too many worlds, people who blindly believed that the Lanteans could help them, save them, when how could they, and why should they? It was pure superstition; the Lanteans’ blind luck in stumbling on the city of the Ancestors and having it answer to them wasn’t a sign of either military genius or purity of heart. But try to tell a people like the Athosians, or what was left of them.

“The Wraith can’t destroy a Stargate,” she said.

Cai shook his head. “Because your people can’t? I hope you’re not looking for a convenient Stargate to experiment with, or a place to try out your — what are they called — ‘nuclear bombs’?”

“I’m not going to talk to you about our weapons testing program. But we’re aware of how valuable some of the things in this city are. If you just let us use them — ”

“Now you want to make a trade? I’m sorry if I’m skeptical of your good intentions after you came among us with your rifles in hand.”

“I’m not offering to trade,” Sora said. “I’m saying that it’s in the best interests of your people and of every human being to let us have all the weapons we can find to fight the Wraith, because it’s not as if you can use them anymore.”

“There will be a Satedan army again,” Cai said.

“Who? Your army won’t even come live in your settlement. Your great ‘hero’ Ronon is more a Lantean now than a Satedan — ”

“All of our people are Satedan,” Cai said. “Those of us who have returned, and those of us who never will. If you can’t understand that, you don’t understand very much about us.”

“I don’t need to understand much about you,” Sora said.

Cai shook his head at her. “I can see that you’ve never been a trader,” he said. “You may find when you don’t get what you want by demanding it that you change your mind about that. Please enjoy our hospitality, if any of it suits you. I have other people I need to talk to.”

Sora watched him go, trying not to feel that she’d handled that badly. If she’d made up to him, been soft and apologetic the way Dahlia wanted her to, he’d never have believed her. At least she’d tried honesty, not that it seemed to be worth much.

She hesitated, and then reached for one of the cups on the table. She was beginning to feel like a drink wouldn’t be a bad idea.

By the time it seemed possible for John to get enough people back into the conference tent to formally adjourn the meeting for the evening, there didn’t seem to be much point. The Genii had set up tents of their own, provoking glares but not arguments from the Satedans, and everyone was making serious inroads on the food and drink. Cai’s people had brought out oil lamps, and some of the open windows around the square cast more lamplight into the street.

Darkness softened the jagged shapes of the buildings against the sky, but it made the square seem like a fragile oasis of light in a big, dark desert. There were no distant lights at the outskirts of town, no moving headlights or lit lamps beyond the square. Just a big, dark ruin, empty of people the way no city on Earth stayed empty for long, no matter how bad the damage had been.

The square was anything but empty, though, and anything but quiet. Radim was talking intently to Teyla, who looked like her patience was being tested by whatever he was saying, although her polite smile didn’t fade. Across the square, Ronon was apparently introducing Dahlia Radim to a Satedan woman who John thought he remembered as one of Cai’s engineers. A good move, but he could probably use Radek, who would have more idea what they were talking about.

John looked around for him, and found him on the fringes of the crowd with a cup of whatever liquor Cai had broken out for the occasion in hand. There were still cups of the smoky tea set out, but they’d gone cold, and most people seemed to have moved on to the heavy drinking portion of the evening. That might be a good thing, or really not, but he expected they’d find out which.

“I think Ronon’s trying to get Dalia Radim and some of Cai’s people to bond over science,” John said. “He could maybe use some backup in that department.”

“Right,” Radek said resignedly, draining the cup and setting it down. “Is there any sign that we’re getting anywhere?”

“At least they’re talking,” John said. “We’re going to have to sit down again in the morning and see if anybody’s willing to bend at all, but maybe if they can start seeing each other as people, it’ll make them a little more sympathetic to each other’s problems.”

“Yes, that is a theory,” Radek said. He sounded as skeptical as John felt.

John ran a hand through his hair. He was pretty sure that by this point Elizabeth would have come up with some creative solution to the problem and figured out how to bully everyone into accepting it. Woolsey would have kept everyone at the conference table, on the theory that fatigue and boredom would eventually motivate them to actually negotiate. In hindsight, that might have been the way to go.

“Or maybe they’re just going to grandstand at each other, but at least right now they’re talking and not fighting,” he said. As he said it, he wondered if that was true; he could hear rising voices, and when he looked up, one edge of the crowd seemed to be turning into a pitched argument between some of the Genii officers and what looked like about half of Yan’s Satedan Band, with Caldwell in the middle of it trying to make sure they stayed bodily separated.

“Cool it off, people,” Caldwell was saying sharply, but no one seemed very inclined to listen to him.

“Damn it,” John said. “Come on, let’s go break it up.”

“I am sure they will be happy to listen to us,” Radek said dryly, but he trailed John as he shouldered his way through the crowd.

“You want a fight, you can — ”

“Back off, Satedan — ”

“You and your whole regiment — ”

“All right, settle down,” John said when he was close enough that he thought anyone might listen to him.

“Oh, they’ll settle down,” one of the Satedans said, a little too loudly. One of Yan’s Satedan Band, John’s brain supplied, the young officer Ronon had been talking to earlier. “They like to talk, but they don’t like to fight.”

“Everybody knows Satedans like to fight,” one of the young Genii officers said. “They just don’t like to win.”

Caldwell interposed himself as the Satedan took a step toward the man. “Let’s not do this.”

“Maybe you’d have gotten farther if you put men in the field instead of girls,” one of the other Genii put in.

“You mean like Sora Tyrus?” John said. “Or maybe Teyla.”

“I mean like these pretty little flowers,” the Genii officer said. John wished he was more certain exactly how he ought to translate that. Any way you looked at it, it seemed a little rich for a bunch of guys most of whom stood half a head taller than the Genii they were squaring off with.

“I don’t think anybody needs to be calling anybody else names,” John said.

“You wouldn’t last ten minutes in a fight,” the Satedan officer said over his shoulder.

“Says the man hiding behind the Lanteans.”

John was losing patience. “You two want to fight? You know what, fine, go beat the crap out of each other. And then it’s over, all right? No saying ‘somebody got a bruise and now it’s a diplomatic incident’.”

Caldwell gave him a look. “Sheppard — ”

“A fair fight, no weapons. Call it sparring.”

“More like giving lessons to children,” the Genii officer said, but there seemed to be muttered agreement on both sides.

“All right,” John said. He glanced across the square at Teyla. He was pretty sure she wasn’t going to think this was a very good idea. “Let’s get out of this crowd. I don’t want this to turn into a general brawl.”

“You are a crazy person,” Radek said as they trailed the would-be combatants and their friends behind a row of buildings, following the light of the lamp one of them carried. “You know that, yes?”

“It’ll get it out of their systems.”

“Assuming they do not kill each other.”

“Let’s hope not,” John said. He made sure the lantern was set high enough that it was unlikely to be knocked over — setting what was left of the city on fire probably would cause a diplomatic incident — and said, “Let’s have some rules, here.”

The Satedan officer gave him a look that reminded him of Ronon. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want anybody put in the hospital.”

“First one knocked down,” Caldwell said. “The point’s not to see how much damage you can do, the point’s to see how well you can fight.”

“Whatever,” the Genii soldier said, glaring at the Satedan. “You probably won’t get up after the first time anyway.”

“Sure,” the Satedan said.

John repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “You people have names?”

“Petros Dar,” the Satedan said.

The Genii officer scowled at him. “Airth Gradon.”

“Eat dirt,” the Satedan said, and rushed him.

There was a clamor from the spectators, but they seemed willing to stay out of the fight, so John settled for shouldering people back if they looked like they were going to get in somebody’s way. Both Dar and Gradon were good, but John thought Dar was better. Gradon looked more thrown by not having a weapon, and Dar had the reach on him, although he wasn’t built like a brick wall the way Ronon was.

They circled each other, exchanging experimental kicks and punches that mostly didn’t connect, and then Gradon closed the distance between them, not a good move in John’s opinion. Dar grabbed for him, but Gradon managed a sharp uppercut that bloodied Dar’s nose and drew whistles and shouted encouragement from his men.

Dar stepped back and to the side, a move that might have looked like a staggering recovery to Gradon but that John had learned from sparring with Ronon to associate with the ground coming up toward him fast. Before he thought Gradon knew what was happening, Dar kicked Gradon’s feet out from under him and sent him sprawling.

Gradon came up mad, rolling to his feet and making as if to throw himself at Dar, but Caldwell grabbed him by the jacket at the same time that John stepped — if not happily — between the two would-be combatants. Teyla’s going to ask why I stepped out in front of a drunk soldier who was looking for somebody to punch, he couldn’t help thinking, and I’m going to have to say that it sounded like a good idea at the time…

“You agreed to the rules,” Caldwell said. “Now this needs to be over.”

“You heard him,” John said. “Shake hands and make up.”

“I expect they’d rather kiss and make up,” Gradon said. “Or haven’t you heard what they say about the Satedan Band — ”

“You mean that we win fights?”

“I mean that you’re a bunch of perverted — ”

“I really don’t give a damn what they say,” Caldwell said, in a tone that cut through the general noise. “You had your fight, you lost, now let me suggest that you take it like a man and walk away. Otherwise, this is going to turn into a diplomatic incident, and I don’t think either of your commanding officers are going to like that.”

“Everybody break it up,” John added, although it felt a little weak after that.

Gradon glared at the Satedans and then stormed off with the rest of his friends following. Dar scrubbed at his bleeding nose with his sleeve and said something under his breath that sounded a lot like speculation on whether anyone had ever bedded Gradon without being paid for it.

“Nice plan, Sheppard,” Caldwell said as the Satedans also began heading back in the direction of other people, and probably of more to drink.

John shrugged. “At least they were talking?”

Caldwell shook his head. “That kind of talking we could do without.”

“Well, that is the military for you,” Radek said a little sharply, and suddenly John could see the conversational pit opening up but wasn’t sure how to avoid it. Radek had been drinking, too, and he did have a temper, and if a member of his team was less than complimentary about the American military and Caldwell made the kind of remark in return that John was expecting, he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say —

“Like anybody has time for that crap,” Caldwell said instead. “The Genii are stuck in about 1950. They kept assuming Colonel Carter was somebody’s secretary when she tried to meet with them.”

“It’s apparently cultural,” Radek said with a more conciliatory shrug.

“I’m getting tired of cultural,” Caldwell said. “Is there any way to get these people to come to terms?”

“We’ll give it a try in the morning,” John said.

Caldwell shook his head. “At this rate, everybody’s going to be too hung over in the morning to make any sense.”

“Well, if they’re too hung over to endlessly repeat the same positions that they started with, we might actually get somewhere,” John said.

He wondered what Woolsey would say to that theory. At this point, possibly that it was worth a try.

Teyla set her cup carefully aside, took a step backward so that she was outside the circles of light, sheltered by the shadows. Dahlia Radim had retreated to a tent some time ago, before the men started drinking, but the Satedan women were still present, though they were careful to stay together, or grouped with their men. Most of the Marines had been told to consider themselves on duty, and were following orders, sticking to the perimeter and avoiding the drinks. And then there was Sora. There was no mistaking her anger, for all that she seemed to have herself rigidly under control, it shrieked in the set of her shoulders, the tight smile and the hands clenched on whatever was nearest, cup or chair back or closed tight on themselves. She was dangerous, Teyla thought; perhaps the most dangerous person at this meeting, because her agenda ran counter to everyone else’s, and she had no reason to stand aside. More than that, it was not in her nature to stand passive, and never had been.

Teyla scanned the crowd, thinning now as people began to retire, the Satedans to their houses, the others to the temporary camps. John had been wise to say that the Lanteans would be staying: there would be no complicated dialing procedures to betray the problem with the shield. Not all of the Genii were doing the same — she suspected that Ladon did not like to be out of touch with his government for too long — but enough were remaining that it didn’t seem to be a slight.

Movement caught her attention, a shift of light and shadow at the edge of her vision, and she let her head turn, to see Sora sliding out of the lamplight. She waited, but the younger woman did not reappear. And that was not a good thing, she thought. Sora’s camp lay in the opposite direction. She turned, looking for John, but he had disappeared somewhere, along with Colonel Caldwell. And Sora should not go unwatched.

One of the young Marines was standing off to the side, arms folded on the P90 clipped to his chest. He had been with Atlantis on the first mission, a skinny dark youth with his head shaved almost bare; he had filled out since then, grown his hair, gained weight to go with his rangy height, but he was still one of the ones she knew she could trust — more importantly, who would trust her, and not waste time with questions.

“Corporal Kneeland.”

“Ma’am?” He didn’t quite come to attention, but his stance shifted.

“Come with me, please,” Teyla said. “Sora Tyrus has gone off in an — unexpected direction.”

“Sora,” he said, and she remembered he had been stranded on Manaria during the hurricane, had heard all about Sora’s part in the attack on Atlantis. “Yes, ma’am.”

Teyla glanced sidelong again, saw no one paying them any particular attention. “This way.”

Outside the circle of lights, the ruined streets were very dark. Teyla paused in the shadow of a door, blinking as though that would make her eyes adjust faster, and Kneeland slipped a pair of IR goggles from his pocket.

“Do you want them, ma’am? I’ve only got one pair.”

“You keep them,” Teyla said. Her sight was clearing, with her back to the lights. Sora had stepped out of the light, and moved — left, she thought, left and back, and sure enough, there was a break in the wreckage. “This way,” she said, pointing, and Kneeland followed, goggles in place. He wasn’t as silent as Ronon would have been, but he moved with care and grace and she thought they might have a chance at catching Sora unaware.

Something moved ahead of them, and she lifted a fist. In the same instant, Kneeland breathed, “Ma’am.”

Teyla nodded. They were in cover, of a sort, a pile of rubble that slanted halfway across the street. The person — Sora, it wouldn’t be anyone else — was moving toward the corner of a building that jutted above the wreckage like a single tooth in an old woman’s mouth. The Genii uniform blended well with the darkness, but her hands and face in profile were bare and white, and her movements were still angry, jerky and abrupt and noticeable in the dark. Teyla eased forward, peering over the edge of the rubble, and after a moment Kneeland joined her, holding his P90 away from his body to keep it from clattering against anything.

“Can you see what she’s doing?” Teyla kept her voice a thread of sound, the just-above-a-whisper that carried only to the ears for which it was intended.

Kneeland edged past her, adjusting the goggles. “It looks like she’s — climbing something? Maybe to some kind of platform?”

He shifted to bring the P90 to bear, and Teyla frowned into the darkness. They were too far from the Satedan settlement for this to be a firing point — and Sora had not been armed at the meeting, though, of course, she could have weapons stored in the broken tower. She turned to look over her shoulder, trying to imagine the sight lines in daylight. From the tower, you would probably have a view of the gate, as well as of the settlement’s main square: an observation post, then, or most likely so.

“Is there anyone else present?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” Kneeland said. “Just her.”

Teyla sat back on her heels, wondering what to do. John should be informed, and Cai — perhaps Ladon also, it would be a suitable embarrassment — but she did not want to leave Sora unwatched, nor was she sure radio traffic would go unheard —

There was a sudden crack, not very loud, but sharp and sudden. The tower moved, the stones tilting, and abruptly the whole thing tipped sideways in a rumble of stone and wood. There were a couple of smaller, sharper sounds, hard flat noises like a blow, and then silence.

“Holy crap!” Kneeland said, and started to his feet. “Ma’am, she’s still in there — ”

Damn the woman, Teyla thought. “Is she still alive, can you tell?”

“No — ” Kneeland was scanning the wreckage, the goggles making him look like a monster from some fireside tale. “Wait, yes, ma’am, I can see her moving.”

“Then we must help her,” Teyla said firmly. “But be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kneeland said, and moved forward.

There was no point in concealment now. Teyla reached into her pocket, found the small flashlight she always carried, and let the beam play over the pile of rubble. Most of the wall had fallen outward into the street, stone and brick mingled with new wood — reinforcing beams, she guessed, for the observation post. And yes, it almost certainly had been precisely that: her light picked out the cylinder of a telescope, front lens missing, and the leg of its tripod jutted from among the stones.

Kneeland flicked on the light attached to his P90, joined its beam to hers. “Damn.”

Teyla winced in sympathy. The building had had a cellar, and when the reinforcement gave way, at least part of the makeshift tower had fallen into that space. The air was hazed with dust, bright in the flashlight’s beams, but nothing else moved. “Sora?”

“There.” Kneeland had pushed the IR goggles up onto his forehead, swung the P90’s light to focus on the edge of the gap. A pale hand clung to the edge of a beam, and then another reached up, scrabbled for purchase on the wood.

Without thinking, Teyla flung herself onto the ground, spreading her body to make herself as heavy as possible, and reached for the groping hand. “Here!”

Sora’s hand closed on hers, and then released it as though she’d been burned. Teyla grabbed for her wrist instead, caught and held, feeling the younger woman’s weight in her shoulders and back.

“Let go!” Sora glared up at her, face filthy and smeared with blood, swung her feet, groping for a toehold.

“I should,” Teyla said. “Be still, and we will get you out.”

Sora didn’t answer, instead shifted her grip on the beam, reaching again for a foothold. Teyla gasped, feeling her fingers slip.

“Don’t be stupid — ”

“Ma’am!” Kneeland swung his light. “Look there!”

Teyla tried to turn her head, but the strain was too much. “What is it?”

“Something — explosives, I think.” The light moved, flicking from spot to spot, but Teyla still couldn’t see. Sora was twisting again, and it took all her strength to keep her grip. “God, ma’am, don’t let her fall!”

Sora was abruptly still, staring blindly up at them. Teyla tightened her grip, digging her toes into the dirt.

“It’s a trap,” Kneeland said. He dropped to his knees at Teyla’s side, slinging the P90 out of his way, and reached for Sora’s other hand. “If she falls, she’ll set the rest of it off.”

For a second, Teyla thought Sora was going to let go, pull herself out of their hands and kill them all. She could see the thought in the younger woman’s eyes, and saw the moment when it passed, and Sora wrapped her free hand around Kneeland’s wrist. Together they hauled her up and out, dragged her gasping onto the pile of rubble. She looked terrible, Teyla thought, covered in dust and blood — but the blood was from her nose, and she moved easily enough as she dragged herself to a sitting position.

“So much for peaceful negotiations,” she said.

“Hey, now.” Kneeland had his P90 in hand again, was cautiously examining the pit.

“You cannot seriously think we did this,” Teyla said.

Sora pressed the back of her hand against her upper lip, glaring, and said nothing.

“If we had done it,” Teyla said, “it would have worked. That I promise you.”

“And we would have used C4,” Kneeland said. “That stuff isn’t ours.”

Teyla looked where the light pointed, saw a fist-sized sphere tied to a beam. She took out her flashlight again, found two more packages, and looked back at Sora.

“That is Genii explosive. And only your own people knew of this post. Can you tell me you have no enemies among your men?”

Sora took a deep breath, looking suddenly old and tired. “Not among my men,” she said. She took her hand away, and sniffed hard as though deciding if the nosebleed had stopped. “This can’t be.”

In spite of everything, Teyla felt a thread of sympathy. She remembered Sora as a girl just coming into adolescence, eager for stories of the worlds beyond the Stargate. And that farmgirl was pretense, she reminded herself, a lie deliberately contrived to protect the Genii while they built their armies and their nuclear bombs.

“It’s a trick,” Sora said, without conviction. “You used our explosives to make it seem like our people did it.”

“And how would we get your supplies?” Teyla asked. “We could have used a tiny bit of C4, and no one would ever have known that it wasn’t just an accident.”

Sora didn’t answer, just looked away, wincing as though something pained her.

“Are you all right?” Kneeland asked. He kept the P90 ready, but reached one-handed for his pocket. “I’ve got a first aid kit — ”

“I’m fine,” Sora said. “It’s just bruises.”

“It is Ladon who has done this,” Teyla said, sitting back on her heels.

“The Chief would never — ”

“You are an embarrassment to him.” Teyla cut through the words as though she hadn’t spoken, feeling the truth strike home. “A danger to his plans. This is his solution, an unfortunate accident that he can blame on your own carelessness.”

“If Ladon Radim wanted to get rid of me, he’d have me arrested,” Sora said. Her voice was bitter. “There’s no one who’d bother stopping him now.”

Kneeland shone his light into the cellar again, shook his head silently. Teyla said, “Do you wish to survive this?”

“That’s unlikely,” Sora said, with a thin smile.

“Survival and revenge,” Teyla said.

“And how can you give me that?”

She had known that would appeal. Teyla said, “You have luckily survived a frightening accident. We came upon a collapsed building and heard you call — perhaps you strayed there seeking a short cut to your camp? A tragedy narrowly averted — it would be a shame if anything were to happen after you were so providentially rescued.”

“And the revenge?” Sora asked.

“You survive.”

Sora gave a bark of laughter that turned into a harsh cough. “And the Lanteans get what they wanted all along.”

“It is past the point where you can influence that,” Teyla said. That was what her father had called a trader’s truth, not entirely a lie, but without much acquaintance with honesty. She had a flash of memory, flowers tumbling as a red-haired tomboy swung upside down from a tree branch, Tyrus scolding her down, too old to play like that — She put the thought firmly aside. “That is for Colonel Sheppard and Ushan Cai and Chief Ladon to work out among them. But you can live and know you are a thorn to his foot.”

“Why not?” Sora said. She looked old again, drained. “Why the hell not?”

“Why not, indeed?” Teyla looked at her. “Can you walk?”

Sora nodded, and Kneeland offered a hand to pull her to her feet. She came up wincing, and Teyla gave her a wary look. It would do them no good to bring her back unconscious, she should walk into camp on her own two feet — And then Sora straightened, nodding. Kneeland kept one hand on her elbow, steadying her, as they started back to the gate square.

At least they’d gotten through the rest of the evening without another incident, though John was aware that the Satedan Band and some of the Genii were still muttering insults when they thought none of the authorities were listening. He hoped that meant they’d got the worst of it out of their system, and that there would be no further need for anybody to prove their manhood. He’d seen Yan talking to Dar, and thought he could rely on Yan to keep the peace. But, of course, they’d won. It was the Genii he probably needed to worry about.

At some point, the Satedans had cleared the long tables, except for a small tapped keg and a scattering of cups. He wished briefly he could believe it held beer, but it was too small to be anything but the harsh Satedan moonshine. He’d nursed a cup of it for about an hour before he’d been able to set it discreetly aside, but everyone else seemed to have been knocking it back pretty steadily. He kind of hoped they did all have hangovers in the morning…

“Colonel Sheppard.”

John closed his eyes for a second, then stitched a smile on his face and turned to meet Radim. “Chief Ladon?”

He’d seen Radim drinking along with the others, matching his officers toast for toast, but it didn’t seem to have affected him. “This sparring match — ”

“Was very impressive,” John said. “Your guy, Gradon, he throws a nice punch. I wouldn’t bet against him — but of course there won’t be a rematch.”

An unwilling smile flickered across Radim’s face, and was instantly suppressed. “I’d hoped we could ensure that, yes.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” John began, and something moved at the edge of the light. He saw a Marine swivel toward it, P90 not quite raised, and a sober Genii reached reflexively for his sidearm, stopped himself at the last moment.

“Colonel Sheppard! And Chief Ladon! How fortunate you are here.” That was Teyla’s voice, and she came fully into the light, Corporal Kneeland behind her, supporting a battered-looking Sora. John caught his breath, hoping there hadn’t been another fight, and Teyla kept talking, her voice raised just enough to carry, riding over any comment. “There has been an accident, a collapse of wreckage, but luckily Sora is unharmed.”

“Lucky, indeed,” Radim said. He sounded sour, and John gave him a glance. The Genii’s face was impassive, and John wondered if he’d heard correctly after all. “And very fortunate that you were there to help.”

“Yes,” Sora said, with odd emphasis. “It was very fortunate indeed.”

She looked like hell, John thought, blood on the front of her jacket, her vivid hair dulled with dust. She glared at Radim as though she blamed him, and abruptly the pieces clicked into place for John. Radim hinting at Woolsey’s murder, his willingness to ignore Sora’s near-insubordination, everything he’d done to get power… He opened his mouth to say something, and Teyla gave him a minatory look.

“I believe she is unharmed,” Teyla said, “but I would like our medic to take a look at her. So that there can be no misunderstandings.”

“We have a physician here ourselves,” Radim said.

“We insist,” John said. “Like Teyla said. No misunderstandings.”

Radim shrugged. “If Sora wishes, I have no objection.”

“I’m well enough,” Sora said. Teyla’s eyes narrowed, and the younger woman sighed. “But, yes, I suppose it would be wise.”

Radim lifted his hand, and the blond aide hurried to his side. “Ambrus, if you’d go with Sora and — ”

“Corporal Kneeland,” Teyla said. She made no move to go with them, and Radim bowed.

“Then I think I should retire.”

“I’d like a word before you go,” John said. Radim paused, tipping his head in question, but John waited until he was sure the others were out of earshot. “I know what you did, or what you tried to do, there. Not a smart move.”

Radim blinked once. “Frankly, I would have thought it would be to your advantage.”

“It looks bad,” John said. “Trying to get rid of the officer who was running this operation before she got caught? It makes it look like you have something big to hide. But. We want this deal to happen. You need a deal, the Satedans need a deal. Make it happen, and we don’t have to go into what you might have been planning that you needed to cover up this way.”

There was a little silence, and John hoped he hadn’t completely screwed up whatever Teyla had been planning. Then, abruptly, Radim laughed. He looked momentarily younger, and genuinely amused. “That’s not exactly easy to arrange, Colonel.”

“I think you can handle it,” John said.

“I — you’ll accept an agreement to trade for what we need?”

“If the Satedans will,” John said. “But I think that would work out.”

“Then I expect we can reach an agreement,” Radim said. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” John said, and Teyla echoed him politely. He looked sideways at her, and saw that she was smiling.

“Your diplomatic technique is improving, John.”