Homecoming

Chapter Sixteen Manaria

They came through the gate into the wreck of a city, paving stones cracked and upended, walls shattered, gutted buildings scarred by flame. The carcass of a wagon lay on its side, half across the road; there were shattered barrels all around it, as though it had been overturned in mid-delivery. But, no, Sheppard realized, one quick blink enough to reassess what he was seeing, they’d been part of a barricade; there was another wagon there, nothing left but the iron axles, and beyond that the paving stones had been dragged into a pile.

“What the hell—?” he said, under his breath, and cocked the P90. “All right, people, stay alert.”

“This was not a Culling,” Teyla said, but her voice was uncertain. “At least, I do not think so—”

“No life signs in the immediate vicinity,” Rodney said, and then his face changed, as though he’d realized what he said. “No life signs…”

“Well, at least that means we’re not going to be attacked,” Sheppard said, but his voice rang hollow even to himself. This had been a tidy, thriving city, not as advanced as the cities on Hoff, but getting close, three- and four-story buildings of brick and stone, the most important ones faced in a pale gray stone that gleamed like marble, with tiny flecks of silver that caught the sun. There had been a square here, where a market was held, with big fountain to refresh the incoming traders… “Rodney, can you tell if anybody gated off?”

“I doubt it,” Rodney said, but started toward the DHD anyway.

The center of the fountain had been a weird grinning fish, water spouting from the tentacles that framed its head like petals on a flower. Sheppard reached one-handed into his pocket, came up with his binoculars, thumbing them to the highest magnification, and slowly scanned the ruin. The fighting had to have happened a while ago: he could see the marks of fire everywhere, but there was no sign of smoke, no live embers.

“This is weird,” Ronon said, moving up beside him, blaster drawn, and Sheppard could only nod.

“Rodney?”

“Give me—” There was a short sharp sound, the flat crack of an explosion, and the others whirled to see Rodney leaping back from the damaged DHD.

“Are you all right?” Teyla was closest; she had her arm around his shoulders as the others came up, but Rodney was already shaking her off, rubbing his hands as though they stung. All his fingers were there, Sheppard saw, with a quick gasp of relief, no obvious burns.

“Oh, I’m fine! People booby-trap DHDs that I’m working on every day!” Rodney paused. “Actually, that’s truer than I’d like.”

“I am glad that you are unharmed,” Teyla said, and there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Rodney snorted, and turned back to the DHD, poked gingerly at the still-smoking console.

“How bad is it?” Sheppard asked.

“Oh, it’s bad.” Rodney knelt to examine the underside of the console, sounding perversely pleased with the news. “It wasn’t a big charge, but it took out the control crystal. And most of the associated connections.”

“So we can’t dial out,” Ronon said.

“Can you fix it?” Sheppard asked. His muscles tightened, and he glanced back at the ruined city. Not a place he’d like to spend a whole lot more time, and if Rodney was going to piss and moan for an hour before he decided whether or not he could fix it, they might need to start looking for secure shelter—

“Yes.”

Sheppard turned, not quite sure if he’d heard what he thought he had. But Teyla had tipped her head to one side, her mouth slightly open as though she’d started to speak and thought better of it.

“What?” Rodney stared at them. “I figured we’d been stranded this way before, so I started bringing spares. I’ll get it working in no time.”

Sheppard felt his mouth open and close, and Rodney’s expression was momentarily smug. Sheppard swallowed hard. “Yeah, well, about time, McKay.” It wasn’t much, but it was the best he had. Unfortunately, Rodney knew it, and his smile widened for an instant before he turned his attention to the DHD.

“We should check out the ruins,” Ronon said, and Sheppard seized the excuse with relief.

“Yeah.”

“But carefully,” Teyla said, moving to join them. The P90 looked enormous tucked against her small frame. “I do not understand what has happened here.”

“Well, if you want my opinion, it was the Wraith,” Rodney called.

Sheppard glanced back at the DHD. “Is that just because you don’t like them, or do you have a reason?”

“Aside from the fact that they’re the people who do this sort of thing?” Rodney didn’t bother to look up from the console. “But, yes, actually. The device was definitely Wraith technology.”

“OK,” Sheppard said. “So it was the Wraith.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ronon said.

“Ronon is right,” Teyla said. “The Wraith — they Cull to eat, to feed themselves. It does them no good to destroy everything.”

“They’re Wraith,” Ronon muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

Sheppard eyed the ruins, the shattered barricade and the broken buildings beyond. If he remembered correctly, the domed building beyond the square had been a customs house; there might be records there, if it survived the fires. It was impossible to tell at this distance, though the dome gleamed intact above the wreckage. “All right,” he said. “Let’s take a quick look. We’ll head for the dome — that was customs, right, Teyla?”

She nodded, eyes already scanning the ruins for the best path.

“And see what we find.” Sheppard settled the P90 more comfortably in his arms. “Move out.”

It didn’t take them long to find the first bodies, a tangle of skeletons pinned by a charred lintel. Sheppard winced, hoping they’d been dead before the flames reached them, and Ronon called from point.

“Over here!”

Sheppard moved to join him, Teyla hurrying from her place covering their backs, to find Ronon standing over a withered shape, so drained of life it was impossible to tell if it had been male or female.

“I told you it was the Wraith.”

“And still it does not make sense.” Teyla stooped to examine the body, and her eyes widened. “Back!”

Sheppard saw it in the same instant, the trace of a wire almost hidden in the dust, the flicker of a tiny light, and then they’d turned, running for the nearest block of stone. He shoved Teyla to the ground ahead of him, felt Ronon land hard against him, and then the world exploded. Debris pattered down around them, weirdly silent after the noise of the explosion, and he shoved himself upright against the protecting stone. Teyla rolled over beside him, clearly unharmed, and a moment later Ronon did the same, swearing under his breath.

Rodney’s voice crackled in the radio, dulled and distant. “Sheppard! Are you all right? Ronon, Teyla—”

Sheppard touched his earpiece. “We’re fine. Looks like the Wraith have left us a few presents.”

“Lovely.” There was relief in Rodney’s tone.

“That is also not like the Wraith,” Teyla said.

“There’s more.” Ronon was on his feet already, the blaster an extension of his hand as he scanned the wreckage. “See? There.”

Sheppard gave him a quick glance — it would be like Ronon not to mention something like a bleeding wound — then looked where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was another body under the rubble, and a trick of the shadows exposed the steadily flashing light.

“And here as well,” Teyla said. She pointed her chin, not taking her hands from her weapon. “Though it is not on a body this time.”

“No,” Sheppard said. He could see it, too, another twist of cable that looked random, just about where you’d want to step if you were going to investigate the half-collapsed building… There was probably another by the broken barricade further up what was left of the street. And if he could see that many, there was no telling how many were better hidden, more carefully concealed in the rubble. “All right,” he said aloud. “Fall back to the gate. There’s no point getting ourselves blown up.”

“We need to find out what happened here,” Teyla said, but she made no move to go further.

Sheppard nodded. “I agree. But this — we need combat engineers, and whatever sensors Rodney or Zelenka can rig. It’s too risky.”

“Sheppard!” Rodney’s voice sounded in his earpiece again, cutting off whatever Teyla might have said. “We’ve got visitors.”

“Wraith?” Ronon demanded.

“No. No, no, no, survivors,” Rodney said. “But you should get back here. They say there’s a lot more booby-traps in the city.”

“We noticed,” Sheppard said. He looked at the others, saw Ronon nod in agreement. “Back to the gate.”

The survivors were like survivors everywhere, exhausted, dirty, still trying to make sense of what had happened. Rodney had dug a handful of energy bars out of his pockets and handed them around with a bottle of water, and the strangers were eating as though they hadn’t been fed in days. Which was probably true, Sheppard thought, and braced himself.

“Who’s in charge?”

“I am, I guess.” That was a short, gray-haired man in a coat that had probably been expensive once. It was dirty now, and torn, missing a collar — Sheppard guessed it had been the strip of fur now wound around the torso of the smallest child — but it had graced a man of substance. The speaker took a last bite of the energy bar, and handed it carefully to the older of the two women before coming forward, his hand outstretched. “We’re grateful to see you, especially since your colleague says you can repair the gate? When we saw, we were afraid we were trapped here—”

The woman cleared her throat, and the man managed a wincing smile. “I’m sorry. I’m Dalmas Rou, and these are my trading partners and family.”

There were six of them, four adults and two children, all in coats and jackets thrown on over whatever they’d been wearing when the Wraith attacked. The younger man had what looked like a party shirt under his coat, gray and shiny, and the older woman had wrapped a scarf around her untidy hair. The youngest child wasn’t much older than Torren, and there was a pale pink shirt like a pajama top under the fur wrapping.

“Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.” He could see Teyla out of the corner of his eye, listening intently, and he shifted his weight so that he could see any subtle signals. She would let him know if anything sounded out of place. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Rou shrugged, and the younger of the women put her hand hard against her mouth. “We were out of the city,” Rou said. “Otherwise…”

His voice trailed off, but Sheppard could complete the sentence for himself: otherwise they wouldn’t have survived. It took some doing, but together he and Teyla got the story out of them. It wasn’t that different from what they’d heard before, on the other worlds they’d visited: it began like a simple Culling, the gate dialed to prevent escape, and the Darts arriving in waves, but then it had changed. The Darts had stopped scooping up the fleeing people, dropped soldier drones instead, and then the cruisers had come, attacking from the air and then landing to release more soldiers.

“The Manarians tried to fight back,” the older woman said. “I was here, in Trade Square. I saw them form line behind the barricades, and I knew—” She broke off, shaking her head. “They were slaughtered. The Wraith didn’t even bother to feed on them all.”

“We think — we’re sure the same thing happened in Farrin, and Majoul,” Rou said. “And in Carnes. We couldn’t raise anyone by radio, and when we tried to get back into the city, we found the bombs. There may be more people alive, but I don’t know where. We’ve tried to look, but — nothing. It’s been seven days…” His shoulders sagged, and a younger man set a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“We have kin on Natalplein,” he said. “Partners in trade and blood. If the gate is repaired — they’ll take us in.”

That had the sound of an argument that had been going on for a while, Sheppard thought. There were, what, six of them, two of them kids under ten: the young guy was right, leaving was the smart thing. “How’re you doing on the gate, Rodney?”

“Oh, it’s done.” Rodney looked briefly smug. “Where do you want me to dial first, their world, or Atlantis?”

Sheppard hesitated — he trusted Rodney’s repairs, but if there was going to be a problem with the gate, he wanted to contact the city first — and Rou looked up sharply.

“You’re from Atlantis? We heard the city had been destroyed.”

“Reports of our demise have been greatly exaggerated,” Sheppard said. He’d always wanted to use that line.

“That would be good news,” the younger woman said softly. “Good news indeed.”

“We’re here,” Ronon said.

Teyla said, “We are back, and we are in search of allies against the Wraith, as we have always been. And also those who are willing to trade, for food and other things. When you step through the gate, I ask you remember that.”

Rou nodded once, almost a bow. “We will certainly do so. And we will pass the word along to our own partners, as well.”

This was better left to Teyla, Sheppard thought, and moved to join Rodney. “Are you sure you’ve got this fixed?”

“Of course. Well, mostly.”

Sheppard sighed. “Mostly?”

“I’m sure.” Rodney glanced down at the DHD, still scarred by the explosion. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“All right. Dial up this — where was it, Natalplein?” Sheppard looked over his shoulder as he spoke, and Teyla nodded.

“Yes. Dalmas will show you the address.”

“Right,” Sheppard answered, and a look of alarm flickered across Rodney’s face.

“Look, maybe we should test it, dial Atlantis first—”

“Rodney,” Sheppard said.

“All right! All right.” Rodney moved back, and the Manarian stepped warily up to the DHD. Sheppard saw him take a deep breath, then punch the symbols quickly, as though speed might avoid another trap. The symbols flared, locked, and the wormhole opened with a whoosh of blue.

“Go,” Rou said, and his people stumbled forward, the youngest child bundled against the young man’s chest. He followed more slowly, looked back from the edge of the gate. “Thank you, Colonel Sheppard. We won’t forget this.”

I wish it had been more. You couldn’t say that, though, and Sheppard forced a smile. “You’re welcome.”

Rou lifted a hand, and vanished into the event horizon. A moment later, the gate shut down. Sheppard took a breath. “Dial Atlantis,” he said.

Rodney punched the buttons, and the gate lit again. Sheppard touched his earpiece. “Atlantis, this is Sheppard.”

“Colonel.” That was Woolsey’s voice, sounding relieved. “We tried to dial your gate earlier and got no response. Is everything all right?”

“Manaria’s been attacked,” Sheppard said. He couldn’t bring himself to say Culled, told himself it was because it was more than a Culling. “We’re all fine, it happened a week ago, but the DHD was booby-trapped and it took us a little while to get it back on line.”

“Attacked by who?” Woolsey asked.

“Looks like the Wraith,” Sheppard answered. He glanced over his shoulder at the wrecked buildings, the shadows stretching toward him as the day waned. “But it’s not a routine Culling. We spoke to some survivors. It looks as though the Wraith were out to destroy the planet.”

“Queen Death?” Even in the attenuated broadcast, Sheppard could hear how Woolsey’s voice sharpened.

“They didn’t say.” Sheppard made a face, annoyed that he hadn’t asked. “But it’s consistent with what we’ve seen elsewhere. Only worse.” There was a little sound that might have been a sigh or a curse. Sheppard plowed on. “We were trying to reach the customs house, but the ruins are full of booby traps. I’d like Lorne to put together a team of combat engineers to clear a path for us.”

“To what end?” Woolsey asked.

Before Sheppard could answer, Rodney had touched his own earpiece. “The Manarians had a computer center there, there may be data on the attack.”

“I thought the Manarians hadn’t reached that level of technology,” Woolsey said.

“It’s Genii technology,” Rodney answered. His tone was faintly sour, and Sheppard gave a crooked grin, remembering the same betrayal. They had come to Manaria for refuge when a massive storm threatened Atlantis, and the Manarians had promptly informed the Genii of the emptied city. The computers had been a reward for that, Sheppard was sure, though they’d never proved anything.

“I think it’s worth trying,” he said aloud.

“Tell me about these booby traps,” Woolsey said.

Sheppard sighed. He could feel himself losing the initiative, Woolsey deciding to cut their losses. “There are a lot of them—”

“How many?”

How should I know? Sheppard bit back that first response, said, as mildly as he knew how, “We saw at least four. Plus the one on the DHD. I can’t figure out why they’d go to this much trouble if there wasn’t something worthwhile in the customs house.”

“Unless that’s exactly what they want us to think,” Woolsey said.

“If it’s Queen Death, we need to know,” Sheppard said.

There was a little silence, and then a faint sound that might have been a sigh. “All right. You can have Lorne and the engineers,” Woolsey said, “and eight hours to assess the situation. Atlantis out.”

“Eight hours,” Sheppard said, into the dead mic, and swore under his breath when he realized the connection had been broken.

To his right, Ronon shrugged. “Hell, I didn’t think he’d give you that much.”