Homecoming

Chapter Twenty-five Making Ready

Woolsey looked at the double screens, Ladon Radim on his right, John Sheppard on the left, wishing briefly that it was Teyla who was speaking from Levanna. But that was pointless — more to the point, it would disrupt the chain of command, and he knew better than to interfere with that. It would also have been nice to conduct this discussion in private, but the gate room was the only place where they could maintain the three-way contact.

“So, Colonel Sheppard,” he said, “the Levannans are heeding our warning.”

“That’s right.” Sheppard was in public, too, standing in a field by the Levannan gate’s DHD. Woolsey could see people in uniform bustling past in the background, and guessed from Sheppard’s expression that he wasn’t exactly happy about it. “Their leader, General Valless, had a plan in place for the next Culling, and he’s implementing it as we speak. They’re evacuating their capital city, the civilian population, and they’re planning to make a stand here by the gate. Which is why they’ve asked us and the Genii for help.”

“Help that we’re more than happy to give,” Ladon said. “But not at the expense of our own people. You’ve said yourself that this could be a feint.”

“We don’t know our source’s motives in giving us this information,” Woolsey admitted. “But your own intelligence network should be able to give you more details.”

Ladon gave a tight smile. “My people haven’t seen any unexplained activity. And there has been a whisper or two about Levanna, though that may only be the result of General Valless’s decision to increase the speed of their technical development. Nonetheless, I can’t risk too many men on what may be a diversionary attack.”

“Anything you send will make a difference,” Sheppard said. “And the same goes for us.”

Woolsey hid a sigh. “As I’ve said to General Valless — and to Chief Ladon — we will send a Marine unit. General O’Neill has also arranged for us to receive an early resupply.” He hoped that would tell Sheppard more than it told Ladon — O’Neill had been adamant that he would not be able to divert ammunition and weapons again any time soon — and from the way Sheppard bit his lip, he thought the message had been received. “But, of course, Genii assistance would be invaluable.”

“I am prepared to send Colonel Faber and a machine gun squadron to assist General Valless,” Ladon said. “He will have orders to coordinate his defense with Colonel Sheppard.”

Sheppard looked briefly startled, and Woolsey nodded, hoping his own surprise didn’t show. That had to mean that Ladon’s intelligence was pointing to Levanna as the location of the main attack… And probably also that he’d prefer Atlantis to take the blame if the joint action failed. “Thank you, Chief Ladon. I’m sure that together we can defend Levanna.”

The low shed was nearly filled with a series of glass bubbles like giant retorts, each with a lead pipe leading from it to larger tube — also lead, Rodney assumed — that ran the length of the ceiling and terminated in a valve-and-nozzle arrangement. The air stank of acid, and the man at his side held a stained handkerchief to his face. Rodney covered his own mouth and nose, wondering just how much damage this was doing to his lungs, and tried to pay attention.

“—successful distillation of hydrogen,” Voisen said. “Which we hoped to use to inflate a series of balloons with which we would lift cables to interfere with the Wraith Darts. Unfortunately, though we have been able to produce envelopes that will contain the lifting gas — thanks to my wife,” he said, with a sudden smile, and a woman in a heavy waxed-looking overcoat turned away from a workbench, stripping off the long gauntlets that covered her hands. “She invented the process that made the silk impermeable. My dear, this is Dr. Rodney McKay, of Atlantis. My wife, Illona.”

The woman smiled — she had surprisingly good teeth in an otherwise homely face — and held out a hand spotted with dozens of tiny acid scars. “An honor, Dr. McKay.”

“Charmed,” Rodney said, without much attention. He looked around the apparatus again. “OK. Barrage balloons. Which actually make a lot of sense, I’m surprised nobody else has thought of it. So you’re making hydrogen — scrap iron and sulphuric acid?”

Illona nodded. “Essentially. Though Henner has developed an acid that produces a stronger reaction, more gas in a shorter amount of time.”

“Right.” Rodney frowned. Everything looked good, seals right, pipes as short as they could be. “So what’s the problem?”

Henner Voisen ducked his head, looking more like a lanky schoolboy than the head of Valless’s Science Institute. “Um. We promised General Kolbyr that we’d have a balloon ready to test, but… It didn’t go well. General Kolbyr was not happy.” Color stained his sallow cheeks.

“We weren’t able fully to inflate the envelope,” Illona said. “We were producing the maximum outflow of the gas, but — the envelope just wouldn’t fill. We were hoping you might be able to help us figure out why.” She smiled again. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Oh,” Rodney said, drawing himself up, and gave her his most dashing smile in return.

And anyway, Henner said, General Kolbyr wants another effective demonstration. Soon.

Oh. Rodney looked around. You are certain the envelope is air-tight?

Yes.

This is the material, Illona said. She held out a strip of heavy cloth, and Rodney took it, dubiously. It felt like rubber, probably was some form of rubber, so that wasn't likely to be the problem. Unless…

The seams? Connections, valves?

Triple-stitched and then coated inside and out with the same material, Illona answered. And the connections are sealed, too.

Rodney studied the apparatus. It was huge oversized, by his reckoning, but that was only to be expected, they have to make up in size what they were almost certainly losing in efficiency. But the principle was certainly correct, acid and iron would react to produce hydrogen, and there was no reason scrap iron wouldn't do the job. He moved closer to the glass domes, frowning down into the chambers. He could feel heat coming off the glass, as warm as a fireplace, and he snapped his fingers. Got it! You are feeding the gas straight into your balloons, right?

Husband and wife exchanged glances. Yes.

This is an exothermic reaction, the gas coming off the iron is hot. It contracts as it cools, of course you are not filling the balloon as quickly as you thought. Rodney looked around, searching for the materials he needed. You need to cool it down before it goes into the envelope. If you wet down the pipe, maybe, or add a length of hose that you can run through a tub of cold water.

Yes, Henner said, and Illona caught up her skirts to step over a pile of discarded scrap.

As if we were distilling alcohol, she said. Yes, of course!

Well, not of course, if it had been of course you wouldn't have been asking me. Rodney swallowed the rest of his words, remembering the look Teyla had given him earlier, and said, exactly.

It took them only a little more than an hour to find the materials, and then another hour or so to fix them in place, Illona dripping the rubber-like gum over all the joints to seal them. The gas flowed as expected, and Rodney straightened, feeling rather pleased with himself. This wasn't exactly his kind of science, was closer to engineering, and working with these primitive tools wasn't precisely something he's planned on. But he had coped, as of course he generally did, and all in all he thought it was going fairly well…

Voisen? The door of the shed slammed open, and Kolbyr strode in, followed by a wary looking aide. Voisen, you better have it ready this time, or I'll shove that hose up. He stopped, blinking, as he saw Illona. Your servant, ma'am.

We are ready, Voisen said, but his voice was higher than usual.

Kolbyr made a distinctly dubious noise. Under the low roof, he looked even bigger than he had in the general conference room, and in spite of himself Rodney took a step toward the door.

I'll just…

Oh, are you involved in this, Lantean? Kolbyr clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. You are the scientist Mc'Kay, right?

Yes.

Stay, Kolbyr said, with ferocious good humor, and nodded to Voisen. Let's see what you've got.

Right away, General. Voisen beckoned to a trio of assistants, who had been busy checking the first balloon for flaws, and they hauled it forward, unfolding it as they went. One fastened the nozzle while the other two hauled the fabric into shape, and Illona tugged the lever that allowed the gas to flow. For a long moment, McKay thought nothing was going to happen, and then the bag began to move, shivering a little as the gas lifted the upper layer. It rose, slowly but definitely taking on shape, and Voisen breathed a sigh of relief.

You see, General, it works.

It flies, Kolbyr said, but nodded. Not bad.

Rodney looked at him, big man in a lace-trimmed coat, who still carried a sword as well as a short-barreled Genii pistol and then back at the balloon. Do you really think this is going to work?

He regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, but Kolbyr grinned. No idea. But I don't think it will hurt.âHe looked back at Voisen. All right, then. You're got a company at your disposal. Get the balloons to the towers.

It was dark by the time Sheppard had seen the Marine companies into their temporary quarters and conferred with their captains and with the Genii colonel, Faber, who had seemed stiff but willing to cooperate. The senior Marine captain, Diaz, seemed to have struck up a kind of friendship with his Genii opposites, and Sheppard was willing to let him handle the liaison for the time being. Right now, he was tired and hungry and really wanted the kind of hot shower he was sure he wasn't going to get. He could have groaned aloud when he heard Rodney's voice through the door of their suite of rooms. The Levannan guard came to strict attention as he approached, but he thought he saw a flicker of sympathy in the man's eyes as he pushed open the door.

Can't hurt, he says. They weren't even sure they carry the cables!

It's not a bad idea, Ronon said. From his expression, he was getting to the stage where he contradict Rodney just for the sake of argument, and Teyla was looking distinctly frayed.

Well, no, it's not a bad idea, but it's completely untested. And my calculations show they can lift about 9 kilograms. That's not a lot of rope or chain or wire, and we don't know if any of that would actually do any damage to a Darts. Rodney turned at Sheppard's entrance. You know. Would a barrage balloon do anything to stop a Dart?

You already asked me that, Sheppard said. I said maybe.

I would not think they would want to fly into obstacles, Teyla said. John, there is food here.

Thanks. Sheppard was rapidly divesting himself of weapons and flak jacket, and eyed the table with approval. There was some kind of pie, savory by the smells, and something that looked enough like a roast chicken for him to feel fairly comfortable eating it. The others had already made inroads into it, but for once there was plenty left. Ronon handed him a glass of something; he took it, sniffing, and discovered it was a better than decent wine. Wow. I don't suppose there's a bathtub, too?

Ronon snorted, and Teyla gave him an apologetic smile. It is rather small. She nodded to a copper object, about the size of a half barrel, that stood by the fireplace. “That’s all there is.”

“Never mind,” Sheppard said.

“But the food’s good,” Ronon said.

Sheppard found a clean plate, carved himself some chicken and helped himself to the pie, which smelled of cheese and onions and tava beans. There was some kind of orange casserole that looked a lot like something the Athosians cooked, and he grabbed some of that, too. “So where do we stand?” he asked, through a mouthful of chicken, and Rodney rolled his eyes.

“Well, we’re waiting for the Wraith to attack. Assuming Todd for some reason told the truth—”

“The city is mostly evacuated,” Teyla said. “It was well planned, I watched the carts leaving. I think the civilians, at least, will be safe.”

“The Levannans are as ready as they’re going to be,” Ronon said. He tugged the last leg off the second chicken, took a bite. “I talked to Daileass, she says the Guard’s been training them to use Genii weapons — they’ve got a repeating rifle, that should help.”

It was volume of fire that put the Wraith down, overwhelmed their ability to regenerate. You needed a machine gun, or a lot of men trained to put their shots into the same target. Sheppard nodded.

“This Science Institute came up with something clever,” Rodney said. “Besides the balloons, I mean. And the heliograph, which I’m surprised more people haven’t invented.”

“They did,” Ronon said. He put the bone aside, wiped his fingers on a napkin, reached for a little tart that looked like it was topped with a fried egg.

Rodney ignored him. “They call it ‘Wraith-killer’—it’s sort of like a cross between a pistol and a shotgun, fires a whole lot of slugs all at once. It looks like it will be effective.”

“The troops call it the pepper pot,” Ronon said. “And it blows up sometimes.”

“Great,” Sheppard said. “I’m glad we’re not relying on them.”

Ronon nodded. “I saw Diaz had a squad at the gate?”

“Yeah. The Genii colonel put a unit there, too.” Sheppard bit his lip, still not sure about Faber — he’d seemed competent, and willing to work with the Lanteans, but there’d been a reserve there that he couldn’t interpret. The food was suddenly less appealing, but he made himself take another bite, and another. He needed the fuel, and there was no telling when he’d get to eat again.

“Tomorrow is the third day,” Teyla said.

“Yeah.” Sheppard saw her take a deep breath, and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Any time now.”

“Great,” Rodney said. He had wandered back to the food table, was picking at the platter of odd-looking vegetables. “So we’re just going to sit around and wait for them — oh, and have a lovely last meal while we’re doing it?”

“Not funny, McKay.” Sheppard winced — he didn’t think of himself as superstitious, but there were times when Rodney had no sense at all.

“So we should go hungry while we wait?” Ronon asked. There was an odd, rueful smile on his face, and it occurred to Sheppard that the Satedan had done this before. That hadn’t gone very well, either, but he shoved the thought away.“We’re as ready as we can be, right, Sheppard?” Ronon went on. “So we might as well be comfortable.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said, and looked down at his empty plate. He didn’t remember what anything had tasted like, except the wine. “Might as well.”

The next morning came and went, the sun rising steadily to the zenith, warming the air and striking unexpected color from the balloons tethered to towers and rooftops. There weren’t really enough of them to make a difference, Sheppard thought. They might slow the Darts down a bit, but the sharp little fighters were agile enough to avoid some of them, and strong enough to plow through them once they realized what they were dealing with. Still, it was a good idea, and he said as much to General Kolbyr when he met him in the gate field.

Kolbyr gave him a lop-sided smile. “I won’t pretend I enjoy dealing with scientists, but if this works—” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Sheppard squinted into the pale sky, picking out patches of red and blue among the overall drab tan. “What are they made of, anyway?”

Kolbyr scowled at a soldier who had put down his repeater to haul water, and the man scurried to retrieve his weapon, slung it awkwardly, and picked up his buckets again. “Silk. With some fancy coating.”

That sparked a vague memory. “Don’t tell me that this is one of those things where the ladies of the court donated their dresses to the cause.”

Kolbyr laughed. “Not likely. Have you seen what the women are wearing these days? There’s not enough fabric to make a pair of handkerchiefs. But I think there are some curtains and such from the palace.”

Sheppard nodded, scanning the ground again. Valless was good, had been quick to grasp the possibilities of rapid fire; the bulk of his men were concealed in the city buildings, ready to support the machine gun nests set up by the Genii. The Marines would act as shock troops, try to prevent the Wraith from massing… It was a good plan. It wouldn’t survive contact with the enemy, and he saw the same knowledge in Kolbyr’s face as well.

Somewhere, a tower clock struck the half hour: half past noon on a warm and cloudy day, when the breeze smelled of wood smoke and horses. An ordinary day, except that it wasn’t. Sheppard mumbled an excuse, and turned away.

Diaz and Culpepper were feeding their men in shifts, and a handful of Levannan women had brought buckets of soup to supplement the MREs. Teyla had come with them, looking just about as tense as Sheppard felt, and they each took a mug of the thick broth into the shade of a doorway.

“I thought all the civilians had been evacuated,” Sheppard said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to talk about while the soup cooled enough to drink.

“They have,” Teyla answered. “Or so I believe. These women belong to the regiment — they are wives, I think, and companions. They volunteered to stay.”

Sheppard sipped at the broth again, tasting some kind of grain — the size and texture of barley, he thought, and wondered if the Ancients had brought it to Pegasus from Earth, or if the transfer had gone the other way. Or if it was barley at all. “Where’s Rodney?”

“With the scientists from the Institute. Ronon has set some of the Satedans to guard them.” Teyla gave a lopsided smile. “I fear it will be a long day, John.”

Sheppard nodded. The cup was nearly empty; he dashed out the dregs, gave it back to one of the Levannans, and turned back toward the city walls. The balloons swayed gently in the heavy air, and the flags on the towers fluttered slowly, plain dark blue with a wreath of golden stars.

Valless had moved his headquarters from the palace to a more protected building, a stone tower with walls that had to be a meter thick at the base. Several of the staff were busy in the ground floor room, making notes and studying a map of the city, but Valless, they said, was on the roof. Sheppard climbed the stairs to join him, returning the salutes of the general’s personal guard.

“Colonel Sheppard.” Valless turned away from the parapet, closing his brass telescope with a decisive snap. “Everything’s ready on your end?”

“As ready as we can be,” Sheppard answered, and Valless smiled.

“I’m grateful for the use of these — radios.” He lingered over the word, as though it were something new. Which it probably was, Sheppard thought. The Levannans were hauling themselves forward by main force, making huge technical leaps, but there were still plenty of gaps in their technologies. “When this is over, I’d like to talk to your Mr. Woolsey about trading for some of these.” Valless smiled. “We are a thriving agricultural world.”

“I’m sure Mr. Woolsey would be delighted to discuss it,” Sheppard said. The conversation felt unreal — but then, nothing felt real today. He’d felt this before, the sense of distance, time stretching, thickening, so that everything was at one remove, cut off by an invisible veil. It would be fine once the fighting started, but you couldn’t wish for that, either, and he forced a smile that he knew slid wrong.

“Colonel Sheppard!” Culpepper’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “Unscheduled gate activation!”