The Chosen

Chapter Nine

As soon as the jumper exited the Stargate, John glanced over his shoulder. The expression on Lisera’s face was very different to the one she’d worn leaving Dalera just two days earferent to the one she’d worn leaving Dalera just two days earlier. Clean, well fed, and sporting a leg cast decorated with good wishes in nine different languages, she looked and sounded like a normal teenager, which was a very welcome change.

Beside him, Rodney was practically glowing with pride. Not only had the man been proven correct yet again, he was performing surprisingly well in his first-ever spaceflight lesson in the jumper. It was an impressive sight, he had to admit. There was a thin, almost transparent blue ring of dust surrounding the planet, contrasting sharply with the stark blackness beyond. And the stars — God, the stars. He’d never realized before his first jumper ride how many stars the sky could hold. Maybe there were a few pilots back on Earth who didn’t dream of exactly this opportunity, but John didn’t know any. The best perk by far of this galactic boondoggle was the chance to fly what, though might not be the sexiest looking thing in the air, sure as hell had to be the coolest.

The only one on his team who seemed to be sitting silent and pensive was Teyla. Just as evident as Rodney’s excitement was the Athosian’s troubled countenance. On one level, John was glad that he was sensitized to each of his team members’ moods, but on another he couldn’t afford to let the current tensions continue unchecked. They were all on a sharp learning curve, having to accommodate unprecedented situations without so much as an out-of-date guidebook. Even Teyla, who had started out as their roving ambassador, had had to deal both with their alien Earth culture and with having some deep holes punched into her preconceived ideas about everyone from the Genii to the Ancients.

Right now, he was just hoping that everything went smoothly on this second visit to Dalera. Rodney might have had the right idea — although John would be damned if he said that out loud, seeing as McKay was already saying it enough for everyone — but John also had enough personal experiences stashed away in the recesses of his memory to suspect that Teyla wasn’t altogether wrong.

“Okay” he said to Rodney. “I have the controls.”

“Oh, c’mon!” his teammate whined. “At least let me fly it down through the atmosphere.”

John smirked at the lack of eloquence. He’d long suspected that their chief scientist had never been a child — or at least not a normal one — but that display had just proved otherwise. “Next lesson. Meanwhile, you can bring up the HUD.”

That request seemed to pacify Rodney somewhat. Coming in much higher this time, John noted that none of the EM fields activated before he parked the jumper on the outskirts of the village. That was a good sign.

Although Lisera had grasped the fundamentals of using crutches, she wasn’t entirely mobile yet. However, Yann was as good as his word, and was waiting with another couple of muscle-bound fishermen holding the stretcher. After making certain that everything they were carrying was switched off, and that they were well clear of the jumper, Teyla withdrew the Shields from where she’d hidden them between the rocks. Surprised that they were still there, John felt a stab of guilt for not entirely trusting the merchant. The return of the Wraith must have rekindled faith in Dalera’s Shields, even if those who currently wielded them afforded less respect.

“Zelenka may actually have come up with a useful suggestion,” Rodney ventured, accepting his Shield. “There may be a way to disable the capacitor.” He continued to mumble vague hypotheses during the short trek to the village.

Walking along the cobbled road to the inn, they encountered a mixed reaction. It beat their first visit hands-down, but it was still somewhat unsettling. While a number of kids ran up to Lisera, begging her to tell them of the magical things she’d seen, just as many adults looked on with unconcealed resentment. He’d already warned Lisera to say nothing of her ‘Chosen’ status until presenting the fact to Kesun, but that hadn’t kept her from describing Atlantis with a rapid string of slightly embellished adjectives.

When they reached the square, a bunch of people loaded down with goods obviously destined for market were parked outside the inn. None of them looked happy. Check that. One of them, Balzar, had a smug smile on his face. “Market day in the Citadel, huh?” John inquired to Yann.

The merchant’s face darkened. “No. Since your arrival, a change has come. We must now double what we once paid before we are allowed entry into the transport. Additionally, we must pay in advance.”

“What?” One word was enough to summarize Rodney’s disbelief, but naturally he didn’t leave it at that. “What can the Chosen possibly need with all that food when there are so few—”

“Dr McKay,” Teyla all but hissed. “Had we not agreed to return Lisera to the Citadel first?”

“After you, Rodney.” John pushed open the door of the inn and gave the scientist a not-quite-gentle prod in the back. Offering a smile in Yann’s direction, and raising his voice so that the waiting villagers could hear, he added, “Let’s hold off until we discuss a few things with the Chosen.”

“And if the Wraith return?” someone called.

“Then I’ll come back here,” John replied, lifting his Shield. “That’s a promise.”

Mutters of grudging acceptance followed him into the inn. The old guy behind the bar was standing in the exact same spot where John had left him, still looking surly, although his expression shifted somewhat when Yann entered with Lisera and the other merchants.

That was yet another thing that had John’s self-preservation skills screaming. Something wasn’t adding up. He might have chalked it up to the heightened fear and resentment in the village, except Teyla seemed equally tense and watchful. She returned his glance with a subtle shake of her head. No Wraith, then, but something.

The fishermen carrying Lisera walked down into the transport ahead of Ford, who was also looking around, alert for anything amiss. Rodney was already inside, practically bouncing on his toes. “I’m looking forward to this.”

“Did I mention that I’ve added a spiked metal plate to the heel of my boots?” John remarked, stepping in beside him and placing his palm on the single light.

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about me speaking out of turn,” Rodney replied. “I’ll be quite happy just to observe and feel utterly vindicated.”

The doors opened on a familiar feculent odor, and the scientist’s smile slipped a few notches. The Sanctuary Hall was still as grubby and crowded and noisy as it had been two days earlier, although the area around the entrance to the transport seemed marginally less cluttered. In fact, it looked as if—

Too late, John saw thick rope nets fly across them. Before he’d even had a chance to raise his weapon, he felt himself jerked off his feet. Teyla’s warning cry had likewise come too late. Rodney yelped an objection moments later, when John found himself directly on top of the scientist, on the floor, twisted up inside the greasy net. Then he became aware of the smell and feel of a dozen bodies crowded around them.

“We will not harm you,” Yann called above their cries, “if you cease struggling, and release your weapons to us.”

Someone near him — Teyla, by the feel of it — continued to twist around inside the net, no doubt trying to free at least one of her arms. John tried to reach for his knife, but the mesh pulled tighter and Yann called out again, “We promise you no harm, but you must listen!”

Damn it, damn it, damn it. And people wondered why he seemed to live by gut instinct rather than set plans. It wasn’t out of any deep desire to rock the boat. It was because when he ignored that instinct, crap like this tended to happen.

“Is my arm still attached to my shoulder?” Rodney inquired in a plaintive voice. “It’s hard to tell at the moment, what with the pain and the awkward angle and the grown man lying on top of me.”

“Believe me when I say it isn’t by choice, Rodney.”

Ford’s, “Sir?” was muffled, but John knew what the Lieutenant was asking.

Heaving a sigh, he made the all but inevitable decision. “All right. We’re listening.”

The net slackened, and they untangled themselves. Their weapons were pulled away, disappearing into the throng of people, and their wrists were bound with thick ropes. Outmaneuvered by a bunch of guys with a net. They were never going to live this one down.

“We have no wish to make enemies of you,” Yann began, his expression so earnest that John almost believed him. “On the contrary, we hope you will find us to be worthy allies.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for not shaking your hand.” John gave a sarcastic tug on his bindings.

“I regret that this was necessary, but we were desperate. There is much you should see before returning to the Enclave.” The merchant spoke in a measured, even tone. “When the Great Plague visited us two generations past, countless Dalerans, perhaps as many as three quarters of our number, were stuck down.”

Rodney’s head snapped up at that, but Yann ignored him and continued. “In the years hence, fewer and fewer Chosen ventured beyond the Enclave to operate the village transports. Today, when the Shields glow and the alarm is raised, Kesun alone evacuates but a handful of villages.

“Many of us have long suspected that the Plague struck the Chosen even harder, and as a result, they are now few in number. It is the only explanation for the way they failed in fulfilling their duty to the people of Dalera. The teaching windows tell us that these last weeks have been but a small taste of the great culling to come. And yet with so few Chosen, even the Citadel cannot provide safe haven.”

“So you’re not overly enchanted with the Chosen right now,” John summed up. “We can empathize with that. But—”

A young voice full of idealistic determination broke in. “Release them. The Chosen command it!”

The assembled merchants turned to where Lisera stood, leaning unsteadily on one of the crutches. John shut his eyes with a wince. Although he appreciated the effort, it probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Lisera, we can handle this.” Ford attempted to dissuade her.

Ignoring the chuckles and jeers from the crowd, the girl reached for Rodney’s Shield and yanked it free.

“What? You couldn’t possibly have taken his instead?” Rodney jerked his restrained hands in John’s direction. Being unable to gesture was definitely putting a crimp in the scientist’s style.

No one was listening to him, though, because all eyes were on the Shield that had changed from black to a dull turquoise in Lisera’s hand. Through the murmurs, Yann remained unmoved. He cocked an eyebrow at Rodney. John wasn’t sure if it was a good poker face, or if they were about to be even more screwed than they already were.

“I knew you when you could not yet speak, Lisera,” the merchant said. “When your mother first moved from the Citadel to the village.”

Alarmed by the look on Rodney’s face, which was beginning to adopt a ‘eureka’ expression, John was about to explain, but Yann added, “You were not of the Chosen.” He turned a calculating eye to his captives. “What has changed between then and now?” John opened his mouth to reply, but again, Yann beat him to the punch. Staring wide-eyed at Lisera, he added, “You were made Chosen in Atlantis!”

That revelation was met with gasps of wonder and loud mutters that spread across the nearby crowd like a tidal wave. “The medicine of which you spoke.” Yann pointed an accusing finger at Rodney. “You gave her the genetherapy!”

“What? Me?” Rodney retorted in a voice that was just short of a squeal. “Don’t be ridiculous, I hate needles — Wait, you were actually listening to me about all that?”

While the word genetherapy was whispered from person to person, Yann merely met Rodney’s gaze with sage understanding. “You are of the Chosen, yet you do not approve of their laws. You have made no secret of it.”

“That may well be, but I’d be the last person to administer the gene therapy to anyone. Besides, there was no need. Lisera is a natural carrier.”

Or maybe they’d just go with the truth and see how that went.

“Dr McKay!” Teyla hissed.

“What?” Rodney snapped indignantly. “I’m just clarifying the situation. And I’m getting incredibly tired of having to repeat myself. The gene doesn’t make anyone Chosen. It simply allows them to operate the same technology as the Chosen, which we’re going to have to rename because I think we’ve effectively proven the term ‘Chosen’ to be inaccurate.”

The sour feeling in John’s stomach abruptly turned into full-blown heartburn. He whipped around to glare at Rodney while the muttering in the crowd swelled in volume. Rodney blinked back at him. “What? Did you have a better story to tell? Something about magic fairy dust?”

It was a reasonable point, but John was getting tired of McKay’s bull-in-a-china-shop diplomacy. “So help me, Rodney, if I could move my hands right now…”

With confusion and a hint of betrayal, Lisera stared at them. Yann quieted the murmurs, took the Shield from her hand and reattached it to Rodney’s belt. “This potion you have, this genetherapy can make anyone Chosen?”

“The evidence speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” Rodney looked somewhat mollified that his Shield had been returned. “I’m a textbook case.”

Although Yann might not have entirely understood McKay’s explanation, he must have gotten the drift, because his eyes narrowed and he turned to John. “You also received this potion?”

Not much point in hiding the truth now. Still glaring at McKay, John replied, “No, like Lisera, I’m a natural carrier.”

If this gang of rebels-in-waiting had a leader, Yann had to be it, because everyone seemed to be looking to him for guidance. “What say you of the Chosen?” he asked, his gaze fixing on John. “Do you believe their rule is just?”

This time there was no way in hell John was going to let Rodney speak for them. “We don’t take sides,” he said firmly. “How you choose to live is your business. We just don’t want to see the Wraith come in and tear the place apart.”

Yann regarded him with cold eyes. “You do not ‘take sides,’” he repeated, his voice filled with enough contempt to make John wince. “Come.” He gave a sharp gesture to the quartet of merchants who had taken their weapons. The men took up positions around the team and prodded them forward.

“Now what?” Rodney said under his breath.

They were led out of the Sanctuary Hall and through a series of alleys. Within moments, John realized that they’d been painfully ignorant of the truth of this place, and he wanted his ignorance back.

In the backstreets, they found a degree of poverty and destitution that rivaled any on Earth. Beggars staked out their territory, shoving off emaciated children with festering eyes and open sores. He’d been involved in humanitarian missions in Africa, and had seen some truly appalling conditions, but this was far beyond anything he’d ever witnessed.

Holy— He jerked back in shock as the analytical part of his mind identified a lump lying on top of a garbage heap as a corpse, obviously a victim of gross malnutrition. The gasp that came from somewhere behind him sounded like Teyla.

“It is the same in much of the Citadel,” Yann said. He kept his gaze trained on the cobblestone path, deftly navigating his way through the worst of the filth. “Those who rule have no interest in anything but taking payment in return for protection that they cannot provide.” He didn’t need to explain how hunger, squalid living conditions, and the resultant explosion of infectious diseases had created fertile ground for social anarchy.

Ford jumped when a beggar clawed at his arm. One of their guards swiftly pushed the babbling old woman aside. John flinched at the sight, but understood that the guards were acting out of necessity rather than a lack of compassion. If they stopped moving, anything they had of value, up to and including the clothes on their back, would be stripped in seconds. Probably not gently, either.

Yann continued to lead them deeper into the Citadel, cautioning them to watch their feet when he stepped over a nearly overflowing gutter. One whiff of its contents had John silently vowing never again to complain about the plumbing on Atlantis.

“There is no way to be sure, but we believe that dozens perish each day — far more than have yet been taken by the Wraith.” Yann wordlessly sidestepped a load of garbage being tossed from a third-floor window, and pointed to an even narrower side-alley. “The entrance is near.”

They walked down a set of uneven steps made all the more treacherous by a slick coating that John had no desire to identify. Fortunately, the stairs soon ended, depositing them in a winding tunnel lit by torches. Yann moved decisively, apparently familiar with the route.

A solid thud sounded in the dim light, and Rodney stumbled into John’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he muttered. “There’s something on the floor — oh.”

There was someone on the floor, actually. At least, that limp bundle of rags had been a someone not so long ago. A pair of rodents, roused by the commotion, scurried out from under the body to disappear into the darkness.

“Can I assume,” Rodney asked the team at large, “that none of us are clinging to the fantasy of the Chosen as enlightened despots anymore? I don’t require any kind of apology, but let’s make sure we’re all finally on the same page here.”

“Not helpful right now,” John told him shortly, glancing back at Teyla. The Athosian had remained silent throughout this tour from Hell, but despite her outward control, he was fairly certain he’d never seen her so shaken. Having been more or less on her side when it came to not getting involved in the Dalerans’ business, he wasn’t feeling too great at the moment, either.

“Be silent,” Yann ordered. He guided them into another tunnel, this one outfitted with a thick iron door and several armed men acting as guards.

The men greeted him with relief. “It is well that you have returned,” one guard said. “I do not know for how much longer we can keep word from spreading.”

“Word of what?” Rodney demanded.

Rather than reply, Yann led them further into the tunnel. The passage got progressively smaller until everyone but Teyla had to duck low to continue. They soon came upon a small section of rock that had fallen away to reveal a cavern beyond the tunnel wall. The smell of salted fish and something more wafted out from the hole. “What is this?” he asked in a low voice.

Yann gestured. “Look for yourself.” His tone was edged with bitterness.

Through the hole, John saw a bunch of flickering torches illuminating a huge chamber. He counted five double doors, presumably leading into other rooms, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. As he watched, men carrying square baskets of dried meat walked down a set of narrow steps and carefully stacked them along wooden racks. Then it hit him. Why was so much food being squirreled away, when the Citadel’s residents were starving? He moved away so that Rodney could see.

Yann explained, “There are many such places containing dried fish and fruits, cheeses and preserves, all of it payment demanded from us for use of the transport.”

“Who are these people?” Rodney demanded in a voice John wished was a few decibels short of a holler.

“We believe they are servants bonded to the Chosen at birth,” Yann said. “Until recently, their existence has only been guessed at.”

“Oh, come on,” Rodney declared, moving aside so that Teyla could see. “That’s not servitude, it’s slavery. Which explains why the Enclave and the Chosen still have their upscale look. Without this subculture running around looking after them, that temple would be buried under a layer of dust.”

“What’s it for?” Ford asked, taking his turn at the hole.

“Provisions,” John answered before Yann could speak. “The Chosen knew they couldn’t protect everyone, so they’re stashing as much away as they can in preparation for the next culling.”

“Only those who can pay the most have been offered a place inside the Enclave,” spat Yann. “It is the one location that has never been breached by the Wraith.”

John looked around at the faces of his teammates. Ford’s held shock, while Rodney was obviously disgusted. Teyla stared back at him, her features shadowed by anger and a hint of betrayal. “It is unconscionable,” she said, the words laced with venom. “Food is stored in these secret halls while children starve in the streets. This deception…”Unable to continue, she fell silent.

The return trip through the tunnels was subdued. John recalled Kesun’s seemingly earnest claims with a sick feeling. Even if the man truly believed that the Chosen were following Dalera’s will, there was no conceivable justification for such an atrocity.

Once they were back outside, Yann stood with folded arms, impassive. “So,” he said simply. “Now you have seen.”

Trying to get a handle on the implications, John could only nod. “We’ve seen,” he agreed. “And we recognize that this can’t go on. I’m just not sure what the best course of action is yet.”

“The Sanctuary Halls are filled with fresh foodstuffs,” Teyla said, recovering her composure. “Why do you not share them with the poor?”

“It’s not that simple,” John found himself answering. He understood the complex and conflicting economic and sociopolitical aspects of the situation. “With a regime this powerful and the corruption so widespread, even the best intentions can get hijacked.” He looked at Yann, who nodded once, satisfied that they understood each other.

“The potion you possess,” the merchant said. “If it could be given to sufficient people, I believe we would have the capacity to both defend the Citadel and operate the transports. We could achieve that which Dalera commanded, to protect all against the Wraith, showing favor no more or less to one or another.”

“Without meaning to say I told you so,” Rodney piped up, “I believe this is exactly what I suggested at the outset.”

John shot him a glare. “Hadn’t we established that since Lisera has the gene, so might a lot of other people? The gene therapy probably isn’t necessary.”

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Yann said, “You would refuse us this potion when you know it will save us?”

Behind him, two of the guards looked at one another, and their scowls deepened.

“I didn’t say that. I just think it’d save everyone a lot of time and trouble if you tested everyone first.”

“And what if only people the likes of Balzar have this gene? Will they use it as Dalera intended? I think not.”

“To whom would you give the genetherapy?” Teyla inquired.

“The poorest among us, so that their lives are made precious to all.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, but John was still hearing more warning bells even as he mentally raced through the possibilities. “I don’t know how much of this…potion we have to spare,” he pointed out. “Besides, I can’t promise you anything until we talk to our leader.”

“You are not the leader of your people?”

He clamped down on the automatic Hell, no, that came to his lips. Already he had far more responsibility than he’d bargained for. “No. So it’s not my decision to make.”

Yann nodded. “Then two of you may return to Atlantis in your Ancient craft, to confer with your leader. The other two must remain here until you bring us the potion.”

“That sounds a lot like—” Rodney tensed as his fisherman buddies took up positions around them, this time clutching their axes with more serious intent. “Taking hostages,” he finished, his annoyance colored by a twinge of worry.

John instinctively took a step forward and found himself blocked by a heavy staff across the chest. “This is not the best way to get cooperation from us,” he warned.

“I regret once again that it has become necessary. But our people are desperate, in all ways.” There was no malice in Yann’s expression, but his earnestness almost seemed more dangerous. “Two will remain. They will not be harmed, but they cannot leave.”

“One stays,” John countered. “Me. The rest go back.”

A snort came from Rodney. “Think it through before you fall on your proverbial sword, Major. Thanks to your reluctance to let me take the controls on the way down, you’re the only one with any experience navigating the jumper in space.”

Damn it. This was one decision he was not going to make for them. “Where we come from, our warriors have a code: leave no one behind.”

“Then you will return for them. With the potion.”

Frustration boiling just under the surface, John knew he was in no position to intimidate these people. The fact that he halfway sympathized with them didn’t help matters.

“I will stay,” Teyla offered, her dark eyes hooded. “I spoke before of appreciating all viewpoints. Clearly there is more left to understand.”

“I’ll stay too, sir,” Ford volunteered. “I mean, I should keep an eye on Lisera.”

John hated this with a ferocity that physically burned. He didn’t want Teyla punishing herself for her misjudgment, and although he preferred having a military person stick around, leaving a subordinate in a hostile situation while he himself slunk home with his tail between his legs was intolerable.

Some sign of the conflict must have shown on his face, because Teyla stepped closer and forced him to look at her. “We will be all right,” she told him. “They have no wish to harm us, and they are in need of help we can provide.”

He set his jaw and nodded. “All right. We’ll back by morning at the latest.” Every ounce of conviction he possessed was funneled into that vow, in the hope that his teammates would take some assurance in it.

They were separated almost immediately, Ford and Teyla pulled toward a soot-stained doorway while he and Rodney were escorted back to the Sanctuary Hall. At the entrance to the transport, their Shields were confiscated and given to a confused and upset Lisera. The ropes were untied, and then they were on their own.

After negotiating their way through an increasingly surly bunch of villagers on the way back to the clearing where they’d parked the jumper, John was ready to snap. No matter which way he spun the situation, there were very few options available, and exactly none that would let him sleep at night. To make matters worse, Rodney hadn’t uttered a word since this hideous ‘deal’ had been struck. Somehow that was worse than the crowing he’d come to expect from the scientist.

At last, the conversational void got the better of him, and he growled, “What, no victory march? Or did you run out of creative ways to say ‘I told you so’?”

To his dismay, Rodney looked hurt for a split-second, before his expression hardened. “What kind of sociopath do you take me for, to think I’d be happy about what we just saw?”

John instantly felt like a complete and total ass. “You’re right — I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”

After an uncomfortable pause, Rodney spoke up again. “That said, I hope we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about listening to each other, or more specifically listening to me.”

“On second thought, let’s go back to brooding in silence.”

“Fine by me.”

Unfortunately, the renewed quiet only served to magnify John’s frustration and sense of failure. Now he’d have to face Dr Weir and explain why he’d returned without two of his people. There weren’t many things that felt worse than that.

The room had clearly not been intended for detention, which lent weight to Yann’s assertions that they did not wish to harm their…visitors. It was relatively well-lit, it had chairs — such as they were — and a small opening high in the wall served as a window. There even was a plate with a loaf of hard bread and some fruit sitting on the table.

Nonetheless, Lieutenant Ford was sitting in a chair, his spine rigid and his expression blank. If Yann and his rebels did not view him as a prisoner, the young Marine certainly behaved as one.

Teyla stood underneath the crude window and stared out at the evening sky, trying vainly to give order to her thoughts. A great many of her convictions had been tested of late, forcing her to question herself more strongly each time.

It had seemed simpler, once. The peoples she had encountered were fellow traders, willing and often eager to assist each other. Perhaps the shared menace of the Wraith had colored her viewpoint, but she had considered almost all of her acquaintances to be kindred. Only when she began to journey with the Earth Atlantis team had she come to recognize greater differences between worlds.

The deception practiced so expertly by Sora still troubled Teyla. Was her trust so easily manipulated? When had the Genii traded compassion for self-preservation? What of the Hoffans, who had abandoned their morality with respect even to their own kind? No one could deny that the Wraith ignited desperation in their victims. But rather than bond together to face a common foe, so many seemed prone to battle among themselves. In that way, the people of this planet were no different from many others.

The Dalerans’ plight touched her, more so perhaps because of her earlier misjudgment. Still, the providing them with the gene therapy alone would not offer a solution to their social inequities.

That, of course, presupposed that she and Lieutenant Ford would be freed according to the rebels’ demands. Her faith in her teammates ran deep. Major Sheppard would sooner cut off his own arm than leave his comrades at risk, and while Dr McKay was decidedly less intrepid, his intellect could very well prove useful. She only hoped that in resolving the situation, they would also, somehow, find a way to free these people from their current fate.

Clearly sharing her thoughts, Ford finally spoke up. “Think Dr Weir will agree to give these guys what they want?”

“I believe you to be better qualified than me to answer that.”

He chewed on his lip. “If we were on Earth, I’d say no way. That’s not how we do things. But sometimes, even though it’s obvious, I have to remind myself to stop thinking like I’m back there. We’re a long way from Earth, in more ways than one.”

They lapsed into silence again, and Teyla wondered if the Lieutenant’s home could possibly feel as distant to him as Athos now did to her.

“Absolutely not.”

Predictably, Rodney didn’t react all that well to her answer. “I see. What a relief it is to know that all matters get such careful consideration. That took you all of three seconds to decide.”

A flare of white-hot anger surged up, and Elizabeth pinned him in place with her stare. “After your unilateral decision to tell the Dalerans about the gene therapy, you have the nerve to accuse me of going off half-cocked?”

They faced each other down across her desk. Off to the side, Carson and John wisely kept their mouths shut.

“I didn’t exactly have the opportunity to form a committee to discuss it,” Rodney argued. “Also — and you may think this a minor point — this further proves my previous assertion about the utility of the gene therapy.”

Elizabeth rubbed her temple wearily. The moment the jumper had returned carrying only half her team, she’d felt an all-too-familiar sense of dread. Somehow, no matter what they did in this galaxy, nothing came without a price. Could they — could she—have done something to prevent this? Had they failed yet again under noble intentions? “I understand your point, Rodney, and I agree that genetic inequality is at the heart of the problem. But the circumstances are shifting quickly right now. If we give in to terror tactics, we’re setting ourselves up to be continually manipulated. I won’t allow that.”

The scientist scowled. “Like so many things, it’s a matter of perspective,” he said. “One man’s terrorist is another man’s revolutionary. How did your country come by its independence, by the way?”

“It’s hardly the same—”

“It’s exactly the same. And not only is the ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’ mantra both trite and unreasonably inflexible, it also happens to be counterproductive in this situation. They’re asking us for something we intended to give them already.”

Rodney stalked across the office. “Let’s also bear in mind our diminishing options here. Aside from leaving Ford and Teyla to their aromatic paradise, what else do you suggest we do?”

Elizabeth slid her gaze over to her military advisor. John’s expression told her that he didn’t like the situation any more than she did. “A six-man team,” he replied to the unspoken question. “Can’t go in completely covert, since they’ll know we’re coming, but a second jumper could go in cloaked, and the team could move out after I head-fake Yann and his buddies into thinking I’m complying with their demands. Smoke grenades should help keep the casualties low. But without confirmation of their exact location and the number of unfriendlies around, there’s no way to guarantee a clean fight. On either side.”

As the scenario was outlined in cool, almost clinical terms, apprehension was becoming increasingly visible on Rodney’s face. “They haven’t directly threatened our people,” he said quietly. “Unlike the Genii, it was clear that they have no intentions of hurting anyone.”

John’s response was a short bark of humorless laughter. “Not unless we refuse their ultimatum, no. But what happens if we do? They just give up and let Ford and Teyla go? The ‘or else’ was kind of implied.”

Expecting Rodney to snap back at the Major, Elizabeth was surprised when he instead dropped his gaze. John looked deadly serious, though, and she wouldn’t have wanted to cross him just then, either. Losing people tended to do that to an officer. “I’d like your opinion, Major,” she said, turning fully toward him. “Is a rescue really practical, and if so, what happens next?”

Arms folded across his chest, John exhaled a long breath. “I don’t like having this many unknowns,” he replied. “And it’ll only get murkier once the shooting starts. Our Marines are trained for urban combat, but this wouldn’t be anything I’d call standard.”

“Then there’s the matter of the Shields. I never did get a chance to test Zelenka’s theory about disabling the capacitor,” Rodney put in, his fire returning. “If we do this, we’ll lose any chance of learning something useful from this whole mess. Let’s also be clear that a military rescue mission implies leaving the Dalerans to their fate. All of them. There’s no way we can go back to help anyone if we’ve just busted in and out of there with guns blazing.”

“Believe it or not, that did occur to me,” John informed him with exaggerated patience. “Look, I hate the precedent we’d be setting by caving in to a threat, and I really hate the idea of rewarding someone for jumping my team. But in a messed-up way, we can still achieve our objective. We can introduce the gene therapy — first to Yann’s group, then to others once things have calmed down and we have our team back. Like Rodney said, that gets us to where we’d planned to be all along.”

Elizabeth glanced at Carson, who’d stayed on the periphery of the discussion. “On a logistical level, do we have the reserves to provide enough of the gene therapy to satisfy these rebels?”

The doctor gave a small shrug. “Synthesizing the stuff hasn’t posed much of a problem,” he answered. “After our talk a few days ago, about giving the treatment to more of the expedition members, I started increasing our reserves. We have a stock of about a hundred doses, but I’d want to keep twenty until we replenish that. I’ll need until morning to prepare a proper vaccination kit for the rest.”

“The only way they can test whether it’s effective or not,” John put in, “is to handle one of the Shields. And since they’re going to have to overcome that cultural taboo anyway—”

Elizabeth was already nodding. “You can simultaneously test people for the gene. In other words, the gene therapy may not prove to be necessary.”

“With Lieutenant Ford and Teyla’s lives possibly at stake, I wouldn’t recommend giving them a placebo,” Carson said.

Was she really that easy to read? “How did you know I was going to suggest that?”

Shrugging, Carson replied, “It was a logical option, and one that I’d considered when I realized how prevalent the gene might be.”

“I think we should consider contingency plans in case Yann and his group don’t hold up their end of the bargain.” Elizabeth turned back to John, who didn’t hesitate in his response.

“Assuming they’ll want to see if the vaccine is effective, it could take a few days to distribute it and simultaneously test the right people. Tomorrow is Wednesday. If you don’t hear from us before Friday, wait until dark, then send in the cavalry.”

“I guess we have our plan of action, then.” Elizabeth heard and despised the tinge of defeat in her voice. “Give them the gene. Get our people back.”