The Chosen

Chapter Eleven

It hadn’t been a bad plan, but the execution had been somewhat lacking. Or maybe it had just been an unforeseen complication that had doomed him to fail, something he couldn’t possibly have predicted. Yeah, that had to be it: the Pegasus corollary to Murphy’s Law.

In any case, John’s theoretical jailbreak hadn’t gone so well. When he and Rodney had been dragged from the Sanctuary Hall and down a dank hallway lined with prison cells, he’d grabbed a hold of the rough iron bars that formed a cell’s door and swung it into one captor’s face, knocking the goon to the floor. He’d intended to fell the other with the pocketknife no one had noticed when he’d handed over his sidearm. Somehow he hadn’t factored in the possibility of a third goon showing up until a brick-hard arm stinking of fish had constricted around his throat.

When the spots cleared from John’s vision, Rodney was still standing there like a deer caught in headlights, and two irked-looking Dalerans were shoving them into the cell. Oh, and the pocketknife definitely got confiscated the second time around. John inwardly cursed himself out. He’d had that knife since survival training.

Unwilling to suffer any further antics, or maybe just out of spite, the goons had bound his wrists to the cell bars with a thick strap of leather. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but they’d done it beneath a set of crossbars, low enough that sitting was hell on the spine and standing was right out. Eventually he gave up and lay down on the cold, uneven stone floor, trying to tell himself that the unwashed urinal smell was coming from someplace other than the damp ground.

Rodney’s wrists were similarly bound, but since he hadn’t tried to beat anyone up lately, they’d allowed him the freedom to pace the cell…all twelve feet of it. John looked up at the scientist. He took seven measured steps, pivoted, and took seven steps back. The pattern repeated, and repeated again. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-turn.

“I’ll give you this much,” John commented. “Your sense of rhythm’s flawless.”

“I did have that going for me, if nothing else.” Rodney’s focus didn’t waver. “Never needed a metronome. Standard andante at eighty beats per minute, allegro at one-twenty.”

“Um, okay.” John assumed that if he needed to understand that comment, it would be explained. “Meanwhile, could you knock that off? Watching you bounce back and forth from down here could give a trapeze artist vertigo.”

“So don’t watch.” The pacing continued for several seconds, until Rodney changed course and flopped down on a rough bench that presumably passed for a bed. “If you were going to try something as monumentally stupid as that escape attempt, you could have at least warned me.”

“Not without arousing suspicion.” John wriggled his arms experimentally. Shifting the strap might not be impossible, but his wrists would be shredded before he could get anywhere.

“You didn’t actually expect that maneuver with the cell door to work, right?” Rodney leaned his head back against the wall.

“I figured we had a better shot out there than we do in here.”

“I suppose, but only if, like Yann’s rebels, you’re going for that whole ‘better to die on one’s feet than live on one’s knees’ thing.”

John didn’t bother to mask his irritation. “Right now I’m thinking I might die flat on my ass, so let me know if there’s a cliché for that.”

“I’m working on it. And by ‘it,’ I mean a better plan for not dying, rather than an appropriate cliché for your predicament.” As he’d proved on numerous occasions, Rodney could think and talk at the same time. “I guess all this makes sense from their perspective. They’ve been led to believe that their mistreatment and marginalization has been the fault of the Chosen for so long that trusting us would be a tough sell.”

Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, John muttered, “Ten minutes in here and already you’re going Patty Hearst on me.”

“Don’t be a jackass. I’m decidedly opposed to getting quartered, which I suspect is what awaits us if we hang around here. What I don’t understand is why they bothered to lock us up first rather than just get it over with.”

“Maybe their schedule was booked up for the day.” It was the best explanation John had, which wasn’t saying much. “That’s of course assuming that your ‘they’ is the same ‘they’ that I’m thinking put us in here.”

“It has become somewhat difficult to distinguish who’s who in the revolutionary scheme of things.” Rodney looked as though he saw some merit in John’s suggestion, though. “Everyone’s probably either fighting to get their hands on some of the gene therapy or fighting the ones who’ve already gotten it.”

As if to bear that theory out, scattered sounds reached them from some distance away. It all ran together, making it difficult to piece together what was happening, but it sure wasn’t anything orderly. “Not to mention killing the Chosen,” John added. Rodney winced at that. “Or the guys who were actually running this place.”

“Whom, if memory serves correctly, Kesun labeled as barbarians,” Rodney supplied. “In short, it’s complete and utter anarchy.” He snorted. “I’ve never been known to do anything by halves.”

John fixed his gaze on his teammate again. Rodney was staring off into space, but this didn’t appear to be a ‘solving the mysteries of the universe’ trance. It looked more like he was wondering how everything had fallen to pieces so damned fast. “I can hear the wheels in your head turning from here.”

Shaking himself, Rodney glanced down at him. “Devising a brilliant plan of escape will go a lot faster without interruptions.”

So he didn’t want to chat. That was new. “Whatever you say.”

After a moment, the scientist seemed to slump a little. “No, it won’t,” he admitted quietly. “It won’t go faster, because there’s nothing to work with and nowhere to go.”

“Hey, we’re still alive. I’ll take that for the moment.”

A guttural yell from somewhere far beyond the cell’s walls cut into the discussion, mixing in with other rising voices and the occasional clash of metal. It didn’t take an advanced degree to realize what was going on outside. Rodney had a few of those anyway and, from his expression, that hyper-critical brain of his was obviously cranking out some nasty answers. John sighed. “Look—”

“What?” The harsh tone surprised them both, and Rodney went back to staring at the wall, this time looking more sullen. “Excuse me if I’m having a little trouble accepting this whole mess. I’m just now learning that in dismantling the social construct of this world, something I championed rather enthusiastically based on a set of completely false assumptions, we may have gotten people killed. I have the right to take a moment, don’t I?”

John shook his head, a cold sensation creeping into his thoughts. “Join the club. I’m considering printing up T-shirts.”

That seemed to throw Rodney off. They looked at each other for a few seconds. At last, he asked hesitantly, “How do you—?”

“I woke the damn Wraith, Rodney. Responsibility doesn’t come much heavier than that.”

“It wasn’t just you. And it wasn’t…” He abandoned the sentiment, doubtless recognizing that they’d both heard it all before, and that it would always ring a little hollow. “What I meant was, knowing that, how do you manage to keep from losing it?”

“By repeatedly telling myself that having no way of knowing the consequences counts as a satisfactory excuse.”

“How’s that working out?” The interest on Rodney’s face contained a slightly desperate edge, as if he were hoping to glean some enlightening crumb from the reply.

“Not that great so far.” John forcibly shifted his thoughts into another direction. “Listen, there’s stuff we can control and stuff we can’t. All we can do is deal with what’s in front of us.”

“Yeah.” The scientist dropped his gaze to the floor, visibly deflated. “Good pep talk.”

“Now who’s being a jackass?”

Rodney ignored the comment. “Friday, huh? You couldn’t have suggested to Elizabeth that we’d be back, oh, maybe tonight?”

“I said we’d check in sooner, but to wait until dark on Friday before sending in the troops.”

“And by troops, you meant…?”

“Two jumpers and twelve Marines.”

“Comforting numbers, but the odds of these nouveaux Jacobins, or whoever ends up pulling the strings around here, waiting until Saturday morning to execute us are…well, not good.”

“I know. I’m hoping that this uprising burns itself out before Markham and Stackhouse show up.” His teammate looked skeptical, so John explained. “We weren’t sure how all this was going to go down, and I didn’t like the idea of our guys walking into the middle of a full-scale revolution, so I asked Dr Weir to give us some time. Now that things have gone pretty well south, there could be any number of newly invested Chosen running around outside the Citadel with Shields, and any one of them could disable our jumper or the others without too much trouble.”

“While that makes sense, it doesn’t provide us with a way to avoid our respective death sentences.”

“Not really, no. But if it comes to that, I’d rather the four of us die here than lose twelve more trying to bust us out.”

“Except, of course, that our failure to return will in fact prompt a rescue, in which case—”

“We’re back to trying to figure out how to save ourselves before that happens.”

Rodney said nothing, but picked up the tattered blanket lying on the bench, and stood. Fingers fumbling due to his bound wrists, he managed to fold the fabric and lay it on the floor beside his teammate. John looked up at him, not comprehending. The scientist gave an impatient tap of his foot. “The floor’s cold and wet. You do realize that the single most common form of death that resulted from prolonged incarceration in assorted species of dungeons was pneumonia? At least if you lay on that you won’t go hypothermic.”

Although he was hardly in any real danger, John couldn’t repress a small smile. “Thanks.” He awkwardly shuffled his way onto the blanket. “Did I mention that I feel ridiculous down here?”

“You don’t want to know how you look, then.”

Aiden let out a stream of invectives and, snatching up some loose pebbles in his bound hands, tossed them at the rat. He supposed it was a rat, although it was more the size of a small housecat, and there was green fur on its back and tail. The animal disappeared through the bars into the cell opposite theirs, where it began scratching around in some unidentifiable sludge that might once have been clothing.

“I would not be so hasty,” Teyla commented. “We might need the animal for food if we are incarcerated in here for any length of time.”

One thing about being stuck in prison with Teyla: she wasn’t exactly wimpish. He wondered how the Major was faring with Dr McKay as a cellmate. “Yeah. Maybe we could tame it or something. Get it to gnaw through these.” He lifted his hands and smiled ruefully.

“No need.” The Athosian had managed to loosen her bindings and now pulled her hands free.

“Hey! How’d you do that?”

Outside, a loud explosion abruptly overwhelmed the sounds of fighting. They both instinctually ducked, but the damp stones that made up the tiny cell only shuddered. It was frustrating as all hell not to be able to see what was going on, but this time around their room didn’t exactly come with a view. “They must’ve figured out how to use the C-4. Wonder what they blew up?” Just as the words were out of his mouth, a series of increasingly loud rumbles warned him that something big was collapsing.

Teyla quickly untied the rope around his wrists. “It is likely that some of those who now rebel against the leaders of this Citadel already had the means of destruction at their disposal.”

“Wraithcraft?”

Nodding, Teyla began exploring the damp walls for some means of escape. “Remember when we were in the marketplace, Yann spoke of blackpowder to remove unwanted tree stumps from their fields.”

“Same deal wherever you go.” He examined the way the set of bars opened and closed. The locking mechanism was about three yards away, along the wall. Even with their bindings tied together to form a lasso, there was no way they’d get enough leverage going to force it open. And digging the bars out from the floor was not an option, given the hardness of the black stone.

“What do you mean?” Teyla was feeling beneath the wooden bench.

“No matter what religion people follow, someone always figures out a way to bend the rules to fit whatever it is that they want to do.”

She stood and frowned at the bench. “How then can one discern what is truly right and what is indeed wrong?”

Shrugging, Aiden replied, “My grandparents always taught me that you know the difference in your own heart.” He looked up at the ceiling, thick with mold and something more rancid. If anything, this place actually reeked worse than the open sewers outside.

“You were fortunate to have had such people to care for you.”

He smiled in fond memory, and felt a stab of guilt for not being able to let them know where he was. “Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

A movement outside had Teyla snatching up her bonds and wrapping them loosely around her wrists. Aiden did the same. The next person to open their cell door would be in for a painful surprise.

“Aiden?” Lisera’s tearful face appeared around the corner of the cell.

Dropping the rope, Aiden grabbed the bars. “Lisera! How did you get here?”

The girl’s face was streaked with grime and blood from a cut on her cheek. Her eyes were filled with the same terror that Aiden had seen when he’d found her in the ditch. Most of the clothes she’d worn from Atlantis were now gone, replaced by rags even more filthy than her original rough burlap covering. She also sported a pair of oversized pants that covered the cast on her leg. “It is the only safe place to hide. Outside…” She swallowed and met Teyla’s eyes. Even in the dim light of the cell, he could see her face pale further. “Those elder Chosen who had taken up residence in their ancestral homes, the Stations, to protect us from the Wraith, were pulled out into the streets and…and quartered.”

“Yann’s group of rebels did this?” Teyla’s voice was stiff with shock.

“No.” Lisera shook her head vehemently. “Gat’s men, the ones who control the Citadel, first killed Kesun. Then many others took up the cry. Yann tried to stop them, for he knows that without the Chosen there will be no protection against the Wraith.”

“Where is your Shield?”

Eyes darting between them, Lisera replied, “I threw it aside. Any who are seen with a blue Shield are torn apart. The alleys of the Citadel run red with the blood of not only the Chosen, but those who are now accused of conspiring to become Chosen.”

“Oh, great,” Aiden muttered. “Sounds like everyone’s turning on one another.”

Tears silently fell down Lisera’s face, and she whispered, “It is as if the entire world has become stricken with a madness that sets brother against brother. I fear that if it does not soon cease, the Wraith need not bother with their culling, for none will be left alive.”

Aiden figured it probably wasn’t quite as bad as that, but, to a girl like Lisera, the sort of anarchy she was describing would seem that way. “Listen, see that sliding bar down there? Can you open it and let us out?”

Eyes wide with alarm, she vehemently shook her head. “If you go outside, you will be killed as they have slaughtered the Chosen, for others are seeking you, claiming that your presence will bring the Wraith down upon us.”

“If we remain here,” Teyla explained, “those who imprisoned us will return and kill us anyway.”

“No.” Lisera said determinedly. “Not you, for you are not of the Chosen.”

“Perhaps not, but they will kill Major Sheppard and Dr McKay.”

Torn with indecision, Lisera bit her lip. “But you will be spared. I am sorry for the others, but I do not want you to die, Aiden.”

He stared at her. “They’re our friends. If they die, we can’t help save your world from the Wraith.”

“In which case, we will all die,” Teyla added. The tone in her voice left no room for doubt. “I have seen what the Wraith do to worlds like yours. When they come — and in this both Gat and the Chosen are correct in stating that they most assuredly will come with their great ships — they will leave little behind.”

Still uncertain, Lisera cringed when the sounds of more fighting penetrated their confines.

“Do you know where Major Sheppard and Dr McKay are being held?” Aiden asked.

Lisera glanced over her shoulder. “Two levels below this one, in a cell near where some of your bags are being kept.”

“Which means someone will definitely be coming back,” Aiden said. He suspected it was more likely their packs than the case with the gene therapy. “Lisera, if you release us, and we can get our things back, we’ll be able to help you.” The desperate look in her eyes demanded an affirmation of his sincerity. “I ”I promise. Okay? Hey—” He offered her a grin. “I’m a warrior from Atlantis, right?”

“Lisera,” Teyla said when the girl continued to hesitate. “Releasing us is the only way we can help both you and your people.”

Something in the Athosian’s expression bothered Aiden. He shot her a questioning look, but she dismissed it. Lisera gave a jerky nod, and said to Aiden, “You promise.” Then she hobbled back and opened the locking mechanism to their cell.

The smell of burned timber and metallic compounds assaulted Rodney’s olfactory nerves. Less pungent than the eye-watering stench of the dungeon they’d until recently had the pleasure of inhabiting, the odor was terrifying familiar. He glanced back at Ford and Teyla, who were assisting Lisera up the last of the stone steps. “Do you think we should be rushing outside?”

Sheppard, who was ahead of him, suddenly let loose with a surprisingly colorful string of curses. Urged on by Teyla’s expression, Rodney followed the Major out into the square, and squinting against the late afternoon sunlight, looked around the streets.

Any momentary relief that Rodney had felt at their freedom was immediately overcome by shocked outrage. Staring up at the twisted, smoking ruin that had once been the Enclave, he burst out, “Are they insane?” The desperation in his voice was tinged with denial. Even the trees that had surrounded the once-elegant structure now looked like a bunch of spent match heads. “What would possess them to destroy the very thing that they most need?”

“They are driven by the madness of hatred.”

In the back of his mind, he recognized that Teyla’s words were the product of sorrow and not indifference. Nonetheless, her calm tone danced on his last nerve. Rodney whirled on her, snapping off a reply. “This isn’t what was supposed to happen! The Chosen might not have been responsible for the way these people were forced to live, but the fact remains that this entire situation would never have come about if they hadn’t regarded the gene as providing them with some sort of divine power!”

“How does that make any difference now?” Ford asked, staring up at the smoldering remains perched on top of the rocky hill.

“You agreed with me!” He loathed the way his voice betrayed his faltering control.

Teyla reached out to grasp his arm, her expression gentle but unyielding. “You are not to blame for what has come to pass,” she said firmly.

A nice sentiment, to be sure, but an empty one. And Teyla would know, because she’d vilified his stand from the outset. Rodney swallowed hard against a surge of nausea.

“If anyone’s at fault, Rodney, it’s me.” The bitter edge to Sheppard’s voice was unmistakable. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

Damn him. The man wasted no opportunity to martyr himself, justified or not.

“How?” Teyla said, turning to the Major. “You were not to know that Yann would be waiting in ambush for us, nor that he in turn would be betrayed by those who hunger for even greater power.”

“Because history has a bad habit of repeating itself. Here or Earth, seems it makes no damned difference.”

“We should take the transport back to the jumper and get out of here while we can,” Ford asserted. He was holding Lisera by the arm. When her eyes widened, he added, “All of us.”

“But you promised to help save everyone. You promised!” the girl cried hysterically.

The anger in Rodney’s belly turned into a tight, sour ball. His childhood had been defined by belittlement and an utter lack of compassion. To escape that, he’d had to become the best, at everything. Yet somewhere in his pursuit of this goal, he had in turn become equally dispassionate; indeed, some would argue, lacking in humanity. It wasn’t until meeting Samantha Carter that he’d understood that truly great science was inspired, and that his own suppressed but deeply powerful emotions had been channeled into arrogance. “No!” he declared, whirling around to face his teammates. “I won’t accept that we can’t stop this and make them see reason.”

“And exactly how do you suggest we accomplish that?” Sheppard demanded. “We’re four unarmed people in a city the size of downtown LA. You want to try and make peace amongst God knows how many fanatics on…I’m not even sure how many sides? This place was a powder keg before we arrived. We may have lit the fuse, but sooner or later it was gonna blow, just like it has dozens, probably hundreds of times in the past.”

“So… What? We just let them destroy themselves and high-tail it out of here?”

“I believe it may be too late for that.” Teyla’s face stiffened as she spoke. “The Wraith have come.”