The Chosen

Chapter Twenty-one

Lisera was drying Major Sheppard’s feet with a soft cloth when she felt him move.

“Cut it out,” he mumbled, batting away the object that Dr McKay had gruffly informed her was a pen flashlight. The Major’s face expressed his displeasure and pain.

“Didn’t know you were awake.” His face expressing extreme relief, McKay pulled the flashlight aside. “How’s the head?”

Only half listening to the conversation between the visitors from Atlantis, Lisera sat back. While their arrival had altered her life in wondrous ways, the world was still fraught with dangers and death. Those with her in the Station now protected her from the likes of Balzar, but only because their survival depended on her newfound abilities. She felt their resentment and began to understand why the Chosen had retreated to the Enclave.

She glanced at Yann, who was quietly talking in the corner to the other children from Quickweed Lake, trying to console them over the death of Peryn.

When learning earlier of the failed ambush at the Lake, Lisera had been surprised to find herself grieving for the young merchant. While they now called themselves Genes, like her, Yann was nonetheless the blessed of Dalera, chosen to protect her people. Even Aiden had not been of such status. Had he not gone against the wishes of Dr McKay, Peryn would not have been captured and the attack at North Bridge would never have resulted. Although she could not find it in her heart to like Dr McKay, she did not blame him for the deaths of Peryn, Aiden, and Teyla. As a Gene, she knew now that choices had to be made, often painful ones. In order to save the Citadel, Dr McKay could not have acted any differently.

“…most likely as a result of that concoction served up by the local Juju man,” McKay was saying. “Fortunately, you have a particularly thick skull. However, the general consensus is that you also have a concussion.”

“I’ll be fine. Out of curiosity, what the hell hit me?” The Major eased himself upright, wincing with each movement.

Looking discomfited, Dr McKay replied, “How was I to know that whoever makes the ropes around here has lousy quality control? Anyway, as I said before, you’re heavier than you look. Combined with the sucking potential of that tar, I suppose it was—”

“Sucking potential?” Major Sheppard paused in his movements and regarded Dr McKay.

The scientist’s expression flattened and he replied, “In your current state, I didn’t want to confuse you with big words like ‘viscosity’.”

“What do you mean, my current state?” The covering on Major Sheppard’s body slipped low, and, realizing he was naked beneath, he grabbed the edges. “What the…?” In an effort to clear his eyes, he opened and closed them several times.

Lisera stood and placed a cloth with warm soapwater into the Major’s hands. “Here, use this to wash the oil from your eyes.”

Now that the Major was awake, Yann, trailed by the children, came to join them.

“Oil?” The Major sat back and brought the cloth to his face.

“We used vegetable oil to remove the tar,” she explained. “But I fear your fine uniform is no longer useable.” She glanced at the pile of blackened clothes on the floor.

“This is all adorably domestic.” Dr McKay crossed his arms and glared at her. “But we’ve got a few pressing issues to discuss, so if you will excuse us—”

“Hold up, Rodney. How long have I been out?”

Under Major Sheppard’s gaze, Lisera replied, “It is dawn. You have slept through the night.”

“Okay.” Still attempting to focus, he asked Dr McKay, “What’s happening?”

“The Wraith mounted an assault from the south. Fortunately,” Dr McKay added with an expression Lisera had grown to dislike, “I had the foresight to maintain a reserve of oil in the eastern end of South Channel for just such an eventuality. We upped the volume and set it alight.”

“You mean the Wraith are still hanging around? Haven’t they already taken hundreds of people from the outlying villages?”

“Several thousand, including the far-flung barbarian towns,” Yann corrected. “I have spoken to many Genes. They tell of villages empty of life, some destroyed before the arrival of the transport.”

Behind him, the children nodded in sage agreement. None shed tears, for the horrors they had witnessed had withered their capacity to do so.

“Since when have those been operating again?” McKay snapped at Yann. “Didn’t we definitively establish that using the transports outside of the Citadel while the Wraith are attacking is a huge mistake?”

A knowing smile crossed Yann’s face. “Not if each transport is filled with armed warriors, and the Gene within does not release his Shield before establishing the area is safe.”

“This is hardly a suitable time to get cocky!”

Lisera did not wish to speak out of turn, but with a pacifying gesture toward both men, she attempted to redirect the conversation. “Yann and Dr McKay heroically defended against a Wraith invasion at North Bridge.”

Looking momentarily pleased with himself, Dr McKay said, “Yes, I suppose it was rather heroic, wasn’t it?” But the pride fell from his voice even as he spoke, and his eyes were masked by sorrow.

Major Sheppard’s gaze quickly took in the room. “Where are Ford and Teyla?”

Swallowing once, Dr McKay avoided the Major’s piercing look. “If the Lieutenant hadn’t been obstinate enough to ignore my warning about ill-conceived reconnaissance missions—”

“McKay! Where are they?”

When Dr McKay explained what had transpired during the evening, the Major was silent for a long moment, his expression revealing little. Although his gaze was laden with repressed grief, his only reply was, “After all that, the Wraith are still attacking?” He placed the cloth on a side table, and went to toss back the cover, but paused.

As a Chosen — this new term, Gene, did not seem fitting — Lisera was now a leader of her people, and she was curious. “The teaching windows tell us that—”

Dr McKay waved his hand dismissively. “Parables for the illiterate. The Ancient texts explained that the length of the sieges varied, depending on how many generations passed between culls.” He shared a look with Major Sheppard; a secret, perhaps, one that Lisera could not divine.

A gentle touch on her arm drew her attention to Yann. “Perhaps it would be best if you take the young ones to the top of the Station where they may find something to eat.”

The children were also beginning to crowd around the bed. Although she would have preferred to stay, Lisera sensed the Major’s unease and recalled Dr McKay’s earlier comment about clothing. She decided to accept Yann’s counsel and gestured to the young ones, guiding them out of the room. There was much still for these Chosen to do, and many things still uncertain.

Having learned the hard way once or twice that a spare uniform could come in handy, John was satisfied that his practice of stashing one in his pack had once again paid off. He leaned down to secure his not-quite-ruined leg holster and immediately reconsidered the motion as a rush of nausea sideswiped him. Whether it was from the knock on the head or the figurative sucker punch of what he’d just learned, he didn’t know, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

They were your people, under your command. Not just your friends but your responsibility as well. And this time, there was no question of maybe. McKay and Yann had seen the transport explode.

He’d be able to function, even if he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this lousy. Someone had bandaged his head and he’d fumbled through the medical pack until he found some Tylenol but he would have sold his soul for an ice pack. Even so, he recognized that he ought to be grateful for escaping asphyxiation.

Teyla and Ford… He swallowed, trying to control the churning in his stomach. He’d deal with their loss in his own way, the only way he knew. Burying grief wasn’t terribly beneficial to one’s mental health, but it would get him through the day. It always had before.

Right now, he had to concern himself with those who were still alive. Atlantis would be sending the cavalry by nightfall, and he didn’t want Markham and Stackhouse’s teams having to contend with a Wraith armada.

What the hell was driving the Wraith to mount a ground assault on a highly defensible Citadel, when they’d already culled thousands? Sure, maybe they had woken early and were a little on the hungry side, but from what he’d seen thus far in the Pegasus Galaxy, few people had the capacity to fight back. And any who did got themselves annihilated. By inflicting too many casualties on the Wraith, the Dalerans were just asking for one of those hive ships to start firing on the Citadel. The network of of Shields might knock out most weapons, but not all. Something else was going on here. “Rodney, I need more to go on. Explain to me the exact sequence of the Wraith attacks.”

When the scientist had finished, John’s first instinct was to lay into him for failing to see the obvious, but the look of grief and desperation in McKay’s eyes stopped him. The man wasn’t a military tactician. Still, John was too frayed to keep the edge out of his voice when he said, “It didn’t occur to you that the Wraith might have lured you into releasing more oil into South Channel and igniting it?”

“What are you talking about? Why…” Rodney’s voice trailed off and his eyes opened wide with comprehension. “Of course! Damn it!” Balling his fists in frustration, he ranted, “I was working through all this earlier and wanted to ask you about why they’d fall for the same trap twice. Then that voodoo-looking healer insisted on knocking you out, and — just…Damn it!”

Looking confused, Yann asked, “Why would the Wraith wish to do such a thing?”

“To force the population of the Citadel to evacuate,” John replied, walking across to the chart table. Each step sent a stabbing pain through the top of his head. Hoping no one would notice that he needed the support in order to keep standing, he placed his hands on the edge of the table and examined the large animal hide map. The smell of the thing normally wouldn’t have bothered him, but at the moment there weren’t really any sensations that didn’t bother him.

“Evacuate where?” Yann moved to join him. The merchant’s face fell the moment the words were out of his mouth. “Into the unprotected villages! But then why have the Wraith themselves not set fire to the oil that is flowing from Black Hill?”

“As I have explained repeatedly to any number of engineers,” Rodney retorted impatiently, “this particular brand of crude oil needs to be several millimeters thick in order to ignite. Only by backing it up against a raised weir did we have sufficient volume to make that work. Having said that, once ignited, by lowering the weirs, the flames traveled upstream faster than the oil could move down. The converse also applies. Backing up the oil flow again behind raised weirs and dams will starve the fires downstream and extinguish them.”

“Okay, maybe we should start doing just that.” John combed through the maps, trying to find a more detailed plan of the Enclave. “You said the Wraith only invaded the Citadel via the transport at North Bridge?”

His forehead creasing in thought, Rodney replied, “I had assumed that they wanted to open the portcullis protecting the bridge, but in fact they wanted to lower the weir, which would have allowed the fire to spread all the way up to Black Hill.”

Yann looked doubtful. “While it is true that some of the Wraith attempted to capture the bridge, most made for the Enclave.”

Which confirmed what John was beginning to suspect. The Wraith wanted to flush people out of the Citadel, but having captured a Gene, they’d also been trying to get to the Enclave. Maybe Kesun hadn’t been lying about only the Chosen being able to enter the Enclave — the true Enclave, not the temple that was now a burned-out hulk.

Rodney’s fingers traced sight lines across the map of the Citadel. Abruptly they stopped. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” He snatched up the map and brandished it front of John’s face. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. The distribution of the Chosen’s homes, the Stations, isn’t random. They form a power grid!”

Despite the medication, John was starting to wonder if it was physiologically possible for his head to explode. “I think we were starting to get that, Rodney, thanks.”

“Yes, but what you didn’t get, and I didn’t understand until now because the Ancient writings — Dalera’s writings, presumably — weren’t as explicit as they should have been, was that when every one of these Stations has a Gene in residence, the grid itself acts as a gigantic capacitor.”

“To power what? The Shields?”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Oddly, Rodney’s jerky dance of barely-contained enthusiasm wasn’t visibly different from his mid-panic attack look. “A weapon!”

“That is why so many at North Bridge fought the Wraith,” Yann said, turning to Rodney. “Although the Chosen had lost the respect of many, with the return of the Wraith and your arrival from Atlantis, all realized that Dalera’s sacred weapon is is not a myth. It must be protected at all costs.”

Warriors and city officials were now crowding around the table, talking about the weapon. Naturally, no one had ever seen it because it was inside the Enclave, but all of them were convinced it existed.

“Why is it that nobody thinks to mention little details like this earlier?” Rodney’s face had turned an entertaining puce, but then it shifted, chameleon-like, to a shade that John recognized as ecstatic pink. “That’s it! My God, that’s incredible!” declared his teammate. “Dalera didn’t have a ZPM, so she figured out how to power a weapon via this grid!”

“Okay,” John said, attempting to keep himself from swaying. “That’s good. But it doesn’t explain why the Wraith are trying to get to it — assuming that’s their intention. They can’t use it.”

“Peryn probably could have,” Rodney said, his voice contemplative. “He was a natural Gene carrier.”

This still wasn’t adding up. “So the Wraith figured on what? Grabbing themselves what would have to be a relatively low-tech weapon dependent on someone with the ATA gene to operate?”

“And thus I remind you that the Wraith have apparently succeeded in constructing — what was the last count? Sixty, I believe? — hive ships doubtless powered by something similar to a ZPM. Sadly, they weren’t born yesterday. Given their level of technology, they could conceivably reverse-engineer any weapon. Or at least, they must think that they can. With an ATA gene bearer held prisoner—”

He didn’t have to explain further. Turning to Yann, John asked, “Have all of the outlying villages now been evacuated?”

“Yes. And amongst the refugees more and more Genes are being discovered. They are now returning to the villages so that they may use the Shields in such a way that it confuses the Wraith.”

Okay. That was something to work with. “Order all of the Genes to get back here, immediately. If McKay is right—”

“Of course I’m right!”

“—we need to get every one of the Stations manned to slot into this weapon’s grid. Equally importantly, if just one Gene is captured by a Wraith, we could be in serious trouble.”

Yann’s eyes widened, and he turned and began issuing orders to the warriors.

“We have to get to the Enclave,” Rodney declared, snatching up his pack. “Although the temple or whatever it was has been destroyed, despite what I said to Lisera earlier, the teaching windows in Sanctuary Hall might offer a clue as to the exact location of this weapon.” He strode determinedly to the door, speaking as he went.

“Just hang on a minute.” John pulled on his own pack and picked up his P-90, pleased to see that it had been cleaned and loaded. Ford must have…Damn. Quickly heading off that thought before it could lead somewhere he wasn’t prepared to go, he followed McKay out and down the stairs. “What exactly are you proposing?” He paused when they reached the bottom of the steps. Affixing a contemplative look on his face would hopefully mask the fact that he could barely see through the hammering in his skull. Christ, but concussions sucked. “Wouldn’t it be better if we go straight to the Enclave?”

“And spend hours sifting through charcoal? The teaching windows are our best option.” He shot a narrow-eyed look at John. “You should wait here.”

“Who, me?” John smiled and swallowed back the almost overwhelming need to throw up. “Just a little headache. All I need is some fresh air.”

Outside, the light was dim, the air hazy and anything but fresh. Regretting the action almost before he took it, John set as brisk a pace as he could manage. Although most of the smoke was blowing away from the Citadel, that wouldn’t last long if the Wraith decided to take matters into their own hands and light a few incendiary weapons over Black Hill.

Swept off her feet, Teyla had managed to catch sight of two things simultaneously. One had been the face of Dr McKay, who appeared to have been shouting at someone, and the other had been a wall of flames screaming toward them atop the wave of oil.

Peryn’s reflexes had fortunately remained sharp, and he’d slapped his hand down on a button before the doors were fully open. A wall of heat had struck, but the doors had kept the fire itself at bay.

“They’ll need reinforcements! ” Aiden declared instantly, trying, and failing, to stand in the swirling blackwater. “We need to get back to the Command Center and find a bugler.”

The transport opened into the remains of a building that had recently been ravaged by fire. Weapon poised, Teyla stepped out and looked around. The structure was too large to have been the Sanctuary Hall, and the little she could see through the smoking ruins indicated that they were still inside the Citadel. She turned to Peryn. “Where have you taken us?”

Before he could respond, a tremendous, ground-shaking explosion erupted from somewhere nearby. It was immediately followed by a massive pall of gray smoke. Glass shards crunching underfoot, Teyla ran with Ford across to where a wall had stood until recently, and looked out.

“On second thought, maybe reinforcements won’t be necessary,” the Lieutenant offered when the worst of the smoke cleared.

It appeared that the transport they had most recently used at North Bridge was gone, along with a nearby building. Although she could not be certain from this angle, it seemed that the majority of the Wraith had been killed by the explosion. As she and Ford watched, the remaining Wraith were overrun by warriors and Dalerans arriving from adjacent streets.

Teyla noticed that Peryn had not followed her and Ford, but instead was still standing in the transport, staring at the residue of blackwater pooling at his feet. Returning to him, she said, “Peryn? What is it?”

He glanced up once, and in the light given off by the oil fire, she saw that his youthful face was pale and wracked with guilt. Quickly averting his gaze, he whispered, “I tried to fight them.”

Understanding his dilemma, Teyla took Peryn’s chin in her hand and lifted his face until their eyes met. “There is no shame in being captured.”

“They were so strong!” Peryn’s voice fractured, and he tried to stem his tears. “The Wraith…It was like he was inside my head, forcing me.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault, okay?” Lieutenant Ford clasped a hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t help what they did to you.”

“I…I did not let them see this.” Peryn wiped his eyes and pointed to a recess in the inside wall of the transport.

Teyla bent to look. “This is the panel the Major discovered soon after we arrived.”

Ford walked back outside into the ruins and looked around. “This must be the Enclave. Or at least it was the Enclave. Not much left, now.”

“Why did you bring us here, Peryn?” Teyla asked, following the Lieutenant. The smell of burned remains was strong. While familiar to her, it was an odor that had, until recently, had been exclusively associated with the Wraith. Such a waste, that Dalerans should fight among each other.

“In my head…”The boy followed them, sniffing noisily. “I don’t know. This place seemed important to them somehow, and they made it feel like it was important to me. That’s how they tried to get me to come here.”

His words disturbed Teyla in ways that she could not fully articulate, perhaps because they seemed connected to her ability to sense the Wraith. “Then you did well to conceal the fact.”

Nodding in agreement, Lieutenant Ford moved out ahead of them. “Maybe we should take a look around before we report back.”

During the walk to the Sanctuary Hall, John did in fact begin to feel better. The sight of crowded refugees filling the streets also helped, because their presence was a testimony to how many had been saved. Once inside, though, he began to realize that not everyone was quite so pleased. The place was filled not only with villagers but inhabitants of the Citadel, anxious to escape the worst excesses of those who roamed the lower levels of the city, pillaging and killing. The end of the Wraith siege wouldn’t be the end of the Dalerans’ battle.

An unexpected wave of regret struck John. Ushat would have made the Dalerans a decent leader — not just because he was a Gene, but also because he’d been an honorable man. His loss had left a vacuum in any potential leadership for these people. Worse, the muttered conversations made it clear that many viewed the ambush and overall defensive strategy as a failure. It sounded like a hell of a lot of more people had also been lost during the battle at North Bridge.

John recognized the deep lethargy that so easily infected the battle-weary. It was tough to avoid even when trained, and these people weren’t. Few had had anything resembling sleep for days. He doubted the food situation was much better. While there were all those storage rooms that Gat had been filling, it would take time and organizational skills to properly distribute their contents. And although the Darts were no longer a constant threat, the unknown, unpredictable presence of the Wraith brought an air of uncertainty that permeated everything with a stench as perceptible as the oil fires.

“Why do you sit cowering in darkness?”

Yann’s raised voice reverberated through John’s head. He hadn’t even noticed the merchant following them. It seemed that wherever they went, they attracted a train of guards. And was that a bunch of kids trying to hide behind their ever-present bugler?

“It matters not whether you transgressed in the past,” Yann was saying to the crowds. “It matters not that you might once have blasphemed. For in these last days we have proven to the Wraith that we can stand together as one under Dalera’s rule. And we have shown them that we cannot be vanquished.”

Despite a clear lack of caffeine, Rodney was all but bouncing from foot to foot, drawing on his apparently endless reserve of spring-coiled energy. Just standing next to the scientist made John feel dizzy. Maybe Rodney was right. He should probably be lying down someplace. Fine — once they found the weapon, he’d take a seat and let the thing take care of their problems.

“When this is over,” Yann continued, “we shall be as one, forged by the fires of battle—”

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Rodney said under his breath. “Save the hackneyed rhetoric for the polling booth.”

“Polling booth?” John gave him a quizzical glance.

Rodney shrugged. “I took the opportunity to explain the basic principles of democracy.”

“What opportunity was that?”

“When you were passed out.” He peered into John’s face, and appeared dissatisfied by what he saw. “Speaking of which, you really don’t look good.”

“Not trying to win a beauty pageant. Can we move on?” Yann had stopped talking, and a few halfhearted cheers bounced off the walls.

“Don’t let the somewhat pedestrian response bother you,” Rodney assured Yann. “Once they get the hang of the idea—”

A sharp set of bugle notes interrupted him. Several women cried out in terror, and everyone began speaking at once.

“What?” John demanded.

Yann paled. “One of the scouting parties has not returned. It is feared that the Wraith have captured another Gene.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when a brilliant ball of light burst overhead, and the entire Hall rattled and shook. Several teaching windows shattered and rained glass down onto the terrified refugees. John was busy fighting off the blinding jolt of pain that coursed through his already fragile brain as the compression wave from the explosion hit. For half a second, he wondered if he’d met up with a stun grenade.

“Holy crap!” declared Rodney, who had also been knocked to the floor beside him. “What was that?”

Surprised that he could actually hear anything at all, John replied, “I think the Wraith just got fed up with playing Capture the Flag. Really big hive ships mean—”

“Really big guns.”

A second explosion rocked the Sanctuary Hall, and one of the walls cracked wide open. “Black Hill!” Terrified voices took up the cry. “Black Hill burns and the fire races toward us!”

“The Shields—” Yann called, not understanding.

“Only defend the Citadel, not Black Hill!” Rodney’s eyes were huge with terror when he glanced over John’s shoulder. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we’re screwed.”

Looking back at the transport, John saw its activation lights begin to glow. Realization hit him in that moment: with the Enclave and North Bridge transports unserviceable, Sanctuary Hall was the most likely disembarkation point for the Wraith to mount a second invasion.

Here we go again.

Well, if his time was up, he was damn sure going to go out with all his ammunition expended.

Straining to focus through the haze and the ache throbbing behind his eyes, he raised his weapon as the transport doors folded back.