Chapter 9

The knife hit a stone again, with a metallic crack. Ronon scraped the soil out of the way with the blade and his fingers. The ground was baked solid and it wasn't worth expending the energy needed to get any deeper. He cut the root off, awkwardly in the narrow hole, then held up the scruffy plant and hacked off all the top growth. The root was an uninspiring sight, knobbly and gnarled, but twist it til its skin split open and chew it to release the juice and it would help keep infection at bay.

Ronon pushed through the undergrowth, limping back into the shade of the woodland. The clearing had given him leaves to replace his dressings and the medicinal root, but back under the trees it was cooler and the walking was easier. The ground had been rising steadily since he'd left the beach and Ronon had followed the rise. In the underground city he'd ridden a long way down in the mining trucks, so it followed that he needed to climb to find his way back to the Gate environs.

He strode, not fast but steadily, the miles passing. He crossed a stream, drank, washed the root, twisted and worked it in his hands until it split, and then chewed it as he walked, the bitterness catching at his throat. Dappled shade became patched with midday brightness and the ground fell away in a tumble of rock and briar. A vista spread out before him. To his left a high, blue peak wreathed about with spiralling vapours and to his right, far away on a sun-bleached plain, a city; a city hazed with green encroaching nature, long abandoned and long harvested for its resources by those that dwelt beneath. Ronon gazed at the mountain. It was really a very clever disguise, the rocky peak bare of growth where poisonous vapours seeped forth from the volcanic core within; except this was no volcano.

Ronon skirted the treeline, edging around the steep fall. The Getters would have ways; no matter how careful they were, how wary of alerting the Wraith, there'd be tracks between mountain and city and he was the man to follow them.

oOo

"What if a train comes?" he'd said.

"Flatten yourself again the wall," had been the blithe reply.

Rodney was flat. As flat as he could make himself against the cold, rust-flaking surface, his head turned to one side, his eyes closed. The tunnel shook with approaching thunder and then, with dragging turbulence, the roar was all around him. His bones, his teeth vibrated and his whole body threatened to shake into the path of the hurtling trucks. He breathed out and pressed himself still further into the wall, reduced to simple endurance, his mind a blank well of noise and fear.

"Rodney!"

Cold against his cheek, hard metal at his back, press tight, keep pressing, keep living.

"Rodney! It has gone!"

A firm hand on his shoulder, a flickering light on his eyelids. He opened his eyes. Teyla was there, her face concerned in the steady, narrow beam of light from her P90.

"Gone?" he croaked.

"Yes. Come, Rodney, we must keep going!"

"Oh. Yes. Right." He was rigid, unwilling to risk movement. Teyla took his arm and apparently his body trusted her without his mind having to think about it, because he began stumbling along the track beside her.

"It should not be much further." Teyla's light flickered up and down over the wall to their right.

"I hope not."

"There!" Teyla trained her beam on a vertical crack in the panels and a little further along, her light revealed a tiny window of thick glass.

"Somewhere here." Rodney ran his fingers over the rough surface below the window. "I can't... Oh, yes, got it!" He kept one finger on the small square hole and pulled Herrick's key from his pocket. It slid in and turned and the vertical crack opened.

Rodney withdrew the key and Teyla stepped down into the coal bunker. Her flashlight wavered confusingly and Rodney heard the crunch and grate of coal chunks as she moved about.

"I can't see!" he hissed. "Is it much of a drop?"

"No, but be careful. It's very uneven."

"Careful. How can I be careful if I can't see?"

Rodney stepped forward, aiming for the white patch of light where it hit the lumps of gritty fuel.

"Ow! Dammit! Ow!"

"Are you hurt, Rodney?"

"Fell on my knee. Then on my ass. Bruised knee. Bruised ass. How do we get out of here?"

"This way. But we must be quiet."

There were rungs in the side of the bunker. Teyla climbed and he heard the scrape of rusty hinges, then there was a square of dim light above, obscured for a moment, then the silhouette of Teyla's head. He followed her and climbed through.

It was a power room, primitive but efficient, a furnace roaring steadily, shovels ready for stoking, pressure and temperature gauges and the distant whine of turbines.

"There'll be people about," he whispered. "This needs monitoring twenty-four seven. Or twenty-eight whatever."

Teyla nodded and pointed to a doorway, gesturing to him to stay at her back. They stepped out into a large room, crowded with pipework. Huge tubes rose into the ceiling; flues, carrying smoke and fumes to the surface, Rodney guessed. The drone of turbines was louder, and became louder still for a second. Teyla pushed him into the shadow of the flues and they froze as a man crossed the room, checked gauges here and there, and went into the furnace room. Teyla beckoned Rodney forward and looked about her.

"Which way?"

He shrugged, but pointed away from the turbine room to a set of double doors. Teyla, keeping to the shadows, made her way forward. They passed through the doors and found themselves at the bottom of a stairwell.

"So, where does a power-hungry clan leader keep his stolen Gate crystals?"

"We will search Breckna's office, but it is a long way above."

They climbed, slowly. Rodney tried to tread softly but sound echoed and even whispers were magnified. A door opened beneath them. They hurried up the flight of stairs and through a door on the next level. The floor was in darkness, but Rodney had a sense of a large space around him. Teyla flicked on her P90 light and sent it gliding over work benches and lathes and racks of tools. She switched it off and they crouched in the dark, waiting. Footsteps rang in the hollowness of the stairwell, then faded and a door slammed far above.

Rodney's heart still beat quickly. "Don't these people have homes to go to?"

oOo

The light was fading, but still Ronon followed the tracks, limping more heavily, but determined. There were several small paths, criss-crossing the face of the mountain, none much bigger than an animal track; the Getters changed their route to avoid detection. He climbed, slid on some loose rock, fell and skinned his hands. Five minutes break, no more, then on again, higher, the vegetation thinning, the taint on the air growing as fumes drifted down on the evening breeze. Ronan scrambled over a ridge of rock and found himself facing a cave, flanked by a tumbling stream. He grinned in satisfaction and made his halting way forward. Beneath the overhang of the cave was a truck, like, yet unlike the mining trucks. It sat on rails with a rack and pinion mechanism, which descended steeply just inside the entrance of the cave. The stream had been diverted so that it filled a tank suspended beneath the truck, which was full and running over. It was ingenious; transport that could take heavy loads and give out no heat, no energy signature of any kind. Ronon climbed into the truck. A large lever stuck out of the base at an angle at the rear end. Ronon grasped the handle, squeezed, and eased it over. There was a clunk of engaging machinery beneath him and slowly, the weight of the water pulled the truck down the track, down into the depths of the mountain.

oOo

They'd be in by now; in through the back door that Herrick had given them, into the heart of the Maker factory. John turned his glass, spreading the patch of moisture beneath, where he'd spilt some of his beer. Would they find the crystals? God, he hoped so. This place was a mess. If they could get the Gate working he could go home and let someone else deal. Except he wouldn't. Not with the team still missing and not, definitely not with Ronon missing too and out there, maybe injured, maybe dying, maybe... No.

Waiting. Just waiting. That was the hard thing. Being the one to sit and think and wonder and worry. The events of the last few days tumbled around in John's head. He tried to see the sequence from Breckna's point of view. Was he behind it all? Was he the master, pulling the strings? And the Getter son, Jerret, turning up when everyone thought him dead. Attacked in his own home, forced to flee, returning to find both parents killed. The facts turned and spiralled and danced in John's head. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, took another sip of his beer, eased his aching arm in its sling. It was like planning chess moves, trying to see ahead, to predict the opponent's plans, their response; except the game had started before he and his team had arrived, and some of the pieces were already lost. John closed his eyes and the gentle murmur of conversation faded. Who, really, were the players here? Who the humble pawns, sacrificed to protect their leaders? What minds opposed each other in this game of power? And which king would, in the end, fall?

oOo

The level above the workshop was open to the stairwell; a broad corridor, off which could be seen glass-fronted labs, some in darkness, some lit, one with the door ajar allowing a low murmur of voices punctuated by the occasional laugh to float toward Rodney and Teyla. Rodney began to tiptoe forward, but Teyla pulled him back, firmly.

Cooking smells lingered on the next level. Teyla continued to climb, checking behind her to make sure Rodney had resisted the lure of the staff canteen. One more floor to go before the reception level; another open space, with a central pool of desks flanked by glass-walled offices and meeting rooms. A light was on in the nearest room and raised voices could be heard. Teyla could see one man, seated at a table, his back to her. His head shook, he scribbled something on a notepad. Teyla kept her eyes fixed on the room, and gestured to Rodney to move. She heard him slip behind her and begin to climb the next flight, his puffing breath too loud to her hunter's ears. She turned to follow, still watching the meeting room. The man's head turned. She froze. Had he seen her? He spoke, shrugged, jotted another note. Teyla moved on.

Rodney looked down at her, his eyes wide and anxious. She waved him upward and they emerged onto the reception level, a waist height barrier shielding them from view. Teyla peered around the edge. Dim light came from a far corner of the room; a woman sat alone, a lamp trained on her work, her head bent close to some fine stitching. Her pool of light should blind her to peripheral movement, but they would have to be silent. Teyla turned to Rodney and pressed a finger firmly to her lips. He nodded. She moved, slowly, steadily, close to the wall, deep in shadow, the carpeted floor a blessing. Rodney's breath was fast and shallow behind her. They reached the stairs to the mezzanine level and began to climb.

"Hal? Is that you?" The woman had looked up from her work and was squinting into the darkness. "Fenti?" She muttered to herself, shook her head and went back to her work. Teyla climbed the stairs, silently opened the door of Breckna's office and ushered Rodney ahead of her. She slipped inside and closed the door.

Rodney turned on the desk lamp and began searching the drawers. Teyla investigated two doors behind the desk, one of which proved to be a bathroom. The other was a cupboard, lined with shelves of neatly labelled narrow boxes. The text meant nothing, but several boxes were slightly misaligned. She slid one out, opened it and riffled through the contents. The lettering system was unfamiliar and she could make nothing of it. Teyla closed the file and slid it back on the shelf. The next two boxes were similarly unforthcoming, but in the fourth there was a document written in two columns, one in the Pereynian script and another in Ancient. Flipping over the pages she could see some spaces where the document was incomplete and some lines - for signatures?

"Rodney. Can you read this?"

"What? Oh, that's Ancient." He plucked the document from her hands and spread it out on the desk. "Pretty poor Ancient, actually. But, yes, this is a contract. Well, a draft. A draught trading agreement. With us. Breckna's counting his chickens; and significantly overestimating his hatch rate if I'm any judge, which I am!"

"Have you found anything?"

"Yes, his phone, speaker, whatever they call it. It's in the bottom drawer. You see, the wire runs down the table leg and then beneath the carpet?" He folded up the papers and stuffed them in his pocket.

"Should we take that?"

"Yes, we should. Carry on searching."

Teyla returned to the file cupboard.

"Aha! Gotcha! I knew it!"

"Rodney?"

"Look!"

Yellow lamplight glinted off the distinctive crystals in Rodney's hands. Teyla nodded, decisively. "We must leave, now. If this man Breckna is truly responsible we are in danger."

Rodney nodded. "Yes, yes we are." He slipped the crystals into his pockets.

Teyla tiptoed to the door and put her hand on the handle. She looked over her shoulder and met Rodney's eyes. He switched off the lamp and she slowly opened the door. The scene was as before, the single pool of yellow light, the solitary worker.

They made it across the mezzanine, down the stairs and part way along the wall when Teyla heard heavy footsteps approaching from the level below.

"Hal!" The dim light was obscured and then revealed; a man stood within the yellow pool, half leaning against the workbench, a gun holster visible at his side.

"Lorren."

"I thought I heard you a while ago. Haven't you checked the office level already?"

"Not unless Fenti did it, no. What did you hear? Coulda been cave rats."

"Not a chance! The boss saw those little beasts off, thank you very much!"

"The boss's orders saw them off - we security goons had to do the actual catching! Got a dirty job? Give it to us, that's the rule!"

She shoved him, laughing. "Get on with your dirty job, then, goon!"

He made a mocking bow. "Certainly, madam! Let's have the lights up! Make the little critters run back to their holes." Hal strode purposefully toward a wall.

They were too far from the stairs. They'd have to hide. There was a door, close by, under the overhang of the mezzanine. Teyla opened it, pushed Rodney in and closed it behind her. It shut with a sharp click and around the doorframe a line of light sprang to life. A sharp querying note came from the woman, Lorren, and was echoed by the guard; they had heard the door.

"What do we do?" Rodney was close to panicking.

"In there!" Teyla hoped the door led to a filing cupboard, like Breckna's. It did. Other voices had joined those outside. Time was short.

"Get down Rodney!"

"What?"

"There is room for you under the lowest shelf. Get under!"

"What about you?"

"I will let them capture me. Stay there and wait until it is safe to come out!"

"What? No!"

"Rodney, please!" He looked at her, his mouth working helplessly, his eyes bleak.

"Okay." He flattened himself against the floor and wriggled beneath the shelf. Teyla stacked some files in front of him. The voices outside were louder. Someone hammered against the cupboard door.

"Come out!"

Another voice spoke. "Unarmed!"

Teyla unclipped her P90 and laid it on the floor.

"Hurry up!"

She took out her sidearm and laid it on the floor, then opened the door and stepped out, blinking and shielding her eyes in the bright light.

oOo

This was wrong. All wrong. Teyla had shut the door behind her, but Rodney could hear Breckna's oily voice and Teyla's calm tones responding. He shouldn't be in here, with his teammate sacrificing herself to save him. Breckna was a murderous power-hungry monster; who knew what he'd do to her? But both of them being captured would be worse. He had the Gate crystals; he could get help. Breckna's voice was becoming agitated. Something was digging into Rodney's side. He brought his hand up, awkwardly in the narrow space. There was a curved piece of metal and some kind of box. His fingers felt an uneven surface, smooth raised sections set into the flat of wood? He felt one of the smooth areas give slightly and pushed it. Rodney nearly hit his head on the shelf above. He wriggled out from beneath the shelf, pulling out the box and the curving metal, from which a faint squawking could be heard. He snatched it up and held it to his ear, his heart beating fast, facts tumbling in his head, connections snapping into place like crystals into their slots. The voices outside had fallen silent. Had they gone? The door burst open and Rodney flung up a hand to ward off the glaring light.

"Dr McKay!"

"Whose office is this?"

"What? How dare you! This is outrageous!"

"Yes, yes," said Rodney, climbing to his feet. "I see your point, but, whose office is this?"

Through squinting eyes, Rodney saw Breckna's mouth form a grim line and dark red anger crept up his throat and across his face.

"How dare you break into my premises! Who gave you the right to come to this world and do as you please?"

"Look, yes, I was wrong, apologies all round, but I need to know! Whose office!"

"It's Mr Gresden's." The seamstress spoke, peering round the bulk of her boss and two security guards, weapons raised.

"The foreman!" Rodney held up his find and thrust the headset toward Breckna. "Listen to this! Just listen!"

Breckna slowly took the curving metal and held an earpiece up to listen. His expression immediately changed from fury to shock. "That's Miss Zanta! That's me! What...?"

"Your foreman's been listening into your conversations and passing intel to the enemy," said Rodney. "And my guess is that he's fed us all a fair bit of misinformation one way and another."

"They never came here!" Teyla's eyes darted here and there, unseeing, as if the facts were realigning themselves for her, as they had for Rodney.

"Exactly!" he said. "Gresden signed Jordan and Bell in on the register and told us he'd seen them, but they never left the Getter House, and I don't believe Jerret did either!"

"He did it! He killed his parents!" Teyla said.

"And two of his own men, and who knows what he's done with our team!"

"That puppy! He's been snapping at his father's heels for years! And since Galta married again, rumour has it that he'll be disinherited if there's another child. That won't happen now!"

"Tythia was not Jerret's mother?" Teyla asked.

"Of course she wasn't!" Breckna said. "And there are some pretty nasty rumours about what happened to Galta's first wife!"

Teyla turned stunned eyes to her teammate. "The maid, Yashna. She said her mistress was with child!"

"Ha!" Breckna's laugh was brutal. "There you are, then! The pup killed the top dog and his new bitch, before she could give him another son!"

Rodney shuddered with distaste and saw Teyla stiffen with anger.

"You did not have Brant killed," she said.

"The old man? Is that what you thought? I have no need to stoop so low!"

"Gresden must have listened in and then the Getters killed him to incriminate the Makers! Getters attacked us on the way back from your factory for the same reason! Jerret sent a man to try to stop anyone seeing the bodies of his parents, and, I'm guessing it was Gresden who planted the Gate crystals in your desk drawer!" said Rodney. "Jerret wanted to discredit you, so that we'd back him up in a nice little coup and give him complete control! He must have been about to make a move against his father when Jordan's team came along and he saw a better way."

"But we will not assist him with military force," said Teyla. "We told him as much!"

"We did," said Rodney, thoughtfully.

"He's not a man to give up on an idea, I would imagine," said Breckna. "He may try to force your hand."

"Yes, yes, he will!" Rodney rubbed both hands through his hair and screwed up his eyes.

"You should..." Breckna began.

"Just shut up I'm trying to think!" Rodney held up a hand in Breckna's stunned face and then snapped his fingers in a rapid flurry. "He's taken out a team, pointed the finger at you and we've refused to react! What will he do next? Raise the stakes! Make us retaliate!"

Rodney met Teyla's eyes, recalling Jerret's interest in John's rank.

"Sheppard," he said.