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Chapter 8: Weight & Honor
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The first thing Major Evan Lorne noticed when he stepped through the wormhole was the cold. Alaskan tundra cold. Initially, he thought they'd been duped and sent to the wrong Stargate but the surroundings were familiar, but the last time they passed through to this planet, it was a balmy 90°.
Wind blowing in his face with the feel of ice sprinkled in the mix, he ordered the wormhole to Atlantis be opened. Pronto. They all stood there, on alert but huddled around the stargate, would welcome the usual chill of the wormhole to this artic freeze. But the wormhole wasn't presenting itself. And his soldier had dialed it in twice.
The wrongness of this whole day amped up in Evan's gut. He came over, watched the Atlantis stargate address being entered correctly and no joy on the whooshing opening of the stargate. Silently he cursed, in words his grandma wouldn't approve of. "Alright, we're not getting back to Atlantis. Don't know if it's on their side or this gate and since our Alpha site is no longer a feasible option, we'll going to rejoin Colonel Shepperd and Dr. McKay," he announced to his gathered troops, even as he gave a nod to the soldier to dial that gate address in.
It almost shouldn't have surprised Evan that the wormhole didn't appear for that gate either. He knew he shouldn't have trusted that soldier holding Sheppard and McKay hostage. He bitterly recapped their situation. They couldn't go home, couldn't get back to Sheppard, had no jumper to attempt to fly home or even drop over to the closet planet to use another stargate and see if they had better success.
The fact was, they got played. Hard.
And with the hostile weather and no shelter, this planet was practically uninhabitable. "Try the address to the first stargate the thieves jumped to and pray that one hasn't turned toxic to human life too," he ordered above the blustery wind, mentally crossing his fingers they would at least be able to jump there, if not home.
He'd been glad to see wormholes lots of time in his career with Stargate, and this was another of those times. He waved his men through and was the last one to leave. But even as the relatively warmed up cold of the wormhole washed over him like walking through a chilly waterfall, he felt like he was sacrificing any real chance they had to get John and McKay back. 'Sheppard, damn you for ordering me to leave you!' Because he had followed his orders from his commanding officer, and maybe condemned his leader and friend to his death, Dr. McKay too.
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"Careful! Careful!" Rodney commanded in his pissed, frantically worried tone as some of the thief goons picked John up and were toting him to their ship like he was a dead carcass they were going to have for supper. For John's part, he had groaned in pain when they ruthlessly hauled him off Rodney's legs but then he had fallen silent. Which in the instance of John Sheppard, silence usually meant unconscious… or too royally pissed to speak but Rodney was pretty certain it was category one this time.
Dogging the steps of the soldiers carrying Sheppard onto the ship, Rodney shoved through their masses as they dropped John into a bench seat that was lined against the wall of the ship. John shifted in the seat, enough to convince Rodney he wasn't unconscious, but his eyes were closed and his head was leaning on the wall of the ship as if he couldn't raise it. Crouching down by his friend, he cinched the seatbelt across John's lap even as he kept shooting worried glances up at John.
Dropping to the bench seat at Sheppard's side, Rodney fell to ranting to his friend, which he did when he was teetering on an all-out panic zone. "Don't think you're going to kick back and relax, make me do all the talking. You got us into this all-expense paid trip to see their leaders, now you use that boyish charm to get us out alive." In his head there was a tag on of, 'And get yourself all well again while you're at it because Atlantis isn't home without you, John.'
Reading the signs of Rodney in his freaked out stage, John rallied himself to open his eyes, rolled his head to face his friend. Pulling on a weak smirk, he retort to his best friend, "I didn't invite you on this trip, Rodney. Especially not this exclusive backstage pass. You talked yourself into coming along, so it's only fair you have to talk us out of trouble."
McKay's look of panic made John's smirk become a little more real as did the high squeakiness of Rodney's voice. "But I never do that! That's you, you're the…the…talker."
"Yeah, because you're a monk to sworn silence?" John sarcastically zinged back.
"Yes, I can talk, but not us out of trouble!" Rodney petulantly explained. The events of the morning were proof, but he didn't want to remind John of that particular example. And their present company, they were so much more dangerous than a few weirdo villagers who used valuable tech for ashtrays.
Aware of their thieves' leader, who was seated across from them, and that the ship was made up of people who were still in the category of enemies, John dropped his voice and tilted his head toward Rodney so only his scientist officer could hear. "Assess what they want the ZPM for, which my bet will be either shields or a weapon. Then sell them on the idea that you have an alternate power source better than a ZPM."
"Nothing's better than a ZPM," Rodney objected with a whispered hiss.
"Rodney," warning in the way John gritted out his name.
"Ok, fine. I'll give them other energy saving options, will sell them on …windmills and solar panels."
Hearing McKay's snarky sarcasm McKay, John felt better, knowing Rodney was edging out of his panic. "There, you practically have this negotiation all settled," he praised.
Rodney didn't know if Sheppard's words were in mockery or encouragement, knowing John, probably a mixture of both. Though he opened his mouth to strategize more, he found John had his eyes closed again. It made him fear just how badly Sheppard was feeling. Looking up, he saw the leader watching him, eyes assessing John, reveling in his weakness, no doubt. But this guy didn't know John Sheppard like Rodney did. The man wasn't easily daunted, didn't let little things like being shot, having broken bones, or faced with no win situations make him meekly surrender. In fact, Rodney had a strong suspicion it pissed John off and then he stubbornly downright refused to backdown and lose. So if the leader thought John wasn't a threat, even as weak and sick as he was, well maybe that was their ace in the hole. 'And we sure could use one about now.'
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It was little over a two-hour flight until their ship descended into a landing. Even as the soldiers stood up around them, Rodney remained seated, gave Sheppard's arm a squeeze to wake up his friend. John was slow to come around, raised his head, which was on Rodney's shoulder, like it weighed a ton and blinked a few times, seemingly trying to focus his vision. "We're here, wherever here is," Rodney undertoned, dread carrying in his words like he thought they'd arrived early for their execution.
"Where?" John asked, felt like his jaw was rusty from disuse and his head full of sharp objects that kept stabbing into his temple.
"That's just one of the questions of the day. We don't even know the planet, what to call these people, whether they are an advanced society or if these charming thieves are the best shining examples of their citizenship," Rodney's bitterness blatant…and overheard.
"We don't eat our young and most of our council at least think they are smarter than us grunt soldiers," this was supplied by their lead captor as he stood over John and Rodney with that perpetual half smirk of amusement on his lips. "Now it's time to use that charm of yours on them," he directed at John, who numbly nodded, like sleep was still bamboozling him.
Seeing John's motor skills were still on slow speed, Rodney undid Sheppard's lap seatbelt and put a hand under his friend's arm and levered him up. He was going to release John, but his friend swayed into him and Rodney's grip intensified instead of disengaged its hold on John.
Three steps into their journey toward the ship's ramp, John staggered heavily into Rodney. Rodney was about to panic at his friend's weakened state when John's voice came lowly by his ear. "What do they need the ZPM for again?"
Rodney's eyes snapped up to John's, alarmed that Sheppard acted like that information was a known element when it definitely wasn't. "Don't know. We only theorized shield or weapon." Expected John to nod in remembrance but his leader's face got that concentrating look about it. "You remember that conversation?"
John considered lying, only to make himself look better, to not freak Rodney out, to keep his poker face for whoever was observing, certainly this band of thieves' leader. But ultimately, he decided Rodney had to know the ugly truth. "No, don't remember. Things are …hazy." His friend's horrified expression wasn't the best way to keep his spotty memory under the radar.
A million bad outcomes flashed through Rodney's mind in lightning speed, from John having permanently fried his brain, to them being hauled in front of a firing squad, to Atlantis being chum for the Wraith because they weren't going to get that ZPM back. A hand on his shoulder prodded him forward so he put an arm around Sheppard's waist, and they walked off the ship, side by side. "Anything else you don't remember?"
"Kinda hard to tell. Can't remember what I forgot to remember," John smart mouthed back, because that was his line of defense, his mouth, his bravado, his poker face. It was there to hide from the world his doubts, his indecisions, and this right here and now, his own growing fear that he'd irrevocably broken his mind.
Rodney shot John a glare but couldn't volley back a droll reply because they were being ushed out of the hanger and he got his first look at the civilization that would decide their fate. It wasn't tents like Teyla's people had lived in, nor was it the opulence of Hoffan. It was like a village from the 1500s, small one level hatched houses, rows of a community garden, livestock penned in a corral and a few bigger buildings. The village seemed to spread out across the otherwise barren land for a mile or two. And away on the hill, smoke was pluming, not from a campfire but as something that once was probably a grain silo but now was only crumbled wood littering the ground.
A four-man group of soldiers approached their returned team, came unerringly to their lead thief. Two of the man hugged the leader in a show of affection that took Rodney by surprise. It was always easier to think of your enemies as monsters instead of men who had friends, maybe even family. He looked to John and he was observing this reunion with interest as well.
"Kannar, we almost came looking for you. Any casualties?" the dark-skinned man asked of the leader.
"No. We got the power source. However, it didn't go off without a complication or two," the leader, Kannar, informed his friends, jerking his head to Sheppard and McKay.
The other man who had hugged Kannar lanced a not friendly smile upon their guests before turning back to his friend. He ran a pale hand through his red hair. "The council will not like this "complication.""
"Nope," Kannar agreed, his eyes going to his captives. Then he looked to the burning silo and his jaw clenched. "When did the attack happen?"
"Night before last," the red head supplied. He paused, his eyes grim as they held his friend's, "And the alarm came too late. We lost Niklam, Utar and Helmar."
"Taken or killed?" Kannar demanded, as if one fate was wished upon than the another.
"Killed in the fire," the red head answered, his tone not giving away if that was the good fate or the bad one.
Kannar looked away, the news hitting him hard. "Damn it! If I'd gotten back sooner with the power source…."
The dark-skinned man put his hand on Kannar's shoulder and met his eyes head on. "Every lost life is not your sin to carry, Kannar. That blood is on the Lanteans." Then his eyes skidded to John and Rodney and there was murder in his gaze. "I say it is good you bring Lanteans here to finally bleed and die as they sentenced our people to do long ago," and he started toward the Lanteans, was surprised when Kannar blocked his advancement to their enemies.
"I didn't bring them here to be executed," Kannar growled, forcibly holding back his friend.
"That is the only fate any Lantean deserves, Military Leader Kannar," came a voice from behind John and Rodney. Collectively the group turned to face the newcomer, an older man who had a scarred burn welt on his neck and an expression that was worthy of an executioner who enjoyed his job really well. And his robe, it looked ministerial, like his word just might pass for the law there.
John figured it was time to speak up. "Yeah, about that. We're not Lanteans." Didn't remember if he'd mentioned that tidbit before but it seemed appropriate to repeat it at this juncture. "Whatever beef you have with the Ancients, Lanteans, as you call them, isn't with us. As for the stolen power source, we didn't know we were in possession of pilfered goods. So I say, let's just take it from the top, go forward like we just met, no existing prejudices," he suggested, unleashing his boyish smile. "I'm sure we can hammer out a deal that's beneficial to both our people."
The robed man stood there, eyes glinting at John, before his hand went into his pocket. If John was up to his normal physical and mental acuity, he would have sensed the attack but as it was, the man's knife was airborne before he could process the danger. Or move himself or Rodney out it's deadly trajectory. John had one halfhearted thought of optimism, 'Least I won't have to suffer a long drawn out death.'
Rodney was moving to tackle John when a blur of motion directly in front of them distracted him. A blur that turned out to be Kannar, dodging into the space between the fast-approaching knife and his captives. Rodney was wondering why the man was willing to die for them. But the soldier did the impossible and grabbed the knife, from the very air. Then he twirled the knife in his hand as if he were a gunslinger in a western movie and slid the knife into this belt, beside Sheppard's handgun.
"Councilor Olpwen, I believe a vote is required before any executions are carried out," Kannar drawled like he was talking to a naughty schoolboy. "And there are consequences even if such a sentence was carried out."
Olpwen looked likely to throw another knife, this time intentionally at Kannar. "Our laws do not encompass these …men. Lanteans. And surely you wouldn't want it to, because that would mean any lives you took in your mission, we would need to sacrifice that many lives of our people."
"The laws are for our morality, not others." Here he turned to Rodney, asked with remorse, "How many of your people did we kill in our attack?"
Surprised to be drawn into the conversation, Rodney looked to John before he gave that intel. With John's nod, he supplied, "Twelve at the time we left. Others were injured though."
Kannar nodded but there wasn't satisfaction in his look but regret. Turning back to the councilman, he said, "Fate plays her part in our laws as well. The Lanteans lost twelve lives…and we lost three lives here the night before last."
"We aren't Lanteans," Rodney quietly corrected but nobody paid any attention to his point.
The councilor scowled heavily, but it was directed at Kannar. "You and your father always put naïve faith in fate! If you continue this childish belief, it may cost our people it's very existence this time. Their fate," he pointed to McKay and Sheppard, "was decided the day the Lanteans banished us from the city we built together. Offered up our lives as chum so they would have time to leave this galaxy behind to be utterly ravaged by the Wraith."
"My father is the high councilor, Olpwen. To speak against him is to incite treason," Kannar quietly but deadly accused, his hand dropping to the sidearm in his leg holster. "I would take back your words before I assign you as the next sacrifice for the next Lantean life lost."
"Again, not Lanteans," Rodney grumbled, wasn't liking this haggling over if it was lawful to murder them for crimes they didn't even commit.
Olpwen saw that not only was Kannar willing to draw his weapon, but the military leader's devoted soldiers were also poised to blindly support their misguided leader. It infuriated him to have to retract his accusation but there would be another time to make his move to rule. Now, he gave a curt bow. "I meant no disrespect to the high councilor or the military leader. I only spoke of alternate ways to view the outcome of today's harvest."
"With a celebration," Kannar offered with a smirk that was no less steely. "We have our power source back and we will be protected from the Wraith. Others may try and jeopardize our ways, but they will fail."
There was a warning in Kannar's words if John had ever heard one. Found he still liked this Kannar guy. He wasn't so much different than John was. Also had to contend with blind bureaucrats who knew nothing about how taking a life for the sake of duty could weigh on a soldier's soul. John knew that it surely had tainted his own soul. And he couldn't help thinking that this might be the last time he'd have that weight and honor of corrupting his soul in order to save Atlantis. 'Go out on a win, John. Save Atlantis and Rodney. And then, whatever happens to you afterwards, it won't matter. It can't matter.'
"Lead them to the council room, Mutar," Kannar commanded of the red-haired soldier. Then he turned to Olpwen. "Gather your council. What happens to these two men, to any possible negotiation with their kind, that will be a decision we make as a people." Kannar decreed before he walked away, wanted a word with his father before the meeting began. Prayed that, between the two of them, they could find an outcome that didn't involve taking more lives.
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TBC
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