Stargate Atlantis #24 Read online

  They had traveled about half an hour when the ground outside changed, showing more rocks and scrubby trees, and the truck turned onto a narrow track that led up a series of low hills. The trucks slowed, picking their way along what looked more like a dry stream bed than a road, the banks rising on either side until they were traveling along the bottom of a fairly deep canyon. It would be good protection from aerial observation, Lorne thought, though the Wraith Darts had other sensors with which they hunted humans.

  The trucks topped a final steep rise and slowed still further. The windows showed only jagged rock walls uncomfortably close to the truck’s sides, but Lorne could hear voices from the cab, and guessed they’d reached a checkpoint. And that probably meant the entrance to the underground sections. Sure enough, when the truck started up again, they passed a well-camouflaged guard post, and then the walls closed in and they were in a dimly lit tunnel. The ground was smoother here, the trucks picking up speed again, and Lorne reached for the nearest grab strap. In the seat next to him, he heard Corporal Hernandez whisper, “Outta sight…”

  They drove for nearly another hour through the tunnels, the trucks maintaining a decent speed, but at last they slowed and turned into what proved to be a second, wider tunnel. Both trucks pulled up alongside what looked like a loading dock, and uniformed Genii unlatched the doors. Lorne clambered out, trying not to stretch too obviously, and saw, at the far side of the cavern, a line of men with cameras, held back by a thick rope. Beckett saw the same thing, and frowned.

  “That looks like press. I didn’t know the Genii had media.”

  “Probably not like we do,” Lorne said, and touched Sheppard’s sleeve, tipping his head toward the crowd. “Colonel.” He was willing to bet they were more like a propaganda corps than the kind of press he was used to in America, and the last thing they needed was for the Genii to get something weird on tape that they could use against Atlantis.

  “Yeah.” Sheppard shot a quick glance in that direction, and lengthened his stride to catch up with Radim. “Say, Chief, you didn’t say there would be a press conference.”

  Radim gave him a creditably blank look. “There is none planned.”

  “Then what are those guys doing there?”

  “They are documenting the arrival of our allies’ representatives, for broadcast on our evening news hour.” Radim smiled. “You must understand, Foundation Day is our single most important holiday, and this year, with the Lanteans present and the Pride of the Genii on a goodwill mission, interest among our people is running high.”

  “I thought you said this wasn’t a press conference,” Sheppard said.

  “They are not here to ask questions,” Radim said,”only to take pictures at a distance. Though we have had a formal request from our Head of Broadcasting to be allowed to ask a few questions. And of course they will broadcast the ceremony itself.”

  Sheppard said something Lorne couldn’t hear, and Radim gestured toward another opening in the cavern wall. And that was one more useful reminder that the Genii weren’t exactly a friendly state, Lorne thought. He let himself slow a step, falling in beside Lieutenant Harries, the leader of the Marine detachment. “You saw that?”

  “The press? Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure our people know there are reporters around,” Lorne said. “They need to watch what they say.”

  “Definitely,” Harries said, his voice grim. “I’ll pass that on, sir.”

  Beckett dropped back a step to speak quietly into Lorne’s ear. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “Are you kidding?” Lorne matched the doctor’s tone. “You can imagine what kind of a propaganda operation the Genii have — they’re the people who convinced everyone that they were simple farmers, and kept it up for a couple of generations. We don’t need to give them anything to work with.”

  “Aye, there’s that.” Beckett’s smile was wry. “I keep thinking they’re our allies.”

  “They are,” Lorne said, “but they’ve always got their own agenda.”

  They were assigned a row of comfortable rooms on the level above where they’d entered, one for each of the officers and for Beckett, and two for the Marines to share, and Radim paused at the head of the hall. “I hope you will be comfortable, but if there is anything more you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. Housekeepers have been assigned to be sure everything is to your satisfaction.”

  “Thanks.” Sheppard still didn’t look entirely comfortable, but he was doing a creditable job with the diplomatic side of things.

  “There are programs in your rooms that detail the festival schedule,” Radim went on, “but tonight is only a private dinner for those of the Pride’s crew who fought against Queen Death but did not qualify for the current mission. I was pleased to see so many men I recognized among your party; I hope we can celebrate our victory as allies should.”

  “That sounds very nice,” Sheppard said.

  “Then I’ll leave you for the moment,” Radim said. “The dinner will begin at the second night-hour; I believe you would call that 2100 hours. Your housekeepers will escort you to the hall.”

  “Thanks,” Sheppard said again, and there was a flurry of activity as the housekeepers — all middle-aged, motherly-looking women in neat beige uniforms — insisted on showing the rooms and making sure that everyone had everything they could possibly need. Lorne finally managed to convince his — her name was Margit, she said — that he didn’t need more towels or a pot of fresh tea, and closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief.

  The room was pleasant, if windowless, with wood paneling over the stone walls and a four-poster bed piled high with pillows. It had curtains and a canopy, too, unpatterned gray fabric, and Lorne wondered if the Genii used them for extra privacy, or maybe extra warmth. Underground installations tended to hold a constant temperature, but that temperature was cool. There was a pair of sleek wooden chairs as well, and a table that could be set at a variety of different heights. Lorne experimented with it for a moment, then pulled open the door that led to the small but spotless bathroom, scanning the corners and crevices where listening devices might have been concealed. He didn’t find any, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. They’d learned the hard way not to underestimate Genii technology.

  Someone tapped on one of the connecting doors, and he pulled it open to see Beckett waving the neatly printed program at him. “Have you looked at this? They’re keeping us busy.”

  “Hadn’t had a chance, Doc.” Lorne picked up his copy, squinting at the unfamiliar printing. “I see what you mean,” he said, after a moment, and Beckett nodded.

  “Dinner tonight, Ceremony of Remembrance tomorrow at noon, Foundation Day parade, Foundation Day banquet, Foundation Day fireworks — well, that might be nice.”

  It didn’t seem like the Genii to set off fireworks, Lorne thought, or maybe it was an act of defiance. “That means we won’t be able to leave until the day after. I can’t see it being practical to get back to the jumper right after the fireworks.”

  “Or very polite, either,” Beckett said, and lifted a hand when Lorne would have protested. “I know, I know. But it is a diplomatic mission.”

  “We’re not forgetting that,” Lorne said, and knocked on the door that led to Sheppard’s room. Sheppard pulled it open almost at once, a wry smile on his face.

  “Pretty cozy. How’s yours?”

  “Not bad. Kind of… bland.”

  “The Genii don’t seem to go in for extraneous decorations,” Beckett said. “Or at least not when they’re not pretending to be peasant farmers.”

  Sheppard nodded. “Come on in, have some tea.” He glanced around, and lowered his voice. “Find anything?”

  “No, sir.” Lorne accepted the cup of tea — the same unglazed pottery he had seen aboard the Pride, though the teapot was black iron. Sheppard’s room was much the same as his own, curtained bed, three chairs, adjustable table, but he was willing to bet that the quality of the materials
was better. He’d noticed aboard the Pride that the higher ranking officers had higher-quality versions of what seemed at first glance to be standard items.

  “Me, neither. But that doesn’t mean there’s not something there.” Sheppard gave the room another jaundiced stare. “McKay whipped up something he said would pick up radio frequencies, but we’ll see.”

  There was a knock at the main door, and Lorne opened it, stepping back to admit Lieutenant Harries.

  “Sir,” he said. “Peebles has been over their rooms and mine, and the box hasn’t alerted.”

  “I’d say that was good news,” Sheppard said, “except…”

  “Yes, sir,” Harries said. “I’ve already warned my people to be careful what they say.”

  “Have Peebles check our rooms,” Sheppard said, “and then we’d better start getting ready for this party tonight.”

  There were voices in the hall, Hernandez’s among them, and Lorne reached for the door and jerked it open. Hernandez and Peebles were in the hallway, Johnson and Rountree hovering in their respective doorways, while one of the housekeepers had planted herself between them and the only visible exit.

  “I’m so sorry,” she was saying, “there’s not really time, but if you like we could arrange a tour tomorrow morning. We’d be delighted to show you around the city.”

  “Is there a problem?” Sheppard said, his voice deceptively mild.

  The housekeeper raised both hands, still smiling. “Oh, no, not at all, sir.”

  Harries looked at Hernandez, who said, defensively, “Me and Peebles was just going to take look around. We didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  “I’m sure you’re not saying we’re restricted to these rooms,” Sheppard said, and the housekeeper shook her head.

  “Not at all, Colonel. If your people would like to go for a quick walk, I’d be delighted to accompany them. But there really isn’t very much time before the dinner.”

  In other words, Lorne thought, the Genii weren’t going to let them wander around without an escort. Of course, they wouldn’t let the Genii wander loose in Atlantis, either. From his expression, Sheppard had come to the same conclusion.

  “The lady’s got a point, Hernandez,” he said. “But if you want to take a tour in the morning, go ahead.”

  “I’d be delighted to set that up for you,” the housekeeper said, with what sounded like genuine enthusiasm.

  “Yes, sir,” Hernandez said. ”Me and Peebles would like that, ma’am, thank you very much.”

  “I’d like to come along,” Beckett said. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Not in the slightest! We can accommodate as many of you as would like to come.” The housekeeper favored them with a beaming smile. “I’ll come for you at the second day-hour — don’t bother eating, I can take you to a very nice place as part of our exploration.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Hernandez said again, and Peebles echoed him. The housekeeper vanished through the exit, and Peebles grimaced.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant, me and Hernandez were just curious.”

  “That’s all right,” Harries said.

  “The lady was waiting just outside that door,” Peebles said. “The one she just went out. She was real nice, but she made it clear we weren’t going anywhere without her.”

  “Like in the old days, back in the old Soviet Union,” Hernandez said. “My aunt, she was Cuban, she studied in Moscow, and she said all the foreign students there had people assigned to keep them company, keep them from going around on their own.”

  “I think you’re right,” Sheppard said. “For now, we’re guests here, so don’t push it. Keep your eyes open on the tour, though.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hernandez said.

  Behind him, Rountree looked nervous. “Colonel, she didn’t actually mean 0200, did she? ‘Cause, I mean, I’d kind of like to go, but…”

  “The Genii run on a different clock,” Lorne said. “The second day-hour is about 0800.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rountree looked relieved.

  “About this party,” Sheppard said. “Everybody keep your eyes open, and remember that everything you say and do reflects on Atlantis.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lorne said, along with the rest of them, and hoped they could manage it.

  ~#~

  As these things went, John admitted, it wasn’t a bad party. Radim had told the truth when he said that the guests were mostly people who had served on Avenger when they fought Queen Death, and Lorne and his people had been quick to find old friends to talk to. And he and Beckett had been part of the team that brought the ship back to the Genii homeworld, so there were more than a few faces that he remembered from delivering the ship — though Beckett had been tucked up in his own infirmary by then, recovering from an attack by carnivorous lizards. The meal had been good: several courses of soups and stews, with a main course of some sort of mild-flavored meat baked in pastry, and pitchers of fruit tea and beer. The beer had been particularly tasty, heavy and sharp with hops, and John had switched to the tea after the first glass. A part of him wished he’d thought to bring one of the anthropologists — they’d have interesting things to say about the menu — but right now the military connection seemed to be working.

  The tables were lifted away, carrying the remains of the bowls of berries and sweet cream pastries that had been the final course, and the Genii pushed their chairs back toward the walls, clearing a central space. The waiters returned, carrying trays of small pottery cups, and John took one warily. He sniffed it, then tasted, unsurprised to find that it was the harsh Genii whiskey, and hoped the younger Marines would be careful with it.

  As the waiters finished their round, four young women entered, carrying what looked like fiddles of differing sizes. They seated themselves at the end of the hall, and an older man joined them, carrying a sheaf of papers. Great, Sheppard thought, and braced himself to listen politely. The women began to play, a light, lilting melody that slid off into odd dissonance now and then, and the man began to recite, his well-trained voice rising easily over the music.

  “We honor again the Genii’s pride,

  Our noble allies, and their gallant ride…”

  John leaned back in his chair, hoping no one could see his eyes glaze over. Across the room, Lorne was deep in conversation with Avenger’s original pilot; Hernandez and Peebles were talking to a trio of Genii their own age, while Johnson sniffed warily at his cup, and Rountree listened thoughtfully to a woman who wore Science Service insignia on her sleeve. Radim was listening with an expression of deep interest, Beckett silent at his side, and John resigned himself to listening, wishing Teyla were here. Even if she couldn’t explain the Genii ritual, her tart commentary would at least make the song pass faster.

  “I hope you’re enjoying the evening, Colonel,” a voice said, just audible above the sound of the music, and John turned to see a young man with a sharp face and what looked like premature streaks of gray in his brown hair. Or maybe they weren’t so premature: on second glance, the man looked older than he had seemed at first. He also had Science insignia at his collar, bright silver against the dull gray-green.

  “I am,” John said, and was pleased that he sounded convincing. “It’s been very interesting.”

  “Klaran Venz. I was on the Pride.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” John said.

  “And I you.” Venz smiled broadly. “When the City of the Ancestors moved to join the fight — it was like something out of the old tales. Though I’m afraid our current laureate hasn’t quite captured the moment.”

  “I guess this is a tradition?” John hoped that sounded more enthusiastic than disapproving.

  “It is. A poet of suitable stature is commissioned to write a praise piece, which is then recited for the honorees. Though perhaps he could have spared the chief some of his excesses, and made more of the people who actually did the work.”

  John managed not to look sharply at him. “Oh?”

  “This — everyt
hing, the recovery of the Pride, rebuilding it, manufacturing a crew for it, that’s all our work, in Sciences. It’s painful to see all the credit go to the military arm.”

  “I suppose that’s something that happens,” John said. Once again, he wished Teyla was here: she would know what to say to draw Venz out without making him or anyone else suspicious.

  “More than you’d think,” Venz said. “But then, your people honor scientists.”

  “We find them to be invaluable members of our team.”

  “And we do not,” Venz said. “But that will change.”

  John blinked at that, and saw Venz’s expression flicker, as though he was afraid he’d said too much.

  “After all,” he went on smoothly, “Chief Ladon supports the sciences as few of our leaders have ever done. We will receive our due. Now, if you’ll excuse me —“

  “Of course,” John said, and the Genii scientist slipped away into the crowd. And what the hell I’m supposed to make of that, I don’t know, John thought. Except that some people aren’t happy with Radim’s regime, and that’s not exactly news. I wonder if any Genii leader has ever had solid majority support?

  The poet finished at least, and there was applause that lasted long enough for the man to take three quick bows. He disappeared then, but the quartet remained, settling into their chairs as though getting ready for a stint of hard labor. The redhead who seemed be the leader counted them down, and they launched themselves into what sounded like a dance tune. Sure enough, some of the younger Genii rose to their feet, and formed a double line down the center of the cleared space. It looked a lot like the folk dancing he’d seen at college, except only the men were dancing, and Radim spoke quietly at his elbow.

  “Lanteans don’t dance?”

  Not if we can help it. John swallowed the flippant answer, and said, “We do, but it takes different forms.” Looking at the crowd, he couldn’t resist adding, “Usually men and women dance in pairs.”