Examining the Enclave, John noted that while it was mounted on a plateau, there were probably countless ways in. This wasn’t the time or the place to get into a philosophical discussion about divinity, so he opted for the less problematic suggestion. “Even if they couldn’t use the transports, couldn’t Gat’s men have just walked in the front doors?”
As if the thought had never occurred to him, Ushat blinked rapidly. “It is forbidden. Dalera would not allow it.” But his words had lost the conviction they might have had, oh, say, twenty-four hours ago.
Teyla had found a third Shield, and after wiping off most of the gore, handed it to Lisera.
Ushat’s eyes widened, and John followed his gaze to the now glowing Shield in the girl’s hand. “Then it is true!” An expression of hope broke across the warrior’s face. “Some amongst the people do indeed carry the divine power. Kesun spoke of this after you departed.”
“Of what else did he speak?” Teyla asked with a speculative look at Rodney.
“That it was not only the barbarian rulers and the people who must return to Dalera’s teachings, but also the Chosen. Kesun was certain that many Chosen would be found among the people. The children’s children of Chosen, born in secret during the times when barbarians ruled, as they did until this day. He had intended to test his beliefs as soon as you returned with Lisera.” Glancing up at the still-smoking remains of the Enclave, Ushat’s expression crumpled. “Now it is too late, for the mindless horde knows only revenge. By killing Gat and ordering my men to defend themselves against the rabble, I too have broken our most sacred law, that we should never turn our hand against Dalerans.”
John clamped his jaw shut. Rodney’s face was also crumpling. The scientist’s depressive funk while they’d been imprisoned was descending to a new level of self-recrimination. But remorse was an indulgence they didn’t have time for. It was getting dark. Assuming Kesun was right about a Wraith ground assault, they had until morning to implement a defensive strategy.
A bloody-faced man with torn clothing ran into the square. The warriors turned and raised their weapons. Panicked, the man took one look at the warriors, pulled a glowing Shield from his pocket, and held it aloft with a scream. “Save me. I am of the Chosen!”
The mob on his heels was brandishing torches, howling for his blood. “Quarter him. Quarter the Chosen and take off his head!”
Ushat snarled and pointed his halberd at the man that John barely recognized in the fading light. “You.”
“Yann!” Lisera cried.
“My, how the tables have turned,” Rodney remarked, his features stony.
Yann stumbled to a stop, his face screwed up against his appalling choices. Behind him, a mob wanted to hack him to pieces — literally. In front, warriors were already spreading out, cutting off any chance of his escaping down some rat hole. “I…didn’t mean for this to happen. This is not what I planned!” he cried.
“Oh, spare me the echo,” Rodney snapped. He rounded on Ushat. “If you kill him—”
“I know,” Ushat growled. “Protect the murderous rebel. Do not harm him — yet.”
Despite the warriors’ obvious anger, they were too well disciplined to disobey an order, and they formed a protective phalanx around Yann. ÒI went back to the village, to try and save everyone, as is the Chosen’s duty,Ó the merchant babbled. ÒBut none remained. The village is overrun with Wraith!Ó
Which meant the jumper option was definitely out. They were left with only one choice: stand with the Dalerans to repel the Wraith, preferably before the Marines arrived in — John glanced at his watch — less then forty hours.
Confronted by the business end of fifty or more halberds, the crowd hesitated. Someone from behind cried out, “The Chosen and the warriors have failed to protect us. Kill them all!”
More shouts followed, grim cries from people who had lost wives, husbands, children, their homes and livelihoods. With nothing left to lose, these people wanted vengeance, and they wanted it in spades.
Someone must have spotted the glowing Shields in John and Rodney’s hands, because the mob’s attention suddenly deflected to them. John was getting awfully tired of fickle villagers. He was about to yell something, when Ushat announced, “They are not Chosen. They are from Atlantis!”
That took the wind out of the mob’s sails long enough for a loud voice at the rear to cry, “This way. I have heard there are more Chosen hiding in their Stations in the north.”
Rodney shook his head. “Somebody had better explain to them that unless they stop killing Chosen—”
“I think we get the picture, doc,” Ford muttered.
“Wait!” called a decently dressed guy from the front of the pack. “What if the Atlanteans have come to help us?”
“Risk your own neck to find out, but you will not risk mine.”
Scuffles began to break out. As darkness fell, the smoke that curled around the city had been replaced by the angry glow of fires. John recognized the signs. For some, the blood lust was fading and reality was beginning to set in. Their leaders had slaughtered the only people who could protect them from the Wraith and then had themselves been slaughtered. The city was in flames, and now the Wraith were on top of them. It had to have been the worst timed revolution in the history of any world.
In an aside to John, Ushat said quietly, “Can you help us?”
“Maybe. First, I need to find a map, preferably like the one Kesun showed me.”
“Excuse me?” Rodney demanded, having bounced out of depression into indignation. “You want to go sightseeing?”
“If I’m gonna have to defend this city from a Wraith attack in—” He glanced at two large planets rising over the eastern horizon. “How long until dawn?”
“Twelve hours,” Ushat replied.
“For that, I need a map.” John glanced at the squabbling crowd. “And a lot of cooperation.”
Ushat’s eyes narrowed, and he focused on someone in the rabble. “That man is one of the Citadel’s engineers. He has access to maps and plans.”
A movement caught John’s attention. He looked up to see Teyla climbing over the wreckage of the Dart. “With your help,” she called down to everyone, “we might yet defend the Citadel against the Wraith. Their winged beasts fall from the sky even though the Chosen are all dead. But you must do as Dalera intended, and work together, for having vanquished this Wraith just moments ago—” She gestured at the wreckage. A sudden hush fell over the square. “We now know that a great cull will take place at dawn. The choice is yours. Surrender to the madness of the Wraith, or work through the night to save what we can.”
It seemed to Rodney that no place in the Citadel provided an an escape from the eye-watering odors. Currently his senses were battling against the stench of charred… Actually, it was something that he didn’t want to consider all that carefully. Unfortunately the public works building to which they’d been led was directly downwind from the ruined Enclave. A dank chamber with little open space and even less light, he had to admit that the building’s ambiance was a considerable improvement over their prior lodgings.
Spread out before them on a worktable was a detailed map, hand drawn on some massive animal’s skin. Against his will, Rodney’s mind catalogued the unknown smell as rancid, oily, and possibly related to aforementioned hide. Oh, for the salt-laden air of a balconied room in Atlantis.
Sheppard was talking tactics and strategies with Ushat, along with a handful of men whom the warrior had identified as city engineers.
When he’d first met the Major, Rodney had assumed the man’s ever-present composure to be a sign that not much was going on upstairs, so to speak. He’d long since learned better. In a situation such as this, a calm Major was a very good thing.
After a moment of studying the map, Sheppard said to Ushat, “Do you have any way of signaling the rest of your men inside the Citadel?”