Yann’s expression darkened. “Lisera!”
Wordlessly, they charged toward the building.
Arriving only minutes after the aborted signal, they found the place had been plunged even deeper into chaos than before. The bodies of the apothecary and the three warriors were strewn across the floor, hacked into pieces. Lisera’s terrified screams sounded from above, and Aiden felt a momentary surge of relief. The screams told him that she was still alive.
With surprising agility given the amount of armor he’d taken to wearing, Yann bounded up the stairs. Teyla was right on his heels. Ushat turned to his men with a grim command. “Search the building for those who have done this.” Receiving a chest-thumping salute in acknowledgement, he followed Aiden up the steps.
When they neared the top, Yann showed no sign of slowing down. “Hold it!” Aiden hissed. The merchant’s eyes dropped to Aiden’s weapon, which he’d already brought to bear. For once, Yann actually listened and came to a halt, his features conflicted as Lisera’s hysterical screams continued. Those weren’t screams of pain, though, but rather—
Teyla must have recognized it at the same moment, because she ran ahead of Aiden. Rounding the corner into the apartment, he saw Balzar and a trio of seriously ugly brutes. They’d pinned Lisera to the bed, leaving no question as to their intent.
Before Aiden could stop him, Yann went for Balzar at full speed and laid him out with an NFL-caliber tackle. The other three dropped Lisera and spun toward their new adversaries. “Stop!” Aiden yelled, not surprised when they ignored him and picked up their axes. A warning round from his P-90 went into the ceiling, but that only served to incite them further. The Marine didn’t hesitate before putting two bullets in each man’s chest, felling them almost like dominoes.
He hated having to do that, but there wasn’t time to reflect on how bad the situation was, because Balzar was clearly getting the better of Yann. Ushat took care of it with the blunt end of his halberd, stepping into the motion with enough force to cripple the chief. Literally. Aiden knew the sound of breaking bones.
Scrambling to cover herself, Lisera’s breaths were coming in short, frantic gasps. Teyla gathered the tattered clothes and knelt beside the distraught girl, handing over her own jacket as well.
From the floor, Balzar jabbed a meaty finger at Yann’s Shield and spewed a string of words at him that could only have been curses. Yann glanced at Lisera to confirm that she was all right, then kicked at Balzar’s ribs, eliciting a howl.
“What have you done with the rest of the Gene potion?” demanded the merchant.
“You lied!” Balzar roared, spitting blood. “The potion does not work. I threw it to the rats.”
The loss hit Aiden with a gut-wrenching sense of despair. As he watched Lisera tremble in Teyla’s soothing embrace, he had to clamp down hard on the temptation to put a bullet in Balzar’s head. Twelve Genes. That was all he and Yann had been able to find. The Major had talked a good story in front of the engineers, but Aiden had seen the look in his eyes. They’d barely have enough Genes to protect the Citadel. And unless McKay’s half-assed plan worked, the Wraith would be climbing over the eastern wall in a matter of hours.
Chapter Fourteen
“There’s got to be a way to divert it.” Rodney stood with his hands on his hips, watching the oil slurp uselessly at the protrusions of rock and bits of Wraith Dart, before it veered off down the South Channel. “We don’t need to force the entire volume of water north, just the oil on the surface.”
The engineers nodded agreeably, which, while a pleasant change to some of his fellow scientists on Atlantis, wasn’t exactly contributing to a solution. He racked his brain. What they needed was a boom, some kind of floating barrier. More than one, preferably. If they could haul something like that across the entrance to the South Channel, it would force the oil to flow north while allowing the majority of the water to continue south.
This was an industrial town. There had to be something lying around that they could co-opt. A series of boats or barges would be ideal, but he’d be willing to settle for anything that floated while staying partially submerged, was rigid but flexible, and could extend across the width of the channel. Oh, and something that was at least as thick as, say, his thigh.
How could that possibly be too much to ask?
He started scanning the area for a suitable item. Artos frowned. “What do you seek?”
Good question. Vindication? Some kind of payment on his karmic debt? Not that he believed in that sort of thing. “We need to stretch something across the river that’ll divert the blackwater. Are there barges on the river anywhere?”
Comprehension was swift, but the engineer’s shoulders slumped. “There were once wooden rafts used in cleaning the bridges and weirs of blackwater, but they have fallen into disrepair.”
Another sign of the times. Still, it gave Rodney an idea. “What about wooden poles?” He drummed his fingers against one of the nearby pine-looking trees. “Didn’t I see a stack of these near the foundry? All we have to do is fasten them together end to end. Short metal hooks and eyes would do. The current will force the whole structure to curve, which will close up the gaps between the logs.”
“There are logs here.” One of the Nemst engineers pointed to what looked like a long, open work shed. “Cut and being readied for the building of houses.”
A warrior growled in contempt. “You people of Nemst. You know it violates Dalera’s laws to cut trees from this place.”
“And is it not also Dalera’s law that the warriors are to patrol outside the Citadel?”
“Whoa, whoa!” Mediator was one of the few roles in which Rodney did not excel. “You want to stand here and argue or help me save your enchanting little civilization? Generations of your kind haven’t been terribly successful in resolving that dispute, but if you think you can pull it off in a couple of hours, then by all means, go for it.”
The practical-minded engineer broke the tension. “We will need to take one end of such a contraption to the far side of the South Channel, to the shores of the Citadel. How can this be done?”
No boats, apparently. Directing a tight but tolerant smile at the belligerent warrior, Rodney replied. “Someone will have to swim it across.”
“Who among you can swim?” demanded the warrior.
Every man there shook his head. Oh, crap. Rodney’s smile faltered, and he stared across the oil-covered waterway. Didn’t that just figure. Swallowing back a new rush of apprehension, he reluctantly raised his hand.
“I swear on Dalera’s name that I had no knowledge of this.” Ushat stood stoically at attention before John.
“You mean you were close to Kesun all these years and you never once touched his Shield?” There was something a little weird about the way he’d worded that. Maybe that was why the warrior frowned in confusion. “Not even tempted? Y’know, just a little tap, just to see?”
Ushat responded with a look that plainly questioned John’s sanity. “It is against our laws.”
“The Shields were sacred, Major,” Teyla explained. At least he supposed Teyla thought she was explaining, but it seemed kind of hard to believe. Still, at this point none of them needed to be reminded of the power of faith.
“The only reason he caught it, sir,” Ford added, “was because Balzar was going psycho, shouting and screaming at Yann that we were all dead anyway, so why not have a little…” The Lieutenant’s voice trailed off.
John got the picture. He was just relieved to know that Lisera was okay. Positioning her in the Station had seemed like a good idea, and it still was, but maybe it was time they moved their entire Command Center into the same building. Protected from the Darts, it would offer them their best vantage point during the coming assault, and it could, with well-placed warriors, be readily defended from roaming mobs.