An unexpected wave of regret struck John. Ushat would have made the Dalerans a decent leader — not just because he was a Gene, but also because he’d been an honorable man. His loss had left a vacuum in any potential leadership for these people. Worse, the muttered conversations made it clear that many viewed the ambush and overall defensive strategy as a failure. It sounded like a hell of a lot of more people had also been lost during the battle at North Bridge.
John recognized the deep lethargy that so easily infected the battle-weary. It was tough to avoid even when trained, and these people weren’t. Few had had anything resembling sleep for days. He doubted the food situation was much better. While there were all those storage rooms that Gat had been filling, it would take time and organizational skills to properly distribute their contents. And although the Darts were no longer a constant threat, the unknown, unpredictable presence of the Wraith brought an air of uncertainty that permeated everything with a stench as perceptible as the oil fires.
“Why do you sit cowering in darkness?”
Yann’s raised voice reverberated through John’s head. He hadn’t even noticed the merchant following them. It seemed that wherever they went, they attracted a train of guards. And was that a bunch of kids trying to hide behind their ever-present bugler?
“It matters not whether you transgressed in the past,” Yann was saying to the crowds. “It matters not that you might once have blasphemed. For in these last days we have proven to the Wraith that we can stand together as one under Dalera’s rule. And we have shown them that we cannot be vanquished.”
Despite a clear lack of caffeine, Rodney was all but bouncing from foot to foot, drawing on his apparently endless reserve of spring-coiled energy. Just standing next to the scientist made John feel dizzy. Maybe Rodney was right. He should probably be lying down someplace. Fine — once they found the weapon, he’d take a seat and let the thing take care of their problems.
“When this is over,” Yann continued, “we shall be as one, forged by the fires of battle—”
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Rodney said under his breath. “Save the hackneyed rhetoric for the polling booth.”
“Polling booth?” John gave him a quizzical glance.
Rodney shrugged. “I took the opportunity to explain the basic principles of democracy.”
“What opportunity was that?”
“When you were passed out.” He peered into John’s face, and appeared dissatisfied by what he saw. “Speaking of which, you really don’t look good.”
“Not trying to win a beauty pageant. Can we move on?” Yann had stopped talking, and a few halfhearted cheers bounced off the walls.
“Don’t let the somewhat pedestrian response bother you,” Rodney assured Yann. “Once they get the hang of the idea—”
A sharp set of bugle notes interrupted him. Several women cried out in terror, and everyone began speaking at once.
“What?” John demanded.
Yann paled. “One of the scouting parties has not returned. It is feared that the Wraith have captured another Gene.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when a brilliant ball of light burst overhead, and the entire Hall rattled and shook. Several teaching windows shattered and rained glass down onto the terrified refugees. John was busy fighting off the blinding jolt of pain that coursed through his already fragile brain as the compression wave from the explosion hit. For half a second, he wondered if he’d met up with a stun grenade.
“Holy crap!” declared Rodney, who had also been knocked to the floor beside him. “What was that?”
Surprised that he could actually hear anything at all, John replied, “I think the Wraith just got fed up with playing Capture the Flag. Really big hive ships mean—”
“Really big guns.”
A second explosion rocked the Sanctuary Hall, and one of the walls cracked wide open. “Black Hill!” Terrified voices took up the cry. “Black Hill burns and the fire races toward us!”
“The Shields—” Yann called, not understanding.
“Only defend the Citadel, not Black Hill!” Rodney’s eyes were huge with terror when he glanced over John’s shoulder. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we’re screwed.”
Looking back at the transport, John saw its activation lights begin to glow. Realization hit him in that moment: with the Enclave and North Bridge transports unserviceable, Sanctuary Hall was the most likely disembarkation point for the Wraith to mount a second invasion.
Here we go again.
Well, if his time was up, he was damn sure going to go out with all his ammunition expended.
Straining to focus through the haze and the ache throbbing behind his eyes, he raised his weapon as the transport doors folded back.
Chapter Twenty-two
Several hours exploring the Enclave had revealed nothing except the degree of hatred the Daleran rebels had had for the Chosen. So much anger directed — indeed, misdirected — against something other than the Wraith bothered Teyla deeply.
Walking back to the transport with her, Lieutenant Ford seemed pensive and withdrawn. When she inquired as to what disturbed him so much, he replied, “A second team will be coming through the ‘gate tonight, and we still have no way of warning them. Dammit!” He kicked at the remains of what had once been a fine floor mosaic. A few tiny tiles skittered across the ground. The color of the ceramic reminded Teyla of something.
Back inside the transport, she crouched before the recessed panel. In all, there were three buttons, one of which was a bright aquamarine. “Peryn, which of these did you use to bring us here?”
He stepped inside and pointed to the navy button. Teyla recalled that the Major had used the yellow button to reveal the panel displaying the Citadel’s transport map.
“What is it?” Lieutenant Ford asked.
Examining the transport map again, Teyla realized that no light existed to represent the transport room where they were currently standing. Pointing to the third, aquamarine button, she said, “I believe we should attempt to see what this reveals.”
“You sure?” The Lieutenant’s voice betrayed his uncertainty. “We could end up in another Wraith ambush.”
“I do not believe so. Peryn?”
Ford shrugged, but readied his weapon in preparation. The boy’s touch revealed a new wall panel — which folded back to expose a second, previously unseen map of the Citadel. The lights indicated that a secondary transport system existed, one that had been kept hidden from all but the Chosen.
Lowering his P-90, Lieutenant Ford ran his finger around the sequence of lights. “The Stations!” he declared.
“I believe you are correct.”
“Y’ know, I’d wondered about that. Didn’t make a whole lot of sense that the Chosen had to walk all the way to a Sanctuary Hall just to operate a transport, especially in the middle of a Wraith attack.”
“Two lights exist here in the Enclave, side by side,” Teyla observed. “This would indicate that an additional transport must exit nearby.”
“Or on different levels?”
“Perhaps.” She nodded when Peryn looked at her for permission. When the boy touched the second light, the transport doors folded shut, and immediately opened into a small room. Teyla lifted her weapon at the same instant as Lieutenant Ford. Two Wraith Queens stared at them.
Rodney wasn’t confident that he’d be able to hit anything with his gun, but under the current circumstances — namely, another occurrence of all-but-certain death — it seemed prudent to make an attempt. He scrambled to withdraw the sidearm from its holster and bring it to bear on the transport.
When the doors opened, it took him a moment to comprehend just what he was seeing. Ford stepped out of the transport with his P-90 aimed, Teyla following behind with Peryn. As they stood in the Sanctuary Hall, whole and unhurt and defying all bounds of logic, Rodney felt his knees give just a bit before he locked them. Likewise, if his eyes were suddenly stinging, it had to be a consequence of the remaining smoke. This changed… well, it changed everything.