Jo Graham - Death Game

John ended with an explanation of how they might be able to get the gate working, and if they did they would be valuable trading partners. Teyla was very proud of him. He had not threatened to shoot anyone once. More than once it irked her that Sheppard's team did not seem to understand that shooting was not a terribly good way to find trading partners, something which had been a standing problem and had caused endless difficulties with supply, not to mention the inability to find a safe Alpha Site. She thought that Dr. Weir had spoken to him sharply after their last adventure, so perhaps he was attempting to mend his ways.

Tolas paused for a long moment when he had finished, his chin resting upon his hand, his wrists circled by broad cuffs of leather worked with gold ornaments. These are weighty decisions, he said, and matters of diplomacy that reach beyond this oasis. I cannot speak for The Chora. His eyes skittered away from them, which Teyla thought a little odd. You must speak to the King in Pelagia about this. It is his decision, as he is my overlord. Tolas looked at Jitrine, who stood beside a guardsman just inside the doorway. What is your opinion? Is it safe for these people to travel?

Jitrine looked reluctant. I would prefer that Sheppard not travel with his head as it is, however if you mean for them to go by ship it will probably be well enough. He will have no reason to exert himself that way.

A ship? — Teyla asked. In the desert?

There is a canal not far from here, Tolas said. You will go to Pelagia by barge, which I assure you is a very comfortable way to travel. He lifted his head. That is decided.

Teyla looked at John, but his mouth twisted as though he were not saying something else. Jitrine, he said. I'll go talk to the king.

At midmorning they sat beneath a red and white striped awning on a barge putting out from a massive stone dock. Overhead, the azure desert sky stretched uninterrupted. The green trees of the oasis behind them stood in stark contrast to the reds and golds of the desert, a thousand shades from ochre to palest yellow that shone almost silver in the hot sun. Even beneath an awning the sun beat down, and Teyla could see the sweat standing out on John’s brow even as they settled onto the bench that ran along the side of the ship, the western side where the shade was deep.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“Fine,” he said, but she thought that he looked pale beneath his tan and two days of stubble. It had only been a short walk to the barge, not something that he would even notice normally.

The barge was long and broad beamed, the back of the barge filled with livestock on their way to market, their drovers and the lowest paying passengers, while midships there was a raised upper deck with a canopy where Tolas rested in comfort. Jitrine had come aboard with him, and once in a while they could see her go to the rail looking out, but could not speak to her without calling to her.

John and Teyla were at the bow beneath an awning, four soldiers guarding them. Guests or prisoners? Somehow that continued to remain the question, and she voiced it in a low voice.

John’s expression was cynical as he looked out over the desert. “Tolas doesn’t know what to do with us and he’s afraid to make a decision, so he’s kicking it upstairs. Thinks it’s above his pay grade or something. So he’s punting.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t have the authority,” Teyla said. “That is what Jitrine indicated.”

“He’s not sure whether we’re good or not. If we’re telling the truth and we can get the gate open, we’re worth something and he wants the credit. If we’re full of it, then he doesn’t look like we duped him.” John shrugged. “It’s like our gear. They’ve left the pistol, but kept the packs and other stuff. They grabbed what they could without an actual fight. This way they can give it back if they want to make friends, or not of they don’t.” He lifted his hand to his eyes, shading them. “Pretty typical BS from the kind of cautious mid-grade who’s always watching his ass.” Lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted against the bright reflection of sun on sand.

“You could put your sunglasses on,” Teyla observed.

“Right.” For a second he looked blank, then reached in his pocket.

“Still having trouble with memory?” she asked.

“I’m good,” John said, slipping the glasses on. Wearing them his expression became inscrutable.

She looked out over the rail. “You know, it is not helpful to obscure from me your actual condition. We must work together, and I cannot do that effectively if I misread the extent of your injuries.” Teyla glanced sideways at him. “It does not make you look tough. It only makes my job harder.”

His face stilled. “Right. Sorry.”

A furnace breeze blew across them from the desert, a blast of hot air that did nothing to cool them.

“How hot do you suppose it gets here?” Teyla asked. She had already removed her jacket, and the wind felt good on her shoulders, but there were no more clothes she could remove in decency. Well, she probably could as far as the locals were concerned. Most of them, men and women, didn’t seem to see the need for leg coverings. Tunics came to mid-thigh, a very sensible thing in her opinion. She would be comfortable in shirt and underclothing, but she imagined John would not like it if she took her pants off.

Hot, he said. Really hot. He licked his lips as if in memory of moisture.

You have been in the desert before?

Yeah. He stood up and took a few steps away, seemingly entranced by the far line of hills. Clearly that was not working as a conversational topic. Or perhaps he was feeling worse than she thought.

The barge rocked gently on the water, drawn by placid oxen on either side of the canal, each ridden by a young boy wearing a broad sun hat. Along the canal irrigation ditches ran back, sometimes only a few dozen feet, sometimes much further. Here and there houses stood, visible from afar by the tree or two that stood around them, by the patches of green. From above, the canal must look like a lumpy worm across the landscape, the bulges of irrigated patches along it at irregular intervals.

They were moving more or less directly northward, toward the sea. Unfortunately that was in the exact opposite direction from the Stargate. On the other hand, it was in the opposite direction from the crash, from where the Wraith would be seeking them if they were. Which was another strangeness. Surely the Wraith were looking for them? If not, why not? Were they so certain that they could not leave this planet that it did not even seem worthwhile to find them?

Just before midday a servant brought them water and a tray of the ubiquitous fruit. Teyla admitted that in the heat she really did not want more to eat than the fruit, which was juicy and delicious. John came and sat down again from his endless pacing and looking at the desert as though it told him something. He looked a little better. The barge was not a strenuous way to travel at all, but it was tedious and did play upon one's nerves.

What are you thinking? she asked.

John bit into a ripe sila , juice squirting across his chin. That is weird. It's not that thinly populated. They strung out along the canal, but there are thousands of people here. Presumably this isn't the only canal, either. And a bunch of this stuff, like the canal and the irrigation projects, take a lot of coordination and engineering expertise to pull off. Why haven't the Wraith bombed them back into the Stone Age? Why haven't they culled this world like they have so many others? Something not right about this.

I share your sense of unease, Teyla said. He had spoken the words that were behind the creeping sense of wrongness she felt. I have seen other worlds with as much, but they were in fear of the Wraith. They had precautions, plans. These people do not even seem to know what we mean. Why have the Wraith not come?â