Jo Graham - Death Game

Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in unison. “Rodney, you’ve just come in. You’re probably dehydrated and…”

“Yes, I probably am,” Rodney said flatly. “And I also know where I’m going, which Major Lorne does not. So once again I need to rise to the occasion and rescue Sheppard from whatever he’s gotten himself into this time.”

Major Lorne made a strangled sound, but when Rodney looked at him his face was composed.

“Give me half an hour,” Rodney said. “I need to get some equipment together.”

“Take your time,” Lorne replied.

Rodney strode off toward his lab. Just like Sheppard and Zelenka to be in trouble investigating what had to be some very dull and ordinary ruins! Couldn’t anyone manage without him for more than a few minutes? Really, how hard could that be?

“I am not sure it is supposed to be doing that,” Radek shouted, holding on to a piece of rope as the sail stretched full and straining. The rope sung taut in his hands. It took leaning back on it with all his weight to hold on to it.

The fishing boat leaped over the waters, the rising wind of the approaching thunderstorm urging it on.

On the opposite side of the little boat, Ronon held onto the other rope apparently effortlessly, his head thrown back. “Probably not!” Ronon shouted back, a wide grin on his face. The speed and the movement sent his hair flying behind him, and he whooped like a boy.

Dark clouds piled up behind them, purple in the light of afternoon, the sun shining beneath them slantwise. Lightning crackled from point to point, illuminating the depths of the clouds. Thunder rolled across the water, loud and menacing.

“This does not look good!” Radek shouted over the rising wind. “I think the storm is getting closer!”

“What are we going to do? Stop?” Ronon yelled back. He grinned as the freshening wind tugged at him, like he thought this was nothing but a wild ride for fun.

“We do not know what we are doing!” Radek yelled. The rope bit into his hands, threatening to pull free. Or perhaps to just jerk him off his feet and deposit him in the ocean. Which did not seem like Radek’s idea of a good time. He could swim, yes. But that did not mean he wanted to be lost in the middle of an ocean.

“Why do I go offworld?” he said to himself. “Why?” This was only his third trip, and it was beginning to look like it might be his last. Thunder rolled to punctuate the thought, even closer than before. The storm looked very big, and they very much did not know what they were doing with a sailboat.

Now would be a good time for Colonel Sheppard to show up with the jumper. Just about now. Surely any moment he would appear.

Afternoon had come and the buildings cast long shadows when the barge tied up at the dock in Pelagia. Up close, the city was even more impressive than it had been at a distance. Surrounded by sturdy walls close to fifty feet high, it boasted many buildings of four or five stories, broad streets paved with white stones, and a good many ships clustered around the docks. It looked very prosperous indeed, and more heavily populated than anything John had seen in the Pegasus Galaxy.

John was starting to get used to villages, to the kind of subsistence agriculture practiced only in the poorest countries of Earth. The Genii had a greater level of technology, as had the Hoffans, but he had not seen this level of population on either world.

As Tolas came down the steps from the upper deck, John moved to put himself in front of him. “We want to see the king,” he said. “Teyla told you what we’ve got to offer. So let’s talk.”

Tolas didn’t look disturbed. “You will see the king, of course,” he said. “But one does not simply walk in and talk to the king. I will send word immediately that we are here, and then he will reply with an appointment that is convenient. In the meantime, we will be his guests.”

John suppressed the desire to shake him. Did everything on this planet have to take forever? Strangers from an alien world ought to be an emergency! ‘Get an appointment’ sounded like the way the IOA would handle things. Gosh, it’s nice you’re here from another planet. Make an appointment.

Teyla glanced at him sideways, and he knew what she was thinking. She thought he popped off at the mouth, damaging diplomatic relationships before they even started. For that matter, that’s what Elizabeth thought. She’d had a lot to say about it.

John made himself smile at Tolas. “We’re happy to talk to the king whenever it’s convenient for him,” he said.

“Good,” Tolas said, but he didn’t smile. Instead he led the way off the barge and into the city.

It was further than it looked, maybe fifteen blocks in a regular city at home, but by the end of it John felt a little lightheaded. He was getting pretty sick of this concussion. Back in Atlantis, Carson probably wouldn’t have let him out of the infirmary yet. He’d be stuck watching the same shows twenty times on his laptop and complaining. That actually didn’t sound so bad.

Teyla looked serene, if sweaty and tired. If her arm was bothering her it didn’t show. He probably should be more concerned about it, even though she didn’t say anything.

The palace was big. Really big. The columns in the first hall were three stories tall, and the walls and columns alike were painted with murals of flowers and trees, as though one had stepped into a painted forest. It was a pretty amazing effect, like walking through a series of pictures, animals and plants appearing at different distances as you moved. They turned left, into what might be guest quarters, another courtyard and stairs going up, four flights spiraling around the courtyard. He guessed important guests got the lower rooms, while random people who happened in got upstairs. Four flights was enough to make the vertigo come back. John concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other. Not good. This concussion thing was starting to suck.

They stopped outside a door that opened on the landing over the courtyard, and one of Tolas’ men pushed past them to open it. At least that’s what John expected. Instead the guy grabbed for the 9mm in its holster.

He got John’s elbow in his ribs, then a swift kick in the knees that knocked him down, the other guards crowding in with their spears. Teyla was taken by surprise, but it only took her a second to shake off the guard who’d tried to grab her and to be beside him in a fighting stance, their backs to the door.

“Hold, there,” Tolas said mildly to his guards.

“What the hell is this about?” John demanded. “You said we were guests.”

“I should have made it more clear that weapons were not allowed in the House of the King,” Tolas said. “You will have your weapons back when you depart, but I cannot permit you to have them in this house.”

“I’m not giving these to you,” John said. “No way.”

Tolas looked vaguely amused. “What are you planning to do? Fight your way out of the palace and city? I thought you wished to speak with the king. Surely most leaders do not allow strangers to come armed into their presence.”

John could take them easily enough, even with nothing but the pistol. But then what? Tolas had a point. Even if these guys had never seen firearms before, which he was beginning to doubt, he couldn’t stretch the shock and awe factor to getting out of the palace. Not with three clips and Teyla unarmed except for a hunting knife. They could probably call a couple of hundred men out if they needed to, in a place this size.

“They do not,” Teyla said. “But you should ask for our weapons, not grab them. It is the kind of thing that breeds…misunderstandings.”