James Swallow - Halcyon

"No," he said under his breath, "no, don't… Don't do it…" Sheppard always talked to a bird whenever he flew it. Some pilots thought it was an eccentric quirk, others nodded sagely and agreed it was the thing to do, as if they were somehow communicating with the craft like it was a riding animal. There was no doubt in John's mind that the gene-linked Jumpers were the closest thing to a ship that actually could understand you; but that didn't stop this one from ignoring him now.

All the primary flight systems in the vessel went off-line at once. Forward thrust went instantly to nothing, and the gravity coils that held the un-aerodynamic Jumper fuselage in the air ceased as well. The ship stopped tumbling and started falling, like the big green brick it resembled. They still had normal gravity inside the cabin, thanks to the fact that the inertial dampeners were on a different circuit to the thrusters, but all that meant was that Sheppard, Teyla and their Wraith passengers would have a comfortable ride all the way down to the point the Jumper smashed into the landscape and crumpled like a beer can.

Teyla blurred in the corner of his vision and she heard a cry of anger from Scar as the Athosian woman barreled into him, knocking the alien out of his seat and on to the deck. "Great time for an escape attempt," he said, not daring to take his gaze away from the crippled, half-dead control console in front of him. Sheppard racked his brains for the sequence of manual start-up protocols that McKay had drawn from the Ancient databases on Atlantis, running his hands over the glassy buttons and feathering the g-drive throttle. He got a brief flicker of light from the head-up display before it died again. John ignored a crash and howl of pain as something heavy-probably an angry Wraith-collided with a box of gear clamped to the bulkhead. The Jumper rocked and threatened to nose over into another tumbling spin.

They were high when the shockwave struck, but now that altitude was being chewed up by Halcyon's unforgiving gravity. If he could just get this thing into a hover, if he could just get out of the chair and help Teyla…

"Come on!" Sheppard slapped the control panel with the flat of his hand, and held a breath, running through the re-start sequence from the top. This panel, that button, then this switch, that one, that one, then here and the throttle.

The display on the canopy blinked on, off, and then on again. Suddenly he was looking at an altimeter blinking red for danger and a string of collision warnings. John slammed the throttle forward and the Jumper bucked like a bronco, shifting and swinging. He reacted without thinking about it, throwing the ship into a static vertical hover mode, pushing off from his seat, turning in place, ready to vault over the console to Teyla's assistance.

The Athosian woman collided with him and slammed Sheppard back down into his chair, reeling away. Scar was behind her, his pale greenish-white face twisted in murderous fury. He had the end of the steel leash in his hand, dragging on it. In the other was the pistol, aimed at John. "Pathetic," it snarled.

Sheppard blew out a breath. "That's all the thanks I get for stopping you from becoming a greasy spot on the countryside?"

Scar shoved Teyla into the co-pilot's seat and sat behind her. Over his shoulder, the other Wraith were strangely quiet, cowed by the fury of their master.

Teyla's tawny complexion was waxy and dull. The Hound collar was taking its toll on her. "I tried," she husked, speaking through a bruised throat.

John grimaced, angry that he hadn't been able to come to her aid.

The Wraith holstered the Beretta again. "Show me a map. "

"Knock yourself out," grated Sheppard as a topographical display formed on the glass in front of them. "Where next, the beach? Want to get a little sun, huh?"

Scar showed him a location, miles to the northwest in a hilly, unpopulated area. "Take us there, or-"

"I know the drill," he retorted, and guided the Jumper away. "What's out in the middle of nowhere that you're so interested in?"

But the alien merely sneered at him and sat back in its seat. John grudgingly pushed the ship up to cruising speed and scrutinized the display in front of him. The Puddle Jumper's sensor suite was focusing on the point where Scar had ordered him to go, running a comparison through its database to a faint energy trace it had detected. After a moment, the Jumper's computer provided him with a report. There was something out there, all right, something large; a Wraith starship.

Through the gyro-flyer's porthole, Carson saw the eggshaped hot-air balloon drifting over the high barrier fence around the compound, watching blinks of light signal from the skeletal gondola tethered beneath it.

"We are over the hunting enclosure now," he heard Linnian say behind him. "Highness, the border guards are querying our approach."

"They see my seal upon this flyer's hull well enough," Lady Erony's reply was terse. "I do not need to justify my arrival to a mere guardsman."

"Nevertheless, they will be bound-bound to inform your father of your presence here," continued the adjutant, "and he will be displeased."

"Then let him be."

Dr. Beckett turned away from the oval window as the gyroflyer descended and went low over the treetops. Linnian was already stalking back toward the flight deck, his posture tense and annoyed. Carson watched him pause to whisper orders to one of the riflemen standing at arms. Close to the soldier were two figures in heavy metal armor, so steady and unmoving that he might have thought they were statues had he not known better. The Hounds stood at attention, their stylized wolf-head helmets bowed in obedient submission. Beckett's fingers gripped the seat arms. It didn't matter how the Halcyons dressed them up, it still set his nerves on edge being this close to Wraiths.

"My mother always said they can smell fear, like a scent in the air."

He glanced at Erony and gave a weak smile. "I thought that was dogs."

"They killed her, you know," The admission fell from Erony's lips, out of nowhere, and Carson felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the young woman. "She took a splinter out on a sortie when I was a child, and I never saw her again. Just the withered husk of what she used to be." The proud and severe mask slipped, and Beckett found himself looking into the real Erony, the girl with fears and doubts and sorrows that she would never dare to show to her peers.

"I'm sorry," he told her, although the words were weak. In his line of work, Carson had often had the terrible duty of carrying news of a death to loved ones, and no matter how many times he said those platitudes, there was always a void inside him that went with them.

"Yes," Erony replied, "you are. So many say that they regret her passing, those who knew her and fought alongside her, but it is merely lip-service to her memory. You never even met my mother, and yet you keenly feel her death."

"I'm a doctor. If I didn't care about people I wouldn't be doing this job."

She looked away. "Halcyon has treated you Atlanteans poorly, and yet you still offer our commoners aid. You squander resources on people who cannot serve to strengthen your nation. You talk when you should fight. You fight when you should retreat. Why? I do not understand you."

"It's who we are, lass. Being strong does not automatically mean you have to become the bully in the playground. Strength is nothing without responsibility or conscience."

The mask moved back into place, her face hardening. "My father once told me that conscience and ethics are words that weak men hide behind when they cannot find the courage of their convictions."

"And what do you think, Your Highness?" Carson gave her a level stare. "Do you believe that compassion is a weakness?"