James Swallow: Halcyon

"Rodney, stay with Clarke!" Sheppard snapped and vaulted out with Ronon and Teyla behind him.

McKay pressed himself up against the hatch slats and saw the Wraith break under the hammer of the hooded soldiers. There were ten of them that he could count, and they moved in drilled lines like Roman legions, shifting about and taking the Wraith down with quick, efficient moves. Each time one of them fired a shot, the blocky bulk of their rifles spat out a plume of vapor and snarled like a dog. He couldn't smell the acrid tang of cordite; instead he tasted wood smoke and steam.

The hooded troopers made short work of the Wraith, some ripping into them with flights of flashing steel darts, other guns releasing slow-moving shells that stuck to Wraith battle armor and let off crackles of electric discharge. The men with the horns produced pistols with wide, bell-shaped maws and from these they fired expanding nets that enshrouded any Wraith who fled, pinning them to the ground.

Then the aliens were all dead or subdued, and only the Atlantis team remained standing before the soldiers. The sounds of battle died away into the night and silence fell heavily.

Clarke dragged himself to his feet and stumbled painfully outside, and McKay followed warily behind. "I am not going to die on this stupid Lapland planet," he began quietly.

Sheppard could see from the corner of his eye that the P90 still had half a clip remaining, but he had no idea about any of the others in his team. If things were going to turn bad, it would happen in the next few seconds, and with a sinking feeling he realized that the choice would be all down to him.

Two of the hooded figures detached themselves from the main group and took a couple of steps forward. The colonel's first impression was a flash of memory from a history book he'd read during officer training school. The uniforms looked like something from the Napoleonic era, hats like the Prussians wore, big shoulder pads and buttons, panels of etched armor plate and ornamental tabards. With slow and careful motions, Sheppard pulled down the hood of his parka and allowed the P90 to point at the ground, taking care not to let his finger stray too far from the trigger.

One of the figures had more gold leaf and jewels encrusted on their uniform than the others, so it was a safe bet this was the person in charge. John could see lines of pressed metal medals down the right arm of the soldier, twice as many as any of the others.

He gave his best winning smile. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force. We appreciate the assist."

The lower ranked soldier tensed. "You will not speak until given — "

A raised hand from the commander silenced him, and he gave a contrite nod. With equal care, the highly decorated figure released a series of clasps around the hood-helmet headgear and removed it. The cold wind caught a flurry of striking red hair and pulled it up like a pennant. Sheppard found himself looking at a young woman with a regal, composed air about her. "I am the Lady Erony of the Fourth Dynast. You may consider my intervention a gift."

"I do," said the colonel. "I mean, thanks." John frowned a little. The tension didn't seem to be easing any. "If we trespassed on your village, we're sorry-"

"This?" sniffed Erony, with a faint air of disgust. "This is not our world. Surely you recognize our insignia? We are a hunting party from Halcyon, here seeking a lost splinter of our brethren."

"We're kinda new to this part of the galaxy," Sheppard replied. "We, ah, we're from out of town."

"Indeed?" said the woman. "And yet you have already made an enemy of the Wraith."

"Well, you know them. They make an enemy of just about everybody."

"True." Erony hesitated as her subordinate leaned close.

The other man nodded at Ronon. "Highness, the darkskinned male. He bares the mark of a Runner."

"So I see. I am intrigued." Erony studied Sheppard's team. "Your soldier is injured?" she asked, indicating Clarke. "I would offer assistance to him, if you wish."

"Very kind of you," said Sheppard.

She cocked her head. "The Wraith are the bane of life. Anyone who hunts them can be an ally of Halcyon."

"My Lady," insisted the soldier, "we know nothing of these people, where they hail from or what they intend. If the Magnate — "

She gave the man a hard look. "You will be silent, Linnian. This is my splinter, and I alone decide the play of the game." Erony looked at Sheppard again. "I grow so jaded with the hunt at times, Lieutenant Colonel, and there are so few new distractions these days. Your party will accompany us back through the Great Circlet to Halcyon."

Sheppard blinked. "Well, that's a very nice offer-"

A loud sneeze from McKay broke through his words. "Sorry," ventured Rodney. "I think I've caught a chill."

Erony gave a small smile. "I'm sure your cohort will enjoy it there. Halcyon is far more temperate than this frigid sphere."

"We have people waiting for us on the other side of the, uh, Circlet. They'll be expecting us to contact them."

"Do so," said the woman. "Inform them that you are now guests of the Fourth Dynast. Make it clear to them that the Lady Erony does not give her invitations lightly, nor does she expect them to be refused." Her eyes flashed. "I trust we understand one another?"

"We certainly do," said Sheppard, eyeing the ranks of hooded troopers outnumbering them.

Weir leaned forward and folded her arms on the gallery rail, staring into the placid vertical pool of the open Stargate. "Halcyon? The name doesn't raise any flags in the database. What's your take on this, John?"

Sheppard's voice was tinny in her radio earpiece. "Ronon says he's heard of these people, but only a few whispers. They're fighters, apparently, but they keep to their own turf. They sure made a mess of the Wraith out here."

"Well, any enemy of the Wraith could be a friend of ours."

"That's pretty much what Lady Erony said. They want us to go back with them. I'm thinking we should play along for the moment, just to be gracious."

"They did just save your lives."

"Yeah, and we don't want to get a reputation for rudeness in the Pegasus Galaxy, right?"

"I concur, John. I have my hands full with the preparations for Daedalus, so I'm authorizing you to make official diplomatic contact with Halcyon's government on behalf of Earth. I think we're overdue to build some bridges out here."

There was a hiss of static as he paused. "Elizabeth, I don't know if I'm exactly the right guy for the job…"

"I'm certainly not going to ask Rodney to do it. You'll be fine, John. I know you can pour on the charm if you need to."

She heard the smile in his voice. "Flattery will get you everywhere. Okay. I'll report back after we make some progress."

Weir nodded. "Watch yourself, John. Come back safe."

"Count on it. Sheppard out."

The wormhole vanished into nothingness, the blue chevrons turning dark. It was a long moment before Elizabeth could turn away and return to her duties.

Sheppard looked up as Ronon and Teyla approached him. "We have a go, so I guess we better put on our best shoes."

Ronon threw a look at his footwear. "These are my best shoes."

"How's Clarke doing?"

"The stun blast is wearing off. He will be fine. Colonel, there's something we wanted to bring to your attention," said Teyla, a serious expression on her face. "While you were in communication with Atlantis, Lady Erony's men have been at work on the Wraith."

"Define `at work'…"

"They left a few of them alive," noted Dex, "they stunned them and trussed them up like cattle."

"I heard some of them talking. They are taking the survivors as prisoners. After we go back to Halcyon with Erony, they will follow us with the captured Wraith."