James Swallow: Halcyon

"You have no faith on this world?" said Teyla.

"Of course we do," said Erony, "but it is in our fellows, in our own humanity, our might." She said the words with the rhythm of a rote recollection. "Our faith is in our swords and our shields."

They continued upward until the lift halted at a raised plat form several stories above the ground level. They followed Erony out and Sheppard realized that they were standing in an elevated railway station.

"You will excuse me," said Erony, moving away with Linnian, "this will take but a moment."

When they were out of earshot, Sheppard turned to his team. "First impressions?"

"Technology level seems comparable with late 19th century Earth," began McKay. "Post-industrial revolution, preatomic, at a guess. Electricity, fossil fuels…"

Mason sniffed the air. "Steam engines." The soldier nodded at the single iron rail running off into the distance. "Me granddad was an engineer on the railway. Worked on the Pullmans. I'd know the smell anywhere."

"This is an armed people," added Teyla. "Everyone we have passed, even those down on the ground, they carried firearms or blades, often both."

Ronon rubbed his chin. "Swords and shields."

"Good eye," said Sheppard. "What else?"

Clarke was standing at the edge of the platform, looking off into the distance, still a little pale from being on the wrong end of a Wraith weapon. "Rolling hills out there, lots of farmland. Reminds me a bit of Wales, actually." He pointed. "Looks like a city over that way."

Sheppard removed his binoculars from his pack and looked in the direction Clarke indicated. Beyond the valley where the Terminal complex lay he could see towers in dark red stone rising behind the hillside, and there were tall chimneys belching black streamers of smoke. It was hard to tell at this distance, but there were objects drifting between the buildings, some slow-moving sliver-white ellipses, others quick glitters of wings as fast as mayflies. "Airships? Helicopters?" He wondered aloud.

"Something else," added Ronon. "Why haven't they asked us for our weapons yet?"

Teyla nodded. "Ronon is correct. Erony and her men have already seen them in action, yet they have not requested we surrender them."

"Maybe they just haven't got around to it yet."

"Or," said Bishop, "maybe they don't see us a that much of a threat."

"Let's keep it that way," agreed Sheppard, "we're guests, remember? Best behavior."

"They're going to want to know where we're from," said McKay, "the question is going to come up. Are we sticking with the `Atlantis got all blown up except for us' cover story?"

"They don't know we were talking to Atlantis back on M3Y-465. We'll play the cards we got for the moment. I don't think they know who we are at this stage."

"Of course," scoffed Rodney, poking a finger at the Velcro tab on his sleeve. "Our enemies will never recognize us now we've removed our insignia. That's about as good a disguise as a stick-on moustache. Why is it that we have to leave our patches behind every time we go off world, anyhow?"

"Regulations, sir," replied Mason. "Special operations. No identifying markings permitted on active duty."

McKay snorted. "I'd like to remind everyone that this planet is a kajillion light years from anyone who has even heard of Earth, let alone someone who might be able to recognize the flags of all nations."

"How much is a kajillion?" rumbled Ronon. "It sounds like a lot."

McKay ignored the sarcasm and kept talking. "Okay, sure, so we do have a patch that says `Atlantis' on it, and maybe we might want to keep where we come from a secret from some people, but who in the Pegasus Galaxy can even read it? I don't see the point."

"You're forgetting one thing, Rodney," said Sheppard.

"And what's that?"

"For all we know, on Halcyon a red maple leaf on a white background could be a symbol for `please eat me alive' in their native language." He threw a glance over his shoulder. "Why take the risk?"

The two soldiers behind McKay smothered snorts of amusement and looked away.

Lady Erony returned as their ride arrived at the platform. A long steel-gray bullet, the monorail train hissed and spat like a live thing, rolling to a clanking halt. Thick hatches of armor plate dropped open like drawbridges and men in red tabards scrambled around the hull of the machine, checking pipes and valves. The central carriages of the train were detailed with fine scrollwork etched into the dull metal. The lines and whorls of engraving were polished to a high sheen; but it was clear where parts of the conveyor had been panel-beaten back into shape after some kind of blunt impact, and there were disc-shaped patches here and there that might have covered bullet holes.

Inside there were lush carpets and crafted furniture of honeycolored wood. Gas lamps lit the interior, catching gold and silver threading all about them. In each corner of the carriage, ornamental bell jars contained raptor-like birds that had been stuffed and mounted. The hatches slammed closed and locked with a grunt of hydraulics.

"All aboard," muttered Mason, as the monorail launched away from the station and out over the countryside.

The train picked up speed quickly, the view through the windows blurring. Erony waved the Atlantis team to seats in the open carriage and nodded to Linnian. "Refreshments," she ordered, and the shorter man bowed in obeisance.

She took a device like a ticket dispenser from a nearby desk and cranked the handle; a tape of paper emerged and she scribbled on it with a stylus. "I would ask each of you to carry one of these with you while you are in our domain," said the woman, handing the first voucher to Ronon. "It is a permission from my Dynast, identifying you as a guest of the High Palace." Erony set to work on more of them, and handed them out to the group. Sheppard studied the machine-imprinted paper; the text on it was a series of bars and blocks. "Looks like Ancient script," he noted quietly to McKay.

Rodney nodded. "There's some linguistic drift, but I'd say it came from the same root." Then suddenly, as if a thought had occurred to him, the doctor took a seat and removed his laptop from his pack.

Linnian returned with a pair of servants in tow, each carrying trays of cups and small food dishes. Lady Erony helped herself to a few things and then gestured at her guests. "Please, partake. Volla Leaf tea is a personal favorite of mine."

Teyla took a wary drink and smiled. "Quite lovely." Despite the hard look Mason gave to Clarke, the corporal took a handful of bread-like things and ate them.

Erony's mood seemed to have changed; Sheppard could sense a false note of forced jollity there, and he wondered what had been said during her conversation with her father. "Lieutenant Colonel, I must ask. I have been studying your wargear and I find myself wondering. Where are your swords?"

"Ah, well, we don't really do the sword thing very much," he began.

"Speak for yourself," broke in Ronon, pulling his wicked blade from the scabbard on his back. "This is a Satedan battle steel. Each one is unique, tailored for the owner."

"I see," Erony nodded. "Ronon Dex is your blade champion, then?"

"Something like that," smiled the colonel.

Erony approached Dex without hesitation or fear, despite the fact that he towered over her. "I wish to hold it."

Ronon turned the sword in his grip and presented the hilt to her. Erony took it and made a couple of low practice swings. "Heavy, and yet it is finely balanced. Not an ornamental weapon, but a war-blade." She studied the sword closely, looking at the nicks in the edge. "Have you dispatched many Wraith with it?"

"I lost count."

The woman returned Ronon's property, and Dex nodded to Linnian's gear where it hung on a wall rack. "Interesting rifle."