Sonny Whitelaw - The Chosen

Jostled by the surging crowds, Lisera cried out in pain. “We’re going to die!”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be safe. I promise.” Aiden tried to inject as much reassurance as he could into his tone, but he had to admit, he wasn’t feeling too comfortable with the general situation.

“My brother said that,” Lisera blurted through her tears. “Then the ghosts came, and…and I ran. My brother came after me. That’s when the Wraith took him. And now they will take me!”

“The Wraith are coming,” someone cried, pointing to the sky.

Shadows passed across the face of the sun. “ They come !”

It was nothing more than a flock of large seabirds. John didn’t have to ask Teyla; the look on her face was enough. The Wraith weren’t about to start feeding on everyone, but hysteria sure was. Unless these people calmed down, someone else was going to get trampled. Possibly a lot of someones. “Okay, everyone, just hold on a minute!”

Maybe a few villagers heard him, but it was tough to tell. “Well done, very effective,” Rodney shouted through the screams.

“Any more inspired ideas?”

“As a matter of fact—” John leaped on top of what looked like a market cart full of reddish fruit, and fired a short burst from his P-90 over the heads of the crowd. A few bullets ripped clumps of sod from the roof of the nearest building, and sent bits of timber and an ornate weather vane-looking thing flying.

“Yes.”

It had been a risky maneuver, potentially triggering the very thing that he was trying to avoid. But the flash and the explosive clamor from his weapon had the desired effect. A few high-pitched screams abruptly cut off when everyone except his teammates fell to the ground. Only the sound of distant horns and surf rolling up the shingled beach penetrated the shocked silence.

“That’s better. Now that I have everyone’s attention, who’s in charge here?”

A big, yellow-bearded guy, dressed in filthy clothes and a generous coating of fish scales, cautiously got to his feet. Before John could address him, Teyla stepped forward and said, “We are sorry to have further alarmed you.” She tossed John a slightly disapproving frown.

He replied with a shrug. In this instance, he was okay with the idea of the ends justifying the means. Around the square, more people began getting to their feet, eyes darting nervously between the sky and the newcomers.

“I am Teyla Emmagen, daughter of Tagan. These are my friends, Dr McKay, Lieutenant Ford and—” She glanced up at him. “Major Sheppard. Why is it that you believe the Wraith are coming?”

Several people started to reply, but the fish-scale guy silenced the crowd with a curt gesture, and spoke in a deep voice. “The alarm came from the Chosen within the Citadel. As chief of this village it is my duty to send the warning signal forth.” He lifted a half-spiral animal’s horn. “From whence do you come that you do not know this?”

Maybe it was time to jump down before he upset the entire applecart. At least, the red things John was crunching under his boots looked like whatever passed for apples on this world. The guy standing by the cart, considerably younger than the chief but just as barrel-chested, appeared none too pleased with him. Apparently even an imminent attack couldn’t deter some folks from keeping business foremost in mind.

“What is it with the introductions?” Rodney demanded. “We need to find this transport and get it operating. Where is it exactly?”

This time, there was nothing slight about the disapproving look Teyla sent in Rodney’s direction.

John opened his mouth to reply to the chief’s question, but Teyla got in first. “I am Athosian. How long before the Wraith appear do the Chosen raise the alarm?”

“They didn’t raise any alarm last week,” declared someone in the crowd.

“That’s because it was night,” barked the chief. “And the Shields of Dalera did not awaken the Chosen.”

“You mean the Chosen slept while the Wraith stole our children from their beds.” The woman’s voice was filled with acrimony.

“Now they have not come to the transport, dooming us all to die!” The disgust in the man’s voice wasn’t exactly subtle, and echoed that of many in the crowd.

“Silence! All of you,” demanded the chief. “You bring the Wraith upon us because of your barbarian ways. Little wonder the Chosen have abandoned you.”

“You are more guilty of trading in Wraithcraft than any of us.” The young applecart owner spat on the ground. “But now that the Wraith have returned, you have all suddenly reacquired your faith in the divine power of the Chosen.”

“Perhaps the Chosen are mistaken,” declared the runner who had come close to knocking John off the road.

“The Shields of Dalera are never mistaken,” retorted the chief.

“Shields?” piped up Rodney.

Ignoring him, the chief turned to Teyla and John. “My name is Balzar. The Chosen do not always give warning, but when they do the Wraith follow, of that there can be no doubt. Still—” He pulled at his beard. “The Chosen may not come to our village this time because we are protected by the Shields. Perhaps the Wraith have gone in search of easier game.”

Lisera whimpered and clutched Ford a little tighter. Easier game. The outlying farms and villages unprotected by the patchy EM fields definitely fit that category.

Teyla looked less certain. “I do not believe the Wraith have yet arrived on this world.”

“Which probably means that a hive ship is bearing down on us right now, coming from somewhere in not-so deep space,” Rodney snapped. “I won’t know for certain until I get a look at their warning system. Either way, the Wraith will have to land outside the EM fields, which means they’ll attack on foot. And that brings me back to my earlier point. We came here to see the transport, and while we’re on the subject, I’ll need to take a look at those shields.”

Leave it to Rodney to have such a universal sense of entitlement.

Balzar’s expression turned thoughtful, which could only mean that he’d missed Rodney’s demands entirely. Addressing John, he said, “Only last week the Wraith attacked as you say. They arrived on foot and stole the lives of many of our people. We were fortunate in that there were only two of the monsters.”

“Did the Chosen kill them?” John asked.

“The Chosen wouldn’t dare risk their almighty, overfed hides,” scoffed the applecart owner. “That is why they have not come and opened the transport—”

“Yann!” Balzar snatched up a wicked looking double-bladed axe and brandished it. John dodged sideways, bumping into Rodney. Most of the men, none of whom were exactly tiny, raised equally deadly-looking swords and axes. Okey-dokey. That answered the question of how they’d managed to kill a Wraith.

“Time, people. We’re running out of time here!” Despite the oversized pack on his back, Rodney was all but jumping up and down. “Transport? Shields?”

“Cool it, Rodney.”

“Cool it?” he cried, still hopping. “The Wraith are coming, probably in one of those hive ships we’ve all heard so much about, and you’ve now broken my toe, which means that even if we leave these good people to their little Stephen King-style Wagnerian opera, the chances of us reaching the jumper and thus the ‘gate in time are approaching statistical insignificance!”

“The Shields and transport are forbidden to all but the Chosen,” snapped Balzar. Not much doubt how he felt about that.

“Well, can we at least take a look? We may have something similar on our world.” The transport sounded to John like those on Atlantis, which meant it might just operate on the same principles.