“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.”
“Your pardon,” Tolas said. He held out his hand. “Your weapons?”
Teyla looked at John sideways, waiting for his cue. Was this going to be a fight or not?
Not. This wasn’t the time for it, and starting something would sour any chance they had at a deal. Besides, Lorne and the rescue jumper would be showing up any second now. Rodney must have dialed out hours and hours ago. Better to make that kind of stand with some firepower behind it if they needed to make it.
“Sure,” he said, giving Tolas a charming grin. “Happy to.” He handed over the pistol, butt first. Teyla passed over her hunting knife.
“Many thanks,” Tolas said with a smile John hoped wasn’t ironic. He gestured to the door. “Please make yourselves at home. I will go arrange an appointment with the king.”
One of the guards, the one John had kicked good and hard, opened the door with a resentful look. There was something about the gesture that reminded John suddenly of a movie, of Lando Calrissian. Not good. The next line ought to be ‘we would be honored if you joined us,’ and then it would all go from bad to worse and probably end with him trapped in a block of carbonite, which never seemed like it would be a very fun experience. John and his friends had argued as kids over whether or not you knew what was going on while you were flash frozen in a block of stuff, and he’d argued for not. Because otherwise just seemed too awful.
On the other hand, that line of thought ended up with him getting rescued by Teyla, and he could think of worse…
She was looking at him doubtfully, waiting for him to either go in or not.
“Right,” John said. “We’re all good here.” He ambled through the door hoping that his easy stance covered the tension. Teyla followed. And somehow he wasn’t a bit surprised when the door shut behind them and he heard the bar put down.
“Why…” Teyla began.
John put his finger to his lips. “Over here,” he said, leading her across the room from the door where their conversation wouldn’t be heard. “We take them down, then what?”
Teyla looked at him, a tiny frown between her brows. “I agree, but it is not like you to be so prudent.”
John glanced around the room. “Look, we’re in no immediate danger. This thing keeps getting kicked upstairs, one guy after another throwing his weight around. By now Lorne’s on the way with a team of Marines. We try something and it doesn’t work and we’ve wasted our cards. It’s better to bargain with a squad of Marines behind us.”
Teyla looked concerned. “And your head is bothering you.”
“I’m ok.”
She shook her head, reaching up to check the bandage. “You are not. Or you would have tried something back there. Are you dizzy?”
“Just a little lightheaded,” John admitted. “I’ll be fine.”
“You will rest,” Teyla said. “In here where it is cool. I do not like you still being lightheaded. The sooner we get you to Dr. Beckett, the better.” She steered him over to a chair by the window. “Sit.”
It was, he thought, a pretty comfortable chair. And the view was nothing short of amazing. The fourth floor window looked out over the top of the walls to the harbor and sea, the roofs of houses and shops and the docks where lanteen sailed ships tied up, their hulls as bright as birds against the green sea. The breakwater was ornamented with fantastical turrets, and the ramparts of the wall featured emplacements for things John swore were ballistae. He’d seen a reconstruction of one once, and those looked like it. That was pretty advanced siege weaponry. He wondered who the enemy was that Pelagia stood in such a state of readiness and suspicion. Who was the enemy? Not the Wraith, surely. Ballistae wouldn’t be much use against energy weapons.
The people of The Chora? Jitrine had said that there was tension over tribute, that The Chora was mad about the increase lately, resented having to send tribute to Pelagia. Was there an active rebellion? And if so, was Tolas the loyal stooge or the rebel? Was he playing his own game, with John and Teyla as pieces in it?
Teyla came and stood beside his chair, her eyes on the distant sea. “Something is wrong,” she said.
“Tell me about it.” The sheer curtains blew in a fresh sea breeze. It wasn’t hot here, not with the wind blowing, and the desert kept the humidity low. If this were a resort, lots of people would pay good money for it.
“There is something going on,” Teyla said. “And I do not think it is all about the Wraith. If it were, surely it would be obvious to them that we are not Wraith, and if they were certain we were enemies, why not kill us? They are not sure of something. But they are afraid.”
“Yeah.” John turned his head to catch the breeze on his neck and damp hair. “Those fortifications wouldn’t stop the Wraith for five minutes. So who are they meant to stop?”
“I do not know, but we had best find out,” she said. “Perhaps we can turn it to our advantage. Certainly these people seem to have plenty of food.”
“Which is always an issue.”
Even now that they had contact with Earth there were major issues of supply. It was quite simply impossible to supply a base the size of Atlantis with food brought by the Daedalus on her thirty-six day round trip, eighteen days out and eighteen days back. They could dial Earth, but Earth couldn’t dial them, making resupply through the Stargate impossible. Therefore the bulk of their food had to be traded for locally, and it was a constant challenge finding people with enough of a surplus to trade who were also willing to trade with them. Teyla had been invaluable the last year in making the deals that kept them in supply, since she already had contacts and a measure of trust the team from Earth didn’t have.
“If they have enemies…” Teyla began, and then let the sentence hang. He knew where it went. People with enemies wanted weapons, weapons more effective than ballistae and spears. A couple of guns wouldn’t do much except whet their appetite for more.
“Yeah.” John pulled the radio out of his pocket. It was still on standby, the battery low. Where the hell was Lorne? But it was a big planet. With no idea where they were, Lorne would have to take a broad search pattern. But even so, he’d probably been in the air for hours.
“Do you suppose Rodney had trouble with the gate?” Teyla asked.
Obviously her mind worked the same way. He’d been trying not to think about that option. “It’s Rodney,” John said. “He can fix a Stargate. And even if he didn’t get the DHD working, Elizabeth could send Lorne and a team through from her end.”
“True.” Teyla frowned, putting the back of her hand to his forehead. “You do not feel feverish, but I am concerned about this dizziness.”
“I’m fine,” John insisted. “We just need to gather as much intel as we can and stay ready. It’s not like we’re chained up in a basement or something.” He looked out the broad open window. Four stories up, but the stonework was rough with many possible handholds, and the top of the curtain wall wasn’t far away. He could probably do it without much trouble. But Teyla would have a hard time with her injured shoulder. He bet it wouldn’t take her weight. That was Plan B for certain.