It was the work of a moment to gather up their jackets and a few other small things. They followed Tolas and his careful honor guard through the corridors of the palace and across the wide plaza that separated the palace from the city. John said nothing, though she could see from his watchful stance that he was looking for something.
An opening for escape? That seemed unlikely in a foreign city surrounded by guardsmen. What was he looking for? Unfortunately, Teyla could not read his mind but only follow his cues. For the moment at least he seemed determined to play along with this.
It was not yet hot, and the city was bright and clean in the morning, white walls and streets washed down with water and just starting to dry in the sun. A cool breeze came off the harbor. It lifted her hair on her brow gently. It came to Teyla that she had, in the entirety of her life, never stood in a city so big.
In terms of size it was not as big as Atlantis, but Atlantis was nearly empty. The not quite four hundred people of the expedition, even swollen as that number was since contact with Earth was reestablished, disappeared into the city’s vastness like nothing. They might give a building to each person and still have left over. Each person on the expedition might have a palace of fifty rooms, and there would still be city to explore. As it was, they clustered nervously in a few towers together, but even so by Teyla’s standards their quarters were palatial. Each person, regardless of their rank, might have a room of their own and a private bath. Some had balconies, sitting rooms, views of sky and sea that showed vast vistas. And each had running water at a touch, temperatures that suited them exactly, lights and windows that opened at their will.
Teyla had never imagined so much room. Her own bath, with its twin showerheads and golden tiles, was a luxury beyond compare. She did not think the Earth people were used to it either, or Rodney would not go on about garden tubs and choice real estate. Even by their standards, Atlantis was sumptuous. The Ancients had taken for granted unbelievable comfort.
And yet they stood in danger every moment. There was something surreal about being besieged in a palace. There was something disorienting about watching the sky light up with the Wraith bombardment, energy flaring against the shield, while one had clean hot baths and elegant chambers, soaring architecture and good food. There was something decidedly disorienting about fighting for one’s life with hand and knife in beautiful and pristine places, stalking death through spacious white rooms.
These things belonged in darkness, in underground shelters where one went to earth like the prey animal one was, only to be hauled out at last, filthy and starved, to be food. One could almost expect it, then.
She wondered if the Ancients had. She wondered if, in their pride and their luxury, they had ever really understood that they were defeated. If they could possibly have understood that the future lay not in their clever and mannered civilization, but in the hands of their human children scrabbling in the dirt, left to the Wraith.
Compared to the majesty of Atlantis, Pelagia was primitive. And yet she had never been in a city with so many people. There might be half a million people in the city. That almost made Teyla’s head spin. Half a million was the population of a healthy planet. She could not imagine that there had ever been half a million Athosians in the entire world. Perhaps stronger worlds like Sateda had boasted populations in the millions, before the Wraith decimated them, but she had never set foot there. She had never breathed the same air as half a million people. She was not Ronon, who understood cities and the kind of people who lived in them.
It was almost claustrophobic. On some level, the idea of so many people assembled raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It was asking for the Wraith. It was providing an irresistible temptation. To put so much food so close at hand, clustered like fruit on a vine for the taking…
How could this world not have been Culled? It was impossible.
She found herself walking closer to John, as though staying in his shadow possessed some virtue. He glanced aside and saw it, reassurance in the slight lift of one eyebrow as if he had put a hand on her shoulder. Yes, he was disturbed too. And no, this was not the time. He was determined to play this out, and she must as well.
Together, they went up the gangway onto one of the ships, Tolas beckoning them aboard before him politely.
Three massive banks of oars waited in their ports. Above, the stern deck was fitted out with a canopy that let the sea breeze in while providing shade. Tolas and the dignitaries repaired to the cabin, while John and Teyla were escorted to the stern deck. A servant came around with bread and fruit, and they sat on the bench that ran around the edge of the deck while the ship cast off. The oars beat in unison to the sound of a drum as the ship moved out into the open water, making for the harbor entrance, and John frowned.
Teyla took a bite of her fruit, moist and cool in the bright daylight. “Yes?”
“Galley slaves?” He looked forward, but they could see nothing. The rowers benches were below decks. Who the rowers were, and what their conditions were, could not be seen.
“There are probably slaves,” Teyla said. “I do not see how they could build all this otherwise.”
“Yeah.” John frowned again. “It kind of goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
“I do not like it either,” Teyla said. “But when there is much wealth and less technology it seems inevitable.”
“You’ve seen it before in this galaxy?” John looked at her, his hand hesitating over the bread in the basket.
“Yes.” Teyla took another bite of fruit. “There are many worlds and many ways in the Pegasus Galaxy, John, and you will not like many of them. There are worlds where the sons of the poor are castrated and worlds where women live in seclusion. There are worlds where one may be executed for failing to worship the right god or failing in obedience to one’s chief. There are worlds where I am an abomination and worlds where I am a goddess. You will find that every way that humans can live is tried by someone, somewhere.”
“An abomination or a goddess?” His mouth twitched, as though trying to get his head around the thought.
“Oh yes.” Teyla looked out across the busy harbor, little boats paddling away from their wake as they cleared the breakwater. Ahead, the sea stretched azure and calm. Tolas had gone in the cabin, and no one else seemed close enough to hear. “My Gift has its place on Athos. But most of the others who suffered the same fate as my ancestor were killed, remember? People would not allow them to live among them, different as they were, touched by the Wraith.” She took a deep breath. She had spoken of this to no one in the months since the origin of her Gift had become clear, not even to Dr. Kate Heightmeyer. But John was a stranger to their ways. The hatred of the Wraith did not go bone deep within him. Other prejudices, other hatreds perhaps. But not this one. “You do not understand, John. You do not know how it is.”
“You’re saying if people knew about your Gift you’d be in danger,” he said.
Teyla pushed her hair back from her face, looked into the eye of the wind. “I am saying that in some places I would be killed. Not among Athosians. There, I am different, and perhaps there are some who would recoil if they knew where the Gift came from, as Charin and my father feared. They would not kill me, certainly. But there are places where I should be burned alive.”
She heard John take a deep breath. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I certainly do not intend for it to,” Teyla said evenly. “But I also do not speak of my Gift outside of Atlantis and outside of my people.” She looked at him. John sat tight lipped, as always fiercely protective of his friends. “I am fortunate,” she said. “The ways in which I am different do not show in my face.”