"You might think about posting warnings," Rodney griped, already examining a row of Ancient lettering on the nearest wall.
"We have, many times, but the shifting sands soon carry them away." A few paces along the corridor, Shira opened another door, this one with distinctive Ancient patterns etched on its smooth surface, and held out a welcoming hand to her visitors. "This is my home."
It was similar to the atrium, except that it had a definite lived-in feel, like an old-fashioned country kitchen. The walls were lined with shelves and copper pots and pans, and on the floor sat baskets of vegetables and grains. A long stone table stood in the middle of the room. Stacked at the far end were a collection of platters, one with a small paring knife and fruit scraps carelessly falling off the edge. Strewn elsewhere on the table were a collection of books and writing implements and mugs half-filled with water.
With an embarrassed shrug, Shira moved to clear the table. "I was not expecting guests. Please, sit, and I will bring you refreshments."
Spotting the imminent objection in Rodney's stance, John shot the scientist a warning glare. The urgency of their mission notwithstanding, in his experience, making friends with people generally got you a lot further than barging in and demanding things.
Shira began collecting the books when a bunch of small children darted in from an adjoining room. Giggling, two pushed between Rodney's legs, making him jump. "Where did they come from?" he demanded.
"Two are mine." Shira sent a scolding look at the oldest child and motioned to the dishes. She then handed the boy what were undoubtedly his schoolbooks and added, "The others are from the village."
Rodney glanced through the doorway. "These buildings are interconnected?"
"The entire community is joined. Were it not so, we would be shut inside our homes more often than we are free. The storms are frequent, and their length cannot be predicted."
"Then by all means, let's see the rest of the village." Rodney was starting to look edgy, and it couldn't solely be due to his focus on locating the exogenesis machine. When John cast a puzzled glance in his direction, the scientist said defensively, "Do I need to start a list of all the things that are bugging me right now`? Acid sand, enclosed spaces…kids…"
"Tetchy," Beckett said under his breath.
John shook his head and gave Shira a smile. "We'd love a tour, if it's not too much trouble."
"Of course, I understand." Facing her children, she gently admonished them, "Finish your work before play. And do not leave scraps of food lying around. I'll be back in a few minutes"
The entire structure of the village bore a definite similarity to the layout of Atlantis. The attached dwellings resembled mediumsized apartments connected by wide hallways. These periodically opened out into larger communal areas, some of which, if the cloaks on pegs were any indication, led outside. The levels didn't stack neatly on top of each other, but instead were offset, depending on how far into the cliff they extended. John still couldn't tell if the light originated from the `ceilings,' but it seemed the most likely explanation, even though most of the walls were made of the same type of stone as the cliff face.
For the inhabitants, life appeared to be going on as normal, in spite of the sandstorm raging outside. People milled around, talking to each other and corralling energetic children. Several markets were doing a brisk business, and an appealing array of smells wafted from a noisy line of food stalls. The whole place had a bazaar-type feel to it, something that Teyla would have appreciated.
For a moment, John's thoughts turned to his absent teammate. He hoped she was doing okay in that monster of a storm back home.
No one paid the visitors any mind except to proffer courteous smiles, and everyone looked reasonably attired, healthy and content.
"Dress aside, they're a bit like the Athosians, aren't they?" Beckett remarked. "Lovely folk."
Ronon seemed to share the sentiment. Although he still showed the perennial air of alertness that John appreciated, the Satedan definitely seemed to be loosening up a little.
"The Elders govern the village," Shira explained as they walked. "They will be most interested to meet you."
"So status is based on age?" John asked.
"Oh, no-the people choose who shall serve on the council. They are called Elders simply because children are not permitted to govern, although of course we seek the thoughts of all before important decisions are made."
Rodney reacted with surprise. "That sounds remarkably… civilized."
Nothing was wrong here-and that felt wrong. So far Polrusso was shaping up to be the most well-adjusted society they'd yet encountered, complete with dirty dishes and kids shirking homework. No abuse of power, no conflict of beliefs, no apparent servitude. John felt a little unsettled by all this normalcy, which was a sure sign that he had a really weird job.
As if on cue, the sound of muffled sobbing reached him, and he stopped to glance into the open doorway of another chamber. A distraught woman was sitting on a bench by the door, knees drawn up to her chest, rocking back and forth. As she wept, two other women comforted her.
When John looked to Shira for an explanation, her face was grave. "She lost her daughter a short time ago," she told them. "The child was barely old enough to walk."
"Poor lass," murmured Beckett.
Immediately John felt like a jerk for looking so hard for a flaw in this place. No matter how peaceful things looked here, accidents could still happen. Children could still die, and life could still be unjust. That was a universal constant.
"This is the council chamber." Shira led them through another open doorway. Inside, at a conference table of distinctly Ancient design, sat a group of four men and three women engaged in an animated discussion about something that sounded like crop rotation. They looked up at the team's arrival.
An eighth man with curly red hair and one badly pockmarked cheek entered from a nearby room. He was carrying a metal tray with an earthenware jug and collection of cups. "Ah! Shira," he declared, looking curiously at the newcomers.
"I bid you greeting, Elders," Shira said. "These travelers carry the blood of the Ancestors. They have seen Atlantis and can operate its vessels, having arrived here in one such ship!"
With obvious interest, the Elders quickly stood and came around the table while John introduced himself and his team.
"I am Vene, leader of the council," said the redhead, smiling broadly. "The heirs of the Ancestors are most welcome among us. Please"-he placed the tray on the table, ducked back into the other room and returned with additional cups-"please, this is wonderful! You must join us for tea"
"We appreciate that," John replied, shooting Rodney a preemptive glare. Ten minutes over tea could save them hours of searching, and there wasn't much else they could do while the storm continued outside.
"If you will excuse me," said Shira, "I should return to my children. No doubt they have already forgotten my instructions to finish their schoolwork."
Vene set down the mugs and grasped her hands. "I thank you for bringing the travelers here."
"So do we," John added, matching the Elder's sincerity. "Very much."
Bowing her head briefly in response, Shira stepped back from the group and left the room.
"It sounds like your people know a lot about the Ancestors." John wasn't sure where to begin. He glanced around the walls of the chamber, noting that they were decorated just as colorfully as the rest of the village. The semi-abstract jumble of blues and greens appeared to depict a rainforest environment that stood in sharp contrast with the desert world outside.
While Vend ground a few tea leaves into the bottom of each cup, another Elder held out a five-legged chair for Carson. "Most off-worlders find our dry air enervating. Sit and tell us of your travels"