"So what if he's a red-band? They're right, what they say -
"Scum! The Magnate's made this planet what it is-"
"Unseat the lot of them snobs if we could-"
"Children on the streets begging and starving-"
"You oughta be grateful for them-"
"Dying of the rot and no-one cares-"
"Saved us all from the Wraith, and for that alone they-"
Something glass shattered, and the fight erupted. The barkeep swung a ponderous haymaker that narrowly missed Sheppard's head, the wind of its passing tickling his cheek. Ronon belted the big man with the beer jug and sent him reeling backward, but the tavern owner did not go down. On other tables, shouts and punches were flying thick and fast as quietly-held viewpoints that had long been silent now came alive.
Ronon's hand went for his particle magnum, but the colonel stopped him. "No guns," he snapped, "let's just get the hell out of here."
Sheppard pulled Rifko to his feet amid the melee. "Sorry about all this."
"Woulda happened sooner or later," he mumbled through swelling lips.
Dex batted away a thrown mug with one hand and pushed a chair aside. "Sheppard, come on!"
They were making for the door when it slammed open and four figures entered. The first three wore uniforms similar to the soldiers of the Dynasts, but these were dark green and accented with silver badges. They had high hats with a bronze shield upon them. Something in the back of John Sheppard's mind instantly threw the word Police to the front of his thoughts.
But it was the fourth member of the group that made the brawl in the tavern die away. The colonel's gut tightened as a Hound followed the men into the pub, and in the sudden silence following their arrival, he found he could hear the enslaved Wraith panting inside the canine mask of its helmet.
"Peace Officer," said the leading greencoat. "You people know the punishment for affray." He looked to the barkeep. "I want an explanation."
Here it comes, Sheppard thought, glancing at Ronon. He was starting to regret not drawing his pistol while he'd had the chance.
The tavern owner thrust the leaflet at the officer and pointed at Rifko. "He brought this trash into my establishment." Not a single soul was moving now, all of them staring at the Wraith with naked fear. For all intents and purposes, it was as if the fight had never broken out.
"That's not true," said Sheppard.
"You'll get your chance." The peace officer didn't look at the colonel as he approached Rifko. "You there, show me your hands."
"He has nothing to do with this," Ronon growled.
One of the other greencoats produced a blunderbuss-pistol and brandished it at Dex. "Shut up, vassal. You'll speak when you're told to, or else."
"Your hands, man," repeated the first officer. Rifko reluctantly turned his palms upward; and there on his skin were smears of red ink. "Well, well. Why don't you dissidents ever think about wearing gloves, eh?"
"I…" Rifko blinked. "S'not what it looks like."
"It never is," said the peace officer. He turned to address the tavern. "We live in a society of rules and codes, thanks to the honorable leadership of our great Magnate. But there are always some who think they know better than he does. My job is to show them the error of their ways." He turned back toward Rifko. "The best means for that is an object lesson."
"You're not going to kill him," snarled Sheppard.
"Of course not," said the greencoat, and he drew a thin whistle from a chain around his neck. He blew into it, and on the very edge of hearing, there was a reedy squeal of noise.
It happened so fast; the Hound threw itself forward, the swiftness of its movement raising cries of surprise and fear from the other people in the pub. The Wraith snatched at Rifko and pulled him into an embrace, one hand ripping through his jerkin.
"No!" Sheppard and Ronon went after him, but the armed officer had the gun at the ready, blocking them. John watched, sickened, as the Wraith fed on the kitesmith, dragging years off his life. Rifko's cheeks became sunken and hollow, his hair thinning and turning white. Sheppard felt ill, for one moment recalling the face of Colonel Sumner trapped in the belly of a Wraith Hive Ship, the look of pleading on the Marine's face as his life force was drawn out of him.
After a moment, the lead peace officer tugged on a dangling lanyard from a collar around the Hound's neck and metallic cogs in the mechanism whirred. The Wraith choked and stumbled backward, releasing Rifko. The kitesmith sagged, holding his newly wrinkled hands up before his face.
"The Lord Magnate does not tolerate dissent. Halcyon is a society of laws." The peace officer pointed at Rifko. "If any of you doubt that, look to this man. His punishment is your warning."
"He was innocent!" spat the colonel, advancing, daring the man with the gun to shoot him. "You took twenty years off him for nothing!"
The greencoat nodded. "And now I'm wondering how much I should take from you."
"You can't!" The voice came from the corner of the room, and Sheppard turned to see a young boy in a brown cloak similar in cut to the ones he and Ronon had appropriated. With a start he recognized the youth; it was the servant boy from the monorail conveyor who had stumbled and broken a cup. John hadn't seen him there, hidden in a corner. "Those men are guests of the Lady Erony."
"Really?" The peace officer nodded to one of his men. "Search them."
Sheppard and Ronon grudgingly allowed the rough checking. He took a moment of dark satisfaction from the look of surprise when the greencoat discovered their guns. Finally, the search turned up the dockets that Erony had given them on their arrival.
The senior officer studied the papers in silence, his expression rigid. "These appear to be in order," he said, after a long moment. "You shouldn't be down in the lower city. Lucky for you the boy was here."
"Lucky for you," retorted Ronon.
"Come with us," continued the greencoat officer, "you may consider yourself now within our protective custody."
"I'm not done sightseeing yet," said Sheppard.
"You are," said the other man, "unless you'd like to stay a while and watch the Hound dispense another lesson?"
The peace officers took them to a special funicular tram that in turn had them back in the grounds of the High Palace in a few minutes. Sheppard half-expected to be clapped in irons or slammed in some dingy stone dungeon, but the greencoated men simply handed them over to a cohort of the Magnate's soldiers, weapons and all, and descended back into the city with their Hound trailing at their heels. The troopers escorted them to one of the citadel's larger terraces where a garden was open to the night sky. The contrast of the garden's elegant fragrance to the sour taint of the smoggy lower city was stark and jarring.
Daus was waiting for them, with First Minister Muruw and Vekken. The Magnate had a conflicted expression on his face. He was trying to pretend he was amused, but Sheppard could see the annoyance just beneath the surface in the way he gestured with his smoking pipe. "Lieutenant Colonel. I must apologize. I had thought that the quarters we provided to you and your party were more than adequate. Imagine my surprise when the telekrypter brought us a report that you had been seen in the lower city." He tapped the bowl of the pipe on a stone pot, emptying spent ashes into an ornamental fishpond. "If you wished something a little more coarse and unrefined, you had but to ask. I could have placed you in the cellars."
"I'm not much for taking the package tour," said Sheppard. "I like to get my own view of things."
"What were you doing down there?" demanded Muruw. "We would be within our laws to have shot you!"
"From what I've seen, you've got worse punishments than that," Sheppard replied, working to keep his voice level.
Daus nodded. "Hmph. It is regrettable that you had to witness such a thing, but our justice must always be swift and terrible to behold, or else it has no power."