"Erony?" But she was gone, the channel silent.
The streets were lined with people as far as Elizabeth Weir could see. The queues snaked around the derelict dockside warehouses, out on to the main streets of the capital. Fuming omnibuses were halting every now and then to deposit more of them. She saw men and women of every age and ethnicity, children and teenagers. The only commonality they shared was the shabbiness of their clothes, the drawn look of a people who had grown used to being hungry all the time. The nineteenthcentury tone of the Halcyon capital was something new to Weir, a sight she'd only seen to date in history books and Victorian costume dramas; but the faces of the people were all too famil iar. She had seen that more times than she wanted, in Darfur and Kosovo, in Rwanda and Tikrit.
But there was a kind of hope here as well. She could sense it in the air, a mixture of anticipation and a little fear for good measure. Halcyon's people seemed to understand that their world had changed a great deal in the last few days, and it made them excited and scared in equal measure.
A huge poster across the flank of an elderly tenement building caught her eye. She could make out the remains of a massive artwork depicting the face of a portly, lordly man, but there were new leaves of heavy paper pasted over it. The jigsaw of pieces showed a young woman in regal finery, cupping a rifle in one hand and a basket of fruit in the other. But the new poster had been abandoned halfway through, and there were still ladders pressed up to the walls, as if they were waiting for the work to be completed.
"She made them stop," said Carson as he emerged from near the head of the line. "Apparently, when one of the reigning nobles dies, the first thing they do is paint over all the murals of the last fella." He shook his head. "Erony told them that her father's memory wasn't something they should just forget."
Weir nodded. "That's not an easy road to follow, especially after what took place under his leadership. She's taking responsibility for it, and that's a sign of a good ruler."
"Aye," agreed the doctor. "I've already heard talk that she's going to announce elections in the coming year. Democracy instead of monarchy. The nobles are going to have a very steep learning curve."
Elizabeth smiled. "And to think I just expected you to come back with some new diplomatic and trading contacts. Instead, you've sparked off a cultural revolution that will change life on this planet forever."
"It would have happened sooner or later," he noted, "people won't stand for tyranny forever. Hopefully this way there's been a lot less bloodletting."
"And at least we've made ourselves another ally in the Pegasus Galaxy. After all our recent troubles, I think we were due for a win, don't you?"
"Aye, but a ZPM would nae have gone amiss too. Shame about the dolmen. Rodney fair hit the roof when he heard that John had been forced to blow it up."
"Dr. Zelenka calculated that the energy release from the dolmen would have left it nearly dead by now, anyway." Weir added. "If the power source was waning, that would explain how Scar was able to resist the dolmen's influence."
"Couldn't we dig it out of the rubble? Those modules are tough, aren't they? There might still be some juice in there."
She shook her head. "That discharge you reported was probably the last gasp. If there is an intact ZPM under all that wreckage, it will more than likely be useless now."
They moved on toward the makeshift medical center, passing two heavy steam trucks. Beckett threw a nod to the nurse standing at the rear of the vehicles, checking off items of cargo on an inventory pad. "Thank you for authorizing this, Elizabeth."
Weir watched the pallets of gear come off the lorries. "Most of this was aboard Daedalus and earmarked for Atlantis re-supply, but I think we can spare it for someone in need. We can always send out for more. Erony's people don't have that luxury."
He nodded. "And now the Stargate has been reopened for travel, I've got the medicines I needed through from Atlantis."
"Are you making a difference, Carson?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "At last, I really think we are. Linnian's taken up the role of First Minister and he fits it well. The man's already talked with some of Caldwell's engineering crew about new irrigation plans, water supplies, that sort of thing. Changes are going to come, and for the better. With Daus and the Hive Ship gone, it's like the war is over. Finally."
Elizabeth looked away. If only it were that simple. In reality, Halcyon would find it hard to make its way through the transition from a military-based culture to one more focused on civilian life; and there still might be more Wraith on the way. But we're going to be here to help them.
Outside the warehouse-clinic, they came across Mason and Clarke, the two soldiers crouched and laughing with a couple of locals, a man with a prematurely wizened face and a youth in a brown robe. They were playing some kind of gambling game with polyhedral dice.
The dice rattled off the stone wall and Clarke scowled. "Oh, you bloody little-" The corporal caught sight of Weir and fell into a guilty silence. "Uh. Ma'am."
Mason came to attention. "Dr. Weir."
"At ease, gentlemen," she smiled. "Don't stop on my account. Cultural exchange is always a good thing. Who's winning?"
"Not me," Clarke frowned, adjusting the sling on his injured arm. "I think I left all my luck back in the Milky Way." He produced a chocolate bar from his ration pack and grudgingly handed it over to the younger man, who grinned. "Here you go. Don't eat it all at once."
Mason relaxed a little. "I thought you ought to know, ma'am, that I was briefed by one of the senior riflemen. They're still in the process of rounding up the last few Hounds that went garrity after the business with the dolmen and all. Lot of `em have gone to ground, though, so it might take a fair while to find the last few."
"Thank you, Staff Sergeant. I'd like you to liaise with Erony's men, give them whatever help we can to assist in the search."
"Thank you, ma'am. And about that other matter…"
"You can proceed at your own discretion. Carry on."
Weir and Beckett crossed the clinic, the doctor pausing now and then to check on the flow of patients moving through the program of booster shots. "What was that about?" he asked, indicating Mason with a jerk of his head.
"He requested permission to be the one to write the condolence letters to the families of Private Bishop and Private Hill."
"Ah. Of course." Beckett hesitated. "You know, every time we lose someone, I find myself asking the same questions. Is it worth it? Will we ever be able to tell the people back home what goes on out here? There's never going to be an answer for Bishop's mum and dad or Hill's wife and kids, is there? Just a Union flag on a coffin."
"Everyone who comes to Atlantis, who serves in the SGC, all of us know the risks we face." Elizabeth smiled at a small girl as she left the room, the bloom of a fresh inoculation on her pale shoulder. "We just have to hold on to the knowledge that what we do here really does make a difference."
The Ceremony of the Throne began before dawn, on board the Fourth Dynast's sumptuous air-yacht. In a break with protocol, Erony had closed the High Palace's grand audience chamber and ordered the rites to be performed on the wide-open decks of the airship's flyer bay. The broad space was cleared of aircraft, and now it echoed with the music of brass instruments and percussion. Banners hung from catwalks and gantries overhead, and stark flood lamps illuminated the temporary dais set up at the mouth of the launch bay. Beyond the yawning aperture, it was possible to see the distant hills of the Halcyon countryside, a soft yellow glow at the horizon heralding the oncoming sunrise.
Every noble house on Halcyon was represented here, from the highest in rank to those at the very bottom of the pecking order. By official decree as interim ruler of the planet, Lady Erony had declared that all honor engagements and wars of privilege were nulled. All hunt splinters had been recalled. Every rivalry, every long-standing enmity was made forfeit. Barons and dukes who before would never had stood in the same room without drawing blades upon one another were together here, side by side.