The distant horn sounded again, and the argument outside spread into the tavern. People began muttering among themselves. They’d been primed to expect a Wraith attack, or a rescue, or both, and now nothing was happening except a bunch of out-of-towners dropping in for a surprisingly good beer.
Man, how long had it been since he’d had a beer? And it was real this time, which was a bonus. Too bad they were on a tight schedule. John licked the froth off his lips and smiled winningly at the innkeeper. “Mighty fine brew you make here. I’m just gonna go take a look around, okay?” With a meaningful glance at Ford, he tried to edge his way between a couple of farmer types who smelled like the animal dung that Rodney had discovered. They refused to budge, deliberately blocking his path.
Ford tensed, but the young Lieutenant’s eyes were resolute. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do at the moment with Lisera clinging to him, but if things went to hell, he’d drop the girl. For once, even Rodney seemed to pick up on the tenuous situation, and wisely channeled his energy into observing rather than commenting.
The farmer types glanced past John’s shoulder, presumably at Yann, and then, with a surly growl, separated. The rest of the crowd also shuffled back, letting the team through. A buxom, well-dressed woman with apple-pink cheeks and an amazingly hideous hairdo blocked the wall where the control panel was generally mounted. John turned on his most charming grin when Yann, who was now bringing up the rear, said, “The newcomer will not take your place in line. He just wishes to see.”
“Love what you’ve done with the—” John waved his hand in the direction of the woman’s tangled braids and added a few more degrees of curvature to his smile.
Uttering something between a simper and a huff, she edged aside. Without a second thought, John brought his hand to the plate. The glass doors opened — and kept opening until the entire side of the inn seemed to fold back.
The effect was instant and profound. The woman visibly paled. Gasps filled the inn, and a cry went up. “He is of the Chosen. They are all of the Chosen!”
Instead of the small, elevator-sized room he’d been expecting, the floor angled down beneath ground level and widened out into a room large enough to take several hundred people.
John was finally getting used to the idea of expecting the unexpected on these missions. And this was mild on the unexpectedness scale, at least so far. Which could only mean that there were a number of proverbial other shoes still waiting to clonk him on the head.
“Whoever these Chosen are, they must have the Ancient gene,” Ford reasoned.
McKay rubbed his forehead, grimacing as if that comment had physically caused him pain. “Another brilliant deduction, Lieutenant.”
A horde of people surged forward and down the ramp, tripping and sliding as they went. “The Chosen will save us.” The call rolled across the mob, bringing with it a palpable wave of relief.
“Whoa! Slow down,” John yelled, barely managing to get out of the way.
Everyone froze and stared fearfully at him. Well, that was an improvement over his first couple of attempts.
A florid-faced woman near the inn’s doors called, “Forgive us for our doubts.”
“We beseech you,” implored someone else. “It was only fear that drove us to speak as we did. We beg of you to save us!”
“Oh, please,” Rodney said with disdain. “Major Sheppard wasn’t ‘chosen’ for anything besides iceberg duty back home. How many times do I have to explain that the gene doesn’t—?”
John slammed the heel of his boot down on Rodney’s toe, trying not to take any satisfaction in the affronted yelp that resulted. “I didn’t say stop,” he called out, directing a threatening glare toward the scientist. “Just take it easy.” Ignoring Rodney’s theatrics as the scientist grasped hold of the bar and massaged his foot, John turned to Teyla. “Still no Wraith, huh?”
The villagers and fishermen kept pouring past them and down into the transport, although their pace was somewhat less frantic than before. Balzar, and then Yann walked past, ducking as he went, as if trying to hide.
“Hey, Yann?”
The man froze, and then turned a wary head in John’s direction, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I owe you a beer, pal.”
If anything, Yann looked even more confused, but he nodded and kept walking.
“I still do not sense the Wraith,” Teyla said. “Nor do I understand how it is that anyone on this world carries the blood of the Ancestors within them.”
“Gene,” corrected Rodney through clenched teeth. “And did you absolutely have to injure me? A simple ‘shut up, Rodney’ would have sufficed. Although why it is—”
“Rodney? Shut up.”
“Maybe they’re straight-up, no-kidding Ancients, sir,” Ford said. “Just think, we might finally get to meet one.”
The crowds began to pile up, until it was clear that no one else could fit in the transport. “Looks like we’d better save that thought for later. Ford, go with Rodney and these people into the Citadel. Teyla and I will hang out here and bring up the rear.”
An imminent objection was visible in Rodney’s eyes even before he voiced it. “What’s the rationale behind this division of labor? I’m all for leaving, but we don’t have the first clue what we’ll stumble into when this thing dumps us out into the Citadel.”
John’s discomfort with the unstable situation was growing, and his teammate’s commentary wasn’t helping, so he wasted no time with his rebuttal. “The alternative is for you to stay behind and risk facing one of those Wraith ground assaults you spoke so highly of. We can’t be sure that whoever takes the transport will be able to send it back here in time or at all, and one of us with the gene has to go, so you tell me who it’s going to be.”
Rodney’s jaw clicked shut. “Point taken.”
It wasn’t the scientist’s fault that strategic thinking wasn’t exactly second nature to him. John let go of the edge in his tone when he added, “Wait inside the Citadel for us. We should be able to move everyone in two trips, three at most.”
“All right.” Rodney sent him a quick, hard stare. “Don’t take long.”
“We won’t. Go.”
Once Ford had taken his place inside the transport with Lisera, Rodney squeezed in behind him, which wasn’t easy, considering the girth of his pack. The expression on the scientist’s face clearly said that he wasn’t enjoying the proximity of so many people. He squinted at what John presumed to be a control panel, then raised his hand to touch it. The wall slammed back into place with a forceful, metallic clang. Not exactly the smooth, relatively silent operation of the transport on Atlantis. A locally manufactured copy, maybe?
“Okay, then,” John said, exhaling a long breath. “Now we wait for the next train.”
Teyla kept a watchful eye on the remainder of the crowd, which was still large by any measure. They were calmer now that a rescue operation was underway, but the undercurrent of fear persisted.
“How long does it usually take between transports?” John asked someone who, based on the smell, was a fisherman. The young man was nearly bent double with the weight of the bag he carried. Apparently he subscribed to the McKay style of packing.
The man stared at him oddly for a moment before replying, “It is only the time needed to unload everyone inside the Citadel. A matter of minutes.”
“Minutes that we may not have if the Wraith are upon us!” wailed a woman’s voice from somewhere near the inn’s front door.
“Well, they’re not here yet, so let’s try to keep a positive attitude, all right?” Once the words were out, John winced inwardly at how trite they sounded. He wasn’t cut out for this reassurance thing. “Hey, Teyla?”
The Athosian turned toward him, eyebrows arched inquiringly.
“I’m sure this is a dumb question, but this connection you have to the Wraith…Is there any way you can describe how it manifests itself? How do you tell the difference between general anxiety and an honest-to-God alert?”