A solid thud sounded in the dim light, and Rodney stumbled into John’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he muttered. “There’s something on the floor — oh.”
There was someone on the floor, actually. At least, that limp bundle of rags had been a someone not so long ago. A pair of rodents, roused by the commotion, scurried out from under the body to disappear into the darkness.
“Can I assume,” Rodney asked the team at large, “that none of us are clinging to the fantasy of the Chosen as enlightened despots anymore? I don’t require any kind of apology, but let’s make sure we’re all finally on the same page here.”
“Not helpful right now,” John told him shortly, glancing back at Teyla. The Athosian had remained silent throughout this tour from Hell, but despite her outward control, he was fairly certain he’d never seen her so shaken. Having been more or less on her side when it came to not getting involved in the Dalerans’ business, he wasn’t feeling too great at the moment, either.
“Be silent,” Yann ordered. He guided them into another tunnel, this one outfitted with a thick iron door and several armed men acting as guards.
The men greeted him with relief. “It is well that you have returned,” one guard said. “I do not know for how much longer we can keep word from spreading.”
“Word of what?” Rodney demanded.
Rather than reply, Yann led them further into the tunnel. The passage got progressively smaller until everyone but Teyla had to duck low to continue. They soon came upon a small section of rock that had fallen away to reveal a cavern beyond the tunnel wall. The smell of salted fish and something more wafted out from the hole. “What is this?” he asked in a low voice.
Yann gestured. “Look for yourself.” His tone was edged with bitterness.
Through the hole, John saw a bunch of flickering torches illuminating a huge chamber. He counted five double doors, presumably leading into other rooms, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. As he watched, men carrying square baskets of dried meat walked down a set of narrow steps and carefully stacked them along wooden racks. Then it hit him. Why was so much food being squirreled away, when the Citadel’s residents were starving? He moved away so that Rodney could see.
Yann explained, “There are many such places containing dried fish and fruits, cheeses and preserves, all of it payment demanded from us for use of the transport.”
“Who are these people?” Rodney demanded in a voice John wished was a few decibels short of a holler.
“We believe they are servants bonded to the Chosen at birth,” Yann said. “Until recently, their existence has only been guessed at.”
“Oh, come on,” Rodney declared, moving aside so that Teyla could see. “That’s not servitude, it’s slavery. Which explains why the Enclave and the Chosen still have their upscale look. Without this subculture running around looking after them, that temple would be buried under a layer of dust.”
“What’s it for?” Ford asked, taking his turn at the hole.
“Provisions,” John answered before Yann could speak. “The Chosen knew they couldn’t protect everyone, so they’re stashing as much away as they can in preparation for the next culling.”
“Only those who can pay the most have been offered a place inside the Enclave,” spat Yann. “It is the one location that has never been breached by the Wraith.”
John looked around at the faces of his teammates. Ford’s held shock, while Rodney was obviously disgusted. Teyla stared back at him, her features shadowed by anger and a hint of betrayal. “It is unconscionable,” she said, the words laced with venom. “Food is stored in these secret halls while children starve in the streets. This deception…”Unable to continue, she fell silent.
The return trip through the tunnels was subdued. John recalled Kesun’s seemingly earnest claims with a sick feeling. Even if the man truly believed that the Chosen were following Dalera’s will, there was no conceivable justification for such an atrocity.
Once they were back outside, Yann stood with folded arms, impassive. “So,” he said simply. “Now you have seen.”
Trying to get a handle on the implications, John could only nod. “We’ve seen,” he agreed. “And we recognize that this can’t go on. I’m just not sure what the best course of action is yet.”
“The Sanctuary Halls are filled with fresh foodstuffs,” Teyla said, recovering her composure. “Why do you not share them with the poor?”
“It’s not that simple,” John found himself answering. He understood the complex and conflicting economic and sociopolitical aspects of the situation. “With a regime this powerful and the corruption so widespread, even the best intentions can get hijacked.” He looked at Yann, who nodded once, satisfied that they understood each other.
“The potion you possess,” the merchant said. “If it could be given to sufficient people, I believe we would have the capacity to both defend the Citadel and operate the transports. We could achieve that which Dalera commanded, to protect all against the Wraith, showing favor no more or less to one or another.”
“Without meaning to say I told you so,” Rodney piped up, “I believe this is exactly what I suggested at the outset.”
John shot him a glare. “Hadn’t we established that since Lisera has the gene, so might a lot of other people? The gene therapy probably isn’t necessary.”
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Yann said, “You would refuse us this potion when you know it will save us?”
Behind him, two of the guards looked at one another, and their scowls deepened.
“I didn’t say that. I just think it’d save everyone a lot of time and trouble if you tested everyone first.”
“And what if only people the likes of Balzar have this gene? Will they use it as Dalera intended? I think not.”
“To whom would you give the genetherapy?” Teyla inquired.
“The poorest among us, so that their lives are made precious to all.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, but John was still hearing more warning bells even as he mentally raced through the possibilities. “I don’t know how much of this…potion we have to spare,” he pointed out. “Besides, I can’t promise you anything until we talk to our leader.”
“You are not the leader of your people?”
He clamped down on the automatic Hell, no, that came to his lips. Already he had far more responsibility than he’d bargained for. “No. So it’s not my decision to make.”
Yann nodded. “Then two of you may return to Atlantis in your Ancient craft, to confer with your leader. The other two must remain here until you bring us the potion.”
“That sounds a lot like—” Rodney tensed as his fisherman buddies took up positions around them, this time clutching their axes with more serious intent. “Taking hostages,” he finished, his annoyance colored by a twinge of worry.
John instinctively took a step forward and found himself blocked by a heavy staff across the chest. “This is not the best way to get cooperation from us,” he warned.
“I regret once again that it has become necessary. But our people are desperate, in all ways.” There was no malice in Yann’s expression, but his earnestness almost seemed more dangerous. “Two will remain. They will not be harmed, but they cannot leave.”
“One stays,” John countered. “Me. The rest go back.”
A snort came from Rodney. “Think it through before you fall on your proverbial sword, Major. Thanks to your reluctance to let me take the controls on the way down, you’re the only one with any experience navigating the jumper in space.”
Damn it. This was one decision he was not going to make for them. “Where we come from, our warriors have a code: leave no one behind.”