Elizabeth slid her gaze over to her military advisor. John’s expression told her that he didn’t like the situation any more than she did. “A six-man team,” he replied to the unspoken question. “Can’t go in completely covert, since they’ll know we’re coming, but a second jumper could go in cloaked, and the team could move out after I head-fake Yann and his buddies into thinking I’m complying with their demands. Smoke grenades should help keep the casualties low. But without confirmation of their exact location and the number of unfriendlies around, there’s no way to guarantee a clean fight. On either side.”
As the scenario was outlined in cool, almost clinical terms, apprehension was becoming increasingly visible on Rodney’s face. “They haven’t directly threatened our people,” he said quietly. “Unlike the Genii, it was clear that they have no intentions of hurting anyone.”
John’s response was a short bark of humorless laughter. “Not unless we refuse their ultimatum, no. But what happens if we do? They just give up and let Ford and Teyla go? The ‘or else’ was kind of implied.”
Expecting Rodney to snap back at the Major, Elizabeth was surprised when he instead dropped his gaze. John looked deadly serious, though, and she wouldn’t have wanted to cross him just then, either. Losing people tended to do that to an officer. “I’d like your opinion, Major,” she said, turning fully toward him. “Is a rescue really practical, and if so, what happens next?”
Arms folded across his chest, John exhaled a long breath. “I don’t like having this many unknowns,” he replied. “And it’ll only get murkier once the shooting starts. Our Marines are trained for urban combat, but this wouldn’t be anything I’d call standard.”
“Then there’s the matter of the Shields. I never did get a chance to test Zelenka’s theory about disabling the capacitor,” Rodney put in, his fire returning. “If we do this, we’ll lose any chance of learning something useful from this whole mess. Let’s also be clear that a military rescue mission implies leaving the Dalerans to their fate. All of them. There’s no way we can go back to help anyone if we’ve just busted in and out of there with guns blazing.”
“Believe it or not, that did occur to me,” John informed him with exaggerated patience. “Look, I hate the precedent we’d be setting by caving in to a threat, and I really hate the idea of rewarding someone for jumping my team. But in a messed-up way, we can still achieve our objective. We can introduce the gene therapy — first to Yann’s group, then to others once things have calmed down and we have our team back. Like Rodney said, that gets us to where we’d planned to be all along.”
Elizabeth glanced at Carson, who’d stayed on the periphery of the discussion. “On a logistical level, do we have the reserves to provide enough of the gene therapy to satisfy these rebels?”
The doctor gave a small shrug. “Synthesizing the stuff hasn’t posed much of a problem,” he answered. “After our talk a few days ago, about giving the treatment to more of the expedition members, I started increasing our reserves. We have a stock of about a hundred doses, but I’d want to keep twenty until we replenish that. I’ll need until morning to prepare a proper vaccination kit for the rest.”
“The only way they can test whether it’s effective or not,” John put in, “is to handle one of the Shields. And since they’re going to have to overcome that cultural taboo anyway—”
Elizabeth was already nodding. “You can simultaneously test people for the gene. In other words, the gene therapy may not prove to be necessary.”
“With Lieutenant Ford and Teyla’s lives possibly at stake, I wouldn’t recommend giving them a placebo,” Carson said.
Was she really that easy to read? “How did you know I was going to suggest that?”
Shrugging, Carson replied, “It was a logical option, and one that I’d considered when I realized how prevalent the gene might be.”
“I think we should consider contingency plans in case Yann and his group don’t hold up their end of the bargain.” Elizabeth turned back to John, who didn’t hesitate in his response.
“Assuming they’ll want to see if the vaccine is effective, it could take a few days to distribute it and simultaneously test the right people. Tomorrow is Wednesday. If you don’t hear from us before Friday, wait until dark, then send in the cavalry.”
“I guess we have our plan of action, then.” Elizabeth heard and despised the tinge of defeat in her voice. “Give them the gene. Get our people back.”
Chapter Ten
Yann and his fishermen buddies were waiting at the clearing that had more or less become their official landing site. No sooner had the Major shut down the engines than the whole group came tromping up to the hatch.
“Here goes nothing,” Sheppard muttered.
Rodney hitched the medical pack on his shoulder and stepped out of the jumper.
“You have brought the potion?” Yann asked in lieu of any greeting.
“It’s right here.” Rodney patted the pack.
Immediately, the pair of fishermen moved to take it from him, but Sheppard stepped in to block them. “We’ll hold onto it until we see our friends, all right?”
Their faces twisted in identical scowls. “And how are we to know that the potion truly works?”
Sheppard didn’t bat an eye. “This is not negotiable.”
The men either didn’t recognize the word or didn’t care. Even though he was pretty sure the Major had stashed an additional weapon somewhere on his person, Rodney didn’t like these odds. “You need us to show you how to administer the gene therapy,” he said hurriedly, at last halting the men’s advance.
Cocking a thumb over his shoulder at his teammate, Sheppard added, “What he said.”
Yann raised his voice above the resentful grumbles. “It is a fair bargain. Come.”
After retrieving their Shields, they were led back through the village and into the transport, a route Rodney was beginning to think he could now travel in his sleep. When the transport doors began to open, however, the dynamics of the situation once more abruptly shifted. A hard shove from behind propelled him out into the Sanctuary Hall. An even harder shove sent Yann sprawling out across the grubby floor, which, given the size of the merchant, was an indication of the aggression of the person doing the pushing.
Rodney suspected that the only reason why he’d been treated to less force was that he was carrying the medical pack — which he would no doubt be divested of in short order, because it seemed that Yann wasn’t the only one who wanted it. Great. Things had just gone from extremely bad to incalculably worse.
“What are you doing?” The merchant rolled over and shouted at his erstwhile fishermen buddies. “What is this?”
The Sanctuary Hall was deserted except for some overfed official types who dressed more outrageously than Kesun, backed up by a bunch of goons armed with long daggers — or maybe they were short swords. For a brief moment, Rodney wondered if he and Sheppard had not somehow been transported into an entirely different city, perhaps even a different planet — until he noted that two of the goons were carrying their P-90s in such a way that suggested they’d figured out how to use them. Then Rodney spotted Balzar’s smirking face. “The genetherapy,” commanded the chief, stepping menacingly toward them. “The potion of which you spoke to Yann. Give it to us. And the small weapon you carry.” His eyes fell to the holster strapped to the Major’s leg.
“Now, is that any way to ask?” Sheppard replied.
“You wish to see your friends again?”
Rodney could have sworn that, despite a moment’s hesitation, Sheppard handed over his handgun nicely, but the goons felt inspired to show them who was boss. While two of them held the Major’s arms behind his back, one sent a punch into his stomach that doubled him over. A second fist to Sheppard’s face jerked him out of the arms of the men and threw him against the wall of the transport. It didn’t knock the Major out, but as he pulled himself to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood, the cut on Rodney’s arm began a sympathetic ache.