John spread his hands, though he kept his P90 in his right hand, holding it out on its sling. “We’re here to talk to Ladon Radim,” he said. “From Atlantis.”
The nearest of the men, a short man with a bulldog’s jaw nodded sharply. “We know who you are, Colonel Sheppard. You’ll come with us.”
It was a good sign that Radim’s men made no attempt to disarm them, despite the fact that their weapons were far superior to the simple repeating rifles of the Genii. John cast a sideways glance at them as they crossed the meadow to the decrepit barn which held an entrance to the Genii’s underground complex. Bolt action repeating rifles were a new innovation for the Genii. Five years ago they’d been single shot, more or less the equivalent of the 1853 Enfield. These were getting closer to the Brownings of the not-too-distant past. The Genii had been studying the weapons they’d captured, and pretty clearly they had the technology to understand what they’d seen. John’s own automatics were half a century in the future, but the gap was closing quickly. There had been Taliban still using the Brownings when he’d been in Afghanistan, with pretty deadly results.
The barn looked just as it had five years ago too, the kind of decrepit outbuilding that John had seen along the Arkansas highways not too far from his grandparents’ house thirty years ago, just a barn on a farm that nobody worked anymore, meadows left to go to seed with knee-high cedar trees. There was no reason to look inside. And if anyone did there was nothing to see except a broken down wagon minus three wheels and a pile of moldy hay.
One of the Genii soldiers scooped the hay aside with an impatient sweep, exposing the round hatch like the conning tower of a submarine. Just like Rodney had five years ago.
“After you, Colonel,” the Genii said.
“Don’t mind if I do.” John swung the P90 onto its sling to descend the ladder, a quick glance at Teyla showing that she was right where he wanted her to be, lagging back to let Carson go between them, looking deceptively small. The Genii tended to underestimate women, a facet of a pretty male dominated society that wasn’t lost on him. If it led them to underestimate Teyla, all the better. Her almost imperceptible nod told him she’d read his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them. Five years of working together had rendered any original roughness smooth. Not that there had been much. They’d always been a good team.
At the bottom of the ladder a higher ranking officer was waiting for them. “Chief Radim is looking forward to speaking with you,” he said politely.
“Great,” John said, casting a glance back up the ladder. Carson was halfway down, Teyla silhouetted against the opening at the top. “We’re looking forward to talking to him.” He hoped that was sufficiently diplomatic. It had better be. God help Rodney if his life depended on John being diplomatic!
Ladon Radim’s official office was underground, the same one that Cowan had used on their first visit. It was spartan, and there was nothing personal in it, not one photograph or book that spoke of personality at all. There were no messages here, unless they were in the utilitarian lines of metal desk and chair. At least there were no messages John could read.
He glanced sideways at Teyla as they were motioned into the office. She looked attentive, not tense. Canary in a coal mine, John thought. Teyla was their canary, and he’d learned to watch her reactions carefully in a situation like this.
“Colonel Sheppard,” Ladon Radim stood up and came around his desk to shake hands.
“Chief Radim,” John replied. He’d had the opportunity more than once to punch his lights out, and could only regret he hadn’t done it. But. Rodney. He’d put up with a lot more than Ladon Radim to find out where Rodney was.
“And Dr. Beckett.” Radim greeted Carson with rather more warmth. “I would like to tell you personally how much I regret the incident with Sora. She has been dismissed from our military. She was under direct orders not to interfere with your medical missions, and as I’m sure you know the breach of direct orders is a serious offense. I regret tremendously that you were inconvenienced.”
“She’s a bit of a loose cannon,” Carson said, shaking his hand firmly. “I do not hold you responsible in the least.”
Which was rich, John thought. As of course anyone under his orders was his responsibility, loose cannon or not. But. Diplomacy.
“You remember Teyla Emmagan, I believe?” he said.
“I do.” Radim turned and offered his hand to her as well. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And to see you, Chief Radim,” Teyla said. “I am glad to see that you continue to enjoy good health.”
Radim laughed. “I’m sure that you are! For the moment our interests run in tandem, something of great advantage to us both.”
“And what advantage would that be?” John asked brusquely.
“We are both opposed to Queen Death,” Radim said, his eyebrows rising. “Obviously she’s a disaster for both of us, and for every human in this galaxy.”
“Aye, pretty much,” Carson agreed. “She’s trouble.”
“The most powerful Wraith Queen in…” he spread his hands. “Recorded history, certainly.” Radim motioned to the three metal visitors chairs before the desk. “Shall I have my aide bring you some tea?”
“That would be wonderful,” Teyla said, catching his eye.
“I love tea,” John said, and sat down.
A quarter of an hour passed in pleasantries and tea, mostly discussion of various kinds of tea and some speculation between Carson and Radim as to how the camellia sinesis plant had been transplanted to the Pegasus Galaxy, while Radim’s aides stood silent watch beside the door.
“Maybe the Ancients liked their cuppa,” Carson said, laughing. “It’s the only good reason I can think of.”
“I like mine,” Radim said, and his face sobered. “But you’ll be wondering why I’m wasting time talking about tea.”
“It had occurred to me,” John said bluntly.
Teyla cast him a warning glance. He usually had more patience, and he schooled himself to a pleasant smile, seeing the corner of Teyla’s mouth twitch as he did.
“We need each other,” Radim said. “Atlantis and the Genii, in both the long and short term.”
“Let’s talk about the short term,” John said.
Radim nodded. “You want information about where the Wraith have taken Dr. McKay, who has him, and where. You’d like me to bend my considerable intelligence network to that task, hundreds of agents on dozens of planets. You’d like me to retask my best men to find yours. It’s a risk of considerable resources, not the least of which are the lives of my men.”
“And so you want something considerable in return,” John said. “What?”
Radim leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. “We need a pilot.”
“A pilot for what?” John asked. “You guys don’t have planes. Or maybe you do, in the developmental stages. Prop planes, maybe even double engine. But you don’t need me for that. Surely you’d rather develop your own cadre of pilots. And those kind of aircraft aren’t going to pose any threat to Wraith Darts. They’d be shot down in seconds.”
“Of course they would,” Radim agreed. “Building an air corps would be a tremendous waste of money and resources on something that would be no check on the Wraith. We need something considerably better.”
Teyla’s foot brushed against his left foot, stepping down gently. Wait, she said. Hold on and listen to him.
Radim took a deep breath, his blue eyes on John’s. “We’ve found an Ancient warship. It’s a wreck, badly damaged, but my engineers say it is salvageable. We want it. We want to repair it, and certainly we want to reverse engineer systems if possible. We’re not planning to spend a century developing flight, Colonel. We don’t have the leisure. We need ships that can challenge the Wraith.”