scherryzade: (pacific ocean)
[personal profile] scherryzade
Title: Newcomers: Traitor
Rating: PG
Character: OCs, Teyla, Sheppard
Disclaimer: The context isn't mine (AR-27 are), no harm meant.
Summary: Bad decisions. Close calls. Unknown enemies. Uncertain friends. Welcome to Pegasus.
A/N: Sequel to Medic & Soldier, part 3 of 5. Because, hey, there aren't enough OCs in this story...


Not for the first time, Ils regrets the day he ever signed up with Yanek's conducat.

The Lantean soldiers drag him though the city, and he lets them. He feigns unconsciousness until the urge to see the city of the Ancestors is too great.

Yanek he trusted - Yanek's money, he trusted - and thought Yanek trusted him, putting him in charge of a squad, only they were unschooled cretins who panicked at the sight of a de-cloaking ship.

He's never had much time for faith, but seeing the signs and structures of the Ancestor's temples writ so large in their city, Ils offers up a silent prayer.

If he ever gets out of here, he swears, Gos Yanek won't see another sunset.


"Dial it."

"Ma'am, I can't just -"

"Dial the damn planet."

Janel sees the technician's gaze slip to something behind her, his expression easing, and she turns to see Teyla Emmagan approach.

"I want out. I want off this city," says Janel, and Teyla nods once, sharply. She glances at the address that Janel has written, and raises an eyebrow, but doesn't demur, and when she turns to the technician, her expression is carefully schooled.

"If you would dial the gate, Chuck, I would appreciate it greatly."

"Teyla?" Teyla turns to smile serenely at Mr Woolsey.

"I apologise, Richard, I should have confirmed my intention to go offworld today. Janel and I intend to visit with one of our allies."


They take Ils to a cell deep in the city. Or so he judges, as the corridors get starker, windowless. The cell itself has forcefields on all sides. Ancestor-built. If he were outside, he could get in, but even without the guards, he doesn't have a cull's chance of escaping.

All this time, and the Lantean soldiers haven't said a word to him.

He works his wrists, easing the bruises from where they tied him, and leans back on the cot, affecting a nonchalance he doesn't feel.


"Hey, sarge," Mark says, flicking his radio to the gate room's back channel. "Can you keep an eye out for the medicat?"

"That's an affirmative," replies Chuck.

"Wh- Oh, for f-" Mark cuts himself off, and bombs down the corridor.

When he steps out the transporter, the first thing he sees isn't Janel, but Teyla, standing with her hands loose at her sides, looking calm and serene and about as pissed off as Mark's ever seen her. He almost turns tail and runs.

"You should have an escort, at least," says Woolsey, and Mark steps forward, careful to stay in both Teyla and Janel's eyelines. He salutes for good measure. "Sorry I'm late, ma'am. The, uh, transporters were busy."

Teyla doesn't miss a beat. "Mark has already volunteered to accompany us. There is no need for us to wait further."

Woolsey looks unconvinced, but clearly knows he's been outmanoeuvred. "Very well, Teyla. Check in with us in-"

"Four hours. Of course, Richard."

Chuck raises a eyebrow at Mark as he passes, and Mark asks him, quiet enough that no-one else can hear, "Where are we going?"

"M5A-683," says Chuck. "Ordan."


He hears the guards shift to attention when the door opens, and he opens his eyes just a slit to see the new arrival. Two officers, a man with close-cropped hair and sour expression, and the woman from the old Ushant homeworld.

Ils doesn't bother looking for an exit when they slide the cell open. He lies still, as relaxed as he can fake, and pretends to startle awake when the officer kicks the bed.

"Get up."


She tallies what she's carrying as she walks towards the market. Enough to get by, enough to trade. She needs to keep a weapon, and the scissors have other uses, so she can spare the knife, if it comes to it. And she has skills. She needs to remember that.

Teyla catches her arm. "Janel. Please wait a moment."

Janel shakes her off.

"It was ill done. I am sorry for that. But -"

"Don't you get tired of apologising for them?"

"I am not apologising."

"You're sorry, but you're not apologising. Tch. Athosians. No wonder they took you as allies."

"I said it was ill done, and for that I am sorry. I am not sorry that Major Lorne is alive."

"What, would I have let him die because Captain Rodriguez is a -" She breaks off when she sees the way Collins bristles at the mention of his leader's name.

"You know very well that is not what I mean." There's a hint of steel in Teyla's voice, and Janel cannot meet her gaze.

She walks on towards the market, and doesn't listen to the footsteps, one pair light, the other solid, that follow on behind.


The walls of the interrogation room are red, patterned as the Ancestors left them, but the chairs and table are utilitarian metal, and look out of place. Lantean make.

"What's your name?" The officer is all trade, no rage. He isn't going to try to be Ils' friend, but he doesn't have the black-eyed anger that the woman can't hide, however tall and straight she stands.

Ils is careful not to look at her. "Ilsander Ress. Call me Ils." He smiles at the officer, who barely reacts.

"You're a mercenary. A -" The officer flicks a look at the paper in his hand, the one Ils has been straining to read. It's not a script he recognises, even if it weren't upside-down. "Conducat."

Ils spreads his arms wide, and grins at the way the guards hold their guns a little tighter. "At your service. If'n you pay my price."

"Where are you from, Ils?"

"Nowhere in particular." He says it to annoy, and the woman twitches, but the other officer doesn't react.

"You're not Genii, not with a name like that."

Ils suppresses a laugh. "Genii! Not me."

"You just work for them."

"For the Genii? Those misers?"

"Then who?"

He shrugs. "Myself."

And he barely blinks, but the woman is on him, no weapon but her anger to push him back. "Your plan?" she spits at him, and he struggles away from her.

"For the money! The money for myself!" Ils cries out, more to the other officer than to her. "Ancestors, don't you know what conducat are?"

"Enough, Captain," says the officer.

"Sir," says the woman, and steps back, too slowly to be anything but reluctant to follow that order.

Ils glares at the captain when she's far enough away. "Wraith-blooded -" The other officer snaps his fingers in front of Ils' face, and he flinches, turning back to the man. The officer nods once, his expression still cold. Ils can't tell if he's angry with the captain, or if it was planned. 

He's starting to believe the stories. You can't trust the Lanteans. You never know what they're thinking. You never know what they'll do. The officer is too pale to be the Black Colonel, but that doesn't reassure him. Soldiers like this, they are always shadows of their leader.

"Who do you work for?" asks the officer.

If he gives them Yanek, will he ever see another sunset?


He watches Janel walk, stiff-backed, ten paces ahead. It's easy enough to fall in beside Teyla. Not so easy to work out what the hell he's doing here.

"May I ask," says Teyla, gently, "why you chose to join us?" And they swear she isn't telepathic, he thinks.

"Orders, ma'am," he says, still watching the medic. "I'm to keep an eye on her."

Teyla sighs. "If I can, I will take her to my people."

He nods. Makes sense. The Athosian settlement has taken in more than a few refugees from other planets.

"It could be considered a security risk, Janel leaving so soon after the - incident on Ushant." Teyla's choosing her words carefully. "But I do not intend to force her back to Atlantis."

"Understood, ma'am." He flicks a glance at Teyla, who looks sceptical. "Captain told me to stay with her." She frowns at him, not understanding. "On M9D-294. Hostile situation like that, you have to make sure the civilians are secure. Mission doesn't end until everybody's safe."

Teyla watches him carefully, and he looks away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He watches Janel, and doesn't reply when Teyla says, quietly, "Thank you."


The door to the interrogation room opens, and the soldiers slam to attention once more. The two officers do so, too, the man standing up so fast that his chair spins away a little.

The officer who enters is tall and dark-haired. He wears the same dark uniform as the other soldiers, and while his expression is benign and he holds himself with less formality than the others, Ils knows.

"At ease, gentlemen," says the new officer. "Captain, Major," he adds, nodding to the officers in turn.

"Colonel," they reply in chorus, and Ils grips the side of his own chair to stop the shake in his hand.

"You're dismissed, Captain -" The Colonel waves away her stammered "Sir, I-", saying "I understand Major Lorne is still in surgery. You could ask the medical team to send me an update."

The woman is suddenly pale, and Ils has a moment to wonder that she didn't do him more damage, if the dead man means so much to her. She's gone, as fast as she moved to strike him, and now Ils is facing the Black Colonel.

The Colonel takes hold of the chair, twisting it round and sitting to lean on the back. He looks at Ils, who can't look away. After a moment, the Colonel frowns, and gestures at the side of Ils' face, swelling from where the captain struck him. "Radio did that?"

The major freezes, then says "Yessir, when AR-27 apprehended him."

"That true?"

"Sir-" starts the major, but the Colonel cuts him off, pointing at Ils.

"She knocked me out on 'shant," says Ils, not able to keep the bitterness from his voice.

The Colonel smiles. It's not a nice smile. "Radio's concerned about Major Lorne."

"We all are, sir," says his subordinate.

The Colonel nods. "Lorne's the one you called a dead man, Ils."

"I never -"

"Lorne's the man you shot, Ils."

"I -"

"Radio's worked with Lorne for, what, going on two and a half years now?"

"That sounds about right, sir."

"He's been my second-in-command for five. Strange how you come to rely on someone."

The Colonel's smile vanishes, and Ils can't help but lean away from the man.

"Who are you working for?"


The market is busy. Plenty to trade for, even with what little she has. A blade, a few pills, ones they hand out like candy on Atlantis for little aches and pains, and her skills. She does have skills. She is medicat.

Teyla dogs her elbow.

"She had no right."

"I know," says Teyla, soothing.

"They have no right." Teyla doesn't argue, but she doesn't understand. "They can't just - What gives them the right?" She stumbles, and Collins catches her elbow, and she pulls away from him. "You can't just -" She stops, tries to catch her breath.

Last time she was here, the market had been as busy as today, but she had trailed the edges. Last time she was on Ordan -

"The last time I was here, I was selling herbs to cure cancers, chalk for fever. Offering up prayer scrips for broken bones. That's what the Wraith did to me, after your friend woke them." Teyla flinches at that, and Janel feels perversely pleased. "Everything I was. My home. Everyone I loved. Gone. They can't just fix that. They can't just 're-train' that memory out of me."

"We wish to help you, Janel," says Teyla.

"Oh, yes, you do mean well."

She pulls away from Teyla once more, and heads to the centre of the market. She is medicat. She can go anywhere she wants, and find work. She is skilled.

She walks to the skills market.


"Yanek. Gos Yanek. He's conducat, like me. Highest bidder in any fight, that's who Yanek works for."

"Who was the highest bidder?"

"I don't know! Swear by the Ancestors, he never told me. I didn't ask, not for that money." Ils takes a breath.

"Genii, most likely," says the major, and the Colonel nods.

"Not Genii," says Ils. "They fight their own wars. We worked with some, but it didn't stick. You find anyone says they're paid by the Genii, they are Genii."

"Who, then?"

"I don't know! Ask Yanek!"

"I will. Where do we find him?"

"At the skills."

"The what now?"

"The skills market. Yanek doesn't fight any more, he hires the men who do, and he stays at the skills market in case a better deal comes along. Everybody knows to find conducat at the skills market. No different from a smith or a cordwainer-" Ils can't stop himself babbling, and the Colonel cuts him off with an impatient hand.


"On Ordan."

Continued in Coward

Would you believe me if I told you that this unexpected plot development had been planned right from when I wrote The City is an Island? No? No, I don't either.
Note to self - always Google alien planet names before you post. And great, now I have 'Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies, farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain...' going round my head...

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