SGA - 14 - Death Game by Jo Graham Page B

doing things my parents and my grandmother could not have dreamed of. And one day I will go home. I will teach and I will research and I will be astonished by the things that children think of.
    Or perhaps I will die here. Perhaps the Wraith will have me one of these times, or any of the other innumerable hazards. If it is so, then it is, but I do not plan for it to be. I have the Devil’s luck. It may be true that every moment is stolen between the wars. But you and I, Ronon, we can steal.
    ***
    Ronon said nothing, but Radek saw the set of his shoulders change. “Let’s get the sail up,” Ronon said.
    “Let us,” Radek said, and stood on the bench to spread one side of the wet canvas. It would dry quickly enough he supposed, in the sun and wind. Yes, he thought, now we will do it together rather than you will do it for me because I am nothing but a package you are supposed to protect. Perhaps we have come that far.
    The breeze spread the sail and the boat began to move, skimming forward over the waves a little faster. It was by no means quick, but better than it had been. They were getting somewhere at least.
    Ronon grinned, the wind lifting his hair like streamers behind him. It was hard not to be caught in the beauty of it—the pleasure of an engineering problem beautifully solved, as men had done for thousands of years. How many had stood on the deck of a boat like this, looking off across an unknown sea?
    “We might be the first men in the world,” Radek said. “The men who discovered sail.”
    “Because we don’t know any more about it than they did,” Ronon said, but he was smiling, an unguarded look that transformed his face.
    “We have theory,” Radek shrugged. “That must count for something.”

Chapter Seven
     
    Tolas was a big man with a shaven head and a very serious expression. He listened to their explanations with what Teyla thought was studious attention, though he said nothing and asked no questions, save whether or not Jitrine had given good service.
    John assured him that Jitrine had tended them with every care. While he spoke Teyla was free to look about cautiously, her eyes roving though she stood beside John. Tolas had chosen to meet with them in an inner courtyard where a small ornamental pond was shaded by tall trees. Flowering plants grew around, and the pool was graced with a small statue of a boy playing the flute. Still, for all its beauty, it was secure. The walls of the house were around three sides of the courtyard, three stories tall. The fourth wall had a gate that led to another courtyard from which came the shouts of men, a stable yard or, worse, a barracks. Without some idea of where they were going, they would be running blind into a maze of rooms, or perhaps straight into the greatest concentration of soldiers. And all the while it was pretty and very diplomatic. Teyla thought that this Tolas knew his business.
    John ended with an explanation of how they might be able to get the gate working, and if they did they would be valuable trading partners. Teyla was very proud of him. He had not threatened to shoot anyone once. More than once it irked her that Sheppard’s team did not seem to understand that shooting was not a terribly good way to find trading partners, something which had been a standing problem and had caused endless difficulties with supply, not to mention the inability to find a safe Alpha Site. She thought that Dr. Weir had spoken to him sharply after their last adventure, so perhaps he was attempting to mend his ways.
    Tolas paused for a long moment when he had finished, his chin resting upon his hand, his wrists circled by broad cuffs of leather worked with gold ornaments. “These are weighty decisions,” he said, “And matters of diplomacy that reach beyond this oasis. I cannot speak for The Chora.” His eyes skittered away from them, which Teyla thought a little odd. “You must speak to the King in Pelagia about this. It is his decision, as he is