At the same time all vital signs monitors started going berserk.
Inside the isolation tent, Carson and his staff were working frantically. A moment ago he’d shouted for epinephrine. One of the nurses rolled the defibrillator within easy reach. Anyone with even basic medical knowledge would realize the implications. Elizabeth did. So did Ronon. The hand he’d placed on her shoulder tightened painfully.
Ronon didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
Finally the flurry of motion around John’s bed settled, slowed, and then trickled away into calm. Carson blew out a sigh that was audible even outside the tent and left.
A couple of minutes later he stepped out of the airlock. “He’s stable,” Carson said before either of them could ask. “For now.”
“He’ll stay that way,” announced Ronon. “Unless you send McKay flying again.”
Carson stared at him, the look on his face indicating that he was a hair away from giving Ronon a psych assessment. “Excuse me?” he said at last. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Ronon has a theory.” Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair. “I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else.” Then she explained.
To her utter surprise, Carson’s face lit up to the point of triumph. “Ha!” he shouted. “I’d forgotten about that! Mind you, never would have expected it to work that well. And it’s still experimental.”
She stared at him. “Carson?”
“Aye.”
“Carson, what the hell is it?”
“Oh… Of course…” He winced. “Zelenka and Colonel Sheppard and I have been working on a kind of amplifier that allows for long-distance interface with a Jumper.”
“And why exactly wasn’t I told about it?”
His face flushed crimson. “Uh… surprise?”
“Uhuh. Consider me surprised. And given the effect it seems to be having on the human cardio-vascular system, consider the project cancelled.”
“But—”
“Cancelled!”
“Aye.”
Chapter 30
The rain was coming down on a leaden, perfectly still infinity of ocean. All told, it probably was better than an outright downpour, but in some ways it was worse. Teyla felt as though she was inhaling water that slunk under her skin and soaked her inside and out. Between the low clouds and the gossamer veil of spray, the world seemed wrapped in gray, seemed to have gone into mourning. This at least struck her as fitting.
More people had died, more would die yet.
John was still hanging on, but Dr. Beckett was cautious about raising hopes. No matter how hard he fought, the outcome looked certain.
“See anything yet?”
Ronon’s question rose over the dull rattle of the outboard engine and scattered her thoughts. She was grateful for it. They had a task to fulfill, and the distraction of grief was a luxury she could ill afford. There would be time for it, but that time wasn’t now.
She focused her attention away from that pewter seascape and back to the piers that surrounded Atlantis like the petals of a giant flower. And she was grateful for the diversion this task provided. Same as Ronon, she suspected. He’d practically leaped to the chance of doing something— anything— productive, rather than sitting and waiting for things to get worse. This despite the fact that their current mission would hardly keep them busy for longer than half an hour at best.
The Jumper bay’s hatch had remained stuck ever since Rodney’s departure, and he had been forced to land outside the city. Whether on purpose or simply because his skills as a pilot were questionable, to say the least, he’d set down the Jumper on the south pier. Normally it wouldn’t have been a problem, but now interior access to the south pier was cut off by the flood waters that had submerged several sectors of the city after the shield failure sparked by the opening of the stasis pods. An eternity ago, it seemed. For now it meant that Rodney had to be collected by different means, which in turn explained her and Ronon’s little jaunt in the inflatable.
“There,” she said suddenly, pointing ahead.
The Jumper sat right at the edge of the pier, a dark ungainly lump, on the verge of teetering. The hatch was closed, and there was no sign of Rodney.
“Probably gone off to forage. Hasn’t eaten in over two hours.” Ronon steered the inflatable alongside the pier, throttled the engine until they merely crept forward, and nosed toward a mooring ring with a ladder beside it. “You going?” he asked.
Teyla nodded. Although he would have denied it vehemently, the ladder presented a problem for his injured shoulder. Grabbing on to a rung, she pulled herself to a stand, stepped over, and climbed up top. The Jumper still sat quiet and seemingly deserted, rain lacquering the hull. She ran to the hatch, banged at it.
“Rodney? Rodney, are you in there?” Moments later, she heard a soft hum and the hatch began to open. “Rodney?”
“Who else would it be, and where else would I be? You didn’t expect me to stand around outside in this, did you?” The hatch struck the surface of the pier with a dull clang, and he walked down the ramp, resealed the Jumper behind him.
“Over there,” Teyla pointed toward the ladder. “Ronon’s waiting in the dinghy.”
“Dinghy? Great,” he muttered and trotted off in the direction she’d indicated.
“Why did you put down here instead of the east pier?” Teyla asked, jogging after him.
“And get flattened by the Daedalus when she lands?”
A reasonable precaution, she supposed, although there probably would have been room enough. Still, better safe than sorry. “So they are coming back?”
“They’re already here. Sadly, so are the Wraith. Daedalus had to pluck a couple of Darts off my tail.” He had adopted the tone and swagger of a seasoned fighter pilot; an image marred slightly when he missed the first rung of the ladder, slid down abruptly, and almost struck his chin on the edge of the pier before managing to control his descent.
Teyla knew better than to laugh. The same could not be said for Ronon, and Rodney sent a baleful stare at the dinghy and its occupant. “Did you have to bring him?”
“You want to swim?”
By ways of a promise, Ronon started the outboard engine, and Rodney picked up his pace, leaped aboard. The inflatable bobbed madly under the impact, and if Ronon hadn’t reached out and grabbed his arm, he would indeed have gone swimming.
“That’s why they call you a genius, right?” growled the Satedan.
Their habitual exchange of pleasantries was cut short by a low, resonant rumble that seeped into her core and set every tooth and bone of her body to vibrate. Above, the pale sheet of clouds darkened to charcoal menace, seemed to solidify until, at last, the gigantic underbelly of the Daedalus peeled from them, scattering wisps of mist like an animal shaking itself. As the ship descended and grew, so did the noise of her engines, loud enough to send a tremor through the city and across the ocean, making its surface curl as though the water had begun to boil.
“Let’s go!”
She had to read Ronon’s lips, his shout inaudible under the roar of the Daedalus. Somewhat more carefully than Rodney, Teyla climbed aboard the dinghy and was barely seated, when Ronon opened the throttle. Ducking under the weight of the spaceship, the tiny inflatable raced back toward the east pier.
By the time they arrived, Daedalus was safely on the ground, her engines silent, apart from an odd hiss and puff here and there as some hydraulic system vented or a gush of water landed on hot metal. Steam rose around her, roiling and swaying like breath on a winter morning, and made her appear otherworldly— which she was, Teyla reminded herself— and alive.
Her next thought was blanked out by a white rush of disorientation, and she had to fight not to lose her balance when she suddenly found herself on the bridge of the Daedalus.
Beside her, Rodney was reeling a little, muttering angrily. “I hate it when they do that. And without warning, too.”
“Welcome aboard. Thought we’d better ge
t you in out of the rain.” A tall, handsome man with wheat-colored curls and blue eyes grinned at Teyla and her companions. “Major Laval,” he introduced himself, then peered at Rodney. “You must be McKay. I’m guessing Sheppard’s flying lessons haven’t covered landings yet. That was the worst I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t recall asking you to watch.” Rodney’s pilot persona was seriously deflated, and he didn’t take too kindly to it. “Besides, I walked away from it, didn’t I?”
“Uhuh.” Laval snorted. “Two feet over, and you’d have swum away from it.”
“Ronon Dex,” the Satedan offered his hand, grin barely hidden.
“Heard a lot about you. Pleased to meet you.” Laval shook, then his gaze traveled back to Teyla. “Then you must be Teyla Emmagan.”
“I am. Welcome to Atlantis, Major, though I’m afraid circumstances force us to be less than hospitable. Dr. McKay tells us the hive-ship is in orbit.”
Geniality was replaced by grim concern, and Laval nodded. “Yup. We slipped in while they were playing on the far side of Lantea, but I gotta tell you, your shield ain’t looking too good. We caught several more blips on the way down. Right now it seems to be holding, but…” He didn’t have to finish.
“Yes, yes, yes. We’re aware of that.” Apparently, Rodney had recovered from his consternation. “And it’s all the more reason not to stand around and chat, stimulating as the conversation might be. Major,” he turned to Laval. “Have your guys shut down the Asgard transporter and disconnect the power supply. But for God’s sake, leave the actual removal to me. We can’t afford its getting damaged.” He swung around, pointed at Teyla. “You, and the walking wounded. With me.” Not waiting for a reply, Rodney strode off the bridge.
Laval stared after him for a second. “Does he ever use the words please and thank you?”
“Only if his life depends on it,” Teyla said, smiling. “I would ask you to join us and meet Dr. Weir, but it will be safer for you and your crew if you don’t enter the city. We shall take all possible precautions on our end.”
“Much appreciated. Anything I can assist you with, just let me know.”
“We will. Thank you, Major.”
A bellow that sounded like Rodney echoed from the hallway. “Are you coming? Today?”
“I suppose we’d better go.”
Teyla nodded at Ronon, and they headed after Rodney who, by the time they caught up with him, was halfway down the massive ramp that lead from the Daedalus’s belly to the ground. Excitement over receiving the wherewithal to realize his idea drove him like a gust of wind, across the pier and to the door at the base of the east tower. But the moment the door slid open and they set foot in Atlantis again, it died as if it, too, had contracted the virus.
After the cool freshness of the ocean breeze outside, it was only too obvious; even down here the air was ripe with the smell of sickness, an ill-omened combination of disinfectant and sweat, pain and fear.
For a long, shameful moment, Teyla wanted nothing more than to run back outside and breathe. Just breathe, without being reminded with every gulp of air you took. Then the first blast rocked the city in its foundations, and her desire was wiped out instantly.
The Wraith had arrived.
Chapter 31
The briefing— if, indeed, such military terminology applied; there were too many civilian variables— appeared to be nearing its critical phase. But they had yet to fill in a great many missing pieces, and those would decide the outcome.
Then again, Teal’c had made up his mind quite some time ago. Two days and twenty hours ago, to be precise, back in that cavern on the island, when Amara had returned O’Neill to life. As far as Teal’c of the Jaffa was concerned, anything the woman asked of him was hers. She had saved his brother.
Of course, matters were not as simple for the Tauri. They never were.
Teal’c leaned back in his chair, smoothed the folds of his robe, relieved to be wearing his own garments again. To be clean and, mercifully, odorless. General Landry had insisted that, prior to the briefing, they all took an hour to wash and put on fresh clothes. It certainly rendered the atmosphere in the briefing room a great deal more pleasant than it might have been otherwise. On a purely sensual level, that was. As for the intellectual and emotional levels, those might indeed turn quite unpleasant within the next few minutes.
“Amara, what can you tell us about this?” Daniel Jackson asked, sliding the copy of the Ancient document— now encased in clear plastic for protection— across the table and toward the woman.
Bracing her shoulders, she slowly reached out. Two fingers carefully touched the sheet. “The Teacher wanted me to document it all,” she said softly. “Our actions. Our dream.” For a long moment she stared at it, then glanced up at Daniel Jackson. “You, of course, would be aware of the cardinal rule of those you call the Ancients. No matter who requires your help, no matter how badly that help is needed, you are not to interfere with the doings of lesser races. There were many of us who felt that this rule was wrong, merciless, even criminal, that far more harm would be done by refusing help than by rendering it. So we tried to reason with the council. Many times, over many years.
“The schism was irreconcilable, and at last the Teacher decreed that my people should leave. But it didn’t mean we had given up our dream. Since the Lanteans and their council refused to see reason, they would have to be persuaded by other means; means that would turn the tables on them, leave them helpless.”
“Biological warfare,” Colonel Carter said, her voice cold with disgust.
As well it might be, Teal’c thought. They had experienced the ravages of the disease firsthand, and O’Neill had paid a terrible price for the cure.
“You created the Ancient virus?” Daniel Jackson’s voice sounded hoarse, and he slipped a fast, sidelong glance at O’Neill whose face was unreadable.
“No.” Amara shook her head. “It had been a scourge of the Lanteans for a long time. We merely took the virus and modified it, so it would only attack those of our race.”
“Yeah. That worked really well,” General Landry threw in. “You want to guess just how many sick humans they’ve got on Atlantis right now? And from what I understand there’s no known cure.”
“Oh, there is,” O’Neill muttered darkly. “Except, I can’t in good conscience recommend it to anybody.” He stared at Amara. “Don’t give your teacher any apples. Looks like his genius plan bombed. You hit the wrong guys.”
“I realize that,” she said. “And I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am. It was not supposed to happen this way.”
“Oh, really?”
She either did not recognize the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “I can’t explain it. The dispersal mechanism was supposed to be triggered by the opening of the last stasis pod. It should have happened within days of their arrival in the Pegasus Galaxy.”
Speculation was cut short. Sergeant Harriman entered the briefing room, clutching a sheet of paper. His face split into a broad grin when he saw them. “General. Colonel. Hi, Dr. Jackson. Teal’c. Cassandra.” And with an uncertain look at Amara and General Landry, “Ma’am. General.”
“You finished with the roll call, Walter?” General Landry asked.
“Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Just checking. Let’s hear it.”
“Korolev established scheduled contact with the Daedalus. They got a sit rep from Major Laval, sir.” The way the Sergeant’s smile crumpled indicated that the news was not good. “Atlantis is under attack. Their shield function is intermittent, so they’re taking hits. Daedalus is shielded, but they can’t take off until Dr. McKay has finished.”
“Finished what?” Colonel Carter frowned.
“Beats me, ma’am. Major Laval said something about removing the Asgard transporter.”
“What on Earth would he do that for?”
No answer was forthcoming, so General Landry asked, “What about the medical situation?”
“It’s bad, sir. From what Major Laval’s saying, they haven’t had any new cases in the last couple hours, but those folks who’ve got the bug aren’t doing real well.”
This was an understatement, if Teal’c remembered correctly.
Judging from O’Neill’s expression, he was of the same opinion. “How many dead?”
“Seven now, but that’s expected to rise. Trouble is, Colonel Sheppard is really sick, and so’s pretty much everyone else who’s got the gene. With the exception of Drs. McKay and Beckett, but Dr. McKay’s doing whatever he’s doing with that transporter. Other than Dr. Beckett they’ve got nobody to man the defense system, and they can’t really spare him in the infirmary.”
“Hang on. You mean to tell me that Beckett’s sitting in that chair?” O’Neill gasped. “Okay, that does it. Carter?”
“Sir?”
“I don’t care how you do it, but you establish a wormhole to the Pegasus Galaxy right now. Looks like they could do with some reinforcements.”
“Whoa!” hollered General Landry. “First of all, Jack, this is my sandbox now. Sorry to break the news. Second, are you out of your mind?”
“Hank, if Beckett’s manning that chair, the Atlantis expedition is toast. He accidentally sent one of those drones up Sheppard’s and my butt back in Antarctica, downed our chopper and damn near killed us. The guy’s a great doc, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing in that chair. He’s as likely to bring down the command tower as he’s to slam a Wraith ship.”
“I don’t care! I’m not authorizing anyone under my command to set foot into a plague zone.”
“I’m not under your command, Hank. And I’m one of the happy few who actually are immune to that thing. Fraiser checked when… well, back then. I’ve got antibodies coming out of my ears.”
“Me too.” Colonel Carter. Then she sighed. “But I don’t see any way we can establish a wormhole. I’ve never been able to figure out what exactly General O’Neill did between that staff weapon’s naquadah core and the kitchen sink and the main breaker panel to rustle up enough power to dial a gate address outside our galaxy. And believe me, it’s not for want of trying.”
STARGATE SG-1: Transitions Page 24
