“Thanks, Major. That’s perfect,” Carter said, poor deluded fool. “Rodney, let’s get this show on the road.”
“There are Wraith on the ground,” Rodney parroted very slowly. “Wraith on the ground is Not A Good Thing.”
“We’ll handle them.”
“What in God’s name do you think we’ve been trying to do here for the past two years?”
Instead of answering a perfectly reasonable question, Carter hit a button on the sled’s controls. The mountain moved. Rapidly, as a matter of fact. She fell in behind it and disappeared out the engine room door, leaving Rodney no choice. She had no experience with the Wraith.
Samantha Carter needed him.
The thought propelled Rodney down the corridor at unprecedented speed. Notwithstanding, she was already at the bottom of the ramp by the time he caught up with her. Outside it was almost completely dark, which was good news, Rodney decided. If he couldn’t see them, the Wraith couldn’t see him. Or something…
Atlantis itself was dark, not a single speck of light inside the buildings, which suggested that Zelenka had lost his battle to stay ahead of the virus and keep the power supply online. Well, that was no less than Rodney had expected, no reflection on Zelenka. Here and there among the structures bubbles of glow flickered in the night; small fires, burning remnants of the battle. More brightness over on the other side of the city, comfortably distant for now, but the shrill flashes of missiles and energy beams and drones fell short of being entirely comforting.
Overhead a glider screamed past, and Rodney ducked, realizing only belatedly that a) this must have been one half of their air cover, and b) they were still within Daedalus’s shield.
Carter tugged at his sleeve. “This way.”
Heading in the direction she’d indicated, he noted with some dismay that This way, obviously, led out into the open.
Serves you right, McKay. You just had to figure out how to punch a doorway into the shield, hadn’t you?
It was still raining, and he hunched his shoulders against the cold as he fell into a brisk trot. Ten yards, twenty. Ahead loomed the charcoal shadow of the east tower, which should have been reassuring, except it seemed to do that nightmare thing of sliding backward as fast as Rodney ran toward it. The F302s were nowhere in sight, probably because they didn’t want to draw attention to what was happening on the pier.
The sled bopped up and over a heap of twisted metal. A Wraith Dart, brought down by a drone. Rodney had visions of its pilot lurking inside, smacking his lips and congratulating himself on subscribing to this convenient meals-on-wheels service.
Don’t go there, McKay!
Unlike the sled, they had to take the long way round the ruined ship. Without incident. No Wraith leaping out at them, not even the faintest sucking noise. Rodney breathed a soft sigh of relief and upped his pace, just to be on the safe side.
Screeching like a banshee, the Dart seemed to come out of nowhere. He felt a hard shove in his midsection, lost his balance, and sailed backward into a puddle, flailing like a beetle. Sam Carter landed on top of him. Which was kind of nice. Not so nice was the transporter beam swishing past them with inches to spare. The Dart screeched louder as if annoyed at having come up empty.
“The sled!” he yelped. “They mustn’t get the sled. We need—”
“Stay down!” Sam Carter hissed into his ear. It tickled. “If they get it, we think of something else.”
Oh, sure. He’d already thought of everything else.
Then the gliders were on the Wraith ship, like ravens mobbing a strange bird that had invaded their territory. Carter scrambled to her feet— just when he thought he could get used to this— and grabbed his hand to yank him after her.
“Come on, Rodney!” she shouted. “Let’s go! We’re nearly there!”
The sled was still moving, almost at the east tower now, which probably was as constructive a development as anyone could expect at this moment. He ran after it, suddenly unconcerned by Darts and Wraith and even Sam’s presence. If they lost the equipment on the sled, they’d lose Atlantis.
Yes, McKay, just keep those positive thoughts coming, why don’t you?
Sounded a little like Sheppard, actually, but there was no trace of any holographic projections or other apparitions. Well, other than Samantha Carter, and this one wasn’t an apparition. Too much outerwear, for starters.
Suddenly the entrance to the east tower gaped in front of him, wedged open— like most doors on Atlantis would be by now. No doubt the Wraith would send them a thank-you note. Posthumously. Then again, you couldn’t argue with the convenience.
He shot through the door, slipped on the wet floor, and collided with the sled which, unaccountably, had come to a halt smack in the middle of the blacked-out corridor. “Ow! What the hell?”
“Sorry,” said Carter. “I don’t know where you want this, so I stopped the sled.”
“Yeah. Terrific place to park bulky equipment.” He was tempted to add something pithy regarding women drivers, but self-preservation won out.
She flicked on a flashlight, shone the beam at him. “Rodney? Where to?”
“Command center. I need direct access to the mainframe.” He squinted. “And for God’s sake, point that someplace else! I’m going blind.”
With a slight nudge of the controls, Teal’c flipped the glider on its wing. The craft responded with admirable precision— better and easier than a death glider would have, he conceded— and swooped into a tight turn around the corner of a building. His pursuer’s shot struck that corner, causing considerable damage. Which was to be regretted, but preferable to the alternative.
Throttle open, he looped full circle around the structure and, just as planned, came up behind the Wraith Dart, turning the tables on its pilot. The end was quick. His missile shredded the Dart, and Teal’c’s glider soared above smoking debris as it peppered the ground. He whipped out across the ocean and into a turn, preparing for his next attack run.
His radio hissed, spat static. Then his wingman said, “Glider Four, you’ve got a bogie on your six. I’m on it.”
Daedalus’s pilots were skilled and reliable. This one proved it once more, destroying the Dart even before Teal’c’s glider came out of the roll he had initiated to evade any enemy fire.
“I am obliged,” Teal’c said into the radio.
“No problem. Just do the same for me, as and when.”
“I shall endeavor my utmost.”
He signed off, returning his full attention to the battle. The Wraith’s strategy seemed obvious. After their short-lived interest in the south pier, they once more concentrated fire on the Daedalus, in order to weaken her shield and destroy the most immediate threat. And yet, it was too obvious, instinct and decades upon decades of hard-won experience insisted. Something about the enemy’s attack pattern bothered Teal’c. Perhaps the Wraith had influenced his mind, as he had been warned they could, but he did not believe so. He had been subjected to this kind of hunch many times before, and entirely without Wraith.
Fact was, the current strategy forced O’Neill to concentrate the drone fire on the craft that attacked Daedalus, instead of the hive-ship that remained concealed in the cover of the clouds.
Fact also was that other areas of Atlantis lay unprotected, ostensibly of little interest to anyone.
Which was what he was meant to think, was it not?
Teal’c decided it was high time he examined just how irrelevant these areas truly were.
“Follow me,” he ordered his wingman, dipped the nose of his glider, and shot toward the lower levels of Atlantis, skimming among buildings and hugging the ground for cover.
Dusk was sliding into night with little fanfare. No sunset, no dramatic shadows, simply a gradual dimming of light, which might yet prove to be of advantage. The question was to whom.
His reconnaissance flight took him over the south pier, which was where the Wraith had been spotted earlier. It lay deserted now, not showing much d
amage, so Teal’c veered off, swung around, and headed west to the sector farthest removed from Daedalus and the battle.
He flew a quick pass over a wide, open square that seemed to be a gathering or recreation ground. Still basins of water, slabs of stone that might have been benches, large troughs, planters perhaps, though now they were barren. This place, too, appeared to be devoid of life, but at the last moment, just as he raced out toward the open sea, he thought he saw a flicker of motion behind one of the stone slabs. True, he might have been mistaken, but in these things Teal’c rarely was. Rarely enough to warrant a second pass.
“Hey, Glider Four! What the hell are you doing?” his wingman complained as Teal’c swooped into the turn.
“I believe there is activity on the pier.”
“Activity, my—”
The Darts streaked from the cover of the clouds like vicious birds of prey. Four of them, which put the odds distinctly in their favor. It also told Teal’c that he had seen correctly and that something was indeed happening on the supposedly deserted pier. But for the moment this was of secondary concern.
He yanked the glider into vertical flight, watched one of the Darts scream through directly beneath him. Then the clouds swallowed him. Relying on instinct rather than instruments, he let the glider stall for a moment and nosed sharply downward, bursting from the clouds just in time to see his wingman in trouble. The lance of energy shooting from the enemy craft missed by a hair. The Wraith pilot did not get a chance to repeat his mistake. Its tail clipped by Teal’c’s missile, the Dart spun out of control and tumbled into the ocean beneath.
The other three kept coming.
Teal’c’s radio crackled. “Thanks, Four. Stay on my tail. I’ve got an idea. When I tell you, break left.”
“As you say.”
The remaining Darts broke formation; two swooped in behind Teal’c and his wingman, the third was coming at them on a collision course. They fired virtually at the same time.
“Break!” the other pilot bellowed.
As Teal’c banked hard left, his wingman turned right. The energy beams streaked between them, their paths crossing, and the result was as inevitable as it was satisfying. Two more Darts went down, struck by each other’s fire. The surviving craft climbed for the clouds and disappeared.
The wingman let out a rebel yell. “Thing about the Wraith, they’re scary bastards, but none too swift when it comes to tactics,” he gloated.
Teal’c felt it would be wiser to postpone the gloating until the battle— rather than a mere fight— was won, but he chose to keep that opinion to himself and once more resumed course for the west pier.
Within seconds he realized that his hunch had, in fact, been on the money, as the Tauri would put it. The large square he had noticed on the first pass was no longer quiet. There were figures moving, and moving quickly and stealthily. A broad, narrow fan of light suddenly strafed the ground. When it winked out there were ten more figures rushing after the others. Teal’c had never seen this kind of technology before, but it was obvious that the bright fan had been some kind of transporter beam.
As he drew closer he could see the figures more clearly. Not unlike humans, but taller on average, with flowing white hair. Wraith. They were putting troops on the ground, clearly with the object of attempting an incursion into the city. It would seem that Teal’c’s wingman had been mistaken in his evaluation of Wraith tactics.
In attacking Daedalus, they had created a plausible diversion, and their plan had almost succeeded. It was high time someone complicated matters for them.
“Oh hell!” Apparently the other pilot had arrived at the same conclusion.
“Notify Major Laval,” Teal’c ordered tersely. “Dr. Weir must be warned to organize her defense.”
Chapter 34
“What’s going on?” John realized that he sounded just about desperate. And he wasn’t going to be ashamed of it either. He was sick to death— pun intended— of staying zipped up in his outsize freezer bag and waiting for people to tiptoe in cagily, take his pulse, and dispense bad news in homeopathic doses.
The only one who treated him like a normal human being was the girl. She also seemed to be amazingly clued in.
“Where’s your friend?” he asked.
“She asked to be taken to the command center after we were finished here. I think she’s trying to help Sam and Dr. McKay.”
“Help them with what?”
The girl looked at him, frowned. “You’re not supposed to sit up, Dr. Beckett says.”
Dr. Beckett might have a point, because John’s head hurt like all-get-out and also felt a little chilly for some reason. The headache was to be expected since they’d apparently seen the need to drill a hole in his skull. Which Carson obligingly had stitched up and bandaged half an hour ago. As for the chilly factor, John had a nasty hunch he couldn’t bring himself to verify just yet. Besides there were more urgent matters to worry about.
Dammit, he could hear the shouts and the booms and all the rest of it, and he’d also picked up on the fact that there were Wraith at the front door and the shield wasn’t working.
So he was going to discharge himself.
Just as soon as this one minor problem was sorted out.
Suddenly the girl grinned. “You know, my mom would have loved to have you as a patient. Jack used to call her Napoleonic power monger. He’s about as crazy about being laid up as you are.”
“Jack?”
“General O’Neill.”
Ah. That would explain the clued-in part. This kid was connected and then some. “What’s your name?”
“Cassie. Cassie Fraiser.”
“You, uh… you were there, with that woman, weren’t you?”
“Amara.” The girl nodded. “She’s what they call an Ancient round here.”
And this would explain what the lady had done— for him and all the other critical patients. It didn’t, however, explain the fact that Cassie had helped her.
“But you’re not,” he decided.
“Nope.”
“So, how come you’re able to do what she’s doing?” And pretty weird it was, too. John had known he was dying. Until he’d felt the pair of them rummage through his system, turning it upside down, stamping out that bug, undoing the damage it had done.
“Long story.” She shrugged. “I’d tell you, but I guess right now isn’t the time for it.”
True enough. Besides there was that minor problem to be sorted out.
Clutching the cover around his front, John pushed himself up and experimentally dangled his legs over the side of the bed. No complaints. Apart from his head, but that was manageable.
“Can I ask you a favor?” he said.
“Sure.” Commendable bedside manner.
“Look, I’m going to get out of here one way or the other, but on the whole I’d prefer wearing pants when I do. Think you can find me a pair?”
The frown crept back. “I don’t know… Dr. Beckett said not to let you out of my sight, and I’m in trouble already.”
“So you definitely want to avoid getting into trouble with a US Air Force colonel as well.”
“Colonel, I’m in trouble with a US Air Force general, which takes things to a whole new threat level, let me tell you.”
“Ouch. I hate being outranked.” He winced. “What did you do?”
“Uh…” Cassie blushed violently. “Jack kinda told me to stay at the SGC. I, uh, didn’t. Let’s just say he wasn’t exactly happy to see me here.”
“Kinda told you, huh? Left room for interpretation, did he?”
“Not really.”
“Ouch,” he said again, trying hard not to grin. He liked this kid. “Why did you do it?”
Embarrassment gave way to an odd mix of grief and fury. “Because I wasn’t going to stay put and wait till some guy in a uniform turns up at my door and tells me he regrets to inform me that—” She cut herself off, angrily swiped at tears, and took a deep breath. “Sam and Jac
k and Teal’c and Daniel are all the family I’ve got left. I couldn’t stay behind and do nothing.”
At last John managed to connect the dots. Cassie Fraiser. Dr. Janet Fraiser had been the chief medical officer at the SGC and must have been her mother. KIA.
“In that case you know why I have to get out of here,” he said quietly. “That’s my family fighting out there. I’m not gonna stay behind and do nothing.”
For an endless moment she stared at him silently. Then she gave a sharp nod. “I get it. I’ll be right back.”
And so she was, a couple minutes later, packing a set of surgical scrubs and checking over her shoulder if any of the handful of staff still milling around outside the freezer bag was watching. “Found these in a cupboard. Can’t hurt to dress like the natives if you want to go unnoticed.”
“Good point. Thanks. Now turn around.” John waited until she was facing away from him and climbed into the scrubs. Damn near got lost in them, too. The sleeves— short, supposedly— came down nearly to his wrists, and right now he was standing on the legs. So much for going unnoticed. “What size is this, for Pete’s sake? Mammoth XL?”
“They had small, medium, and large. So I thought I’d take—”
“Hopeless,” he finished for her.
Sneaking a glance, her eyes went wide. Then she turned all the way back, burst out laughing. “Oops! Guess you look taller lying down.”
“Thanks for mentioning it.” Height was a sore point.
“Uh, maybe if you roll up the legs a little…” She managed to bank the laughter down to a giggle. “It’ll be safer anyway. You don’t want to trip.” Then she held out a small wad of fabric she still was clutching. “Here. You’d better put this on.”
“What’s that?”
“Surgical cap. Your minimalist hairdo’s gonna stand out a little.”
“My what?” The chilly factor… Squinting with suspicion, John touched his head and froze. Oh, man! Nasty hunch confirmed. He’d liked his hair, dammit! “Beckett, you’re a dead man,” he growled.
STARGATE SG-1: Transitions Page 27
