STARGATE SG-1-19-23-Ouroboros-s08

by Melissa Scott

  “Teal’c!” He went to the rail a final time. “You find anything salvageable down there?”

  “No, O’Neill.” Teal’c looked up at him from the base of the stairs. “The Atlantis expedition left nothing behind.”

  “Right.” Jack squared his shoulder. “OK, Carter. Dial the gate.”

  The last chevron locked as Jack came down the gateroom stairs, and the wormhole opened with a whoosh of blue. It steadied, stabilized, and he looked over his shoulders.

  “Ready, Carter?”

  “Almost there, sir.” She was still bent over the console, locking down the last systems. Daniel came down the stairs, folding the expedition’s message into a tiny packet. He took a tin from his pocket, emptied the mints into his hand, and stuck the folded paper into the tin, pressing hard to seal it. He saw Jack looking, and shoved the handful of mints into a pocket.

  “We need to be sure somebody knows where we’ve gone.”

  “If anyone is stupid enough to try that thing after what happened to us,” Jack began, and shook his head. The SGC probably would make some kind of rescue attempt once it became clear they weren’t going to come back, and that was another reason to get moving, to figure out some way back before anyone else was put at risk.

  Daniel set the tin carefully on the steps below the Stargate, and looked up at the control room. “Sam?”

  “Coming,” she called, and hurried down the stairs.

  Teal’c moved closer. “I will go first, O’Neill.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ll take six.” He paused. “Ok, people, let’s move.”

  They came through the gate into a damp field flooded with golden light and long shadows. Early morning or late afternoon, Jack thought, shading his eyes. He hoped it was morning: more time to get their bearings before night magnified any dangers. Trees ringed the field, tall and dark, looking like any dozen worlds they’d visited in the Milky Way. The others were already moving forward, and Jack followed them, his hand resting lightly on his sidearm. The grass was damp underfoot, heavy dew or light rain, and the air smelled of a pine-like resin. Only the symbols on the DHD said he wasn’t in the Milky Way.

  “Anything?” he said quietly to Teal’c, who was scanning the surrounding woods, and the Jaffa shook his head.

  “I see no sign of habitation, O’Neill.”

  Daniel surveyed the meadow, then headed out into the long grass. Jack started to call him back, and stopped himself. They wouldn’t gain anything by being overcautious, either.

  “The gate’s in use,” Carter said, bending over the DHD. “It’s been dialed from Atlantis, and it’s dialed Atlantis twice, though there are maybe a dozen addresses in between. Mostly different, though one repeats —”

  They all heard it then, the heavy snick of P90s being armed, and Jack dove for cover beside the DHD, grabbing for his pistol. Carter and Teal’c were right beside him, and Daniel flattened himself into the grass of the clearing. But it was definitely a P90 they’d heard, and there was only one group of people in the Pegasus Galaxy who should be carrying those — unless, of course, Weir’s people had managed to lose them already, but he wasn’t going to think like that.

  “Identify yourself!” he shouted, and there was a rustle from the tree line.

  “General O’Neill?”

  The voice was familiar, one of the young Marine lieutenants, but Jack couldn’t come up with the name. “Yes. Who’s that?”

  “Come out where I can see you. Sir.”

  Carter stirred at that. “They ought to recognize you, sir.”

  “Yeah.” Jack peered around the edge of the DHD, trying to make out the shapes in the forest. It was evening, no doubt about it now, the light fading fast. “You first, lieutenant!”

  There was more movement in the trees, barely a shift of shadows, and then, slowly, a young Marine emerged from between the trees, his P90 braced and ready. Jack knew the face, the high-planed cheeks, and dredged his memory for the name.

  “Ford?” He stood just as slowly, showing his hands empty.

  “Sir!”

  Ford moved out onto the grass, weapons still ready, and Jack came cautiously toward him, his hands well away from his body. Something had definitely gone wrong here, more than just the problem with Atlantis itself, some kind of external threat, and there was no point pushing anything until he had a better idea what was going on. He passed Daniel, still flattened in the grass, and got a definite are-you-crazy glare as he went past. He was tempted to drop him his pistol, but knew Ford would see the movement. Instead, he kept walking, stopped when he and Ford were about fifteen feet from each other in the gathering dusk. He saw Ford’s shoulders sag, sheer relief, and the Marine brought his P90 to port-arms.

  “Sorry, sir, we’ve had some problems.” He paused. “Does this mean we’ve got a new ZPM?”

  Jack kept his face expressionless. “Not yet, I’m afraid. We were testing a new system and it — activated prematurely.”

  Ford grimaced, got himself under control immediately. “Look, sir, we need to get back to the city before full dark.”

  “City?”

  “Yes, sir.” For an instant, Ford’s face was relaxed, almost eager. “We found another Ancient city.”

  Jack waved for the others to join him, and the rest of Ford’s team eased out of the woods. They were in full armor, with stun grenades at their belts, and Jack looked curiously at Ford. “Problems, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir.” Ford’s voice was grim. “There’s an alien species in Pegasus, a hostile, it can make you see things that aren’t there — that’s why we didn’t rush out all at once, just in case it was another trick. And the locals don’t much like us, either. Colonel Sumner doesn’t want us to offer them any temptation by being out after dark.”

  That made sense, and Jack nodded. “What’s the problem with the locals?”

  Ford had started off toward the edge of the forest, obviously eager to get them moving, but that made him glance warily over his shoulder. “You should probably talk to Colonel Sumner about that, sir.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Daniel’s face tighten — he’d never liked Sumner — but this wasn’t the place to have that argument. For a miracle, Daniel seemed to realize it, and said nothing, trailing along in the Marines’ wake. They were nervy, Jack thought, not precisely jumpy, but definitely on edge, watching the trees as though they expected an ambush. It was contagious, and he found himself scanning the shadows himself, watching for a flicker of movement, anything that shouldn’t be there.

  “O’Neill.” Teal’c had drifted to his shoulder, spoke quietly enough that they were unlikely to be overheard. “I have seen no sign of these locals, nor any sign of technology that could match our own.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” And that made him wonder all the more, storing up questions to ask Sumner once they reached this city.

  They had joined a wider path, but there was still no sign of a human presence. The underbrush could as easily have been beaten down by animals as by human feet. And then, quite suddenly, they came around a gentle curve and the path opened up to reveal a lake and the ruins of a towered city beyond it. Lights glowed in the ruin, familiar floodlights and strings of bulbs, and tarps had been spread to make roofs and walls.

  Ford fell back a little, an easy grin on his face now that they were in sight of safety. “There it is, sir, Atlantis base.” He added, “The locals call it Emege.”

  Daniel let himself fall back toward the rear of the group, scanning the woods for signs of the locals. Maybe it was just that he didn’t like Sumner, but he had a feeling that there might be a reason for the hostility. He tried to strike up a conversation with the nearest Marine, but the young man answered in monosyllables, his eyes roving the shadows. Daniel had learned enough to know that was a bad sign and so shut up, matching their pace, but keeping an eye on the ground around them. Once or twice he thought he saw signs of a campsite — a spot where a firepit had been hastily filled in, a suspiciously regular patte
rn of potholes that might have come from tent pegs — but nothing more.

  The path ended at a lake, where another trio of Marines were waiting with a rubber boat. “Lieutenant!” one of them called. “We were just about to pull up the drawbridge.”

  He stopped, seeing Jack, and Ford said, “Radio base, Spence. Tell them we’ve got four more for dinner.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Marine — his name badge read “Spencer” — stepped out of earshot, speaking into his shoulder-mounted radio. And that was odd, Daniel thought. He’d thought the expedition had been equipped with the newer earpieces, but maybe there was some reason they were using the older equipment.

  “All aboard,” another Marine called, and they filed down to the boat, the crew already knee deep in the lake to launch it.

  The oldest of the Marines gave him a smile as they climbed aboard. “Glad to see you’re doing better, Doc.”

  “Thanks,” Daniel said. He wasn’t exactly sure what the man meant, but before he could ask, they were underway.

  The lake wasn’t large, and the boat’s little motor sped them across the calm surface. The city swelled ahead of them, a central gate, its walls gently curved, the only thing that seemed mostly intact. Beyond it the buildings were in ruins, broken stone that still show the marks of burning, and the expedition’s lights looked feeble against the desolation.

  “Someone really wanted to be sure this place — what’s it called? — was completely destroyed,” he said, and Ford looked over his shoulder.

  “The Wraith — they’re the alien hostiles, that’s what the locals call them, anyway — they do that to anyone who gets too technologically advanced. That’s why the locals don’t like us living in the city.”

  “Uh-huh.” Daniel scanned the ruins again, trying to match that with the people who’d left almost no sign of their campsites. OK, maybe these aliens, the Wraith, had pounded the locals back to a more primitive existence, but the ruins looked old, really old. And if it was an Ancient city… The pieces didn’t fit.

  They reached the opposite shore, under the shadow of the tower, and climbed out onto the rocky shingle. The Marines quickly broke down the boat, carried it with them past the barrier that blocked the entrance to the settlement. The city was definitely Ancient, Daniel thought, and the few surviving decorations were similar to ones they’d seen on Atlantis, but there were other buildings, newer ones, that looked as though they’d been repaired and then destroyed again. More than once, possibly; and each time the city had been leveled, the locals had been less able to rebuild. He could see the signs of that, place where metal fittings had been reused, forced to fit because the locals couldn’t make new ones, here and there replaced entirely with wood and leather that had been burned away to be replaced again.

  The expedition had set up tents inside the shells of the least damaged buildings, and here and there people had begun to shore up and mend walls and roofs. The building the expedition had chosen for its headquarters wasn’t much more than a shell of stone walls and curious bits of silver filigree that had somehow survived the fires that had blackened the pale stone, but the walls, at least, were mostly intact, and a solid wooden roof had been slung across the gaps. It was obviously also the mess hall, a thread of smoke rising from an improvised chimney, and civilian and military personnel alike were heading toward it, only to stop short on seeing Jack and SG-1.

  “Ford! Hey, Ford!” That voice was all too familiar, Rodney McKay’s imperious bleat, and Daniel braced himself to intervene if the man resumed his ill-advised pursuit of Sam. McKay skidded to a stop in front of the group, mouth falling open.

  “General O’Neill? You’re here? Does this mean we’ve finally got a link back to the Milky Way?” He turned to Ford. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  And why would you be informed? Daniel thought. You’re only Head of Sciences, not the expedition leader. In fact, Jack had gone to some lengths to make sure that McKay was in direct charge of as few people as possible.

  “We only just made contact, Dr. McKay,” Ford said. “And I think Colonel Sumner needs to hear this first.”

  “Then I’m coming with you,” McKay said.

  Something was very wrong. Daniel felt a chill run down his spine, but Jack beat him to the question.

  “Out of curiosity, Lieutenant — where’s Dr. Weir?”

  There was a moment of silence, the familiar shock, embarrassed and miserable, that meant no one wanted to give bad news, and that answered the question before Ford spoke again.

  “I’m sorry, General. She was killed by the Wraith.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Explanations

  SUMNER had set up his quarters in the back of the headquarters building, behind the section used as the mess hall. The building itself was the most defensible spot in the ruined city, Jack noted, without much surprise, and this inner section had been made into a secondary stronghold within the main building. They’d rigged a naquadah generator to give them lights, and the room, outer office and a sleeping area behind a canvas partition, looked like pretty much every other front line commander’s quarters Jack had ever seen.

  There weren’t enough chairs to go around, also par for the course. There was a certain amount of jostling as junior officers produced a couple of storage crates, and a carved wooden stool that looked as though it came apart for travel, and in the confusion Jack heard at least two people say that they were glad to see Daniel after all. When everything settled, Ford, McKay, and Daniel were left standing. A young airman, her hair cut close to her scalp, appeared with a thermos and mugs, and Ford handed around the coffee in silence. Sumner looked like hell, Jack thought. This was not going to be good.

  “It’s good to see you, sir,” Sumner said, with a forced smile. “Even if Ford tells me this isn’t a relief force.”

  Jack shook his head. “Afraid not.” You knew the score, he wanted to say, but that wasn’t really the way it worked. The SGC didn’t leave its people behind, not if there was the slightest chance. That had been Hammond’s policy from the start, and he wasn’t about to change it now. “Dr. Jackson found an Ancient installation that seemed to be designed to reach Atlantis. Since you hadn’t reestablished contact, and we couldn’t spare the ZPM, it seemed worth checking out.” He ran through the outline of the failed experiment and their arrival on Atlantis, not giving Carter a chance to offer a technical explanation. “So we found your message with this address, and dialed the gate.”

  “Then you see our problem,” McKay began, and Sumner glared at him.

  “Dr. McKay!”

  McKay glared right back. “That’s our fundamental problem, and you know it. If we hadn’t had to abandon Atlantis, none of this would have happened.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “Colonel. How about you fill me in on what’s happened here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sumner’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was grim.

  It wasn’t a pretty story. Things had seemed normal on Atlantis at first, but once they’d begun exploring the city, turning on systems, they’d discovered the power problem. The shield was the biggest drain on the city’s only remaining ZPM, but it couldn’t be deactivated without drowning the city, so in desperation, Dr. Weir had ordered the expedition to evacuate to Athos. The local population was primitive, a nomadic culture that seemed to follow the crop cycle, but there were definite signs that the Ancients had once lived there as well, and the scientists had hoped that they would find either a working ZPM or some other way to get back in contact with the Milky Way.

  Everyone had been ecstatic when they saw the ruined city — except for the nomads. They refused to go near it, and warned the expedition away as well: too much interest in the Ancients, in any technology, drew the attention of the Wraith, a species of hostile aliens who fed on the life-force of humans, and who dropped from the sky without warning. Dr. Weir had negotiated with the Athosians’ leaders, Halling, who seemed to be the chief of the tribe, and their chief trader, Teyla Emmagan, and obtai
ned their reluctant consent to the expedition’s sending small teams to investigate the ruins.

  And then the Wraith appeared. It wasn’t clear whether this was a routine hunting mission, a Culling, as the Athosians called it, or if they’d known about the expedition in the ruins, but the Stargate had opened and four fast, needle-nosed fighters had come through. They were armed with some kind of transporter beam that they used to capture humans, and swooped down on the joint campsite. The Athosians had fled, but the expedition’s Marines stood their ground and succeeded in driving them off, and even shot down one of the Darts. There hadn’t been much left of the pilot, but the medical team had been able to confirm the Athosians’ story: the Wraith were fast, deadly, and very hard to kill. And they fed on humans.

  The first problems with the Athosians had appeared in the aftermath of the attack. Sumner had urged Weir to move to the city, where it would be easier to set up a defensive perimeter, but the Athosians had opposed the idea, and Weir, in an attempt to keep up good relations, had postponed her decision. Halling and Emmagan told them that the Wraith would be back in force — the Wraith destroyed any human society that developed beyond a certain level of technology, which was one of the reasons the Athosians stayed away from the city, and traded for the little technology they used, rather than making their own. They urged the expedition to move away from the Stargate and the city, warning that the Wraith would be back, and Halling sent the elders and children away to traditional hiding places, even though it would mean a lean winter for his people, without every hand to gather the crops for harvest. Weir had declined to leave, but volunteered the expedition’s help with the harvest — and then the Wraith had come again.

  This time, the Darts had come not to hunt but to fight, and instead of scooping humans up in their beams they’d dropped dozens of masked fighters. The Marines had engaged, and in the fight they’d seen the truth of everything the Athosians had told them. The Wraith were almost impossible to kill, taking multiple head and body shots to put them down, and if they weren’t killed outright, their wounds healed with terrifying speed. The expedition lost twenty people before they learned to be sure the Wraith were dead, and still more were taken by the Darts once the Wraith realized they weren’t going to win.