Daniel knew he looked blank, and the same uncertainty showed on Sheppard’s and McKay’s and Weir’s faces.
“I also know Hirard,” Teyla said. “There was once a great star port there, though I thought it was picked clean long ago. John, if we take a jumper now, we may be able to find Dekaas and bring him back here. That would be better than nothing, especially if Major Lorne has not yet lifted the quarantine.”
Sheppard nodded. “All right. Teyla, you’re in charge. Rodney can fly you there —”
“Let me go,” Elizabeth said. “Dekaas is likely to listen to me.”
“We need you here to keep an eye on the Vanir,” Sheppard said.
Elizabeth glanced down at the motionless body, a flicker of pity crossing her face. “There’s nothing more I can do — nothing more any of us can do, not without better tools and more knowledge. But I think Dekaas will trust me.”
“All right,” Sheppard said again. “Go.”
Evan Lorne scanned the gate room, for the moment ignoring the flickering screens and the mumble of worried voices. The city was in lockdown, the sections where equipment had been affected sealed off, and so far there were no more reports of trouble outside the sealed areas. If one of those areas hadn’t been the gate room, he could almost fool himself into thinking he had things under control. Except, of course, for the way that the SGC-issue laptops had been carefully unplugged from their usual interface points in the control panels, and had been set aside where the technicians could keep an eye on them. Everything they’d turned up so far suggested that this was in fact some sort of microorganism that broke down petroleum-based plastics, brought from the proposed alpha site, and that the contamination could be carried from object to object. The team that had worked to set up the alpha site had passed through the gate room more than once, carrying contaminated gear, and therefore they had to assume that the gate room itself was contaminated.
The supply room in Tower B was also contaminated, as well as one of the landing pads where they’d set up test equipment before they’d realized what was going on. A hazmat team was supposed to be decontaminating that pad, but there was no guarantee that their usual procedures would be effective — Lorne reined in that thought sharply. They had to assume that the procedures would work, or they had nothing.
“Major Lorne.” Airman Salawi looked up from her board. “Dr. Lynn would like a word.”
At least the Ancient installation was made primarily of silicates and metal. Atlantis itself would probably be all right, as would the puddle jumpers that had taken personnel to the alpha site. Lorne leaned over the microphone. “Yes, doctor?”
“I have your translation.” Lynn sounded embarrassed. “I’m afraid it’s as we feared.”
“Danger, something here eats plastic?” Lorne kicked the edge of the console, thinking he should be kicking himself. The first team through the Stargate had reported an inscription carved into a set of rocks near the gate. It hadn’t been in Ancient or any of the other known alphabets, and he hadn’t pushed for a translation.
“Warning, site contaminated with alflageolis,” Lynn said. “We don’t yet have a translation for ‘alflageolis’ but Dr. Hagebeck and Dr. Beckett think it’s the type of microorganism. ‘Ageo’ is related to other words for petroleum products, alfla is one of a number of compounds generally indicating destructiveness, and ‘-lis’ is a marker for biological activity. In this case, going by related words, we think it indicates a bacterium.”
“That’s —” Lorne swallowed his first response. “That’s potentially helpful.”
“I have my team going through the databases,” Lynn said, “but from the style of the writing I’d say there’s a good chance this inscription post-dates Ancient occupation of that area.”
Which meant there wouldn’t be any handy home remedy in the database, Lorne thought. Lovely. “But you think we’re dealing with bacteria?”
“The word is similar in its formation to most other bacteria catalogued in the system,” Lynn said. “Dr. Hagebeck thinks she may be able to make a guess at some of the other elements — she’s working directly with Dr. Beckett now.”
“Thanks, Doc. Let me know if you turn up anything else.” Lorne kicked the edge of the console again. It’s progress, he told himself, and straightened as Radek Zelenka came to join him.
“Did I hear Dr. Lynn say we are dealing with a bacteria?”
“That’s what he thinks at the moment,” Lorne said. “Carson’s working on it.”
“If it is a bacteria, perhaps we can fine-tune our decontamination procedures.”
“Maybe.” Before Lorne could say anything more, there was a splat from the end console, and one of the airmen swore. “Nelsen?”
“Sorry, Major.” The airman picked up what was left of his travel mug. The entire bottom of the plastic cup had melted, spilling lukewarm coffee across the console and floor.
“Decon,” Lorne said, and Nelsen carried the mug across to the makeshift safe disposal station. At least they hoped it was safe, Lorne amended. It was really a solid metal canister from the kitchen with several quarts of the strongest disinfecting solution in the city. Hopefully it would be strong enough to kill this “alflageolis” and if they kept disinfecting everything that showed signs of infection… Maybe that would stop the contamination. Maybe. Nelsen came back with a wad of paper towels and began mopping up the spilled coffee. He started to toss the wet towels in the nearest wastebasket, but stopped himself in time, and added them to the canister instead. That was the only thing that was going to work, Lorne thought. Disinfect everything and make sure there’s no more contact. Then we get the Stargate open and find out what’s happening with Elizabeth.
“Major Lorne,” Salawi said. “Dr. Beckett would like to talk to you and Dr. Zelenka.”
Lorne looked at Zelenka, and saw his own worry reflected in the scientist’s expression. “Put him through to the conference room, please, Airman.”
The conference room seemed weirdly empty without the usual collection of laptops and coffee mugs, just the boxy display in the center of the table — original to Atlantis, not something they’d installed, so it ought to keep working — and Lorne dropped into the nearest chair, grateful that it, too, was mostly metal and Atlantis resins, and stretched out his leg. He’d broken it in a fight with the Wraith, and even now it still stiffened up if he stood too long.
“Dr. Beckett? I’m here with Dr. Zelenka.”
“Major.” Beckett’s voice was taut with stress. “I wanted to give you an update on this possible bacterium.”
“Go ahead.” If Lorne had been alone, he would have crossed his fingers, hoping for a good answer.
“We’ve been able to make a provisional identification, thanks to Dr. Lynn and his team, though so far we haven’t turned up any information in the Ancient database. We have determined that aflageolis preferentially attacks and digests petroleum-based plastics, which is kind of good news, in the sense that almost all of the Ancient technology is metal, silicone, or crystal. Atlantis itself should be unharmed.”
“But?”
“But most of our equipment — including, I regret to say, most of our hazmat gear — is either made of or contains crucial parts made of petroleum-based plastics. And alflageolis attacks those substances voraciously.”
“Is there any good news?” Zelenka muttered.
“Some,” Beckett said. “First of all, it doesn’t seem to affect human beings directly. Both the team at the alpha site and several supply personnel were exposed for longer than the equipment that has already fallen apart, but none of them show any signs of injury or illness.”
“You’re still keeping an eye on them, right?” Lorne asked.
“I have the supply staff in quarantine down here,” Beckett said, “but I really think it’s an unnecessary precaution. I’ll hold them another twenty-four hours to be certain, though.”
“Good idea,” Lorne said.
“We’ve also been able to isolate samples of alflageolis —
which we are handling under extreme safety protocol in an entirely Ancient lab — and I can confirm that it is a bacterium. We’re hoping that further study will lead us to a way to eliminate it.” Beckett paused. “There is just one other thing I’m worried about. Looking at the cell structure, I — it seems as though it might not be a naturally-occuring organism.”
Lorne looked at Zelenka, whose eyebrows had risen in shock. “Are you telling me this is something the Ancients created?”
“I’m saying it’s possible that someone created it,” Beckett answered. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it was the Ancients, or we’d have found something useful in the database. But there are other cultures in Pegasus that have, or had, the capability to manipulate bacteria this way.”
“The Wraith,” Zelenka said.
“Also the Genii, the Satedans before the Wraith attacked, the Hoffans…” Beckett’s pause was almost imperceptible. “Michael.”
“Do you think it’s Wraith?” Lorne asked.
“I can’t even be sure it’s engineered,” Beckett said. “Much less tell who might have done it. But I thought you should know it was a possibility.”
“Right.” And if it was a weapon… Lorne shook his head. “Thanks, Dr. Beckett. Is there anything else we should be doing to keep this thing contained?”
“I don’t have anything new to suggest. We’ll be running some more tests that may let us tweak the decontamination fluid soon. I take it the standard issue gels still aren’t doing anything?”
“Not noticeably,” Lorne said.
“Aye, I expected that. I’ll let you know as soon as we have something.”
“Thanks,” Lorne said again, and Beckett cut the connection.
“Well,” Zelenka said, after a moment. “That is… interesting.”
“About alflageolis being non-natural?”
Zelenka nodded. “Tell me, Major, what sort of planet would you pick to test a weapon like that?”
Lorne grimaced. “A desert. With a Stargate that was a long way from anything. And, yeah, if something went wrong, I’d put up a big sign to tell everybody to stay away. But that’s not actually proof of anything.”
“It is not.” Zelenka nodded again. “But it cannot be ignored.”
“No.” Lorne sighed. “But there’s nothing we can do until we have more information.”
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS the height of the dry season on the planet the humans called Sabras, and the air tasted like flames. The Ring of the Ancestors rose from its platform in the center of a barren plain, only a few clumps of scrub sprouting from the cracked red soil. There were trees in the middle distance, though, and from the shape of their leaves and the way they stood in a straggling line, Guide guessed they lined a watercourse of some sort. They were perhaps a quarter-hour’s walk at a comfortable pace, though nothing was comfortable on this world at this season. It was a pity they could not have waited for nightfall, but Alabaster was right. To come by day not only expressed good intentions toward the humans who were now part of their hunting ground, but affirmed their power to come and go as they pleased. That was worth a certain amount of discomfort. Guide took a shallow breath that still seared his throat, his eyes slitted tight against the noonday sun, and looked at the nearest blade.
*The village?*
*Just downstream.* The blade’s mental touch was a bleak wind in the heart of winter, weirdly refreshing in the dry heat. He pointed, his eyes blank green in the scorching light. *Just beyond those trees.*
*Let us go.* Guide turned as he spoke, feeling the others fall into place at his back. They were three blades and twice as many drones, more than enough to deal with the Sabrasa villagers, and for a moment he wished there was a chance that the Wolf had remained. He would give a great deal to make that one pay for his crimes. Three times in the last year the Wolf had attacked, each time killing Wraith and leaving others to take the consequences. On Dhalo, he and his men had come at tribute time, killing the blades who had come to collect the human tribute, and Queen Death had demanded a hundred-fold tribute in payment. It had been tribute time on Halpsar, too, and much the same pattern of attack. Queen Sky had depopulated the town, and taken the survivors into her feeding pens: she was young and her hive was starving after having spent too much time avoiding Queen Death, but he could not help feeling that it was a poor solution. And on Sabras… On Sabras, all he knew was that the Wolf had attacked clevermen bringing back volunteers who had taken the retrovirus. The rest he would find out shortly.
The human village was in a sheltered hollow where the little river widened to a shallow pool. The air held more moisture under the trees’ shade, and the leaves rustled in a gentle breeze. The village itself was little more than a collection of a dozen wood-and-fabric huts, their sides rolled up in the day’s heat to allow the air to circulate. Most of the humans were huddled behind them, only a woman and two men facing them in the center of the open space between the rows of huts. The clevermen’s bodies rested at their feet, and Guide bared his teeth in anger.
The woman saw, and went to her knees. “Lord, we beg your pardon! We had no part in this, we swear it!”
The men went to their knees as well, and even some of the people hiding between the huts copied them. Guide stopped well out of reach, looking down at the bodies. They were both men of his own faction, Rise and Riverstone, and grief and anger stabbed through his chest. He should not have sent them alone, not without blades to defend them, though from the marks on their bodies the Wolf had once again used superior firepower to overwhelm their ability to heal themselves. That was another hallmark of the Wolf’s attack, and one more reason he had to be destroyed.
“Tell me what happened,” he said aloud. “I will listen.”
The woman stretched out her hands. “These came to us two moons past, and told us of the treaty. There was fever in the village then, Lord, and many of us were ill. All of our children, or we would not have agreed so quickly! But we did so, and they treated us, and saved the children — a dozen live, who would be on the pyres long since. So when they said they must take some of those who volunteered away with them to further their tests, those agreed, and went. These said they would return our people at the second new moon, and so they did. But two nights before, travelers came through the Ring, carrying one of their number in a sling. They said they had heard that the Wraith had made a bargain here, and one of them was badly hurt. They said they were prepared to trade their lives for his, and so we let them wait with us. And then, when your people came, the travelers attacked them and they died.”
“And you did nothing to stop them?” Guide tilted his head.
“Lord, what could we do? The travelers had Genii rifles and Wraith weapons. We have spears and hunting knives.”
“Where did they come from?”
The woman blinked in surprise. “They were Travelers, Lord. I do not know their ship.”
Travelers. Not ordinary strangers traveling between world, but the people who called themselves Travelers. That was a connection Guide had not heard before. It made sense, though. If the Wolf had allies among the Travelers, it would explain why he vanished for long periods, only to turn up on a world far distant from the site of his last attack.
*Do you believe her?* That was Winterheart, who was senior, but Guide could feel Avalanche mirroring the same question.
*It is plausible enough. It could explain many things.* Guide considered, staring down at the woman who knelt beside the clevermen’s bodies. “Stand up.”
She rose to her feet, straight-backed, afraid but determined not to show it more than she must.
“Did you take the retrovirus?”
“Yes, Lord. But I am the woman of this village, I could not leave my people.”
“So.” Guide walked slowly around the bodies, circling the woman and the kneeling men until he came to stand directly in front of the woman. “And you swear that what you’ve told me is the truth?”
“I do.”
She took a shaken breath, but stood firm. “It is truth.”
Guide reached for her, sinking his claws into the flesh of her chest. He could taste her fear, her strength, the retrovirus coursing in her blood, could taste grief and terror and confusion — and, beneath it all, the truth of her memories. He released her, and she staggered back a step, the marks of claws and handmouth bloody on her skin.
“She speaks the truth,” he said aloud, so that the entire village could hear. “Take our people back to the Ring, bear them home in honor. I will remain, and hear more details from all of you. I intend to bring down the Wolf once and for all.”
*I will stay with you,* Winterheart said, and Guide nodded.
*Yes. Two minds are better than one.*
The jumper emerged from the Stargate onto an enormous paved surface, an area currently occupied by at least four Traveler ships. Five, Rodney corrected, checking the jumper’s sensors, and hastily activated the communications unit. “Hello, Traveler ships! Lantean jumper here —”
“Allow me, Rodney,” Teyla said, and a woman’s voice spoke from the console.
“We see that. Is that you, Sheppard? This was supposed to be a private get-together.”
“It is Teyla Emmagen,” Teyla answered. “And also Dr. McKay. I apologize for the intrusion, but the matter is urgent.”
“Teyla. And Dr. McKay.”
Was it just me, Rodney wondered, or did she sound disappointed?
“Larrin here. You can park to the right of the small blue ship. And then we can talk.”
Rodney brought the jumper down into the spot Larrin had indicated, rather pleased with himself for the precision of the landing, and looked over his shoulder. “Everyone ready?”
“They are waiting for us,” Teyla said, and Rodney lowered the rear door.
Stargate Atlantis: Third Path: Book 8 in the Legacy series Page 3
