Lorne couldn’t suppress a martyred look, but his voice was even. “Yes, sir.”
“I take full responsibility, of course,” John said.
“Yes, sir,” Lorne said again. “Do you have an ETA?”
John looked at Rodney, who shrugged. “Given that the Asgard hyperdrive is a whole lot more efficient than anything we have — and I’m really hoping to get a good look at it while we’re on board, by the way — I’d say we should be there in a couple of days. Fifty hours, give or take.”
“You heard Dr. McKay,” John said, and Lorne nodded.
“Fifty hours. I’ll notify the SGC, sir.”
“Thanks, Major. Sheppard out.” John looked at Rodney. “You’re sure you’ve got that door working?”
“Of course I’m sure. Besides, if I wasn’t sure, how would we get the Vanir ship out of there?”
“That would be the problem,” John said. “Guide.”
“Sheppard. I thought you were resting.”
“Change of plans. We’ll rest while we travel.”
“That is, of course, your business.” Guide paused. “I dislike mentioning this, but our sensors show only you and Dr. McKay aboard.”
“That’s right. We’ve got another ride.” John activated the engines, and saw the cruiser’s guns flash to life. “Hold your horses! Like I said, we’re taking a different ship. McKay, open the hangar.”
“Working on it.” Rodney did something with the controls, and above them the side of the mountain cracked open, showing a thin line of light that slowly widened as the massive doors began to inch apart.
“What is this?” Guide demanded, and the cruiser’s guns swung to cover the opening.
“We’ve got a better ride,” John said again. “No offense, but I want to be sure you’re not going to try to follow us.”
The hangar door was fully open now, spilling light onto the field. John raised the puddlejumper, turning it on its axis to arrow straight between the doors. The Vanir ship was waiting, the cargo hatch open, and Teyla’s voice spoke in his ear.
“John. We see you. Dis says you are coming in high.”
John frowned, adjusting his altitude, and a light flashed on his own sensors: too low. He corrected, and the warning vanished.
“You are good,” Teyla said in the same moment.
John didn’t answer, concentrating on bringing the jumper into the bay. There was less than a meter’s clearance on both sides, and proximity warnings flashed yellow as he eased into the opening, cutting power as he went. The jumper slowed, kissed the interior wall, and settled onto its skids.
“Status report?” John demanded, and the jumper flashed an instant answer: no harm done.
“Dis says there is no structural damage,” Teyla reported.
“Great.” John was already out of his seat. “Shut her down, McKay! I’m going up top.”
“Why me?” Rodney demanded, but the jumper was already shutting down under his command.
John ignored him and sprinted for the control room. He arrived just in time to see the scout slide out of the hangar, Dis at the controls. On the landing field below, the Wraith cruiser had pulled in its ramp, and was obviously scrambling to launch.
“They’re going to come after us,” he said, but Dis didn’t even blink.
“It will not avail them.”
The scout had fully cleared the hangar. Dis moved one hand, and it shot straight up into the atmosphere, the installation falling away beneath them. There was no sensation of movement, but just watching the ground recede was enough to make John catch his breath. Far below, he could see the cruiser laboring after them, and said, “Let him scan us.”
“Why?” Dis asked. “I can prevent it easily.”
“I want him to know we have Ford on board,” John said. “Hold us in orbit until he’s done it.”
“That is wise,” Teyla said.
“Very well.” It was hard to read any expression on Dis’s face, but John thought the Vanir was mildly annoyed.
They flashed through a layer of cloud, thin wisps past in an instant, rising into the greater dark of the upper atmosphere. Over the limb of the horizon, the distant sun appeared, tiny and diamond-bright; Dis adjusted the sensors, and the screen split between the stars ahead and the cruiser following in their wake.
“They are scanning us,” Dis reported. “As you requested, I have not blocked their probes.”
“Thanks.” John watched as the cruiser continued to gain altitude, growing more graceful in its movements as it reached microgravity.
“Do you wish me to continue to wait for it?” Dis tilted its oversized head to one side.
John looked at Teyla. “You think they’ve got enough?”
“I believe so.” She had the distant look that suggested she was eavesdropping on the cruiser, and John nodded.
“Let’s not wait any more, then.”
“I believe that would be sensible,” Dis said. It adjusted the controls, and the scout leaped forward, the planet receding at an impossible rate. Ahead, the stars seemed to blur slightly, as though the sensors could not quite compensate for the sudden burst of speed.
“Whoa.” That was Rodney, appearing in the control room door. “That’s — we must be making at least .75C. Three-quarters the speed of light.”
“Better than that,” Dis answered. It bent its head to study something on a smaller screen, then looked up again. “We will be ready to enter hyperspace in five of your minutes.”
“Wait, aren’t we too close —” Rodney looked at the secondary screen, the planet they had just left indistinguishable from the starfield around it. “Ok. Never mind. Look, Dis, I’d really like to take a long look at your engines.”
“We can discuss an exchange of technical information once we have spoken with Ran,” Dis answered. “Not before.”
“Just a look —”
“McKay,” John said, and Rodney subsided.
“Oh, all right. But you’ll regret it later.”
“I do not think I will,” Dis answered, and for the first time John wondered if the Vanir had a sense of humor.
“What about the Wraith?” he asked.
“They are too far away to get a good fix on our precise coordinates,” Dis answered, “and once we are in hyperspace we will easily outrun them. They will not be able to track this ship through hyperspace.”
“Best news I’ve had all day.” John leaned on the edge of an unoccupied console, suddenly aware of just how long it had been since he’d had anything like rest. It was easy to lose track, traveling from world to world, but it had to be pushing twenty-four hours. The desire for sleep clawed at him, a weight that dragged at his very bones. At this point, even the stark Vanir sleeping cubicles looked inviting.
“Stand by for the transition to hyperspace,” Dis said.
John started to brace himself, and the screens were abruptly filled with flowing light. “That’s it?”
“We are in hyperspace,” Dis said. It scanned its screens. “I show no indication that the Wraith ship has tried to follow us.”
“That’s —” John shook his head. He had expected something more spectacular, or at least more elaborate; the rougher transition of an Air Force ship or the enormous building power of Atlantis herself. This stepping from the normal universe to hyperspace in the flip of a switch, the blink of an eye. Efficient, he thought, but anticlimactic. “Right. Ok.”
“I estimate that it will take about forty-nine of your hours to reach the destination provided by Dr. Jackson,” Dis went on. “I have engaged the autopilot. I would recommend that you refresh yourselves as needed.”
Sleep, John thought. Sleep would feel so good. But someone needed to keep an eye on Dis, and he’d already told the others to take a break, so —
“Get some sleep, Sheppard,” Rodney said. He grinned. “I want to hang out with Dis for a while anyway.”
“Of course you do,” John said. Maybe it was just that he was tired enough not to care, but he real
ly didn’t see anything wrong with the plan.
“I will stay with him for a little while also,” Teyla said.
John nodded. “Right,” he said again. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
The cruiser keened as it rose through the atmosphere, a high, grating noise just at the edge of hearing. Guide could feel the Hivemaster’s unease, the faint flutter in the laboring engines, but forced it all to the back of his mind, concentrating instead on the Vanir ship as it rose into open space. Thrice Bold could go no faster; the engines were at their full capacity and more, and he bared teeth in a snarl.
*Keep the sensors locked on that ship.*
*Yes, commander.* The cleverman Sky bent over his station, tuning the sensors to their optimum frequencies. *They are drawing away rapidly.*
*I can see that,* Guide snapped.
*Commander, they’re still in range of our cannon.* That was Tempest, at the fire control station. *Let me take a shot.*
*There’s not enough power,* his companion protested. He glanced over his shoulder. *Divert from the engines?*
*No. Not yet.* Guide controlled his temper with an effort. *Hivemaster!*
*We are at maximum output,* the Hivemaster answered. *And everything is going to propulsion. Once we leave the atmosphere, there will be less drag, but until then —*
He did not finish the thought, but he did not need to. Guide snarled again, but kept his hands gentle on the flight controls. He could feel the pressure on the hull easing as they rose into the thinner air of the mesosphere, felt the hull relax into the familiar cold, but the Vanir ship was already at the edge of their range. *Tempest?*
The blade shook his head. *They’re at extreme range, Commander. To have any chance of hitting them, I’d have to take three-tenths of our power output, and even then they’d probably just outrun the bolts.*
And leave Thrice Bold falling further behind. *Hold your fire,* Guide said. He caressed the flight controls, urging the cruiser to give him every bit of its best performance. *If we can track them to Earth —*
He didn’t need to finish the thought: if they could find the way to Earth, they would have the best of all bargaining chips for dealing with the Lanteans. Even Alabaster would recognize the utility of such information, though he suspected she would prefer not to use it. As indeed would he, but it would be foolish — dangerous — not to gain the information if they could.
Thrice Bold cleared the atmosphere at last, a surge of new power against his palms. The Vanir ship was invisible to the naked eye, one more point of light amid the crowded field of stars, but on the sensors’ readout, her track was clear, a fading line that ended in a red dot. It was still pulling away, acceleration increasing at an incredible rate. It was no wonder hives in the past had warned each other to give these beings a wide berth.
*Hivemaster…*
*We’re still at maximum output,* the Hivemaster said.
*I need more.*
*There is nothing more to give you. There is already too much strain on the hull. We can’t continue at this pace.*
Guide could feel the flight controls shivering against his fingers, underlining the Hivemaster’s warning. *Keep them on the sensors.*
*I have a fix,* Sky answered, and Guide allowed himself to hope. If they could just get a bearing on where and at what angle the Vanir entered hyperspace, at least they would have a clue to Earth’s location.
It was still pulling away, Thrice Bold straining to follow, and then, abruptly, it was gone, too far ahead for them even to catch the flash of its translation. Guide hissed his frustration, but eased the cruiser’s speed, feeling the controls settle under his touch. *Did you get it?*
*Yes…* Sky’s tone was less certain than the word. *I have a fix, anyway.*
*Extrapolate their course,* Guide ordered. *If you can.*
There was a long silence, Sky bent over his console as he monitored the calculations. Guide slowed the cruiser’s speed again, watching as the signs of strain eased back to something more like normal.
Sky lifted his head, his tone abject. *Commander, I’m sorry. I’ve got a general heading, but nothing more.*
Guide gave the ship its head and came to look over the cleverman’s shoulder. The display showed a cone of possibility, widening rapidly, and he shook his head. *We can’t follow that.*
*No, Commander.* To give Sky credit, he didn’t duck away. *But it’s possible — we know that the Lanteans came from another galaxy.*
*So they claim,* Tempest muttered.
Guide ignored him. *Go on.*
*If I project a hyperspace course using this as the point of origin, we can see if it intersects any galaxies,* Sky said. *It’s a long shot, Commander, and very likely there will be more than one. But it’s better than nothing.*
Guide nodded slowly. It was a very long shot, certainly, but he, and all the Wraith, were committed to a very long game. The Lanteans had bargained in good faith, he was willing to admit that, was even prepared to concede that Weir and Sheppard at least — and Teyla, though she was different, being in some sense kin — intended to keep their word and leave the Wraith in peace in their share of the galaxy. But Weir and Sheppard would not rule forever. They were human, and therefore mortal, and someday others would take their place. And still others would follow them, down the centuries, and there was no reason to think that their goals would stay the same, or that the same promises would carry the same advantages. They needed to know the location of the Lanteans’ home, because some day they would be enemies again. *Do what you can,* he said. *In the meantime — we will rejoin our queen.*
Ronon crouched just outside the shelter, the first solid winds whipping at hair and skin. Beside the DHD, Aulich and Joseph drove two final stakes into the tarp that covered the last piece of their equipment, and stood for a minute with their heads together, staring at the western horizon. The clouds boiled up behind them, blue-black and jagged, lightning flickering in their depths. Overhead, pale shapes whipped past on the rising wind, rags of cloud blowing past at a lower level than the darker billows of the main storm. The air was filled with a low mutter of thunder, punctuated with the occasional louder blast, and the snap of the succulents firing either at the sound or at invisible insects. Behind him, the others were already crowded into the shelter, Parrish and Hunt and Samara pressed shoulder to shoulder into the dirt. Ronon had suggested they open up some MREs, more to give them a distraction than because he thought anyone was likely to be hungry, but he didn’t look to see if they’d done it. In the distance, lightning split the air, a jagged, forked bolt running from cloud to ground. He counted silently, reached twenty-one. Three Satedan leagues, which worked out to something like two and a half Lantean kilometers. Close enough that they all ought to take shelter now, and he rose to his feet.
“Lieutenant! Sergeant! Come on back now!”
“On my way,” Aulich called. She closed her laptop and started back up the hill, but Joseph lifted a hand.
“Hang on, I just want to check the DHD —” She turned to the pedestal as she spoke, pressing symbols. Ronon held his breath, but the first symbol that lit was not the one she pressed. She pressed the second one anyway, shaking her head, and turned away. “Sorry, sir, no go.”
“Come back,” Ronon repeated, and she started toward them. The air smelled strange, sharp and cold, as if ice had a smell; the hairs on his arms tickled, lifting. He’d felt that before, and dropped to a crouch. “Get down!”
Aulich had felt it too, skimmed her laptop away from her as she dropped to her knees. Joseph did the same, covering her head, just as a bolt of lightning slammed into the stand of conifers thirty meters beyond the Stargate. Ronon blinked, blinded, light beyond white searing his retinas, and the thunder struck, the sound buffeting his skin. Beyond the ringing in his ears, he heard Parrish swear, but the smell and the tickling were both gone.
“You all right?” He pushed himself upright, ready to go to either of them, but first Joseph and then Aulich straightened.
“All right, sir,” Joseph said, and hurried toward the shelter.
“Good,” Aulich answered, and stooped to retrieve her laptop. “No damage here either.”
“Get inside,” Ronon said, and waited while they fitted themselves into the narrow space. He took the end, his shoulders wedged against Aulich’s on one side and the peeled wood of the roof support on the other. It was dark inside, and almost as dark outside, the clouds pressing down like a weight, bringing an instant midnight. Aulich worked her laptop open, the screen throwing sudden light as she checked the screen. “Well?”
“So far, so good,” she answered. “We’re still in the clear corridor, and everything’s holding steady.”
“How long before we’re really in it?” Parrish asked.
“About twenty minutes.” Aulich touched keys, and Ronon looked over her shoulder to see the clean lines and colors slowly dissolving into a sea of blue-green static. “And then about ten minutes before it passes over us. I’m going to have to shut down soon. It’s too dangerous, and I’m not getting any good readings —”
There was another massive crack of lightning, flash and sound almost on top of each other. Ronon felt the others jump, and this time it was Samara who cursed and then apologized. It wasn’t nearly as close as before, though, and he made himself take a careful breath.
“Hey, Doc, you got my rations?” He wasn’t really all that hungry, and he could almost feel the surprise, transmitted shoulder to shoulder down the line.
“Yes,” Parrish said, with only the slightest hesitation. “Yes, right — right here.” He produced the woven carrier and handed it along.
Ronon took it, unwound the clasp, and pulled out the first thing that came to hand. It was a strip of dried meat, coated with the sweet-sharp pepper sauce that helped preserve it, and he broke off a piece, tucking it into his cheek to let it soften. “Thanks.” He shifted the piece so that he could speak more distinctly, raised his voice to be heard over the thunder. “Like I said, if you want to eat, now would be a good time.”
He could feel the resistance, and then felt it break, first Hunt, then Joseph reaching for MREs. A moment later, Parrish did the same. Samara produced one of the little battery-powered lamps and set it on the dirt between his toes. It wasn’t as comforting as a good fire, Ronon thought, but it served the same purpose, light and hope against the dark. More lightning flashed, filling the sky, and for a moment he caught a glimpse of the roiling clouds. Thunder rolled, a steady rumble punctuated by louder roars like an avalanche. At the other end of the shelter, Parrish produced a water bottle, and he and Hunt carefully filled their cookers, propping up the pouches to let them heat without spillage. Samara was eating his cold, slurping whatever it was directly from the pouch. Only Aulich still bent over her laptop, squinting as though she could force the image to come clear.
Stargate Atlantis: Third Path: Book 8 in the Legacy series Page 24
