SGA-15 Brimstone

by Wilson, David Niall

  The doors shut on the three of them and Rodney’s whining voice grew muffled and more distant.

  “He’s going to be killed out there. He won’t stand a chance,” Cumby said.

  Ronon’s jaw tensed and he began to pace. “We should have done more. We should have stopped them.”

  “Yeah, sure we should, because that worked so well last time,” Cumby said dryly. “They would have just shot you, and you’d be no good to anyone.”

  “I know, but to just let him be taken like that?”

  He dropped heavily onto the stout chair in the far corner of the room and turned away. Cumby held his silence.

  * * *

  “Hey! How’s about slowing down a bit, huh?” Rodney said. “Sheesh! By the time we get wherever we’re going, I’ll be too exhausted to fight.”

  He alternately dragged his heels to gain time, and struggled to keep up with the two larger guards as they hauled him in and out of elevators, down corridors, and finally into the staging area. He heard the roar of the crowd all around him, muffled a bit by walls but nonetheless disconcerting. He felt disoriented, and things around him passed in a haze. His nerves were badly frayed. He needed to concentrate, but he was terrified, and that sense of dread grew each moment he drew closer to — what? He had no idea what sort of creature he would be fighting. His knees began to shake.

  First, he was relieved of his jacket and shoes, and then redressed in armor. It was made of a very light metal and shone like silver, even in the dim light. There were crystals embedded in the surface, forming a pattern. He’d never seen it, but he recognized it as the work of the Ancients. As he waited, he chattered to himself nervously, eyes darting around, trying to get some glimpse of something that would tell him what he was up against.

  “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. You’re a smart guy. You’ll find a way out of this. Sheppard won’t just leave you out here to die. He never does. Besides, you prepared for this. You’re ready.”

  Guards and trainers jerked him around, thrusting him this way and that, shoving things at him and barking orders.

  “Maybe the weapons will give me some idea what creature I’m fighting. Don’t panic, Rodney. You’ll get through this. You always do.” And then, “Hey! Watch it! I bruise easily. Don’t I at least get a chance to practice?”

  “Stop complaining. Your friend was right about you,” the guard growled.

  “Oh yeah? Well, you may have giant mutant creatures, but I have a secret weapon.” Rodney smiled and nodded, tapped his head. “Besides, I don’t see any of you jumping into that arena.”

  * * *

  Ronon leaped up from his seat in the corner when the view screen opened. Cumby was on his feet already, leaning against the wall by the door. He turned his head and frowned. “That was fast. Didn’t they even take the time to show him how the weapons work?”

  “Apparently not,” Cumby said, stepping over to the screen. He rubbed his arms to ward off the chill that had suddenly stolen his voice.

  There was nothing in the center of the arena save for a mechanical horse, which stood motionless for want of a rider. The crowd in the balconies above stomped their feet and cheered, hungry for the massacre that was about to take place. They obviously knew something about what was to come, and they knew that horse.

  The camera drew in tight on the doors as they slid open. For several long beats, nothing at all happened. Then a figure appeared, dressed in armor and apparently shoved into view. Once he was free of the door, a lance sailed through the air, landing at his feet with a clunk and kicking up dust where it fell. He stumbled several times, the armor clanking and jingling as he did so.

  “Is that Rodney? Or the other guy?”

  Ronon frowned and tried to find something that would tell him who was in that armor. The uncoordinated stumbling soon gave it away.

  “That’s Rodney,” Cumby said.

  “Sure looks like it,” Ronon agreed. “And what’s up with the horse?”

  * * *

  In the arena, Rodney was having his own problems.

  “You can’t do this!” he screamed. The sound echoed inside his helmet and he took several clanking steps toward the doors through which he had just passed. “Hey! Open up! This isn’t even a fair fight. I have no idea how these weapons…”

  Suddenly, the doors at the opposite side of the arena slid open. A wall-shaking roar filled the arena, inspiring the crowd to scream even louder. They were whipped into a frenzy now, calling for the fight to begin.

  Rodney turned, pressed his back against the wall and stared, eyes wide. “Swell! Just swell! They send me a monster and all I have to fight with is this toothpick.” He glanced down at the lance and frowned, then shook his head.

  Whatever was beyond that door, whatever the thing was that he was supposed to fight, it was loud enough to rattle his brain inside the helmet, and heavy enough that the ground shook with each step. Rodney was rooted where he stood, staring into the open portal and waiting for his fate. His knees shook and his mouth had gone dry. All about him, the crowd screamed, jeered, and cheered, but he heard nothing but the loud pounding of his heart and the roar of his blood in his ears. He tried to think. He tried to make sense of the symbols on the armor, and to figure out what might be special about the lance, but he couldn’t calm his nerves.

  The beast poked its head through the door, body sliding through after it. It was huge and covered in bright green scales. Rodney’s wide eyes took it all in and all he could mutter was, “Holy — ”

  * * *

  “ — crap!” Ronon groaned. “It’s a dragon. He has to fight a freaking dragon.”

  “Poor Rodney!” Cumby exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “You got that right.” Ronon said. “That thing is huge.”

  * * *

  “Great. Just great. I get cast in my first Arthurian role, and they send Merlin in to be Lancelot.”

  Somehow the sight of the creature released him from his paralysis and he hefted the lance clumsily. The tip was heavy and it dipped to the ground. He lifted it, just for a moment, and then it dropped again.

  The dragon still stood in its entrance, and Rodney realized it had not been fully freed yet. Saul was waiting for something — biding his time. Not far from where Rodney stood, the mechanical horse waited, poised but motionless. For all Rodney knew, it would remain so forever. Still, the weapons were designed to even the odds, and the horse was half of what had been provided to him.

  “Well, why not?” he said. His heart was hammering, and he kept talking just to try and prevent his mind from sliding over the edge. “I mean, how much worse could it be? When in Rome and all that.” He paused. “Wait! Were there dragons in Rome? What am I saying? There weren’t dragons anywhere! Dragons don’t exist. At least, they don’t exist on Earth. They exist here, of course because I’m standing right in front…”

  The dragon let loose another fierce roar. It shook its head, trying to free itself of whatever bonds still held it, and its eyes flashed with an animal intelligence.

  Rodney screamed. It was a low sound, rising slowly in pitch, and quavering. Like a shot, he lunged for the horse, struggling as he ran to keep the tip of the lance from hitting the ground and tripping him up. Never mind that he had never ridden a horse before; he was about to get a crash course. He knew very little of horseback riding, and all that he did know he’d learned from watching movies. He remembered, for some odd reason, that he should mount from the left. He paused for a moment to ponder whether that was the left as you approached from the front or the back. A second roar from the dragon told Rodney that it didn’t matter. It was a mechanical horse and it wasn’t moving.

  He rested the lance against the horse’s side and rolled quickly up onto the thing’s back. It wasn’t very large, as horses go, but it was big enough that Rodney could sit on it comfortably without feeling like he would slide off. With no small effort, he hoisted the lance’s tip upwa
rd until it was level, and then shoved the shaft under one arm.

  “Just like all those Errol Flynn movies,” he muttered.

  He expected the lance to do something, anything, when he held it. After all, they had said these were Ancient weapons, activated only by one who has the gene. Rodney had the gene and still there was no sign of life from the lance. Had they sabotaged it somehow? Or had they merely lied to him? Or maybe —

  “Of course!”

  He braced the lance against the horse’s head and shook off his glove. The moment his bare hand slid onto the grip, the lance hummed to life, glowing blue and pulsing. Very suddenly, it was as light as a feather.

  Across the arena, the dragon snorted and pawed the ground restlessly. It was anxious for a taste of flesh. One great foot left the ground and thudded back down, then the other. The dragon was ready for him, hungry. He knew that whoever or whatever still held it in check wouldn’t be doing so for very long.

  Rodney shuddered. His heart felt as though it might drive its way right through his chest. He shook off the other gauntlet and gripped the reins with his free hand. The horse hummed to life, its eyes lighting up with a mechanical click and its back shifting slightly as some sort of inner hydraulics compensated for Rodney’s weight. There were dents and dings all over its body, obviously from previous battles. At the edges of each metal panel was a fringe of corrosion. Rodney worried about its ability to move, about his own ability to command it.

  “The tin man had nothing on you!” he exclaimed with a heavy sigh.

  Through the small slit in his helmet, Rodney surveyed the crowd. They were on their feet and yelling, some shaking their fists and drinks in the air. To his left was Saul’s glass-fronted box and Rodney saw a figure inside, pressed tightly to the glass. He couldn’t tell who it was. Saul, probably, but there was no way to be sure. At the side of the box the monocular gaze of a camera followed him and, inside the helmet, he managed a little smile, though no one else could see it. Then he saluted, raising and dropping his lance in what he thought to be a farewell gesture to his friends watching from their cell. He imagined they were saluting back.

  With a scream of rage, the dragon was freed. It lunged into the chamber, winding right and left, flowing out of the hole like a giant serpent and heading straight for Rodney.

  With a yelp, Rodney turned the horse and managed to get it to move forward, away from the dragon. He turned just in time to see the beast leap toward him, eyes blazing and a low growl emanating from its wide throat.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The dragon roared again, and Rodney’s salute turned into a wild lunge to the side. His reaction time wasn’t great, but the horse, somehow, sensed the danger, and moved. Rodney clutched at the reins and leaned forward, trying to stay seated. The dragon’s breath was hot.

  “Don’t tell me,” Rodney groaned.

  Flames shot from the creature’s mouth. It wasn’t like in the old movies. The flame was bluish in tint, not bright, and focused. It was closer to the fire of a gas torch than a bonfire. Some chemical reaction in the beast’s organs created fumes that were lethal and flammable.

  Rodney didn’t have time to think about it. The horse spun, and almost of its own accord the lance rose level with the dragon’s chest. The horse dove forward. Rodney cried out, half in surprise and fear, half in exhilaration. The lance bit flesh and the creature reared up and back, screaming its own pain and rage.

  There was no time to think, only to act. He pulled the lance free and his mount, which now reacted almost like an extra limb, darted to the far end of the arena. He lifted the lance straight up and pivoted. The dragon had dropped low to the ground. Blood oozed from a large cut in its upper thigh, but its body was serpentine. It flowed along the floor, rolled and compensated for the injured limb.

  Rodney tilted his head, and the visor of the helmet he wore dropped over his eyes. He tried to fumble it back up, but before he could, something amazing happened. The inside of the visor lit up like a control panel. He saw the dragon clearly, but more — he knew things about it. He saw its weaknesses and felt its power as if he were part of the creature itself. Somehow the helmet had integrated his mind, the horse, and the lance. He’d become a single entity, a weapon with one purpose, and that purpose slid across the floor toward him; blue shimmering flame licked at its chin and it stared at him through eyes as large as basketballs.

  Rodney felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. He sat easily in the saddle, the tip of his lance at a slight angle toward the floor. He tugged the reins to the left, just slightly, and the horse began an odd, mincing side-step. There were three places to wound the creature that could stop it. He needed to hit at least two of them to bring it down. The wound to its leg, while painful, would barely slow it, and now that it was injured, it would feel cornered. That would render it more dangerous and less predictable.

  “Come to poppa,” Rodney whispered.

  He felt stronger than he’d ever felt before. He knew he should be terrified, but the longer he stayed connected with the armor, horse, and lance, the more self-awareness and courage he gained. Sure, the thing he was faced off against was huge, breathed fire, and could snap him in half with a single bite, but he still felt as if he had the advantage. The weapons he’d been given were specifically geared toward defeating this very creature. He even knew, though he wasn’t sure exactly how, that this was far from the first such dragon to enter the arena. He also knew that most of them had been slain in their first battle, and how those deaths had occurred. It was programmed into the helmet’s interface. He knew that the dragon he faced was the big daddy of them all, but he had a roadmap of how it’s brethren had been killed.

  The dragon charged. Rodney directed his mount to the side, turned, and then lunged. The lance pierced the dragon behind the neck, just above the shoulder. He pressed it deep, and he knew he’d struck his target cleanly. The dragon reeled up and back, lashing out with its tail. The horse backpedaled and spun, but the tail still struck hard. Rodney and the horse slid across the arena toward the far wall.

  This is it he told himself. This is what it all comes to. Then he felt a churning motion, and he realized that, impossibly, the mechanical horse was gaining traction against the skid. They stopped just short of the wall, and he was in motion again. There was nothing he could do but concentrate on the battle and ride it out. Even if he’d wanted to lift the visor, or to turn the horse and run, that wasn’t part of the weapons’ programming. The fight was on, and no matter what Rodney thought, or what he might want, it was going to reach its conclusion. Unable to stop himself, he cried out. Surprisingly, it sounded like a battle cry.

  The horse plunged ahead, the dragon reared, and the crowd came to their feet with a roar of approval.

  * * *

  Sheppard and Mara burst into the main chamber, glancing in both directions, but no one was in sight. It didn’t seem that Saul intended to concern himself further with them, but it would be a mistake to underestimate him.

  There was a screen on the wall, and it caught Sheppard’s eye. It hung over the bar where they’d first had drinks and it showed the arena clearly. Sheppard stepped up to the bar and stared.

  On the screen, a dragon slid across the floor clumsily. It had been wounded, but it still looked dangerous. Across the arena, a warrior sat astride an odd looking horse. He wore a visor, and he carried a lance that flickered with energy. Something about the way the man sat the horse caught Sheppard’s attention, something familiar. Then the warrior gave out a battle cry and the horse lunged, and in that instant, Sheppard knew.

  “Oh no.”

  “What?” Mara stepped up beside him. “What is it?”

  “”Not what,” Sheppard said, “who. It’s Rodney. That’s Rodney in there, fighting a dragon, and Saul took him because I told him Rodney could use the weapons.”

  “He’s not dying,” Mara said. “Look. He’s wounded the beast twice. Maybe you have underestimated him.”

  “I
t wouldn’t be the first time,” Sheppard said.

  He watched the screen a moment longer, and then dragged his gaze from it and grabbed her by the arm.

  “You have to take me down to that cell. I have to get my people out of there.”

  He saw the doubt and resistance in her expression and stepped closer, suddenly wrapping her in his arms. He held her there tightly and met her gaze.

  “This whole city is about to plunge into a sun, and I’m not ready. I’m not ready to die, and I’m thinking that — if we had a little more time together — we’d find out we aren’t done with one another, either. There may not be any way off this planet, but if we can get my people out and get to the star drives, maybe we can change the city’s course. Maybe, if we can get past Saul, we can bring this place back to the days you remember — to something worth being part of. The truth is, there’s nothing to lose. What is he going to do if he catches us, or stops us? Kill us a few hours early? Send us to the arena? This is better than the entertainments that place provides, because the stakes are real.”

  Mara watched him for a moment, sizing him up and testing his words for truth. Then, all at once, her expression softened.

  “You’re right. Saul has been running my life quite long enough. We’ll get your people, and we’ll see what can be done. Then…who knows?”

  Sheppard smiled and squeezed her arm, then let her go.

  They turned and ran down the corridor toward the holding cells. There was no one in the passageway. Even the guards were watching the battle in the arena. No one wanted to miss the action, and there was no reason to watch prisoners who were locked up securely.

  The two entered the large circular chamber, and it, too, was empty. They ran straight to the cell where Ronon, Teyla, and Cumby were still locked up. Mara worked the control panel quickly. At first, nothing happened.