STARGATE UNIVERSE: Air

by James Swallow

“Do I…?” He is so brittle at that moment that he is afraid he will shatter if he answers. “I don’t…” And when at last he does reply, it is to a different question. “She’s not going to have it.”

  The old man felt that. Like a punch in the gut, it hit him hard.

  “You’re sure?”

  “She’s sixteen. We don’t even really know each other.”

  The silence goes on, and it is like darkness. Filling the chapel, blotting out the light in the room.

  “Is there any chance she will change her mind?” He asks this, but the old man knows the answer already from the cast of Scott’s face.

  “No.”

  And then the other question. The real one. The one the future turned on.

  “What are you going to do, Matthew?”

  “I don’t know.” The truth is so heavy upon him. “About anything.”

  “I see.” But he doesn’t, not really.

  “I thought I did. I thought he was my calling. But now…”

  He looked at me with such sadness then. Not disappointment, but something worse than that.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  It’s the last thing Scott expects to hear. “Why? I’m the one who is weak. It’s my fault.”

  “No… it’s not.”

  He looked away, like he was lost in thought, staring into a distance only he could see. And I was blinded by my tears.

  “It’s not yours.” Scott reaches for him, searching for connection, for something solid.

  But then he is sand, dissolving before my eyes, crumbling, dissipating, gone.

  He is sand.

  Sand—

  It was part of the dream, the memory; or perhaps it wasn’t. Later he would think on it and try to find the places where one ended and the other began, but it did not resolve itself. In Scott’s mind it stayed murky and unclear.

  The swirl of sand had returned once more, twisting around him. It spun up in front of him as he lay on the slope of the white dune. The vortex turned faster and faster, seeming to take on power and build energy before a sudden release of force. The swirling mass punched down into the sand, and from beneath a dark stain grew. Welling up from below the surface, liquid rose. Bubbling, flowing, a pool of ink-gray water emerged around Scott’s face, soaking into his jacket, touching his arid, burned skin.

  He roused. Blinked and coughed, swallowed by reflex and gasped. Scott lifted himself up on shaky arms, his eyes widening.

  Water. There was water here, hiding beneath the sands. And water meant—

  Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, Scott drew on his reserves of strength and plunged his hands into the damp sand. Using his fingers like blades of a spade, he tore out great clods of the wet powder, desperately digging in.

  When he found it, he gave a wordless noise of elation. Under the sand, beneath the layer of the dry lake bed, a granular mass of crumbly sediment was visible, pale and powdery. It was soft, and it broke apart easily in his hands.

  Scott dove for his pack and upended it, spilling out the testing kit on to the dune. He was aware that his hands were shaking, and concentrated on steadying himself. Carefully, he scooped a measure of the sediment into a flask, then gave up the last splash of water in his canteen to the mix. He swirled it, firing the pocket torch and placing the flame at the flask’s underside.

  He snatched at the bottle of reagent, dropping the colored acid into the solution. The fluid turned red and he worked it, swilling it around and around with the torch flame licking at the bottom of the flask. Scott held his breath, and like a magician’s trick, the crimson thinned, became insubstantial…and then clear.

  He wanted to yell out but he could barely speak. Getting to his feet, he saw the dull glitter of the lake bed beyond and gave a weary nod. Palmer had been right all along.

  “This is Scott,” he husked into his radio. “Anyone read? Come in.” He released the push-to-talk button and static chattered back at him. He tried again. “I found it. I found the lake bed.” He looked down. “I’ve got the lime.”

  Still no reply. Drawing back his cuff, Scott looked at the dusty face of his wristwatch and blinked, unsure if he was reading it right. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus.

  The time. He felt sick inside as it dawned on him. “Oh God….” I’m too late.

  No matter how fast he could go, he would never make it back to the Stargate before the time limit expired. He called into the radio again. “If you can hear me… wait. I’m coming. Just wait!”

  With frantic speed, Scott tore the collapsible entrenching shovel from its pocket on his back pack and desperately began digging up great divots of the crumbly sediment, shoveling the powdery material into his bag as fast as he could.

  The heat had pushed Eli into a dozy reverie, and he sat on the stone ramp, trying to shade himself with a sliver of shadow from the Stargate; but the gateway’s sudden reactivation shocked him into motion and he broke into a scrambling run, out into the sand. Each time he’d seen the flash of energy when the gate opened it had made him jump, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to someone standing in front of it when it ‘kawooshed’ open. Nothing good, he imagined. Then another unpleasant thought struck him; what if you were stepping through when it closed? He made a sour face, thinking about The Fly again.

  The gate spun, the chevrons glowing, and Eli took a tighter grip on Greer’s pistol; at this point he was way beyond knowing what to expect. The wormhole opened and he raised the gun in a shaky, two-handed grip; then he almost dropped it in relief when he saw a familiar face come through. It was the woman Scott had shared a smile with in the corridor, back on Icarus. Lieutenant James, yeah, that was her. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Hi,” he managed.

  She nodded to him. “Why don’t you let me have that?” James plucked the gun from his hands and made it safe.

  Two more people followed her through, men in Marine gear with the names ‘Spencer’ and ‘Gorman’ on their jackets.

  Eli felt a little giddy and gave a crooked smile. “Table for three?” he croaked. “I’m sorry, but we only have outdoor seating.”

  James handed him a water bottle. “Take this,” she said. “You sound like you need it.”

  Eli attacked the canteen greedily and gulped down mouthfuls of water, nodding. It was the best drink he’d ever had. “Next planet we find,” he managed, between swigs, “Nice and cold, please.”

  “We’re going to make a sweep for Greer and the lieutenant,” she told him. Spencer and Gorman were already heading out at a fast clip, and James jogged up to follow them. “Oh yeah, we brought you this, too.” She dug in her pack and tossed something toward him.

  Eli reached out to grab the object but it slowed to a halt and hovered in the middle of its arc; a replacement kino. “Thanks,” he called, but they were already over the dune and gone.

  He paused, staring at the Stargate, thinking of the shade and the cool of the Destiny. He could dial back, step through and get out of this murderous heat, just step-step-step and he’d be there. He drank the rest of the water slowly, then finally turned away.

  Eli had promised Greer he would be here when he got back; somewhere out there the Marine was keeping a promise not to leave a comrade behind. Eli nodded to himself. He wasn’t going to let some sunburn make a liar of him.

  Through fire, Scott lumbered across the dunes, dragging the heavy pack behind him across the sand in jerks of motion. Every inch he advanced was pain, his joints tight with the effort. The pack felt like an impossible tonnage, and in his mind’s eye he imagined it was loaded down with great ingots of heavy steel, the weight of them so great it threatened to sink through the mantle of the sand and drag him down with it into a bottomless abyss.

  He shot an angry look into the sky, flinching away from the pale yellow sun riding high in the cloudless blue above. Scott wanted to shout at it, Do your worst! but he couldn’t form the words. His mouth was as arid as the sands, and the brief surge of groundwater
that had soaked his tunic had already evaporated away.

  A sudden, panicked thought worked its way through his mind and Scott turned to look back at the pack; he had a horrible vision of it split open, the precious mineral sediment inside scattered out behind him like a contrail. But the pack had not broken and his load was still intact. If he could just get it back to the Stargate before it was too late. Before the time ran out. Before he ran out.

  Scott planted his foot wrongly on his next step and fell hard, losing his grip on the pack’s straps. The impact of the sand slammed into his body and his breath crashed from his lungs in an aching rattle. He tried to lift himself up, but his muscles twitched and spasmed. Scott sank back into the embrace of the desert.

  Camile clasped her hands together to give them something to do, to stop her from wringing them over one another. Nervous energy was warring with her body’s fatigue from the ever dwindling oxygen supply, and caught between the two, she roamed the decks of the Destiny, doing what she was best at — observing people, measuring them and following their thoughts.

  She went from room to room. In the quarters, there was mostly silence from each open door, not even the murmur of quiet conversation now. From one room she heard the faint tremors of a man softly crying, and she walked on. Wray saw survivors lying on bunks, or huddling in hallways. As she passed them by they looked at her, the questions open on their faces. What’s going on? Is there any word? But she had no answers to give them; Wray knew as much — or as little — about their fate as they did.

  Unseen at the door of the room Colonel Young had taken, Wray watched Tamara Johansen work to mend Jeremy Franklin’s bullet wound. The lieutenant had co-opted Chloe Armstrong to assist her, and the young girl struggled on, her face tight and pale with aversion at the blood and torn flesh in front of her. Tamara dug into the meat of the man’s shoulder and drew out the flattened head of the rifle bullet. Camile had to turn away at the sounds of her working on the ripped, injured flesh.

  Wray went on to the gate room. She’d hoped that the wormhole they had opened earlier might stave off the pounding headache tightening around her head, as whatever air passed through the Stargate might bring some tiny measure of fresh oxygen through; but she had learned to her chagrin that the wormhole only worked one-way, so while Destiny’s bad air bled out, nothing had come through to replace it across the shimmering silver membrane of non-matter. For now, the gate remained closed.

  Brody stood with Sergeant Riley and a few of the other civilian scientists, nursing the workings of the air purification unit that had been pulled from the ship’s walls.

  “We still have options,” Brody was saying. “I mean, I think there must be replacement stores of this material on board the ship.” He poked at the black slurry caking the scrubber unit. “It simply doesn’t make sense that the Ancients would send this vessel into space without them.”

  “That’s as maybe,” said Volker. “But if we can’t find this missing storehouse of magic chemicals, it may as well be on the other side of the universe.”

  “What if we can get into some of the other scrubber units?” said Riley. “They can’t all be filled with this goop. If we can find some good ones, maybe swap out the units in here…”

  “And then what?” said Brody. “We have fresh air in the gate room for a while, but nowhere else?”

  “We move everyone back in here, seal it off,” said Riley. “It’s not an ideal solution, but—”

  Volker shook his head. “We’ve looked already. There are no ‘good’ units left. All of them are stale.”

  The conversation went on, and Wray noticed Doctor Rush a few feet away from the group. He stood at the control console, a dour expression in his face, before shaking his head and looking away.

  She walked to him. “Doctor.”

  “Miss Wray.”

  She nodded at Brody and the others. “I imagine they could use your help.”

  He didn’t look up. “I’m not really one for hopeless causes.”

  “You think we don’t have any hope?” Wray heard the tremor in her own voice.

  Rush gave her a sideways look. “I think what they’re talking about is a waste of breath.” He looked away again, dismissing her.

  She frowned and took a step toward the Stargate. The metallic ring arched high up over her and for a moment she lost herself in it.

  It was something so incredible, so beautiful; and yet this device and all it represented would be responsible for taking their lives unless they could take control of their fate… Their destiny.

  Wray glimpsed movement on the upper balcony; in the shadows she saw Colonel Young resting on the coppery rail, staring down at the Stargate. She had no doubt that at this moment, he shared the same fears and hopes that she did.

  Greer felt himself waver slightly in the burning heat, for a split-second stepping off the line and almost losing the path of his straight-arrow march; but he caught himself in time and straightened out, his jaw stiffening.

  The Marine hunched forward, pushing on towards the crest of the next dune. He would not allow himself to weaken; he had not earned that right. In the Corps, you need permission to die, his Gunny had once told him, you don’t got that, you keep your Marine ass walking, son.

  “Hoo-rah,” he said aloud, his voice gravelly and dry. He reached the top of the hill and saw something that made him halt.

  A way ahead, there against the stark white of the mineral sands, a blotch of dark color lay in the lee of a dune, cast like a shadow. He blinked sweat from his eyes and the shape resolved itself into a man; Scott.

  He broke into a run, sprinting down the ridge and across the shallow valley between the dunes. The lieutenant lay there, face half buried, his breathing shallow. Greer saw his pack close by, the dark material of the bag covered with a powdery residue that didn’t look like sand. Acting quickly, he drew his canteen and tipped up Scott’s face, pressing his jaw open. Greer had saved as much of his water as possible, and now he gave it up, pouring it into the man’s mouth, then splashing palmfuls on his face.

  “Come on,” he insisted. “Get up. Air Force did good for a change. Don’t screw it up now.”

  “Take the bag,” Scott rasped. “The…limestone…”

  “Yeah, I saw that. Now get up.” Greer pulled the other man to a sitting position, but Scott managed a shake of his head.

  “There’s no time. You have to take it. Now.” He coughed. “I can’t make it.”

  “Yes, you can!” snarled the Marine. He was damned if he was going to let this flyboy die on his watch, not after all this. “Get the hell up!” Greer lifted Scott and pushed him forward, and the lieutenant tottered and fell again, struggling on his knees to rise once more and failing.

  The Marine bent to take the weight of the pack and felt the pull of it. Scott had to have filled the thing to bursting. “Holy…” He grunted and lifted it off the ground. “I can’t carry this and you.” As a last resort, Greer aimed a kick at Scott and shoved him with his boot. “Get your weak-ass carcass up!” he shouted. “Come on!”

  Eli flew the kino in a long spiral arc over the tops of the dunescape, turning it this way and that, using the zoom function he had discovered. He grew ever more aggressive with his manipulation of the controls; before he’d been content to just make careful plays at exploring how it worked, but now he was taking chances, almost at the point of hitting key combinations at random to see if that did something new. If only he could find some kind of tricorder/life-scanner option, something that could home in on the missing men…

  He had the flight controls down pat, though, and so with that he took the kino up high, until it was just a tennis ball-sized dot in the sky, and used it to survey the horizon from a higher vantage point. Peering into the small screen on the remote, he spotted movement over the low hills and locked on to it. Dun-colored shapes resolved into a line of three figures and his heart sank as he saw James, Gorman and Spencer crest a dune, on their way back to him. There was no sign
of Scott or Greer.

  By the time James and her team reached him, Eli had already put the kino back to its ‘roaming’ mode and run the dialing sequence for the Stargate. As the plume of energy settled back into a rippling wall of light, the woman approached him and held out her hand for the remote.

  “I’ll take it,” she said. There was a sadness in her eyes that she couldn’t fully conceal from him. “I’ll stay.”

  Eli looked at the device, and then back at James, once again thinking of the promise he made to Greer. “It’s okay.” He told her. “I’ve got it. You go on back, I’ll follow.”

  James waved Spencer and Gorman through the gate, and looked back at Eli. “We don’t have much time left.”

  “I know,” he said.

  She gave a resigned nod, and headed up the stone ramp to follow the Marines.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Incoming,” called Sergeant Riley, and Young looked up with a jolt. He’d been miles away for a moment, at first mulling their options, then slowly coming to the grave realization that they had none; then drifting, back to that moment with Emily. He had promised her he would be coming home, and now it seemed that he lied to her.

  He pushed the dismal thoughts from his mind and made his way down the curved stairs from the gate room’s upper balcony, his knee joints complaining with every step he took at speed. Ahead of him, the Stargate had started to spin once again, the white chevrons blazing like beacons in the dimness.

  Rush was standing at the control console, watching the origin symbols lock in one by one. “It’s Eli,” he confirmed. He looked up and saw Young was watching him. “We have less than three minutes before the ship jumps again.”

  The colonel nodded. “If they don’t come through with what we need…”

  “I have some ideas,” Rush replied. “You may not like them.”

  The gate locked in place and the wormhole flashed open. Young’s lips thinned; “We wait until the last possible second, do I make myself clear?”