“Stand down,” he ordered. “We’re not in a combat zone here.”
“Yeah,” Rodney couldn’t resist adding. “These commuters have enough troubles, they hardly need you shoving your ugly mug in their faces and scaring them half to death.”
Ronon bared his teeth, much like a wolf would issue warning. The two men warred like this constantly. Although, to be fair, Rodney did this to almost everyone. Still, Ronon was a favorite target. “Drop it,” Sheppard warned both of them, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “We’re just gonna go fetch this lady and hotfoot it back to D.C. No need to make it complicated or messy. Right?” He glared at both men until they each grudgingly nodded. “Good.”
“I hear something coming,” Teyla warned, studying the empty tracks that stretched away in both directions. “Something big, and fast. This subway you mentioned?”
“Yeah.” Sheppard could feel it now, that telltale crackle in the air, the hair standing up along his arms as the atmosphere changed, static coming off the track well in advance of the approaching car. He could hear it whistling along, the rushing sound growing louder by the second, and now he could just feel the brush of the breeze against his face. The whistling became a roaring, the breeze became a gale, and then with a powerful surge the subway shot into view, hurtling past them before screeching to a halt. One set of doors was almost directly in front of them, and as soon as it opened and people charged out Sheppard ushered his team inside. “Go!” he urged, hopping on after them just ahead of the warning to “Stand clear of the closing doors.” The doors slid shut, and a second later the train lurched into motion again. Rodney stumbled and had to grab onto a pole for support. Teyla’s hand tightened on the pole, but she kept her balance. Ronon stood rock steady with his back against the opposing door. And Sheppard himself had grabbed onto the pole out of old habit, and found his subway-riding instincts returning to him as they bounced and juddered and soared along. He’d spent a few weeks here with some college friends one summer and they had quickly become pros at navigating and riding the then-still-seedy subway lines. These clean, brightly lit new cars were a little strange to him, but the rhythm was the same, and the feel of the city racing beneath your feet even as you were the one racing under it.
“We’re only going a few stops,” he told the others, who all nodded. Sheppard couldn’t help grinning. He would’ve liked to have more time to wander and explore and revisit and enjoy, but just being back in New York was a major rush.
Shame this mission seemed like such a cakewalk. They’d be back on the copter before he knew it.
“This is the place,” Rodney announced with all the satisfaction of a master builder who had just completed his life’s work.
Sheppard gave him a sideways look. “Yeah, thanks, Rodney. We can all read.” Because, in large gilt letters, the awning in front proclaimed “312,” the number of the building listed in their file.
“Are you sure about that?” Rodney tilted his head as he regarded Ronon. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw his lips moving just now.”
Ronon’s snarl was silent but eloquent. Not that it would shut Rodney down for long.
“We’re looking for apartment 48,” Sheppard said, hoping to prevent or at least stall yet another confrontation. He led the way under the awning. The building wasn’t fancy enough to require a doorman, but it did have a double set of front doors that functioned like an airlock — and, of course, the outer one opened easily but the inner door was securely locked.
“Stand back,” Ronon warned, but Sheppard stopped him before he could draw.
“Naw, we don’t need to melt any locks just now,” he said carefully. “And kicking it in would just draw the cops. We’ve gotta do this the old-fashioned way.”
Teyla frowned. “You want us to remove the hinges or pick the lock? I did not bring the proper tools for either of those activities.”
For a second, Sheppard considered asking what tools she preferred for each, and why she would normally carry them. But he decided against it. Instead, he just grinned. “Watch and learn.” Beside the inner door there was a large panel that listed each apartment number, with the tenant’s last name beside it. Next to that was a grid of buttons under a small circular speaker. He studied the list for a second, then picked a number at random and punched it in.
“Yeah?” a voice answered after a second. It was male, deep and gruff.
“Delivery!” Sheppard sang out in reply.
“What? I didn’t order anything — buzz off!” And the line went dead.
Unfazed, Sheppard tried again. This time no one answered. The third time he got a woman, older by the sound of it, her voice high and quavery as she asked, “Who is this?”
“Delivery!” he repeated.
“Oh? All right.” And a second later the door buzzed harshly. Sheppard didn’t waste any time — he yanked it open and ushered the rest of the team through.
“That’s how you get into a building?” Ronon asked as they marched across the lobby to the elevator bank. “I would never let you in.”
“A lot of people don’t,” Sheppard agreed with a shrug. “But there’s always somebody who does. Or someone coming back who’ll hold the door open for you. The trick is to look anxious and unthreatening.” He considered his tall, bulky warrior companion. “You’d probably need a hat. People like hats.”
The elevator was the classic kind, small and cramped with large push buttons and an inner door that slid shut only once the outer door had clanged against the frame. It also moved at a snail’s pace. And there wasn’t even any music. But eventually it reached the fourth floor and the inner door creaked aside again. Sheppard pushed the outer door open and emerged onto a long, narrow, dimly lit hall, squinting to study the door numbers. “This way.” His long strides carried him quickly to apartment 48, and he rapped on the door.
No one answered.
“Hello?” he tried again, knocking more loudly.
Still nothing.
“She might not be home, or she might not be answering,” he said. “No way to be sure without getting inside.”
Ronon gently but firmly moved him out of the way. Then, with a single powerful kick, he broke the door lock and sent the heavy metal door flying inward. It rebounded against the wall with a loud smack, but by that time Ronon was already through the opening, gun in hand.
“Yeah, that’ll work,” Sheppard agreed, following his friend inside. A quick glance showed a dark hallway with an opening on one side into a small kitchen and a rack on the other for coats and hats and umbrellas. The far end of the hallway led to what was probably a living room, and he guessed that the doors near it were to a bathroom and a bedroom. He didn’t hear anyone scrambling to hide or calling for help, which suggested that this Acuna woman wasn’t here right now. Still, they needed to check and be sure. “Spread out,” he instructed. “She isn’t dangerous, and she’s not a threat, so be nice. But find her.”
He checked the kitchen first, but it was cramped enough that he could tell at once that no one was in there. The sink was full of dirty dishes, but none of them looked recent, so they hadn’t surprised her mid-meal or anything.
“Um, Sheppard?” Rodney called from somewhere further into the apartment. “You really need to see this.”
Sheppard found him standing in the living room. Upon entering, he scanned the space, which looked like a small tornado had struck it — and froze.
Because taking up almost all of the far corner was a Stargate.
“What the hell?” Sheppard started warily toward the thing, his hand going to his side before he remembered that, unlike Ronon, he had surrendered his sidearm before leaving the SGC. How could there be another Stargate here on Earth?
He was checking the corners, worried that a Wraith or some other bad guy might suddenly pop up from behind the couch
or under the coffee table, when Teyla laid a hand on his arm. “Breathe,” she instructed, her voice calm and cool. Sheppard frowned but took her advice. He straightened up, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then he blinked and looked again.
The Stargate was still there.
Except that, he now realized, it wasn’t.
“It’s too small.” The gate didn’t even reach the ceiling. This was an older building, so the rooms had nice high ceilings, but they were still only ten feet up. A full Stargate was nearly fifteen feet tall.
Now that he looked more closely, Sheppard noticed something else. But Rodney beat him to naming it. “The chevrons are wrong,” he said, gesturing at the symbols carved all around the ring. “A few of those are right, and some of the others look close, but about half are just dead wrong. That thing would never go anywhere — not anywhere real, anyway.”
Real? Sheppard frowned and took a single careful step toward the diminutive Stargate. Then another. On his third, his foot caught on the rug and he stumbled, barely catching himself on his hands and forearms before cracking his head against the hardwood floor. Then a soft creak made him glance up to see the Stargate toppling toward him.
“Look out!” Ronon threw himself forward blocking the falling gate with his own body as he dragged Sheppard clear. One side of the circular gateway struck Ronon across the back and shoulder —
— and shattered, blocks and chevrons raining about him like some strange, stone-flecked snow.
“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Rodney remarked after a second, though even he couldn’t mask his total surprise. “I knew you were hardheaded, Ronon, but hard-backed, too? You’re like our own personal ninja turtle.”
Sheppard doubted Ronon understood the reference, but he growled at Rodney anyway. For his part, Sheppard was too busy picking himself back up, catching his breath, and reorganizing the facts he now possessed.
“It’s a fake,” he declared, stepping over and stooping to pick up one of the broken segments. It weighed next to nothing. “Styrofoam painted to look like stone.” He lobbed the piece at Rodney, who flinched away and then reddened at Ronon’s laughter. “Whoever this Acuna is, she built herself a model Stargate.” He rubbed at his jaw. “No wonder the SGC wants her.”
“How does she know anything about it?” Rodney demanded. He looked like the model’s very existence was a personal affront. “Everything about the Stargate is beyond Top Secret.”
“These might have something to do with it,” Teyla offered. While the rest of them had been staring at the model, she had been examining the papers strewn about on the floor beside an overturned coffee table. Now she held up a printout of a grainy photo — of a very real and very familiar Stargate.
“Let me see that.” Rodney practically snatched the photo from her hand. “This is one of Catherine Langford’s pictures from the original Giza dig. Look at the clothes.”
Teyla was considering the broken model. “This Dr. Acuna obviously has some knowledge of the Stargates and their construction, and has been piecing together whatever information she could find on them. It is impressive.”
Sheppard shrugged. “So she can do dioramas. Swell. I just want to find her and get her to D.C.” The longer they wasted, the less time he would have to enjoy this trip.
Rodney had joined Teyla in studying the papers. “I recognize most of this,” he said as he shuffled a few documents. “Early treatises, crackpot theories, and everything in between. Except for this.” He held up a business card. “This looks new, and I haven’t heard of them before.”
Sheppard took the card from him. “Lightbridge Enterprises,” he read aloud. “Taking you to the stars — and beyond.” He shared a look with the rest of the team. “Gee, does that sound like anything else to the rest of you? Lightbridge? Stargate? Not exactly subtle.”
“Subtle is overrated,” Ronon said. “But if Acuna isn’t here, and this card is, maybe they know where she went?”
“Or maybe they have her.” Sheppard said. “If I were trying to get rich off a Stargate, it’d sure help to have someone who could build me one of my own.” He eyed the mess all around them. “This place does look like it’s been tossed — or like they came for her and she put up a fight.” He sighed. “But even if this woman knows everything we do about the Stargate network, without access to Ancient technology she wouldn’t be able to forge the naqahdah to build it. If she even had any naquadah. And if the people at Lightbridge realized she’s useless to them…”
He shook his head. So much for that R&R.
“All right, where are we now?” Teyla asked as they stepped off the train. “That was far less harrowing than the underground version we used previously. And far less . . . aromatic.”
“Long Island Railroad versus New York subway,” Sheppard explained. “Totally different beasts.” He looked around. “We’re out on Long Island, which is the island next to Manhattan.”
“Ah.” Teyla nodded. “So we have left New York City, which is the other island.”
“Not exactly.” Sheppard scratched his chin. “Queens is still part of the city, and it’s on Long Island.”
She frowned. “So we are in Queens?”
“No, we’re on Long Island.”
“But you just said that Queens was on Long Island.”
“Yeah, it is, but we’re past Queens. Queens is part of New York City. Long Island isn’t.”
“And yet Queens is on Long Island?” She shook her head. “That makes no sense.”
Sheppard opened his mouth to try again, stopped, and shut it. “Yeah, okay, fair enough,” he admitted. “To be honest, I could never figure that one out, either. But anyway, that’s where we are. About an hour outside the city.” He studied their surroundings. “Looks like a nice little town.” There were only a few low buildings near the train station, but a block away was a cute little downtown area. The shops there would have looked right at home in the 1950s, with their colorful awnings and large plate-glass windows and somewhat worn-looking displays. It was like the Town That Time Forgot.
“Good place for a research facility,” Rodney offered, making his way toward a set of stairs that led down from the train station. “You’re not gonna get a lot of government interference out here.” He sounded slightly wistful at the notion.
Sheppard was studying the map he’d bought at Penn Station on their way to the train. “Looks like Lightbridge is just a few blocks from here.” Folding the map back up, he shoved it into his back pocket and took the lead again.
He stopped a block later, when the building came into view — along with some of its more striking architectural elements.
“Impressive,” Ronon said. “Well-fortified, well manned, and well-maintained. I can get us in but” — he shrugged — “it won’t be easy. Or quiet.”
Sheppard had ducked back out of view after also considering the building, which looked an awful lot like a fort. Now he shook his head. “What the hell does some start-up entrepreneur need with military-grade security?”
“They’d need it if they had their own Stargate,” Rodney pointed out. Which was absolutely true.
Sheppard just hoped the company was only planning for the future. Because if they really had a fully functional Stargate in there already, not only were he and his team in trouble but the rest of the world was in trouble too.
“Okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “We need a plan to get inside. Suggestions?”
“This is the stupidest plan ever,” Rodney hissed as he peered around the corner again.
“Duly noted,” Sheppard said. “Now get moving.”
Still muttering about abuse of power and endangering subordinates, Rodney nonetheless did as instructed and stepped out from behind the bushes. He stood there for a second, frozen, before
squaring his shoulders and striding directly toward Lightbridge Enterprises, whistling loudly as he went.
“’ello!” he called out as he got close to the building. “I say, anyone in there, wot? Anyone home, eh?”
“What is he doing?” Sheppard whispered to Teyla and Ronon. The two of them just shrugged.
“Isn’t that the way he always talks?” Ronon asked. As usual, he was so stone-faced it was impossible to tell if he was kidding or not. For the first few months of their acquaintance, Sheppard had been convinced Ronon didn’t have a sense of humor. Since then he’d realize that he did, it was just very subtle. And often geared toward killing.
Shaking his head, Sheppard turned to watch Rodney’s progress. The scientist had reached the building’s front door and was banging on it with his fist, shouting something about looking for the queue to the lift, or some such. For a few minutes nothing happened, and Sheppard worried that this plan might be a total bust. Then the doors swung open, so suddenly and emphatically that Rodney was forced to take a quick step back to avoid being struck, and a small squad of men emerged. They were dressed in black combat gear and carried automatic rifles. They did not have masks or goggles, however, leaving their faces exposed.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately,” the lead soldier barked at Rodney, stopping just far enough away to keep his weapon out of Rodney’s reach. Definitely smart and definitely well-trained, Sheppard thought with an inward groan. Swell. Why couldn’t they have been dumb and incompetent? That would have made this so much easier.
“Eh, wot?” Rodney was replying. “Sorry, laddie, I’m just a wee bit lost. Looking for the lorry, don’t you know? Can you be a mate and help a bloke out?” His accent was not only atrocious but in constant flux, but at least it seemed to be baffling the security guard as much as it was annoying Sheppard.
STARGATE SG-1 ATLANTIS: Homeworlds : Volume three of the Travelers' Tales (SGX Book 5) Page 26
