Stargate Atlantis #24

by Melissa Scott

  “Yes, but we were using the ship’s water in the infirmary tent.” Innyes shook her head. “My mistake, I should have seen that —“

  “Yes,” Agosten said, not quite quietly enough, and Bartolan shot him a reproving look.

  Innyes glared. “And I will put myself on report, First Officer, once I’ve gotten us back onto a reasonable track.”

  “Enough,” Bartolan said. “That’s not necessary, Doctor, thank you. All right. I want a list of essential crew in all departments. Doctor, I want you to prepare enough of the gene therapy for them.”

  “Yes, captain,” Innyes said.

  On the far side of the table, Sheppard stirred. “How long is that likely to take? Because between Lorne and me, we could probably get you back to your homeworld pretty quickly —“

  “That won’t be necessary,” Agosten said sharply.

  Bartolan said, “As I remember, the therapy takes hold within hours.”

  “And it won’t take me more than eight hours to prepare the therapy for injection,” Innyes said. “Probably less.”

  “That’ll give me time to go over the repairs one last time,” Orsolya interjected.

  Sheppard gave a crooked smile. “Fine, I get it, you want to bring her home under your own control.”

  “It is our ship,” Bartolan said. “And, while I appreciate your company, and the support of the jumpers, it is not absolutely necessary for you to remain on board.”

  Sheppard and Ronon exchanged glances, and then Sheppard shook his head. “I think I should stick around until you’ve got a full crew back. Just in case.”

  That did make sense, Bartolan told himself, even as he cringed at the thought of going further into the Lanteans’ debt. “Very well.”

  Perhaps spurred by Agosten’s anger, Innyes was better than her word. The injections were ready in six hours. Bartolan lined up with the rest of the crew to receive his, then decreed an eight-hour rest period before they began the return voyage. They could all use the break, after the tension of the launch, and it would be easier to sleep through any side effects from the injections. He stretched out on his own bunk, trying to set a good example, and caught himself reaching for the ship as though he were back on the bridge. He had missed that strange connection, the sense of the Pride as a willing partner, eager to help as they prepared to enter hyperspace, or slid easily into orbit around yet another world. He had always been skeptical of the worlds and peoples that worshipped the Ancestors as near-deities — they were, as far as Genii science could determine, extremely advanced people, but people nonetheless — but for the first time he felt the tug of that nearly mystical feeling. To house that power within one’s own flesh, to be one with a ship as powerful as the Pride — to be one with Atlantis itself, the great City of the Ancestors… Sheppard had flown Atlantis, he remembered, sleepily. Bartolan had been a gunner aboard the Pride when they fought Queen Death, and he had seen the city moving into action, dwarfing even the mightiest of the ships that surrounded it. Perhaps that was why he could coax the Pride back to life so quickly: he had been living with the Ancestors’ legacy for long enough that it had become a part of him. And that was something to which he himself could aspire. He had the gene, and command of the Pride; he could learn to live with the ship as part of him, as part of the ship, a new way to imagine what the Genii might become. There were worse people to imitate than Sheppard.

  ~#~

  The Pride’s first officer had offered them the use of a spare cabin, and John had accepted it with some reluctance. He could understand why Fredek wanted to bring the ship home under his own control, but he couldn’t help chafing at the delay. One of the ship’s stewards brought tea and a tray of sandwiches, and that lasted them about half an hour before the plate and flask were empty.

  “Maybe you should do what the captain suggested,” Ronon said, and stretched out on the bunk.

  John shot him a glance. “Maybe because you’re taking up the only bed.”

  Ronon reached up to tap the bulkhead above him. “There’s another one under here. Last man in has to take the upper.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself.” Ronon put his arm over his eyes, and appeared to fall instantly asleep.

  The trouble was, John thought, Ronon was right, they ought to take the chance to rest, but he couldn’t rid himself of a nagging unease. There was absolutely no cause for it: he had checked the ship’s displays, and everything showed green. Both jumpers reported all systems nominal. It was almost as though there was something just out of hearing, some vibration that set his teeth on edge and sent him looking for its cause. And maybe that was literally true, he thought. It had happened before, and it was purely mechanical, not some weird premonition. He let himself sink down in the cabin’s only chair, stretching his legs and folding his hands across his chest, and tried to relax.

  He woke abruptly, sure he had heard someone in the cabin, but the lights were still full on, and there was no one there but himself and Ronon. Ronon was still asleep, eyes closed, breathing steady, and John relaxed. If there was one thing he had learned in his years on Atlantis, it was to trust Ronon’s instincts. If he thought it was safe enough to sleep —

  There was a soft click from the cabin door, as though a switch had been flipped. John stared at it for a long moment, then rose carefully to his feet, aware as he moved that Ronon’s eyes were now open.

  “Sheppard.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  “I heard something.” Ronon sat up, his hand already on the grip of his blaster.

  “Yeah.” John pressed the latch to release the cabin door. It moved, but nothing happened. He pressed it again, harder, and shook his head. “Locked.”

  “Not good.”

  “No.” John pressed his hand against the door plate as though he could feel the lock through it. What was wrong with the Genii? They’d nearly gotten themselves killed by sabotaging the ship, and now they were going to try again.

  “Can you get the ship to open it?”

  “Maybe.” John closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on the Pride the way he’d learned to focus on Atlantis’s systems. He thought he felt something, a tickle of interest, but most of the ship’s attention was turned away, fixed on something else. He frowned, wondering what that could be, and his radio sounded.

  “John.” Teyla’s voice was tight with worry. “John, are you all right? The Pride is getting underway.”

  “What?” John stopped himself. “No, I heard you. What do you mean, getting underway? Are the main engines running?”

  “She is moving away from us,” Teyla answered. “It is just the little engines that are firing, not the main engine —“

  “Sheppard,” McKay cut in. “Sheppard, the Pride is falling out of stable orbit. Whoever’s firing the thrusters doesn’t know what they’re doing, they’re going to crash the ship into the planet if they’re not careful —“

  Ronon was already at the door, trying the latch and then pushing hard against it. He drew his blaster, and John caught his wrist.

  “Wait —“

  Ronon stopped, breathing hard. John said, “McKay. Can you raise anyone in the control room?”

  “No. Where are you? We can take you off —“

  “We’re locked in a cabin,” John said. “But I can get us out. You and Lorne stand by, be ready to act on my orders.”

  Ronon looked at him. “Can you open the door?”

  “Yes.” Maybe. John moved to the console tucked into the corner of the cabin. At the moment, it showed only the ship’s time, and John touched keys to shift to a general diagnostic. The screen flashed red, and displayed a familiar set of characters: access denied. “Oh, come on…” He touched keys again, with the same result, then made himself concentrate. He could feel the ship here, feel her presence, but her attention was turned away. Hey. Look over here, baby. Look over here. We need your help… “McKay. I need access.”

  “What do you think I can do from here?”
McKay answered. “Ok, wait a minute, I’m in contact, getting into the ship’s systems, let me —“

  The display flashed red, then green, and John said, “You’re in.”

  “Now you need an override,” McKay said. “Zed 4820089092 Alpha should do it.”

  John punched in the characters as McKay repeated them, and the screen went from green to gold, an entirely new set of menus cascading down. John found the security settings and then their cabin, entered the command that would override the lock. “Ronon. Try it now.”

  Ronon leaned on the latch, and this time the hatch slid back. He blocked it from closing, looked back over his shoulder. “All clear out here.”

  “Control room,” John said, and there was a series of sharp snaps from somewhere down the corridor. “Crap.”

  “Someone’s shooting,” Ronon said, blaster in hand. “Do we go after them?”

  “No.” John shook his head. “We need the control room. We need to get the Pride back into stable orbit — how long have we got, McKay?”

  “We were in a low orbit to start with,” McKay answered. “Say — twenty minutes? You’ll have some time after that before she starts breaking up, but every minute you’re in atmosphere without the shields up, you’ll be taking damage.”

  “Copy that,” John said. “We’ll contact you when we hit the control room. Sheppard out.”

  “How do you want to play this?” Ronon asked. “There’s no telling who’s on which side.”

  “Anybody gets in our way, stun them,” John answered.

  The main corridor was empty. John and Ronon exchanged glances, then John slipped around the corner, flattening himself against the bulkhead. Nothing moved, and he slipped forward, Ronon following him. There was another burst of fire somewhere in the Pride’s stern, and Ronon lifted an eyebrow. John shook his head, pointed forward instead. Ronon nodded, blaster ready, and they eased forward to the next cross-corridor. John peered cautiously around the corner, and ducked back as someone fired at him.

  “That’s not helpful.”

  “Yeah.” Ronon braced himself. John nodded, and the Satedan launched himself across the corridor, firing as he went. He rolled and came up ready. “Go.”

  John dove across the gap, every muscle tight with the expectation of attack, but the only sound was Ronon’s blaster. “Must have gotten them the first time.”

  “Maybe.” There were more shots, echoing weirdly in the confined space, and Ronon shook his head. “Is there another way?”

  “No. We’d have to get into maintenance spaces, and we don’t have the time to crawl through them.”

  “If they’re waiting at the control room, we’re sitting ducks.”

  I know. As if to underline the problem, the Pride shivered underfoot. John touched his radio. “McKay. Something changed.”

  “Yeah, someone’s fired more aft thrusters, you’re going to hit the atmosphere at an angle.”

  “Not good,” John said, in spite of himself.

  “Yeah, tell me about it.” McKay stopped. “And still no shields. Look, when you get to the control room, the first thing you’re going to have to do is straighten her out, then worry about the rest of it —“

  “Got it,” John said. “How long?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  Great. They’d be lucky to be at the control room door at that point. “Copy that,” he said aloud, and looked at Ronon. “We’re going to have to hurry.”

  The next cross corridor was clear, but they exchanged fire at the one after that, hung up for a moment until Ronon managed to get in a lucky shot. John dove across, feeling bullets whistle above his back, and Ronon hauled him to his feet.

  “People up ahead.”

  Crap. John flattened himself against the corridor wall again and eased forward, then relaxed as he recognized the voice.

  “First Officer! Open this door!”

  “Captain?” John took another step forward, ready to throw himself back into cover, and Fredek turned to look at him.

  “We’ve found our thrice-damned saboteur, only he’s locked us out of the control room.”

  “How many people has he got in there?” John looked around, recognizing the graying pilot that he’d relieved for the takeoff, and several others that he thought had handled the technicians’ stations.

  “Just him,” the pilot said. “Well, and Taren, but he shot him —“

  “Can you tell what he’s trying to do?” Fredek asked. “He’s locked us out of the systems, and I don’t have an interface.”

  “He’s knocked us out of orbit,” John said, and saw understanding cross Fredek’s face. “I may be able to override what he’s done —” He was opening the hatch’s control panel as he spoke, looking for a way to enter the code McKay had given him. There was no diagnostic screen, just a mess of wires, and he swore under his breath, reaching for his radio. “McKay —“

  “Wait,” Fredek said. He held up a small ball of what looked suspiciously like Atlantis’s own C4, attached to an old-fashioned pencil fuse. “We were going to try this.”

  “Never mind,” John said, into the radio, and nodded. “All yours, Captain.”

  One of the technicians quickly molded the explosive around the lock mechanism, and twisted the top of the fuse. Everyone ducked back against the corridor bulkheads, covering ears and heads, and a moment later, the explosive went off with a satisfying bang. The door rolled back, and Ronon called, “Go!”

  He and a pair of the Genii charged through the gap and the rapidly dissipating smoke, and John lurched forward to cover them, only to stop short at what lay inside. Agosten was sprawled on the floor beside the captain’s chair, a pistol beside his hand, blood pooling under his head. All around him were shards of plastic and glass, the consoles battered, screens broken. A handful of wires trailed from the pilot’s station, and John heard Fredek groan.

  “We’ll never be able to fix this. Never be able to fly her now —“

  “Wait,” John said, though he could feel the same cold fear at the pit of his stomach. There would be lifeboats, there always were, though launching them in atmosphere was a crapshoot. There was no way the jumpers could take everybody off, even if they could mate to the Pride’s hatches as she was falling… He shoved all that aside, stepped over Agosten’s body, and slid into the pilot’s chair. The controls were smashed, levers bent and broken, every screen shattered, but the conductive gel was still intact. He rested his hand on it, breathing deeply, settling himself to reach for the connection he knew was still there.

  At first there was nothing, emptiness, absence; he swallowed fear, and tried again. This time, there was a kind of answer, a thin, high sound like an endless distant scream. The ship? Some reflection of the atmosphere against her skin? It didn’t matter. He took another breath, and tried again. Hey, baby, we’re here to help. I can get you right, let me in and I’ll fix it…

  Distantly, he felt the ship respond, acknowledge his presence. He could feel the Pride’s position in the sky, nose down, left side high, arrowing down at an angle that was already raising hot spots like painful welts on her skin. And still she screamed, a sound like despair, falling through the sky.

  I can help, he told her, we can help you. Just a little shift, a change of angle, you’ll be so much better. Do that for me, baby.

  The control surfaces were slack, though he could feel nothing wrong with the connections. It was as if she’d forgotten she had a crew, as if she were unable to help herself, as though she’d suffered some invisible damage. He groped for diagnostics, looking for the cause, and saw not Baidu below them but the desert world where they had found Avenger. He was seeing double now, feeling double, the perfectly sound ship that was the Pride and the memory, the recorded memory of Avenger’s last dive, crew dead, systems devastated, nothing to live for as she fell from battle ten thousand years ago.

  That’s not now, he told her. That was a long time ago. We came for you, remember?

  There was no answer, no sign that
she was aware of him, lost in the past. Agosten must have accessed her oldest records, John thought, found a way to bring them forward, trap her in them. He looked over his shoulder, not daring to take his hands off the controls. “Everybody! Everybody with an ATA gene, get to a station and tie in. She needs to know she has a full crew.”

  One by one, they took their places. He could feel them joining in, first Fredek, heedless of the blood on the captain’s chair, and then the others. They were lighter presences, a jumble of thoughts and voices resolving to the discipline of the ship, seeking her attention, her help as they fought to stabilize their stations. See? he said. You have a crew, your new crew, the ones who rebuilt you. You’re not dying here, none of us are dying here, if only you’ll help us.

  He felt something shift then, as though a spell were broken, the Pride returning to the moment, overriding the images from her past. That’s right, baby, we’ve got you. You’ve got controls, let’s use them. Left wing down, nose up, shields on. She was responding now, the hot spots fading as the shield came on line, the control surfaces moving and thrusters firing to straighten her attitude and start to pull away from the planet’s gravity. Not too fast, now, you didn’t get into this instantly and you won’t get out instantly either. All around him, he could feel the rest of the control room crew adding their voices, their presence and their skills, like the massed voices of a choir forming a single melody. The Pride shivered, slowed, the keening fading as the images vanished back into memory. She rose, shedding fire, returning to her orbit. The screens were dead, but John could see the sensor images, the jumpers pulling up to resume station on either side of the Pride.

  “Jumper One, Jumper Three, this is the Pride,” he said aloud. “Looks like everything’s under control.”

  ~#~

  Bartolan leaned back in the captain’s chair, and straightened again with an exclamation of disgust as he felt Agosten’s blood still damp on the worn surface. He kept his hand on the connective gel, feeling the ship respond like a perfectly-trained horse to Sheppard’s inputs. She was safe in orbit again, and he turned his attention aft, reaching for the engine room.