by Martha Wells
"And a medical team," Rodney added, and then in frustration, "Why the hell didn't you say that would happen? We didn't have to use the transporter-"
Assuming this was directed at him, John interrupted, "I didn't know that would happen!" Somebody put the glasses back in his hand, and he managed to get them on and get his eyes open again.
McKay was kneeling on one side of him, Bates on the other. Bates had one of the Wraith stunners slung across his back, the curved alien shape of the weapon contrasting oddly with the business-like P-90 clipped around his neck. Past them John could see some of the operations staff who must have been released from the level below, all of them startled and battered and generally traumatized. Peter Grodin was supporting Teyla, both watching anxiously. John managed to focus on Bates. "Did you secure the jumper bay?"
"Negative, sir. There were armed Koan guarding the entrance when we arrived. They're inside the bay doorway, and we can't get a clear shot at them." Bates actually looked a little rattled, possibly from watching John writhe around on the floor, and for once he had forgotten to make 'sir' sound like an insult. But Bates was really the very last person John wanted sympathy from.
"Dorane beat us here," Rodney added, his mouth twisted grimly. "He must have made a run for the jumper bay as soon as he realized we had the controller device."
"Great." John gripped McKay's arm and struggled to his feet, trying to make it look like McKay wasn't actually holding him up. His head was throbbing, almost drowning out the hurricanelike rise and fall of the ATA. "We've got control back, right? Can you open the bay doors above the `gate room?"
McKay looked blank. "Probably. Why? Wouldn't that-"
John turned to Bates. "Get some stun grenades and a launcher up here." That would take out the Koan but wouldn't harm the jumpers or set off the energy drones they were armed with.
Bates turned half away, tapping his radio. Rodney finished, "Never mind, I got it."
John put his back against the wall, trying to ignore the stillgrowing buzz of the ATA and his throbbing head. At least he had been able to borrow a tac vest and a P-90 from an unconscious Marine. Braced against the corridor wall opposite him, Bates watched him narrowly. Keeping his voice low, he asked John, "You sure you're up for this?"
They were in position in the jumper bay's access corridor, which was a lousy place to have to attack. There was a jog in the passage right as it turned into the bay, forming a small foyer, and the Koan could just stand in there and shoot anybody who made that last turn into the bay. John just said dryly, "That's a really stupid question."
He was working off pure adrenaline and a burning desire to kill Dorane. Waiting for the grenades to be brought from the armory, he hadn't even been able to sit down for fear he wouldn't be able to get up again. He had already told the others that, if the bioweapon was still in the jumper, he would go in for it alone. At least he hadn't had to explain why this was best, since Rodney had told everybody on the control gallery that John was dying. It was one small relief that Elizabeth had called in, reporting that the Koan had withdrawn when the controlled Marines guarding their room had collapsed. On John's instructions, Bates had told her to stay in the lower levels with the others until they dealt with the bioweapon. John hadn't wanted to speak to her himself, because he was desperately trying to avoid having the 'by the way, this is probably it for me' conversation with anyone.
Over the radio, John could hear the low-voiced discussions in the `gate room as Ramirez got the launcher set up. He whispered into his headset, "What's your status?"
"Ready, sir." With the transporters back online it had only taken a few minutes to get the stun grenades, but the medlab was still scrambling to organize hazmat and biohazard gear. John had put Ramirez in the `gate room with the launcher, and himself, Bates, Audley, and the only other Marines still mobile enough to hold a gun in the jumper bay's access corridor. Most of the military personnel were still unconscious from the control drug or the stunners; Teyla, who had had some level of resistance to it that the others hadn't, was the only one on her feet, and she was still unsteady enough that John had made her stay down on the control gallery. Many of the others had been injured in the first Koan attack, and one man, Masterson, had been killed. "McKay, what about you?"
"Ready." McKay sounded tense. "I can override from down here if he tries to stop it from one of the jumper consoles."
John caught Bates' eye, got a nod in reply, and said, "Ramirez, as soon as you get a clear shot, fire. McKay, open the doors."
There wasn't a rumble in the floor; the Ancient technology worked too smoothly for that. But over the radio John could hear the faint hum of the doors retracting, hooting cries of alarm and surprise from the Koan.
There were distant clunks as the grenades hit, then a reverberation, muffled by the bay doors. John counted six seconds, gave Bates the signal, and ducked around the corner. The door slid open for him, and they moved into the bay, spreading out.
The big space was dark and would have been quiet except for the piercingly loud roar of the ATA in John's head. A chemical haze and an acrid scent from the grenades hung heavily in the air. Koan sprawled around the edges of the retracted floor, some moaning in pain, others lying limply. The jumpers were stacked unharmed in their vertical launch racks, all still powered-down. John couldn't see Dorane or hear his shield, but it might be blending in with the ATA's din.
Jumper Five was in a rack on the second level, innocuous and inert like the others, and John started toward it. Three Koan suddenly popped up from behind a jumper across the bay, firing wildly. Bates and the others went for cover, returning fire, but John was closer to Five, and he was pretty sure the Koan's aim was lousy.
He ducked behind Jumper Two and climbed up the steps to the narrow walkway. Five's rear hatch was down and he bolted for it, slamming himself inside. He hit the floor, covering the interior with the P-90.
It was dark and John was still wearing the sunglasses, but he could just make out Dorane sitting on the floor in the cockpit doorway. He was holding a small black box. There was something different about the shape of his head, something odd about the way he was hunched there, but John could see the dim aquamarine glow of the personal shield on his chest, and hear his breathing.
There was still firing outside, but John's radio crackled and Bates' voice said, "Major, did you get it?"
"Negative, stay back," John ordered sharply. "He's in here with it."
He heard Bates cursing and McKay telling someone, "That's it, we're dead."
Dorane still hadn't said anything, hadn't moved, and that was making every nerve in John's body twitch in individual alarm. He flicked off the sunglasses.
Dorane just watched him, eyes gleaming faintly in the dimness. He had long silver spines threaded through his gray hair now, running all down the sides of his face and neck. The hand that rested on the little box had large hooked silver claws, twisted and useless.
John managed to say evenly, "Wow. You're a little different."
Dorane tilted his head. "The transformation occurs whenever I leave my athenaeum for more than a few hours. It's inhibited by the field I use to activate my version of the Ancient gene. It prevents me from staying in this city, from traveling to any other world." His voice was different, deeper, a little raspy. "I told you, all my people were affected by our biological weapons."
"Yeah, you told me," John agreed. Dorane's physical changes were so exaggerated he looked like a caricature of the other Koan. "But I wasn't listening to that part." He hasn't set that thing off yet. Because he wanted to bargain? Or because it was a timed release? "What's in the box?"
Dorane's claws tightened on the black container. "It's a very small explosive, only meant to release a substance into the air."
And McKay 's right again; we're dead. But John was getting more sensitive to the ATA by the minute; maybe it was getting more sensitive to him. And if he could get this jumper out of the bay and through the Stargate...
Automat
ed launch sequence, John thought at the jumper. Through the port above Dorane's head, he saw Jumper One's interior lights flash as it powered up. No, no, not you, this one. Five. Next to One, Three shuddered a little, as if its drive might have tried to activate and failed. Oh, crap. Keep talking. "That's disappointing, because I really didn't want you to have the satisfaction of killing me. But you already did, didn't you? Did you think I didn't know that?"
"I suspected it." Dorane had his back to the port and couldn't see what was happening in the jumper racks. "I didn't expect you to be able to function this well in spite of it. But it means nothing. You claim a Lantian heritage, but even with the gene, you're all just cattle for the Wraith."
"Thanks, but we already knew that." The firing outside had stopped, and through his headset John could hear Bates breathing heavily and McKay having a tense and mostly unintelligible conversation with Grodin. "Why don't you just head for the Stargate? You can probably make it." Launch, you little bastard, he thought, trying to focus on Five's unresponsive console. The ATA was just one omnipresent roar, and he couldn't sort out any individual signal from the jumpers. Across the bay, Three's interior lights flashed as it powered up. Damn it. He flew One and Three the most; Five had been Boerne's jumper. It made sense that the little ships would attune themselves to a regular pilot.
"I fear I have lingered here too long already," Dorane said. He sounded serene, as if the prospect of destroying Atlantis and its inhabitants had put him into a weird state of peaceful satisfaction. "Once my condition is triggered by leaving the athenaeum, it advances swiftly. I am dying, even as you are."
"You know, I really wish the Ancients had done a better job of getting rid of you." John didn't think Five was responding to him at all; the low ambient light in the jumper seemed to be getting even dimmer. Maybe he could get One to launch a drone, to blow Five up. It would probably take out this wall of the operations tower, but surely the heat would be enough to destroy whatever was in the box. He hoped. Into the radio, he said, "Bates, fall back to the corridor and close the blast door."
"That won't do any good," Dorane told him, still eerily calm. He added, "The Lantians didn't want to get rid of me. They wanted to punish me."
"Oh yeah, that was so unreasonable of them." Why hasn't he opened it yet? John thought. Then he looked at Dorane's hands again. Those hooked claws were too big to be retractable. "You can't open that container."
Dorane smiled, his teeth gleaming in the fading light. "Don't excite yourself, it's on a timed release. I really did think of every possibility, including the one that I might be incapable of opening it when the time came."
It didn't sound like a lie. The ATA was pressing painfully in on John's head, and something was changing inside the jumper, but he couldn't tell what it was. "And I'm guessing I won't just be able to seal the jumper's hatch."
"It will react rapidly with oxygen, becoming corrosive. The ship's shielding won't hold it in for long."
Shielding, John thought. It was still getting darker in here. Darker because the aquamarine glow of the personal shield device was fading. The shield needed an Ancient gene to work, but Dorane's genetics were changing as the retrovirus altered his body; the shield must be losing its connection to him. When the shield shut down, the little device would fall off Dorane's chest. John shifted the P-90 to go for a headshot; he couldn't afford to hit the explosive.
Dorane blinked suddenly, staring at John. He must have felt the shield giving way or read it off John's expression. Before the glow faded and the shield device fell, he was moving, moving fast. John managed to fire one burst, then he was slammed back onto the jumper floor, Dorane clawing for his throat.
John grabbed his wrists, barely holding him off, thinking, He's really fast, and he's really strong. He knew he had hit Dorane in the chest, but the bullets weren't even slowing him down. And the explosive still lay on the floor in the jumper's cockpit. He yelled desperately, "Jumper Five, now would be a good time! Launch!"
This time, responding to his urgency, Five's interior lights flashed on and the console powered up.
Dorane tried to tear away from him, but John dug in with his own claws and held on. He pushed and rolled, and they tumbled backward out of the hatch.
They hit the ramp, then the walkway, and rolled off, slamming into the bay floor. John landed on top, which probably saved him a broken back, but he was winded and dazed.
Above his head, Five slid out of its rack and glided out to hover over the jumper bay's launch door, open to the `gate room directly below. It stopped, and John realized the ramp was still open, that the safeties weren't going to let the jumper drop into launch position. He shouted, "Ramp close, come on, ramp close!"
Dorane threw him off, pushed to his feet, and bolted for the open ramp. It slid shut, sealing itself for launch with a faint puff of air. Dorane tried to stop on the bare edge of the drop, arms flung up. Then he fell.
John heard the thump and the startled shouts from below. Crap, that might not be enough to kill him. The man wasn't human anymore. Then, still on automatic, the jumper dropped into the `gate room to take its launch position.
From below, John heard someone exclaim in horror. Yeah, he thought, that probably did it. The jumper would hover a few feet off the embarkation floor, but the forcefield it was using to support itself.. John rolled over and shoved himself up, took a couple of staggering steps to the edge of the opening, leaning out and craning his neck to see. Bates ran up to stand beside him.
Squinting against the glare of the brighter light in the `gate room, John saw McKay, Peter Grodin, and several others standing on the gallery steps, staring at the jumper floating in front of the `gate. There was a spreading stain leaking out from under it as it still hovered serenely, waiting for a destination. John fumbled for his headset, but Dorane had torn it off in the fight. He told Bates, "Tell McKay to find a destination-a planet with no atmosphere."
Bates relayed it, and McKay hurried back to lean over the dialing console. It only took him a few moments to pull an address out of the database, but John was watching the jumper's port. He saw a bright flash from inside.
Bates swore. "The shielding-"
Watching intently, John shook his head. "He said it was corrosive." He hadn't said how fast it was. If they just had a minute for the `gate to dial... He noticed he and Bates were both dripping blood onto the bay floor, Bates from a bullet wound in the arm, and John from the long scratches Dorane's claws had left on his shoulders.
Then McKay turned to the dialing console and started to hit the symbols, and John felt like something was squeezing his skull from the inside. For a horrified moment, he thought it was the bioweapon, that it had eaten its way through the jumper. Then he realized it was the `gate. Uh oh. He thought the automated sequence would take care of it, but just in case, he thought at the jumper, launch. When the wormhole opens, launch.
Then the wormhole initiated with a blast of glassy blue energy, the jumper surged forward, and the world turned to white-hot pain.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ohn had a last moment of awareness, enough to realize he was lying on the jumper bay floor. The light was blinding, but he knew it was Rodney and Teyla who were leaning over him, and he thought it was Carson Beckett standing next to his head, yelling orders at someone. He grabbed Rodney's arm and tried to ask about the jumper, but he couldn't get the words out.
Rodney must have understood anyway. "It's gone, it went through the `gate," he said, his voice thick and barely recognizable. Then he looked up at Beckett and shouted, "My God, Carson, will you get off your fat ass and do something!"
John decided that was a good time to let go.
John really expected to be dead, but being dead felt a lot like being in the hospital. Antiseptic odors, tubes and needles in places that tubes and needles should not be, too-bright lights, quiet serious voices with intermittent flurries of frantic activity and arguing. At some point he knew it was McKay standing over him, snapping his fingers
at somebody and demanding to see John's chart, and Beckett telling him, "I would like to remind you, Rodney, that you are not a medical doctor." Teyla's anxious face leaning over him, then Ford's, then a distinct memory of Elizabeth, sitting nearby, her feet propped up on a stool while she read from a laptop.
He remembered all that as he came to gradually in the half-lit gloom of a medical bay. He was lying on his side on one of the narrow beds in the recovery area, a blanket tangled around his waist. He had loose gauzy bandages on his hands, and his left arm was secured to a rail with a light band, but that was probably to keep him from dislodging the several IVs that were stuck in it. Except for that, he felt mostly okay; the intrusive tubes were thankfully gone, though there was a lingering ache in his throat. He had had a bath at some point and was wearing clean surgical scrubs. He could see into the next bay, where a couple of the medical techs and Dr. Beckett were working at a table spread with open notebooks, data pads, coffee cups, and laptops.
And it was quiet. John went still, listening intently. No whispers, no alien sound that his brain tried to interpret as music, no white noise. Everything he could hear was homey and familiar: the distant crash of waves washing against the city's platforms, clicking keys as someone typed, hums and beeps from medical equipment both Ancient and Earth-built. The only voices came from further away in the medlab, and were human. He felt his ear cautiously, then ran a hand through his hair. No spines.
John cleared his throat and said, "Beckett?"
Beckett looked up, brows lifted, then said something to one of the techs as he pushed his chair back. He came over to stand beside John's bed, pulling a portable scanner out of the pocket of his lab coat. "Ah, Major. Are we coherent today?"
"Is that a trick question?" He squinted up at Beckett. "How long have I been out?"
"Six days," Beckett said, seeming surprised and pleased. Apparently asking if John was coherent hadn't been a joke. Beckett set the scanner aside and took out a small pocket flashlight. "Hold still a moment and let me check your eyes."