STARGATE SG-1: Transitions

by Sabine C. Bauer

  “Well, try and bring something online!” Rodney finally barked at Zelenka. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Which one of the, oh, two dozen-odd systems that are down do you suggest?” Zelenka asked.

  “Waste treatment,” Sergeant Khan muttered in a stage whisper, triggering a round of snorts among the SFs.

  “Communications, Radek,” said Elizabeth, unsuccessfully attempting to hide a smile. “We need to know what’s going on with Daedalus. And after that, see what you can do to reestablish the shield.”

  “On it.” Radek started attacking the keyboard.

  “While he’s doing that,” Elizabeth continued, “How are we going to replace the crystals that have been damaged by the virus?”

  Carter ran a hand through her hair. “Actually, I had an idea on that one. It looks like the key components at least are universal, meaning you can take just about any crystal and shove it into the slot. I’m guessing the Ancients did that deliberately to have some leeway in the event of a breakdown. So if we cannibalize the crystals from one of the Jumpers and reconfigure them, we should have a temporary solution at least. You’ll be restricted to running a limited number of systems at a time, though, until all crystals have been replaced properly.”

  In other words, they wouldn’t have the mainframe back in full working order for at least another week, which was the average time it took Atlantis’s synthesizer to grow a computer crystal.

  “Oh, joy,” Rodney grunted, but the impending rant was cut short by a chirp from the communications console.

  “I’ve got Daedalus on online,” announced Sergeant Khan.

  Elizabeth just about leaped to his side. “Daedalus, this is Atlantis. What’s your situation?”

  “This is Laval. That you, Dr. Weir? Nice to have you back. We’re hanging in there. Things got a bit dicey after we took out the hive-ship’s shields and they flung the rest of their Darts at us, but as of a minute ago they seem to be a lot less sanguine about clobbering us. Something’s happening over there. Hang on.”

  The silence dropped again, and Rodney felt his heart hammering in his throat. He was as close to praying as he ever got. It had to have worked. If it had worked, the Wraith would be starting to experience some nasty system failures right about—

  Laval’s voice popped from the speaker. “Atlantis, whatever you’ve sent them there, it seems to have given them a hell of a headache. Looks like they’re recalling the Darts. We’ve had fifteen break off attack and return to the hive-ship. Six remaining, and they’re trying to get out of the fur ball with our F302s. I’d say it’s gonna be a tight squeeze when they all pile back aboard, because the Wraith have lost their starboard hangar bay.”

  “They’ve lost what?” Rodney yelped.

  Everybody else was bellowing out the same question or variations thereof, and for a moment it sounded like the Tower of Babel just prior to the projected end of construction. John Sheppard and Amara had been in a hangar bay. Fair enough, the chances of being in the wrong one were fifty-fifty, but knowing Sheppard—

  “Colonel Sheppard’s fine,” Laval cut in, amazingly enough having made sense of the babble. “He’s on his way back to you as we speak.”

  “Thank God.” Elizabeth’s entire body slumped in relief. Rodney knew how she felt.

  “Close shave, though. We didn’t think he’d make it. In fairness, I don’t believe General O’Neill meant for those drones to hit the bay. The hive-ship tried evasive maneuvers. It was just bad luck— or good, whichever way you want to look at it.”

  Static crackled, then Sheppard’s voice cut in. “Neither. I had help.”

  “John!” Elizabeth all but shouted it. “Are you alright?”

  “All important bits still attached, though the Jumper is kinda banged up. I’m ten minutes out. Think you could do something about that Jumper bay hatch? It’s still raining, and I’m guessing Daedalus has first dibs on the east pier.”

  “Too damn right, sir. Ours is bigger.” Laval’s voice was wrapped around a grin.

  “Size isn’t everything, Laval. Sheppard out.”

  Behind Rodney, keys continued clattering. Apparently, Radek had taken it as an order and began working on the bay hatch.

  “Got more news for you, Atlantis,” continued Laval. “The Wraith lost two more Darts— one thanks to your boy, Teal’c— and the rest ran home with their collective tail between their legs. The hive-ship’s just opened a hyperspace window, so I suppose they’ve had enough.”

  Sam winced. “Good luck to them. I reckon that, within the next few minutes, they’ll lose navigation and a slew of other vital systems. If they jump into hyperspace, they’ll stay there until they run out of fuel— in a couple millennia, give or take.”

  “Yeah, well, can’t say I’ll miss them. And by the way, you missed your chance to wave goodbye. They’re gone. We’re heading back to Atlantis now. See you there. Laval out.”

  Daniel had come back to the infirmary with Teyla to take her to the command center. Which, if Cassie had her bearings right, was the ballroom of a space where they’d first arrived.

  They both seemed pretty much the worse for wear. Clothes torn in places, faces smudged with dirt and exhaustion. Daniel sported an ugly gash on his forehead. But both looked happy.

  Everybody did.

  Unlike the first time she’d been led through these corridors, they were bustling now. People everywhere, clearing away rubble, assessing damage, repairing their city. Many of them showed minor injuries, as yet untreated, because Dr. Beckett had his hands full getting the last of the plague victims back on their feet. A few stayed awkwardly on the sidelines, barely meeting folks’ eyes, as if they felt they ought to apologize for something but didn’t quite know how.

  Cassie sympathized. She had an inkling that she was walking into exactly this type of situation. According to Daniel, Jack was in the command center, wanting to talk to her. Translated that meant she was in for one of those dressing-downs Jack excelled at.

  Then again, she would be lying if she said she was sorry. If she hadn’t wriggled from that SF’s grasp— okay, so she’d kicked his shins— and run after her friends through the Stargate, she’d have missed this. Power was back up, and Atlantis was lit. The place was nothing short of amazing with its lofty hallways, domed foyers, immense windows that looked out over a jewel-box of buildings and an endless ocean. Granted, the décor reminded her of Art Nouveau on steroids, but hey! It worked for her. And she sure envied Daniel the opportunity to return here soon.

  Up ahead the hallway opened out into another one of those stunning foyers. Just as they arrived, a set of double doors in one wall slid open onto what looked like an elevator cabin. A large one. Out piled a bunch of people, every bit as battered and bedraggled as Daniel and Teyla. All of them were carrying weapons, and going by the uniforms, two of them were Marines. Between them they were supporting a third guy, who looked a notch worse than the rest. It wasn’t unlike a pair of mice trying to prop up a lion, and no reflection on the Marines. The guy was huge, well over six feet, though less massive than Teal’c. Built like a runner, and with the most wicked head of dreadlocks since Bob Marley himself.

  Seeing him, Teyla froze in her tracks. “Ronon!”

  He tried to straighten up; a non-starter, given that his legs didn’t seem to work quite right. “Stop clucking,” he growled.

  “I haven’t even started! What happened?”

  “He got hit by a stunner,” one of the Marines supplied helpfully. “That was after he decided to smack around two Wraith at the same time and had his shoulder dislocated again.”

  “You should see the Wraith,” muttered Ronon, trying to look sprightly.

  Cassie had seen worse performances. Maybe. Or maybe not. If the gray cast of his complexion was anything to go by, he had to be in agony.

  Just then the elevator doors slid open again, and two more people arrived, carrying a gurney. On it lay a lifeless shape; one of those Wraith, she presumed. It was like no c
reature she’d ever come across, malignant-looking even in death, with greenish skin, flowing white hair, and an oddly ridged face.

  “Told you,” Ronon said. “Got them all, by the way.”

  “Where are you taking them?” asked Daniel, a faint frown of horror on his face.

  “Path lab.” The Marine shrugged. “Dr. Beckett wants to autopsy a couple. I’d have dumped them off the pier, but if the doc wants them, he’s welcome to them. Whatever crumbles his cookie, right?”

  “And where is he going?” Teyla followed up with a stare at Ronon.

  “Infirmary. That shoulder needs reducing straightaway.”

  Ronon grunted something no doubt uncomplimentary, but he didn’t argue either.

  “Good.” She nodded. “I’ll let Dr. Weir know.”

  They continued on along a hallway that led off to the left. It was wider than the others they’d come through and, if anything, even busier. At its end there were glassed-in offices and conference rooms and, past those, the gallery Cassie remembered. Except, now it was hopping with activity.

  Everybody was there. Sam and Teal’c looked about as tired as Cassie felt. Jack, on the other hand, might have been in the same bar brawl as Daniel. That screaming purple bruise along his cheekbone was a beauty. Standing with them were a couple of scientists, one of whom was Dr. McKay, the cranky guy with the crush on Sam. Plus, Dr. Weir and that insanely cute colonel who also seemed rather more banged up than when she’d last seen him.

  Not everybody, Cassie suddenly realized, a weird, cold premonition in her belly. “Where is Amara?” she blurted out, exploding the conversation that was going on.

  They all turned to stare at her, which should have made her uncomfortable, but right now she didn’t care. She could see it in Sam’s face, the way it softened with compassion.

  “Cassie…” Sam began.

  “What happened?”

  The cute colonel took a step toward her, and he, too, was wearing that look. That and something else— guilt, regret. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. She… she couldn’t make it back to Jumper in time. And I think she knew all along.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the bracelet Amara had been wearing, held it out to Cassie. “She asked me to give you this. She—”

  “Whoa!” someone shouted from the level below the gallery. “What the hell is that?”

  He was pointing toward the ceiling, at a circular hatch whose center suddenly began to glow with a brilliant light. It grew in size and intensity, tentacles of radiance swirling and reaching out all around it. Several SFs came racing up the steps, spread out around the gallery, guns targeted on the… shiny squid.

  “Rodney?” snapped Dr. Weir, mesmerized like everyone else.

  “It wasn’t me!” Dr. McKay yelped. “Honest!”

  Slowly the squid detached itself from the hatch, floated lower and toward them. It all happened in absolute silence, and Cassie could hear the ratcheting noise of guns being readied to fire. The sound galvanized Daniel.

  “No! Don’t shoot!” He stepped beside Cassie, put a hand on her shoulder. “I think I know who this is…”

  “Who?” Colonel Scrumptious frowned at him. “I’m seeing a what here.”

  “Give her a few seconds.”

  “Her?”

  “Let me guess,” said Jack. “You invited Oma for tea?”

  “Who said it was Oma?” Daniel smiled.

  “Don’t you just hate it when he does that?” Jack asked no one in particular.

  The radiant swirl of tentacles tightened to something reminiscent of a human shape and dimmed rapidly, coalesced to a slight, middle-aged woman with an untidy halo of gray hair.

  “Amara!”

  Cassie and the colonel had spoken— shouted— at the same time, and Amara smiled at them both. “I wasn’t sure this would happen. I could only hope.”

  “And, uh, what exactly is this this that happened?” the colonel asked.

  “Amara Ascended,” explained Daniel. “She and her people had reached a stage in their development where it was just within reach. I think her willingness to give her life in order to help us was what tipped the balance.”

  “Of course, you would know, Daniel.” She nodded at him. “Oma Desala sends her regards.”

  “So it was you, in the hangar bay,” said the colonel, taking a step forward. “I thought I was going… well, hearing things.”

  “Hardly.” She laughed. “What good is being all powerful if you can’t interfere a little to help a friend?”

  “Amara, you have to be careful. They’ll—”

  “Don’t worry, Daniel. As I told Sheppard, it was the last time. There will be little temptation. If anyone appreciates the dangers of interference, it is I,” she added wryly. Then she turned to Cassie, smiled again. “Take the bracelet, Cassandra. It’s my gift to you. I know you will use it well.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Cassie. Then she gingerly took the glinting piece of jewelry from Sheppard, studied it. Finally she looked up. “May I… may I put it on?”

  “Of course.” Amara laughed. “It’s yours. Besides, you’ll need to wear it if you’re going to send your friends home. Farewell, Cassandra. I’ll be watching your progress. One day, perhaps, you’ll join us.”

  Amara’s shape began to dissolve in a dazzle of light that shrank in on itself for a moment and then expanded into that swirling twist of luminosity. It rose slowly, briefly hovered above the Stargate and then, in a flash of brilliance, shot toward the ceiling and disappeared. The same instant she vanished, the blue shimmer of the event horizon silently slid across the ring of the Stargate.

  I don’t think this counts as interference. It’ll merely speed your journey home.

  Cassie heard the words in her mind, together with another burst of laughter. Then that vanished, too.

  “Whoa!” Dr. McKay was gawking at the gate. “What now?”

  “Don’t panic, Rodney,” Sam said on a chuckle and threw an arm around Cassie’s shoulder. “Unless I’m totally mistaken, we just got handed a shortcut back to Earth. Beats waiting for Daedalus to finish repairs.”

  “Nice one,” murmured Jack. “And there I was, working myself into a lather over missing this week’s IOA committee meeting. Let’s go, kids, before the door falls shut!”

  “Thank you. All of you.” Dr. Weir winked at Cassie. “Especially you. Dr. Beckett says you were a great help.”

  “Absolutely,” Colonel Sheppard confirmed, poker-faced.

  “Sure she was,” growled Jack, grabbing a chunk of Cassie’s hair and giving it a gentle yank. “But the Ringbearer here is still grounded.”

  “In your dreams!” Cassie grinned and held up her hand encircled by the bracelet. “You’ve got no idea what I can do with this. You’ll never beat me at chess again.”

  Teal’c cocked his head, a ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. “It would appear that Cassandra has already commenced her journey on the path to enlightenment, O’Neill.”

  “Uhuh. For now, let’s just take the path to the gate, shall we?”

  Chapter 39

  A week later Jack was sitting at a corner table in his favorite watering hole, George Hammond across from him. The clientele was mellow, so was the music, and waiting staff left you alone unless requested to do otherwise. As far as debriefings went, it wasn’t a bad way of going about them.

  “I gotta say, Jack,” Hammond observed between two sips of beer, “there are easier ways of getting out of committee meetings.”

  “Maybe, but they aren’t as much fun.”

  “Fun.”

  “You know me, sir.” He grinned.

  “It’s George, remember?”

  “I seem to have some kind of speech impediment when it comes to that.”

  Hammond almost choked on his beer. “Speech impediment? You? Spare me!” He coughed up a chuckle, then asked, “Has our friend Woolsey recovered yet?”

  “We kissed and made up. Okay, I’m lying about the kissing part.” Jack gave a discreet
shudder. “He didn’t have a hell of a lot of choice. Not after Barrett and his merry men arrested the fair Miz Graves. They’re still chewing on the fact that a Trust operative wiggled her way not only into the Pentagon but into the IOA. So, anyway, they’ve confirmed Hank Landry as commanding officer of the SGC, and I get to choose the new leader of SG-1. In other words, I got everything I wanted by playing hooky.”

  “Before you get any ideas, Jack, that’s not an approved diplomatic strategy.”

  “It should be. It worked. And I’m actually good at it.”

  It earned him a hard look that said repeat performances would be frowned upon. Well, Jack wasn’t really planning on any, but decided to keep that one to himself. Nothing like a bit of suspense. He changed the subject. “So, Daedalus is back to her old glory and heading home?”

  “Yep. They should be arriving week after next.” Hammond caught the eye of the waitress and signaled her for two more beers. “How’s Cassie?”

  “She’s good. Still in Colorado Springs. Carter’s put in for reassignment to Area 51, which should come through any day now. The idea is for her to be reasonably close to Reno, so Cass can continue college while we’re looking into that bag of tricks she’s got up her sleeve. And obviously, Carter wants to check out how Amara’s bracelet works and how it actually enhances Cassie’s abilities. By the way, I kept that one out of my report for the IOA. I refuse to let them turn Cass into a guinea pig, which would happen in a New York minute if they knew about this.”

  “Good call. I’ll make sure that this remains strictly an Air Force matter.”

  “Thanks.”

  The waitress arrived with their beers, picked up the empty glasses, and moved on. Hammond waited until she was out of earshot and asked, “That whole mess on Atlantis was triggered by the opening of the stasis pods, right? Did you ever figure out why the Ancients didn’t open them when they opened all the others?”

  Jack snatched a sip, nodded, swallowed. “Sheppard and McKay did, actually. They managed to translate the rest of the data crystal Beckett took from the last pod. It accused each of the occupants— dead occupants— of high treason. Which, given the fact that our Lantean friends weren’t quite as saintly as they made themselves out to be, could mean a wide variety of things. Daniel’s theory is that the pod people belonged to the same club as Amara and were either betrayed or otherwise found out. Anyway, the Ancient council had them arrested and put into stasis pending trial after Atlantis’s arrival at its destination. Of course, the Ancients ran into the Wraith practically as soon as they got there and—”