Angelus

by Stargate

  “Maybe. No. Yes. Ehh…” McKay made an exasperated gesture. “It sounded a little like Latin. Look, I’m not the languages guy, okay? Maybe I’m wrong.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “If I’m not, then I think we’re in a whole heap of trouble.” The scientist cocked his head to one side, still looking at the ship. “Interesting trouble, but still… You know…”

  “We live in interesting times.” Ellis puffed out a breath. “If those guys don’t give me an all-clear soon, I’m going to go over and start kicking that thing anyway.”

  As if on cue, the lead technician turned and gave him the thumbs up. Ellis gave McKay a grim smile.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “Just… Don’t kick it.”

  The two men crossed the bay, passing between two of the marines and drawing close to the ship. McKay’s stealth sensors clung above their heads, almost forgotten, their launch racks raised and retracted. It wasn’t even certain if they were going to be deployed at all, now. Apollo’s new acquisition had thrown everything into question.

  There were round, glassy protuberances at the forward end of the ship that Ellis had thought might be viewports, but he was disappointed to find them totally opaque when he studied them. He noticed McKay walking away from him while he was trying to peer through, looking agitated as he focused his attention on the vessel’s flanks. It took him less than a minute to make a complete circle of the craft, after which time he rejoined Ellis and shrugged. “If there’s a door in this thing, I can’t see it.”

  “Doctor, there’s at least one pilot in this ship, and he might still be alive. If you can’t find a door, I’ll give the order to cut through the hull.”

  “I’d really rather you didn’t do that…” McKay frowned. “Dammit, there’s got to be a way in. What’s the point of a spaceship you can’t get- Jesus!”

  “What?” McKay had jumped back, holding one hand in the other as if he had burned his fingers on something. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing! I mean, I don’t know. It just started moving!”

  Ellis stared. A section of the ship’s hull had separated into a filigree of intricate metal plates, sliding under and through each other like some bizarre puzzle. He could hear the faint whisper and click of the mechanism that moved them, a distant chiming…

  The plates snapped apart, vanishing into concealed recesses in the hull. When they were gone, they left an open hatchway.

  The two nearest marines were right next to Ellis, gun muzzles nosing ahead of him. Boots rang on the bomb bay floor as the others ran into position. Ellis looked down and realized he had drawn his own sidearm on reflex.

  He left it in his hand as he put his head and shoulders into the ship.

  The interior of the vessel was as complex and unfathomable as the outside. The space Ellis was looking into was quite small, so he guessed there were compartments fore and aft, but he couldn’t see any obvious hatches or openings. He grimaced, wondering whether he would need to be as lucky as McKay to find the right control and get to the pilot before he died.

  “Hello?” he called, feeling slightly out of his depth. “Anyone?”

  To his left, the front of the ship, something moved. He heard it, quite clearly. A moment later, the wall between him and that compartment split into dozens of randomly-shaped panels and hinged away to nothing.

  The man in the mask lay near the front of the ship, on a couch that was half chaise longue, half dentist’s chair.

  Ellis clambered in to crouch next to him. He could see the man moving, one slender arm lifting fitfully from under the golden robes he wore. The masked head turned towards him, slowly, as if borne down by the weight of the metal.

  McKay was standing in the doorway. He nodded at the mask, urgently. Ellis reached up and lifted the lustrous thing away.

  As he did, the pilot smiled. “Thank you, Tau’ri.”

  Ellis set the mask down. It really was quite heavy. “Are you injured?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we help?”

  “Yes.”

  McKay stepped closer. “What can we do?”

  “Take me to Atlantis,” the man whispered, his dark eyes closing. “Take me home.”

  Chapter Two

  …For I Have Sinned

  There were days when Atlantis enjoyed quite glorious weather, days when the waters around it lay so still and clear they rivaled the sky for blueness. There were days when the winds blew in sweet from the mainland, gentle and warm, bringing almost imperceptible scents of forest and mountain. There were days when those within the city yearned to be out, and those outside could think of nothing but raising their faces to the open skies and basking in air so fresh that nowhere on Earth could match it.

  The day that the golden ship came down was not one of those days.

  Samantha Carter was out on the balcony, the railed platform jutting out from behind the control room. The bulk of the tower was providing some shelter from the elements, but she was still perched some nine-tenths of the way to the top, and at this height there was no such thing as a warm breeze. She looked up at a sky that was all wind and clouds, and screwed up her face against yet another blast of cold drizzle. “I don’t see it.”

  “Give ’em time.” John Sheppard was next to her, leaning out over the balcony wall and squinting down at the waves, a dizzying eight hundred meters below. “This isn’t something they’ve done before.”

  “Yeah, I know. Wouldn’t be easy, even in good weather.” Carter cupped a hand over her eyes and frowned up into the scudding grey. “We certainly picked a day for this, didn’t we?”

  “Bracing,” he grinned. “Come on. You can’t tell me you’re not looking forward to this just a bit.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the phrase I’d use.” The wind gusted, and Carter ducked slightly in the face of it. “John, I’ve been over your reports — to be honest, in the past couple of weeks I’ve not done much else. But what I mean is, there’s a precedent for this, and it’s not a good one.”

  “Ellis could be wrong.”

  “Ellis isn’t saying anything, one way or the other. He’s being cagey, and I don’t blame him. But what if it’s true? What happens then?”

  “I guess we’ll find out before long.” He shrugged. “Hey, how bad could it be?”

  Carter narrowed her eyes. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate it when you say things like —?” She stopped. There was a sound, faint, a wasp-whine at the edge of hearing, almost lost to the wind. Carter tilted her head, trying to place it. “Do you hear that?”

  Sheppard straightened. “I hear it. I just don’t believe it.”

  The sound grew suddenly louder, and as Carter looked up to track it she saw an irregular fragment appear below the clouds. A moment later it was gone, obscured by grey, but it returned just as quickly, bobbing slightly as it approached.

  “Oh my God,” breathed Sheppard. “They’re actually doing it. The crazy sons of bitches are actually doing it!”

  He sounded amazed, and not a little horrified. Carter didn’t quite understand. “You knew they were going to do this.”

  “No I didn’t! I thought they were just going to beam it in…” He pointed, as if unable to believe that the shape above them was actually there. “What are they, insane?”

  Carter gaped. “This was your idea!”

  “It was my plan B, okay?”

  “I guess they never got that focusing problem sorted out.” The sound of the approaching puddle jumpers wavered abruptly, and Carter snapped her gaze back up to find them again. Her heart was drumming in her chest. “Come on,” she whispered into the wind. “You can do this…”

  The jumpers were close enough to see clearly now, three of them, coming in obliquely to the tower. They flew in tight formation, with barely a few meters between those on either side and the third vessel keeping slightly to the rear. And between them, webbing the three vessels together, were black threads against the grey s
ky; a haphazard tangle of steel cable.

  The golden ship, Abe Ellis’ prize, was slung between the three jumpers.

  Even from this distance, Carter could see that the little cluster of ships was frighteningly unstable. The cables between the three jumpers were tough, heavy-duty woven steel, but their strength was finite. If any of the active ships went more than a meter or so out of formation, the cables would simply shear through. At best, the golden vessel would be dumped into the sea, but it was far more likely that such an event would cause catastrophic damage to some or all of the ships involved.

  And yet, despite the shifting weight of their cargo and the battering they were taking from the elements, the three puddle jumpers were keeping it together.

  A few hundred meters out they turned directly towards the tower, losing height all the way in. When the reached a level with the balcony Carter saw the golden ship rise a little as the formation spread out and the cables stretched, but then the pilots bunched their ships close again and once more the prize dangled like an orange in a mesh bag.

  “I can’t look,” said Sheppard, not taking his eyes off them.

  “They will take the crosswinds into account, won’t they?” In bad weather, the upper levels of the tower could be prey to some vicious and unpredictable changes in wind direction. Carter knew enough about puddle jumpers to realize that one of the ships on its own wouldn’t even notice atmospheric conditions, unless it was flying through a tornado. But three of them tied together and hauling several tons of inert spaceship about were a very different story.

  “Sure they will,” Sheppard replied, sounding unconvinced. “I taught them everything they know.“

  The jumpers lurched sideways.

  There was an angry twanging sound, almost drowned out by the sudden rise in engine pitch as the three vessels struggled to keep together. The jumper on the left twisted, dipped as the wind caught it, and Carter gasped as a cable snapped free. The golden ship — now almost directly below the balcony on which she and Sheppard were standing — bobbed wildly.

  The formation hung agonizingly in the air, engines whistling, and then as one they darted forwards into the tower and out of sight.

  There was a moment’s pure, open silence.

  And then a heavy, complicated sound, multiple impacts of metal, a shrill, short cacophony of scraping. Distant shouts.

  Sheppard winced. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “No sirens, no explosions…” Carter smiled. “Good enough.”

  As she spoke, her headset crackled into life. “Colonel?”

  That was Palmer, one of the control room techs. “What is it?”

  “Unscheduled gate activation, Colonel. It’s the IOA.”

  “That was fast. Okay, I’ll be right up.” Carter made a face. “Our master’s voice.”

  “Okay then…” Sheppard squared his shoulders and turned to go back into the tower. “You know, I’m still not sure if I’m going to buy Lorne a drink or have him committed.”

  “After that?” Carter’s eyebrows went up into her hairline. “He’s a genius.”

  “He’s insane.”

  With the Stargate activated, a wormhole was forged between two galaxies. Across three million light years, radio signals streamed through the event horizon and brought the face of Richard Woolsey to Atlantis.

  He was just settling himself in front of the camera. In her office, standing in front of the wallscreen on which his magnified image was being displayed, Carter watched as Woolsey sat down, straightened his tie, and leaned forwards to adjust his glasses in the reflection from a display that was obviously not switched on yet.

  Carter gave Sheppard a sideways look. “Don’t,” she mouthed.

  “What?” he replied soundlessly. He was trying not to smile.

  The view tilted for a second, then stilled. Woolsey frowned and nodded to someone out of shot, presumably the tech who had moved the camera. Then, after the faint beep of a monitor being switched on, Woolsey saw that he was being watched.

  “Ah, Colonel!” His smile switched on like a lamp. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” lied Carter.

  In truth, she didn’t dislike Woolsey. He had a tendency to meddle, certainly; to assume greater knowledge of a situation than he actually possessed, and occasionally to panic at the worst possible time. But he was a man of some integrity, and had proved himself to be at least nominally on the side of the angels.

  No, this wasn’t personal. It was simply that the feeling of being supervised by a civilian committee, especially one so distant, made her slightly uncomfortable. Carter was used to taking orders from people who were either of a higher military rank, or in what she regarded as a justifiable position of authority. The International Oversight Advisory was neither.

  On a good day, they were merely ineffectual. But there had been times when their vacillations had made them a dangerous liability.

  Still, while Carter had no time for the kind of political games that fuelled the IOA, she knew the rules off by heart. So she put on a smile, dipped her head ever so slightly forwards, and said: “Always a pleasure, Mr Woolsey. Of course you know Colonel Sheppard.”

  “Indeed I do,” replied Woolsey. Somewhat warily, Carter thought. “I was told Colonel Ellis would be here too?”

  “Colonel Ellis will be joining us shortly, Mr Woolsey. In the meantime —”

  Light flared behind her, a column of brilliant blue-white that seemed to drop, momentarily, from the ceiling. When it vanished, Colonel Ellis stood in its place.

  “Well, actually he’s here,” said Carter, flatly.

  “Sorry about that.” Ellis glanced around quickly, as if to get his bearings. “I got held up.”

  “Better late than never,” said Sheppard quietly.

  Carter nudged him. “Colonel Ellis, it’s good to see you back. Where’s Rodney?”

  “Thank you, Colonel. And Doctor McKay asked to be beamed directly to the hangar. He wanted to look at the ship, make sure it had survived the journey intact.” Ellis cleared his throat. “I did, ah, suggest that he might like to ride one of the jumpers down, but he declined my offer.”

  Carter chuckled. “I’ll bet.”

  “Excuse me?” On the screen, Woolsey was looking puzzled. “Hangar? Surely you didn’t store that ship in the jumper bay?”

  “No, not there,” Carter replied. “There’s an open area a couple of levels down from here. It wasn’t being used for much, just storage, and some of the outer walls are modular. We managed to get them retracted temporarily to make a kind of, well, parking garage. Major Lorne and his team flew the ship in on tethers.”

  “It couldn’t be beamed in?”

  “No,” replied Ellis. “Our transport sensors couldn’t get a complete lock on the hull. We’re not sure why, possibly a defense mechanism or a property of the hull. But Doctor McKay didn’t want to risk it arriving in pieces.”

  “Very wise. What about your guest?”

  “He’s undergoing a last couple of tests in Apollo’s infirmary,” said Ellis. “When my people are sure it’s safe for him to be moved, we’ll ship him down to Doctor Keller, nice and gently.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Concussion, mainly. His body does seem to be healing itself to some extent. But whatever the Replicators hit him with, it hurt. He took some serious knocks up there.”

  “I see.” Woolsey had gestured to someone offscreen, and in response a folder was passed to him. He opened it. “Thank you,” he muttered, not looking up. “So, Colonel Ellis, what has he told you?”

  “Very little so far. Partly because he’s been unconscious some of the time, but I’m sure he’s deliberately holding back, too. Basically…” There was a pause, and Carter noticed that Ellis was looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Basically, he says his name is Angelus, and he claims to be a corporeal Ancient.”

  That roused Woolsey from his folder. “A Lantean that didn’t ascend? That would make h
im, what, ten thousand years old?”

  “Give or take,” said Sheppard.

  “Well, that’s news,” replied Woolsey dryly. “How’s he looking?”

  “Pretty good for his age,” said Ellis. “I know this sounds wild. Believe me, I’d be the first to advise extreme caution. All I’m giving you is what he gave me.”

  “And the ship?”

  “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Ellis folded his arms. “Doesn’t quite match any of the Lantean ship designs we have on file, but it doesn’t resemble anything else we know about either. It’s a new one on me.”

  “Colonel,” began Carter. “Surely your medical team have done some preliminary tests on this… Angelus. Do they confirm what he’s saying?”

  Ellis shrugged slightly. “To be honest, we don’t have nearly the research facilities you do here. We were able to confirm the ATA gene, and his anatomy doesn’t look much different from what Lantean bodies are supposed to be. Then again, I could say much the same about Doctor McKay.”

  Sheppard grinned. “Hey, can I quote you on that? Rodney’ll be thrilled.”

  “Colonels, please…” Woolsey closed his file, looking perturbed. “Look, this Angelus could be anyone. Until we’ve got more information, it’s impossible to make any kind of decision.”

  Now there’s a switch, thought Carter. “Mr Woolsey, the only thing we can do at this stage is find out all we can. Speak to him once he’s recovered, do tests… If Angelus is, somehow, what he claims, then some serious decisions will need to be made. You know what happened the last time there were Ancients on Atlantis.”

  “I do,” said Woolsey grimly. “I was there.”

  “So from your point of view, wouldn’t it be best to start formulating preliminary plans based on the possible outcomes? If he’s for real, Plan A, if he’s not, Plan B, and so-on?”

  “If he’s a Wraith in disguise, Plan C, throw him to Ronon,” said Sheppard, largely under his breath.

  Woolsey nodded. “Yes… yes, I’ll put that to the Advisory. Probably best to start now… The IOA’s decision-making process can be a little, well…”