02 - Reliquary

by Martha Wells

  “Hold it.” John stepped closer so he could see Rodney’s expression. “Are you saying we shouldn’t open this?”

  John ignored Kavanagh’s “Of course we should! Are you out of your mind?” Rodney took a breath, his mouth twisted. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “There aren’t any life signs, just the energy signatures, and Teyla’s not sensing any Wraith. Of course, that means there could be anything in there from evil cybernetic guards to people-eating nanites. But the chances that there’s a ZPM inside—We have to open it.”

  Sounding more frustrated than anything else, Kavanagh said, “I don’t understand why you two think there’s something wrong here. It’s an abandoned wreck of an Ancient facility. That’s all.”

  John didn’t understand either, which was what worried him. But Rodney was right, they didn’t have a choice. And maybe it was just something to do with the electromagnetic fields or damaged technology trying to broadcast to the Ancient gene that was making his skin creep. Fooling his brain into thinking he could smell rotting corpses when there was nothing left of the dead but dry bones. He had a sudden image of trying to explain this to Elizabeth and Bates and Grodin and the others, that he had had a weird feeling and so they had left a possible ZPM cache behind after wasting a day and a half searching for it. He took a breath to tell Rodney to open the door, when Rodney glanced at the detector again, did a double-take and said, “Oh, no.”

  John recognized that tone. “What?” He grabbed Rodney’s wrist, angling the device so he could see the display. It was reading life signs, a bunch of them. John did a quick mental calculation to translate the distance reading and realized the blips were only about a hundred yards behind them, somewhere in the maze of dark corridors they had just passed through. The blips were all in a tight clump, and there were too many of them; it certainly wasn’t Boerne, Kinjo, and Corrigan following them down here for some reason. And they were moving steadily closer.

  Rodney said urgently, “Major, there’s a ravening horde of something approaching.”

  “Thank you, Rodney, I got that already.” John was already shining the P-90’s light down the corridor, Ford and Teyla moving to flank him.

  All their lights revealed was the slick blackness of the walls and conduits, but Teyla said softly, “Listen. Can you hear them?”

  John stilled his breathing and listened. After a moment he heard movement far up the corridor. It was a weird soft sound, like a large group of people walking barefoot. Or shambling, John thought, suddenly struck by a half-buried memory of reading H.P. Lovecraft in college. That’s definitely shambling. He looked at Ford. Brow furrowed, listening hard, Ford shook his head. Keeping his voice to a low whisper, he said, “That’s not people, sir. Not human people. Animals?”

  “Could be. It’s not Wraith, at least.” John glanced at Teyla for confirmation. “Is it?”

  “No, it is not the Wraith,” she said, shaking her head, baffled and worried. “Something that lives underground, in these tunnels?”

  “I vote we open the door,” Kolesnikova said uneasily.

  John had to admit that the enigmatic door had started to look a lot more friendly in the past minute. If they tried to go further up the corridor, they might find themselves trapped in a dead end. A literal dead end. “Yeah. McKay?”

  “I’m doing it,” Rodney snapped from somewhere behind him. John heard a muted thump and a low power hum.

  “Do you need help?” Kavanagh demanded.

  “Of course not! If I can’t hotwire one stupid blast door—That’s probably been sealed for ten thousand years—With intermittent power—”

  “McKay, be nice and let Kavanagh help,” Kolesnikova told him, sounding anxious.

  “Rodney, what she said,” John ordered tensely. He could hear a soft murmur echoing down the corridor now, even over their voices. There was something about it that made his skin crawl and his back teeth itch. He caught movement in their lights, something with gray and silver mottled skin that flicked hastily out of sight.

  The low power hum from the door intensified. “Wait, wait!” McKay yelped. “I’ve got it.”

  John swung around to cover the door, gesturing sharply for Kolesnikova and Kavanagh to move to the side. Teyla and Ford stayed in position, still watching the corridor.

  The blast door clunked again and a dark seam formed down the center, splitting it into two sections. With a deep bass groan, it began to cycle open, each section lifting up to reveal a large empty chamber lit by several white globes suspended from the high ceiling. There were big round pillars, either conduits for something or supports for the weight of stone and metal overhead. It was quiet and nothing moved.

  John eased forward, wary, checking the nearest shadows with the P-90’s light. McKay moved up beside him, his eyes moving from the detector to the room around them. “Power readings all over the place,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But no life signs. From in here, that is,” he added urgently. “The ones outside are holding steady.”

  “Right, everybody inside.” John didn’t have to say it twice. From down the corridor came a low hooting that was almost ape-like and a growl that made John’s scalp prickle. Kolesnikova hurried in and Kavanagh followed, throwing an eager look around the big room. Ford and Teyla took up positions on either side of the door, and McKay was already prying open the control panel on this side.

  McKay handed the detector off to Kavanagh so he could use both hands on the cables and circuits inside the wall, saying, “Twenty-five yards and closing, and in my opinion, that’s way too close.”

  John agreed wholeheartedly with that. “You can get this door shut again, right? You didn’t break it, did you?”

  “Of course I didn’t break it!” McKay snapped, then muttered something under his breath that John didn’t quite catch.

  Before John could demand further information on the door front, Teyla asked, “But why did the detector not show them before this?”

  “There could have been some kind of shielding that blocked the detector.” Rodney grimaced, digging a tool out of his vest pocket to tinker with the panel’s insides. “Or they were too far away. But it’s always worked before.”

  “Fifteen yards and closing,” Kavanagh reported grimly, his eyes on the detector. “Some have broken off from the main group and are moving faster.”

  Ford told McKay, “You were distracted. Maybe you didn’t notice them.”

  John didn’t buy that. “He looks at that thing every two seconds, that’s why we let him carry it. These guys, things, whatever, just appeared about a hundred yards away down one of these tunnels, however they did it.” He threw a look around the shadowy chamber, hoping for inspiration. “When we close this door, they’ll have us trapped in here,” he added, thinking aloud.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Ford said, keeping his eyes and his P-90 on the corridor.

  “Not so much,” John agreed. There was nothing in here to make a barrier across the door, no cover.

  “We should see what they are first,” Teyla added, stepping close to the opening, narrowing her eyes. “We cannot fight them if they are just noises in the dark.”

  With a gasp of relief McKay shut the panel and tapped at the controls. Ford and Teyla stepped back, and the big doors began to slide down and together. John breathed out in relief. “Right. We need to—”

  Something struck the door, scrabbling at the rapidly shrinking opening at the center. McKay skipped back with a yelp, and John jerked up his weapon.

  The light flashed off iridescent scales and white claws, just as the door slid shut.

  John took a deep breath, feeling his heart pound. “Okay. That wasn’t good.” McKay backed away another few paces, and Ford shifted uneasily. Kolesnikova was breathing hard and fanning herself. Only Kavanagh seemed unaffected. A muted thumping sounded from the door, as first one something, then a lot of somethings, pounded on it. After a few moments, the pounding died away.

  “It was unpleasantly close,” Tey
la commented, throwing John a worried glance.

  McKay recaptured his detector from Kavanagh. “Fifteen yards? Thanks for the warning!”

  “I read exactly what the screen said.” Kavanagh looked around impatiently. “We should spread out and search for the power source.”

  “Not yet,” John told him sharply. “After we check this place out. We don’t know what’s down here.”

  “Yes,” Kolesnikova put in grimly. “As you may have just noticed, we have good reason to be wary.”

  “Whoa, whoa, we’ve got an abrupt increase in energy readings,” McKay said suddenly, scanning the room with a worried grimace.

  “Where, what? Nobody touched anything!” Kolesnikova stepped toward him, alarmed.

  “The door opening must have activated something. It’s this way.” McKay started forward, face intent.

  “Like activated as in turning all the lights on, or activated as in getting ready to blow up?” Ford asked as John took long steps to catch up with McKay.

  “I don’t know, that’s why I’m trying to find it!” McKay snapped back.

  McKay led the way past the pillars, through a triangular arch, and out onto a broad gallery opening into a darker space. A single overhead light emphasized the crannies and shadows in the rocky walls. The gallery was empty, but a broad metal stairway led down to an area with several open doorways that were more like the entrances to caves. McKay hesitated, grimacing at the detector, then started down.

  John stopped halfway down the stairs, startled. He had just realized the odor of rot had faded, as if they had left it behind in the corridor. That’s weird. Either good weird or bad weird.

  Sounding concerned, Teyla asked, “Major, what is it?”

  “Huh? Nothing.” John hurried to catch up to Rodney at the bottom of the stairs. He saw lights flickering on in the room ahead, heard the low-power hum of a large installation coming online.

  They both stopped in the arched doorway. The walls of the room were lined with panels and readouts and controls, but in the center there was a coffin-sized transparent case, set on a platform with more humming equipment. The inside was obscured by a white mist, but as John stared in consternation it cleared, revealing the body of a human man. It was hard to see much detail, except that he was dressed in a loose brown robe.

  “What the hell?” John said, throwing a baffled look at Rodney.

  “It’s a stasis container.” Rodney moved forward, staring as if uneasily fascinated, studying the readouts as the others gathered around.

  “I can see that. What—Who—” Realizing he sounded like an idiot, John shut up. He just hadn’t been expecting this. He had no idea what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

  “I have never seen anything like this before either, Major,” Teyla said, regarding the stasis container warily. “Could he be a survivor of the attack? Why did he not leave through the Stargate?”

  Kavanagh moved forward impatiently, standing next to McKay to look at the readouts. McKay flung a hand in the air, saying, “In another minute, you can ask him personally. This chamber is cycling through an opening sequence.”

  “Now we’ll get some answers,” Kavanagh muttered, staring intently at the chamber.

  “Ah, is that a good idea?” Kolesnikova looked worriedly from John to Rodney. “We think this place is a hospital, at least partly.”

  “Yeah,” Ford added. “What if he’s in there because there’s something wrong with him, and opening it kills him?”

  “I have no idea. What if he’s in there because there’s something wrong with him and opening it kills us?” Rodney ducked around the side of the platform to check the various panels.

  “Can you stop it?” John demanded.

  The platform clunked as bolts were released deep inside. Rodney hurried back to John’s side. “I could, if I had half an hour and we weren’t concerned about killing him.”

  John swore under his breath. That wasn’t going to happen. “Everybody get away from it,” he ordered, backing away.

  Kolesnikova retreated hastily, Ford motioning for her to get behind him as he and Teyla retreated back through the doorway. Kavanagh stayed where he was, and John said sharply, “You too, Doctor.”

  Kavanagh shook his head, as if barely listening. “He’s human, there’s no danger. He could be an Ancient.” He gestured, his voice incredulous. “Do you have any idea what that could mean? We could have all the answers to all the questions we’ve ever had.”

  “Yes, I understand that. But that man could be ill,” Rodney said urgently. “He could be—”

  White mist flushed through the clear part of the chamber and locks clicked; the low-frequency hum got louder.

  “Well, it’s little late now,” Rodney muttered.

  John caught Kavanagh by the collar and swung him bodily away from the stasis container, back toward Teyla. Kavanagh staggered, catching his balance against the archway.

  A whoosh from the stasis container made everyone flinch, then the glass split smoothly in two, both sides rotating back and down into the platform. The occupant lay exposed on the opalescent material of the bed, still as death. John had a moment to think the point was moot and that the man was actually dead; his face was drawn and colorless in the wan light. Then he twitched and took a hard gasping breath. His eyes opened and he shook his head, gasped again, and suddenly sat up. He buried his face in his hands, as if sick or dizzy.

  Beside John, McKay hovered uncertainly. “Well?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “If there was an airborne pathogen in that container with him, it could already be too late. If not… What do we do?”

  “I have no idea,” John admitted. The only thing he could think to do was ask. He cleared his throat. “Uh, hello?”

  The man’s head jerked up and he twisted to face them. He had a high intelligent forehead, short gray hair matted flat, and his eyes were blue. His gaze went to John, and he stared for a frozen moment. He said in amazement, “You’re human.”

  “That’s what we were about to say to you.” John eyed him uncertainly. “You are human, right? Uh, who are you?”

  The man lifted a shaky hand to his head. “I am called Dorane.” He was turning paler by the moment. “I—It has been so long…”

  John was starting to feel that using three P-90s to cover one frail unarmed man in a bathrobe was overkill. “Are you all right?”

  McKay interposed worriedly, “We thought you might have been in stasis because you had a communicable illness, like, oh, some kind of plague, for example. You don’t, do you?”

  “What?” Dorane rubbed his eyes, as if he were having trouble focusing. “Oh, no. I placed myself in stasis, when the athenaeum—I was hoping my people would—” He tried to push himself off the platform and faltered, his legs refusing to support him.

  John and McKay both started forward, but John let McKay catch the man’s arm and hold him up, just on the off chance that it had been a ploy to get near his weapon. Kavanagh lunged over to help, shouldering the man’s other arm and saying, “We have so many questions—”

  “Let us wait on that for a moment,” Kolesnikova interrupted quickly. “Give him some time to recover.”

  “There is a room, just down the next passage,” Dorane said, his voice strained. “Please take me there.”

  While the others helped Dorane, John sent Ford back to the gallery, to stand guard where he could keep an eye on the outer blast door. They found the other room a short distance down the cave-like passage that led off the doorway next to the stasis chamber. It was a little smaller, with a low couch built into the wall, padded with some slick blue-gray material. McKay and Kavanagh helped Dorane sit down.

  John stood back in the doorway; he couldn’t figure this. Everything they had seen in this area was intact, though he couldn’t see why whoever had destroyed the rest of the place had left it behind. Surely that one blast door hadn’t been enough to keep them out.

  Teyla had paused beside him, and he asked, low-voiced
, “Any thoughts?”

  Kolesnikova sat next to Dorane, handing him her water bottle, and McKay retreated to join John and Teyla. “If that man is an Ancestor,” Teyla said, watching Dorane uncertainly, “this could be far better than finding any number of ZPMs.”

  After taking a long drink, Dorane handed the bottle back and looked up at them all. His face already seemed less pale and strained. He smiled a little in confusion and asked, “Who are you, how did you come here?”

  “We’re peaceful explorers,” John said. Who are also looking for ZPMs and anything else we can haul back home to protect us from the Wraith, he thought, but he wasn’t going to say that aloud. Not just yet. “From a place called Atlantis. I’m guessing you’ve heard of it.”

  Dorane’s brows drew together and he said uncertainly, “Atlantis? But I thought…the city was abandoned.”

  Great, now he’s suspicious of us. John looked pointedly at McKay, passing the diplomatic duties over to him. McKay gave John a mild glare, but faced Dorane squarely. “Ah, yes. Atlantis was abandoned. We come from a planet now called Earth, which is where the Ancients returned to when they left Atlantis. As you may know.” Teyla cleared her throat, and he added, “Teyla there is Athosian, we met her people after we got here. We came to this galaxy through the Stargate to search for Atlantis. And we found it.”

  John added, “The Ancients were driven out by the Wraith.”

  “Hey, I’m doing this,” McKay objected, frowning at him impatiently.

  “You’re doing it slowly.” Then it belatedly occurred to John that maybe he should have broken that a little more gently. He said to Dorane, “You know about the Wraith, right? Because I’m starting to feel like we may be dumping a lot of bad news on you all at once.”

  Dorane made an absent gesture. “Yes, yes, it was the Wraith who attacked this place.” He shifted on the couch, wincing. “It must have been a long time. I have few supplies left here, so I must remain in stasis almost continually. I set the container to open periodically, and I check the emergency communications systems to see if my people have tried to contact me, if anyone has returned. But I haven’t been good at keeping track of the passage of years, the last few times I woke.”