Stargate Atlantis: Third Path: Book 8 in the Legacy series

by Melissa Scott

  Ronon came down the hill to meet them, frowning. “Parrish. You’re hurt.”

  Parrish gave a wincing smile. “It just nicked me.”

  “You’ve always wanted to say that,” Hunt said.

  Aulich grabbed the first aid kit and came to join them. Parrish took his hand away from his arm, revealing ripped and melted fabric, and a bright red mark along the outside of his upper arm. “It’s really not bad,” he said, and managed not to flinch when Aulich ripped the fabric further to expose the burn.

  It wasn’t that bad, Ronon saw with relief, and holstered his energy pistol. “You got your samples?”

  Hunt nodded. “We did. At least, I still have mine.”

  “So do I,” Parrish said, indignantly. “I don’t drop samples just because some plant is shooting at me.”

  “He’s right,” Aulich said, unwrapping a field dressing. “It’s going to hurt, but it’s nothing serious.”

  Ronon nodded his thanks.

  Parrish said, “Ow. Do you have to do that?”

  “Yes.” Aulich finished attaching the dressing and stepped back.

  “All right,” Ronon said. “I think we’ve gotten enough information for now. Captain, how close are you to finishing your tests?”

  Aulich glanced at the nearest screen. “Less than twenty minutes. Then we’re done.”

  “Good,” Ronon said. “Once you’re finished, shut it down, and we’re heading back to Sateda. Unless Atlantis has fixed its problems.” He braced himself for a protest, but none came. Parrish nodded instead, looking faintly sheepish, and Aulich looked at her screen again.

  “I agree. I’m getting some… unusual… readings.”

  “Unusual how?” Ronon asked, and Joseph interrupted them.

  “Sir. Captain. We’ve got a problem.”

  Ronon turned to see a scorch mark cutting across the upper left quadrant of the DHD. A thin coil of smoke rose from under one scorched symbol and drifted away into the air. Aulich swore, and both Samara and Hunt looked stricken. Ronon kept his voice calm with an effort of will. “How bad is it?”

  “Don’t know, sir.” Joseph went to one knee, reaching into her pocket for her toolkit.

  “Find out,” Ronon said, and hoped she would have an answer.

  Rodney sat on the edge of one of the Vanir consoles, kicking his feet against the pedestal in the vague hope that it might annoy the Vanir. Dis seemed impervious, both to provocation and to any arguments that either Jackson or Elizabeth could muster. It sat on the edge of one of the lightly padded tables, blinking slightly; it allowed Dekaas to run his hands over the site of the skull fracture, but proclaimed itself entirely healed.

  “I’m not sure that’s actually true,” Dekaas said, narrowing his eyes. “Admittedly, I don’t know what your vital signs should be, but they are considerably weaker than I would expect.”

  “Our technology is capable of repairing far worse damage,” Dis said. “I feel… well enough.”

  “That’s assuming the stasis pod is fully functional,” Jackson said. “And, you know, it would kind of surprise me if it were in perfect shape after who knows how many hundred — thousand? — years. I wouldn’t push matters if I were you.”

  “Is that meant as a threat?” Dis inquired, its voice mild, and Elizabeth shook her head.

  “Not at all. It’s a simple statement of fact.”

  Dis started to rise, blinked hard, and sat down again. “Perhaps there is something in what you say.”

  “No kidding,” Rodney said. Before he could say anything more, his radio buzzed, and he put his hand to his ear. “McKay here.”

  “Rodney.” Sheppard’s voice was perfectly clear, the transmission unaffected by the metal surrounding them. “We’ve got company.”

  “Oh?”

  “Travelers — one of them’s the same ship you got Dekaas from, Teyla says. The Durant. Plus two more, Osir and Mirilies. It looks like they’ve been in a firefight, maybe with the Wraith, but they’re not talking about it. Where do you stand with the Vanir?”

  “It’s conscious, but still weak.” Rodney paused, considering what he could say that wouldn’t give too much away. “Our guess about what it wanted was pretty much spot on, but at the moment it’s not in any position to do anything about it.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.” Sheppard paused. “Look, keep everybody out of sight for now. We don’t want the Travelers making any claims to the parts of the installation they don’t know about.”

  “We closed all the doors behind us,” Rodney said. “And there’s really not much else they could use.”

  “Actually…”

  “Oh, God, Sheppard, what did you find?”

  “How would you like one Vanir scout craft, apparently in perfect condition?”

  “Seriously?” Rodney heard his voice rise, and cleared his throat. “Ok. That’s – different.”

  “Yeah.” Sheppard paused, clearly marshaling his thoughts. “It’s up a couple of levels, in what was probably a docking bay that overlooks the landing field. The power was off in the area when Teyla and I found it, and then we saw the Travelers landing before we had a chance to look over the scout. If things are secure where you are, I want you to head up there and see if you can get the power back on. I’d like the chance to be able to open that hangar door if things get dicey. And then if there’s time, take a look at the scout.”

  A Vanir scout, apparently intact and in perfect condition. Yeah, he could get it working; he’d had enough experience with Asgard technology to feel sure of that. And that meant Sheppard could fly it, or maybe he could even fly it himself if he had to. And there was always the chance – a pretty good chance, he’d bet – that the Vanir had left some things installed that the Asgard hadn’t wanted to trust humans with. That would definitely come in handy, even if they were sort of at peace with the Wraith these days. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “If it’s safe to leave the Vanir,” Sheppard says. “Security first.”

  “Yes, of course. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “I think you want that ship,” Sheppard said.

  “Not that badly.” Rodney paused. “I’ll make sure.”

  “Right. Sheppard out.”

  Everyone was looking at him, of course, even Dis, enormous black eyes focused and intent. Rodney cleared his throat again. “Ah, that was Sheppard. We have visitors.”

  “What sort of visitors?” Jackson asked.

  “Travelers. Which I suppose we might have expected, given that this is a Traveler base – oh, and it’s Durant and a couple of others. Osir, he said, and Mirilies.” Rodney stopped, watching Elizabeth’s face. “What?”

  “Why are they here now?” she asked. She looked at Dekaas. “I understood they were going to be at the rendezvous for some time.”

  “So did I,” Dekaas said, grimly. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind asking them that myself.”

  “Ah. I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” Rodney began.

  Dekaas lifted an eyebrow. “So should I consider myself –”

  Elizabeth laid a hand on his arm. “No. You’re not a prisoner or a hostage or anything like that. I presume Colonel Sheppard is concerned about Dis.”

  “Yes,” Rodney said. “Exactly.”

  “And about this installation,” Dekaas said. “You don’t want it to fall under Traveler control. Because – didn’t you say this device could be used on humans as well as Vanir?”

  “The Asgard used it on Jack – General O’Neill,” Jackson said. “Of course, that was to reverse something that the Ancients, or at least an Ancient device, had done to him, so that doesn’t prove it could or couldn’t cure more ordinary problems.”

  “The installation belongs to the Vanir,” Elizabeth said. “We came here to save Dis’s life.” She gave the Vanir a hard stare. “And we have a number of things to discuss with Dis’s people, which may or may not include further use of this base.”

  “I do not think that will be negotiable,” Dis said.
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  “Be that as it may,” Jackson began, and Rodney waved his hands.

  “Whatever! Look, go ahead and talk all you like, but I’ve got other things I need to do.”

  “Such as?” Jackson lifted his eyebrows.

  “Sheppard asked me to see if I could get the power on in another part of the installation. He thought we might need it.” And that was perfectly true, even if it wasn’t the whole story.

  “So you’re just going to leave us here with Dis,” Jackson said.

  “I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing,” Rodney snapped.

  “I think we can handle this,” Elizabeth said.

  Rodney backed away, glad to leave this in Elizabeth’s hands — and, all right, maybe that was premature, but it was just as important to see if the Vanir scout was in fact operational. If they needed a back door, or another bargaining chip, it was perfect, and if they could take possession of it… Well, Atlantis always needed more ships. Even if that one couldn’t be brought back to Earth. They could still use it in Pegasus, and it was bound to be better than anything the Wraith had. Just in case that agreement fell through.

  Up a couple of levels, Sheppard had said, and back toward the entrance. Rodney found the docking bay after only two wrong turns, and caught his breath as he worked the door open. It was a Vanir scout, all right. It looked pretty much identical to an Asgard scout, and Rodney was willing to bet that the technology would be just about identical, too. He played his flashlight over the hull, and found where the hatch should be, but it was, unsurprisingly, sealed tight. He needed light: Sheppard was right, the first step was to get the power up and running in this part of the installation.

  He let the light play across the walls, and found a set of consoles that formed a triangle against one wall. All the readouts were dead, but the pattern was familiar from work at the SGC, and he found the access panel and pried it loose. And there it was, the neat five-pronged bar that had been removed from its clips. He fitted the prongs into their sockets and snapped the bar’s other end into the clip. For a moment nothing happened and he shook his head.

  “It’s never that simple —”

  A pattern of lights flashed on the nearest console, was copied by the other two. Screens lit, data moving sluggishly across their depths, and one by one a string of lights sprang to life, running from one side of the hangar to the other.

  “Except when it is.” Rodney allowed himself a moment to savor the success, then turned his attention to the controls. Yes, there was the screen that controlled the hangar doors, both the set that led back into the complex and the larger four-part clamshell of the overhead doors. The rest looked as though they were supply and maintenance systems, and Rodney paged through the latter, looking for a way to open the scout’s hatch. He found it eventually, and worked the controls. Lights flashed, and there was a grinding noise, and then finally the hatch opened, a ramp extending jerkily from the hull. Rodney waited until it was grounded and he was sure the systems were stabilized, then headed for the ship.

  The air inside was stale and smelled of something that seemed vaguely familiar. He sniffed again, sniffed harder, and abruptly remembered the smell of the Vanir installation where he and Jackson had been held prisoner. He made a face, and hoped he wasn’t going to end up electrocuted or destroying Stargates this time. The ship seemed just as empty as the rest of the installation, though, thin lines of tubing providing what he guessed was emergency lighting, and he made his way cautiously into the main corridor. Engineering or control room first? He flipped a mental coin. He’d try the control room.

  All the interior hatches were shut tight, and the deck and walls were coated with some sort of the gray polymer-like material that damped all sound. The control room hatch, however, stood open, and he caught his breath at the sight. Everything in the compartment was swathed in layers of thick, cobwebby material, sheet after sheet of the stuff wrapped around each console and crew station, protecting the delicate instruments. Rodney touched the nearest piece with a cautious finger, ready to jump back if his guess was wrong and this was some weird natural phenomenon, spiders or caterpillars or something even worse lurking in the webs. But there was nothing. The material was dry and slightly stiff, as though it had frozen in that position.

  “Mothballed,” he said aloud, and could barely suppress his glee. He reached for the radio, then stopped himself. Better see what was in the engine room before he called Sheppard.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I DON’T understand,” Ember said. His fingers moved delicately over the controls, reviewing their work. “It should have worked — the simulation was perfect.”

  “Aye, but we’ve missed something, clearly.” Beckett rubbed his chin unhappily. “Dr. Sindye, there was no change at all between the first test and the second?”

  “The results were identical.” The picture in the screen changed from the Lantean’s dark face to four squares of plastic, all of them eroded by the aflageolis. “The only difference is that this pair has been exposed longer.”

  “So we’re back to square one,” Beckett said.

  “Thank you, Dr. Beckett, Dr. Zelenka,” Sindye said. “We’ll look at the results and see what more we can do.”

  “We must start over,” Ember said. They had missed something obvious — he had missed something obvious, he whose specialty this was. The Lanteans could in some sense be excused for their failure, but he should see it. “From an untouched sample.”

  “I agree.” Becket sounded profoundly tired. “Well, we should have plenty of that to go around.”

  “I fear so.” Ember studied the screen again. The pattern of degradation was different from the pattern that resulted from the solvent: perhaps that was significant, or perhaps not. His feeding hand throbbed, and he rubbed it against his coat, wishing he were on the hive. Then he could just go and feed, let the life-force rush into him, sating his hunger — He realized that he had closed his eyes, and shook himself back to the moment. There was no time to waste daydreaming. “I would like to examine a sample myself, from the start.” He saw Beckett frown, and added carefully, “I think you should do the same. Perhaps our different techniques will give us some new information.”

  Beckett relaxed slightly. “Aye, that makes sense.”

  “Dr. Beckett. Do you have a minute?”

  The voice from the speaker should have been familiar, but it took Ember a moment to identify it: Lorne, the blade who was the Consort’s right hand.

  “I do.” Beckett seated himself beside the console, resting one elbow on the work surface.

  “Any progress?”

  Beckett shook his head as though Lorne could see. “The first compound had no discernible effect. We’re starting over, Major.”

  “That’s — not good news,” Lorne said.

  Beckett looked annoyed. “No, but it’s the best I’ve got. And the sooner you let us get back to work —”

  “Sorry, Doc, that’s not what I meant.” Lorne paused. “We’re seeing new infections, and an increased rate of destruction in those new infections.”

  “Has it crossed the quarantine line?” Beckett asked sharply.

  “Not yet. And before you say it, we’ve doubled all the precautions. At the moment, we’re not allowing anything to enter the quarantine zone.”

  “How long can you keep that up?” Beckett asked.

  “We’ve got emergency rations in the jumper bay, we’ll dole those out for now. But I’m hoping you can come up with something that’s even partly effective before things get any worse.”

  “We’re working on it,” Beckett said.

  “Wait,” Ember said. “This new bacteria — we should have a sample.”

  “It’s not safe,” Lorne said.

  Ember ignored him, focusing on Beckett. “If the alflageolis has mutated, and it sounds as though it has, we will need to see the newest strain in order to stop it.”

  “You’re right,” Beckett said. “He’s right, Major, much as I hate
to admit it. If we bring a biohazard box, can you pass it back out to us?”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Doc?”

  “No,” Beckett said. “But I don’t have any better ones.”

  “I would like to go with your people to collect it,” Ember said. He didn’t know quite what he was looking for, only that he would feel more certain of his research if he had the sample under his eye from the beginning.

  Beckett shrugged. “If you want. I’ll have to send a couple of Marines with you, though.”

  “I have no objections,” Ember answered.

  In the end, they sent not just Marines but a pair of younger doctors, both carrying heavy decontamination equipment. They had not bothered with the enveloping suits, made as they were of a petroleum-based material, but they each carried tanks of different disinfectants and a high-powered sprayer. Either the disinfectant would work, Beckett had said, or the spray itself would wash off any contamination, and Ember thought he was probably right.

  They emerged from the Ancients’ transport system a floor below the planned transfer point. It would be a much longer return trip, as they’d be avoiding the transfer chambers for fear of spreading the contamination, but he tried not to think about that, or about how… tasty… the older of the Marines felt as he marched behind them. No, his main concern had to be to ensure that all the protocols were followed, and that he had as good a sample of this new mutation as possible.

  The transfer point was a corridor two floors below the transport chamber that served the main tower. Doors opened almost directly across from each other, and the corridor was narrow enough that it would be possible to use a hooked metal pole to push the biohazard box across the gap. The older of the two doctors, a lanky woman who had cropped her hair almost as short as the Marines’, checked the box a final time, then touched her earpiece.

  “Dr. Sindye, Dr. Zelenka. We’re in place. Ready when you are.”

  “We are ready, too, Dr. Harris,” Zelenka answered. “You can open your door.”

  Harris worked the controls, and the door slid back to reveal Zelenka and Sindye standing in the opposite doorway. The younger doctor held up the biohazard box, and then set it carefully on the floor just inside the door. He used the pole to push it out into the corridor, and then all the way across. Sindye retrieved it, and stepped back out of the doorway.