“Maybe we should take that one, sir?” Casson said. “Hernandez and me, we’ve done mountain training.”
“You have the farthest to carry your cylinders,” Radek answered. “And they are heavy. That’s why I assigned that to you. Dr. Koninsky is an experienced climber.”
Koninsky nodded. “It’s not very far.”
Casson was still looking at Lorne, who nodded. “We’ll go with the plan as laid out. And — good luck, all of you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WASN’T far to the entrance point, even dragging the heavy cylinders. Radek checked each one a final time, making sure the release system was securely closed, then looked up at the hatch set at the top of the wall. A band of decorative carving rose beside it, forming an unexpectedly easy ladder. Beyond that lay a secondary ventilator, and twenty meters to the left was the entrance to the connecting shaft. Up that, Radek thought, and with luck there would be some sort of handhold, and then they would be at the node. Or at least that was the plan. And always assuming that the compound worked. Beckett had rushed the simulation to its conclusion, but the results had been — uncertain. Ember’s analysis had been confirmed, but the simulation itself only claimed 88 per cent accuracy. Simulations weren’t everything, of course, Radek reminded himself, and it remained true that Ember knew more about this sort of thing than any of the humans. But if this went wrong, they weren’t likely to get a second chance.
“This is it?” Koninsky asked, squinting up at the hatch.
Radek nodded. “Let me get it open.”
He hauled himself up the ladder without waiting for an answer, and entered the code that would unlatch the cover. It sighed softly and sagged outward, and Radek slid it back, feeling the air suddenly stronger on his face. He was tempted to hurry ahead and see whether there were any supports in the connecting shaft, but made himself climb back down instead. Koninsky had already donned a headlamp and slung the coil of rope around his shoulder, ready to climb, and Radek gave an approving nod.
“Yes. You first, and then we will bring up the cylinders.”
“Right.” Koninsky swung himself easily up the ladder and disappeared into the opening. A moment later, he stuck his head back out and dropped the end of the rope. “Ok. Ready to go.”
Radek tied the rope to the net that held the first two cylinders, and steadied them as Koninsky hauled them up into the dark. He did the same with the next two, and then the last, and followed it up the ladder, sliding carefully into the ventilator. Koninsky had already dragged the cylinders some way along the passage, and Radek switched on his own headlamp and followed him.
Together they hauled the cylinders further down the ventilator to the connecting shaft. It was covered by a wire grill, but the ventilator was narrow enough that it took less than a minute to remove the fasteners that held it in place. Radek tipped his head back to survey the shaft, hoping to find handholds, and a moment later a second beam joined him as Koninsky did the same. The metal walls stretched slick and bare, and Radek swore under his breath.
“No, wait,” Koninsky said. “I think — isn’t that a rung, about two, maybe three meters up?”
“Maybe?” Radek stared up into the dark. “According to the schematics, the entire shaft should be only five meters.”
“If you can give me a boost up,” Koninsky said, “I can definitely get to that rung — and all the way up, if I have to.”
“Take the rope,” Radek said, and braced himself to take the other’s weight. Koninsky scrambled from bent knee to shoulders, and Radek felt his weight shift as he groped for purchase inside the shaft.
“The metal’s not that slick,” Koninsky said. “I think — yeah, I’ve got it.”
Radek felt the pressure on his shoulders ease, and looked up to see Koninsky bracing himself in the narrow shaft, back against one wall, feet against the other, arms outstretched. As Radek watched, he hitched himself up the walls, moving with careful precision.
“Yeah, there’s a ladder.” His voice floated down, breathless with exertion. “Just rungs, but it goes all the way to the top.”
“Good.” Radek stared after him, holding his breath as Koninsky reached the level of the ladder and groped for something above his head. For an instant, he hung by both hands, and then his feet found a lower rung, and he straightened carefully, the light of his headlamp sweeping ahead of him up the shaft.
“I’m good! I’m heading up.”
“Yes, go ahead,” Radek answered, and bit back the instinctive ‘be careful.’ This was not really a time for caution.
His radio buzzed, and Lorne spoke in his ear. “Dr. Zelenka. Report your progress, please.”
“We have reached the shaft below the node, and Dr. Koninsky is on his way up.” Radek glanced at his watch, and winced: forty minutes to go. “We will be in place in time.”
“Roger that,” Lorne said. “Let me know when you’ve placed the cylinders.”
“I will do so,” Radek said, and peered back up the shaft. Koninsky was climbing quickly, making good use of the ladder, and even as Radek watched, he reached the top and pulled himself out onto an invisible platform. A moment later, he leaned back over the edge, his headlamp shining down the shaft.
“I’m secure, but we’ve got a problem. There’s a door in the way, looks like some sort of shutter or something. It’s between us and the node.”
Radek swore. “Can you see fasteners?”
“Maybe?” Koninsky pulled back, and Radek swore again. That was all they needed, a barrier that wasn’t listed on any of the schematics he’d consulted. Why the Ancients couldn’t document their changes —
“I can see hinges and some fastenings,” Koninsky reported. “It looks as though it was secured from the other side, though.”
“Damn it.” Radek closed his eyes, trying to remember similar things he’d seen in Atlantis’s working spaces. “Where are the hinges? Top and bottom, or to the sides?”
“Just at the top,” Koninsky answered. “Wait a minute, I can see some fasteners along the lower edge. They look pretty common. Atlantis’s standard. Give me a second.” He vanished from the top of the shaft, and there was a distant scraping sound. “I can’t quite get them, but I think maybe two of us —”
“All right.” Radek took a deep breath, trying not to think of the time ticking away. “Let’s get the gas up first. Then if you can help me up to the ladder, we can work on them together.”
They managed to haul the cylinders up, Radek wincing each time they slammed against the walls of the shaft, and then the rope snaked down again. Radek took it warily, fastening it around himself in a makeshift harness, then tucked his toolkit into the front of his jacket. Koninsky leaned over the opening.
“Ok, that looks good. I can’t lift you very far, but I think I can get you into the shaft. There’s a rim inside the opening — if you can reach that, I can help you the rest of the way. Then I can belay you while you walk up.”
“Yes.” Radek eyed the opening dubiously — this was not what he had expected when he had gone into the sciences — but stretched until he could just reach the opening. Yes, there, it was, a rounded ridge big enough to wrap his fingers over, and he looked back to Koninsky. “Yes, ok, I have found the ridge.”
“Pull,” Koninsky called, and Radek felt the harness tug at him. He heaved himself up at the same time, and came scrambling into the shaft, bracing himself as he’d seen Koninsky do.
“Good. Now walk yourself up.”
Radek could no longer see Koninsky, but the steady pressure on the rope was reassuring. He bent his knee, slid one foot up the shaft, and pressed hard, feeling his back slide along the rough metal. The ladder’s lowest rung was a little closer. Six years in the doctorate program, six years as a post-doc, and then teaching, and all for this? He swore under his breath, and made himself move again.
Finally he reached the ladder, managed to get first one hand and then the other onto a rung. He freed one foot, resting it on the lowest rung, and s
wore again. He was going to have to release his other leg, lean forward, step up, and pull up all in the same movement, and for a second he wasn’t sure he could do it.
Koninsky’s voice floated down. “Are you ok?”
“Yes.” Radek glared at the ladder. “Yes, I am fine.” He lunged for the ladder, feeling the rope take his weight for a heart-stopping moment, and then he’d made it, stood clinging to the rungs with both hands, his feet securely planted. “I’m fine,” he said again, and began to climb.
He hauled himself out onto the narrow platform, breathing hard, and began unwinding himself from the rope. Koninsky coiled it neatly into a corner, out of the way of the cylinders of gas. Radek extracted the toolkit from his jacket. “Where are these fasteners?”
“Along the bottom edge.” Koninsky pointed. “Looks like it’s hinged along the top?”
Radek tilted his head, letting the light from his headlamp play over the metal of the shutter. It looked newer than some of the other components, which might explain why it wasn’t on the schematic. As Koninsky had said, there was a raised line along the top of the shutter that was surely a hinge, and a line of dimpled dots along the lower edge and halfway up the sides that were the familiar Lantean fasteners. He reached into the toolkit for the Ancient driver that would fit those dots, and swore as it skidded free. The Ancients had plugged these fasteners for some reason. He had the correct tool to remove them — yes, there it was — but it would all take time. He glanced at his watch and winced. They would need to hurry if they were going to get the cylinders placed in time. He handed the screwdriver to Koninsky. “Here. I will remove the plugs, you take care of the fasteners.”
“Ok.”
Radek inserted the tool into the slight depression, turning the shaped head until he felt it catch and lock. He removed the first plug, and then the next, setting them aside. Obviously the Ancients had meant the ventilation shaft to stay blocked at this point, though he could see no reason for the change. Was he causing more problems by removing the shutter? He closed his eyes, trying to remember the schematic’s smallest details, but he could see no reason. The tool slipped, and he cursed, made himself pay closer attention. There was no time left; they had to do it this way.
He removed the last plug, and a moment later Koninsky twisted out the last fastener. Radek felt along the lower edge of the shutter, but there were no handholds. The toolkit contained a thin-bladed chisel; he worked that into the gap and pried gently upward. “Quick —”
Koninsky reached into the widening gap and pulled up. The hinge groaned, and Radek quickly grabbed the edge as well. For a moment it resisted, the hinge clogged by rust or paint, and then it reached a tipping point. An invisible counterweight engaged, and the shutter folded itself neatly against the ceiling. Radek eyed it dubiously, and saw his doubt reflected on Koninsky’s face.
“Do you think it will hold?”
“We might as well assume it will,” Radek answered, and ducked through the opening. They were almost on top of the node, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief. “All right, start handing the cylinders through.”
Koninsky did as he was told, passing the heavy bottles through the gap. Radek positioned them at the node, turning each one so that the nozzle was pointed down the corridor. As he placed the fourth cylinder, his radio buzzed.
“Dr. Zelenka. Are you in position?”
“Almost,” Radek answered, and reached for the final cylinder. “Yes, we are ready.”
“Stand by,” Lorne said.
“Zelenka!”
Radek glanced back, and saw Koninsky waving the gas mask in his direction. He jerked off his glasses and reached for it just as Lorne spoke again.
“Transmission in three, two, one…”
The nozzles hissed in concert, and Radek closed his eyes and mouth, dragging the mask up over his face. He could feel the gas cool on his skin, could smell flowers as well as the rubber of the mask, and held his breath, settling the mask into place. The first blast of air struck back and shoulders, driving the gas to its destination. He blinked hard, opening his eyes, and saw that one of the cylinders hadn’t fired. He hit the manual release, saw the gas billow out in a pale cloud just as the second booster hit, and backed down the ventilator toward the shutter. Koninsky caught his shoulder.
“Careful.”
Radek let himself be steered to a sitting position against the side wall, and Koninsky touched his radio.
“Gate room, Dr. Koninksy here. All cylinders released.”
“Confirmed,” Lorne said. “We have full release in all three areas.”
Radek nodded. The gas was thinning out, he could no longer feel it cool against his skin, and he pulled off the gas mask, blinking hard. No burning, no discomfort; he coughed experimentally, and his throat felt normal as well.
“You dropped your glasses,” Koninsky said, and held them out.
Radek frowned, focusing with an effort, and slipped them on. The world slid into sharpness, and he allowed himself to relax again. He touched his radio. “Gate room, this is Dr. Zelenka. What are the dispersal reports?”
“They are within the planned limits,” Ember answered. “You have achieved 90 per cent dispersal in the quarantine area in the first fifteen seconds, 100 per cent at thirty, and complete dispersal throughout the city in seventy-one seconds. We are waiting on the sample results now.”
Radek let his head fall back against the wall of the ventilator, and saw Koninsky grin, holding up crossed fingers.
“The first samples indicate that the coverage is complete, and within acceptable limits.” Ember paused. “We are seeing an even deposit throughout the contaminated area.”
“Good,” Radek said. “That’s good.”
“We’ll still have to run tests to be sure we’ve gotten it all,” Sindye said. She sounded out of breath, but satisfied. “But if we have —”
“Then we can lift the quarantine,” Lorne said. “And get our people back.”
“If it has worked,” Radek said, and pushed himself to his feet. He looked at Koninsky. “We must get back to the gate room.”
Ronon nudged more wood into the blazing fire, hunching his shoulders as another scatter of raindrops blew across the clearing. The fire hissed and leaped up as the wind caught it and the three people inside the shelter drew in their feet as a few embers fell close to their toes. Thunder rolled steadily in the distance, and the lightning was creeping closer. At least the plants seemed to have stopped shooting — maybe they were concentrating on collecting a charge, Parrish had said, or maybe there was some sort of natural overload switch, that stopped them from shooting once noise or vibration became too great. He had spent nearly an hour prodding carefully at the edges of the stand of succulents, and then retreated to the shelter to warm up again. The stars had vanished two hours ago, and in the flashes of lightning, the clouds roiled and tumbled.
Aulich came up the hill, laptop in the crook of her arm, the light from its screen illuminated her face. Ronon went to meet her, careful to stay out of earshot of the people in the shelter.
“Well?”
“No change,” she said. “It still looks as though one of the strongest cells is going to pass right over us.”
Ronon looked at the screen, the image centered on a blob of yellow and red. Its core was white, and at the very center, a thin line pulsed in and out. “What does that mean?”
Aulich didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The part that’s flashing is off our scales. Lightning, atmospheric pressure, rainfall rates — we never see anything that high, so we don’t have a color to represent it.”
“And that’s what’s going to hit us?” Ronon stared at the screen. “How much worse than what we had before?”
“A lot worse,” Aulich said. Her voice was grim. “There’s less rain than in the first line, but we’re going to be right in its path. And when we do get rain, it’s going to fall harder than last time.”
Ronon grunted, not sure he could imagine that. I
t would almost be like being underwater, more rain than air.
“And there’s more lightning. A lot more.” Aulich touched keys, and the familiar symbols appeared, almost obliterating the colors behind them. “We can count on at least six times as many close strikes we had before.”
“What are you counting as close?”
“Within thirty meters of the clearing.”
Ronon nodded. That meant — if Aulich was right – they’d be facing eighteen or twenty bolts, and the odds against one of them hitting the shelter just went way up. “That’s a problem.”
“Yeah.” Aulich looked away, concentrating on her keyboard as she removed the overlay and zoomed out to show a more distant view of the storms.
“How long before it hits us?”
“Three hours, maybe three and a half before we’re in the worst of it. But there’s going to be enough lightning and rain to keep us from using the Stargate before that — two hours at most.”
“Right.” Ronon took a deep breath to steady himself. “We’ll evacuate to Atlantis before then. And hope they’ve solved their problem by then.”
The symbols on the Stargate lit, Atlantis dialing in as promised, and Ronon made his way down the hill. He reached the DHD just as the unstable wormhole billowed and steadied, and Lorne’s face appeared in the screen of Joseph’s laptop.
“Good news. The release of the gas has been successful. We’ve got teams checking the quarantine area to be sure it worked, but we should be able to open the gate very soon.”
“How soon?”
Lorne’s mouth tightened. “An hour, they tell me. Maybe a little longer. They need to take samples and then run the tests —”
“We’ve got about two hours before we have to evacuate,” Ronon said. “We’re right in the path of the biggest storm yet.”
“How bad?”
Stargate Atlantis: Third Path: Book 8 in the Legacy series Page 26