SGA-15 Brimstone

by Wilson, David Niall

  He turned the horse toward the control room and the gardens beyond. The colorful posters on the wall that had fascinated the team on their way in mocked him. He watched them as he passed, but they blurred into a surreal wash of colors and shadows. He turned past the control room and wondered if there was anything he was forgetting, something he should do to the computer system, but by the time the thoughts were fully formed they’d already moved past and into the great hall leading to the gardens and the gates of the city.

  Rodney watched it all and frowned. Something was different, something important. Then he laughed, and the laugh became a dry, rasping cough, as he realized the only thing that was different was that he was sitting astride a horse. It all looked smaller somehow. He tried to pull himself together. The stairs leading down into the gardens would probably prove more difficult to manage than those they’d already climbed, and they were approaching fast.

  He tried to sit up straighter. He wished he’d taken off the helmet. It was adding its weight to the heat. Sweat dripped from it down his neck and over his face. He felt as if every ounce of liquid was being steamed from his body. He expected to see the steam rising any moment, and to feel his flesh baking. He was staring at his arm in fascination when they reached the top of the steps. Without warning or hesitation the horse dove down the steps.

  Rodney screamed. The visor of the helmet, jarred by the sudden motion, dropped over his face, and the armor of the Ancients came to life once more. He felt a sudden energy — and he managed to squeeze the horse with his knees, though he had no idea how he’d known to do it. Teyla started to slip, but Rodney gripped her and found that he could lift her easily back into position.

  There was no time to wonder at the seeming magic of the Ancient creature he rode. He turned its head toward the gate and kicked his heels, hoping that it was a universal symbol for go like a bat out of hell. His mount reacted, whether to the nudge from his knees, or the thought from his mind. He knew it didn’t matter. He had new strength, and there was a chance they’d make it to the gate. From there, he’d take his chances. If the others were gone, and the gate was closed, he’d open another one to somewhere, anywhere, and he’d dive through it. He might die wherever he ended up, but he would not die sitting by helplessly as he plunged into a sun.

  He held Teyla in place on the neck of the horse easily. Somehow her extra weight no longer mattered. His vision was sharper. They slipped through the broken gate and onto the fields beyond, breaking into a full gallop, and Rodney actually threw back his head and cried out with the sudden rush of power. The faster the horse ran, the stronger he became. The land was rough; Rodney remembered it from their trip in. Though it flew by quickly, he was aware of every variance in the pitch of the ground, or shift in the terrain. It was strange, but he had the odd sensation that the horse was feeding on the freedom, the chance to run.

  In the distance, he could just make out the clearing where the gate stood. There was motion there, and for a fleeting moment he thought it might be the team. He tried to call out, but despite the energy the visor and the armor were giving him, he couldn’t bring his parched lips to part and emit sound. In that moment he became aware of just how precarious his situation was. He was empowered by the armor and the visor, but if it failed, or if it was knocked free somehow, he wouldn’t move another inch.

  “Swell,” he whispered.

  They charged toward the gate, and though he still hoped he’d find the others there, some instinct drove his hand to the handle of his lance and he pulled it from its sheath. As he drew nearer he saw a small crowd gathered before him in a semi-circle. Some held weapons, and two — standing behind them — merely watched, wide-eyed, as he approached.

  The gate shimmered, the wormhole open, and Colonel Sheppard stood with one arm rammed into the event horizon — holding the gate open — watching in amazement. The two nearest the DHD came into focus, and Rodney realized it was Saul — and Mara. The others were guards. They held their weapons loosely, obviously feeling the heat and barely able to remain upright.

  “Stop him!” Saul croaked, staggering backward and flinging Mara from him. Rodney saw with horror that he was headed for Sheppard. It looked as if he intended to force the Colonel through and close the gate. If he reached it — if he managed to overpower Sheppard in some mad burst of strength — it was over. Rodney reacted without thought.

  He raised the lance and a bolt of energy shot from the end of it. It caught Saul in the back and sent the man reeling. He lurched toward Sheppard, who waited for him and thrust him aside at the last moment, keeping his arm inside the event horizon. The others, seeing the fire shoot from the lance, dove for cover. Rodney lowered his head, held tight to Teyla, and with a last burst of speed cut through the parting guards and dove into the heart of the Stargate. Sheppard stepped as far as he could to one side, then, when Rodney was safely through, he followed.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Woolsey was jarred from his thoughts by his radio. He jerked up, not sure what had been said, only that there had been a sound.

  “What is it?”

  “The Daedalus, sir,” came the excited voice. “Colonel Caldwell.”

  “Patch him through,” Woolsey said, sitting upright.

  “Mr. Woolsey?” Caldwell’s voice crackled over the speaker.

  “This is Woolsey,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “We’re in position, sir. We’ve scanned ’842 and located your people. From the numbers, it looks like Colonel Sheppard’s team has joined them.”

  “Why haven’t they opened the gate?” Woolsey said, stomach knotting. “Why are they still there, if Sheppard is back?”

  “My best guess?” Caldwell said, half a question. “They can’t get to the DHD.”

  “Can you help?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Caldwell said. “We’re keeping a low profile — don’t want to alert that Hive ship to our presence. As far as I can see, they’ve only sent darts and ground troops to the gate. They don’t know what the threat is, and they aren’t committing fully until they do. That buys me a little time. I’m going to go in and give them some cover fire, but I won’t have long — as soon as I start firing, the Wraith will know I’m there. I have to get out before they can send any serious pursuit.”

  “Understood,” Woolsey replied. “Can’t you transport them out?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll be moving fast, and under fire — it would be crap shoot. If I can’t get them out safely they’ll have to use the gate.”

  “Very well. Do what you can, Colonel. Woolsey out.”

  He sat and stared into the distance for a moment, then contacted the control room.

  “Stand by to receive both teams,” he said. “Have medical on alert.”

  He sat and waited, staring at the wall. There was nothing else he could do, nothing but sit and wait. The matter was in other hands — in capable hands, no doubt, but that didn’t ease his tension. He felt powerless, just sitting there in the calm halls of Atlantis while other men and women fought and, perhaps, died. This, he realized, was the true burden of command; he wondered if he would ever get used to its weight…

  “Bring them home, Colonel,” he said with a sigh. “Just bring them all home.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  The sky was bright, so bright it was painful to look at it for more than a second. Saul ignored the pain. He lay back in Mara’s arms, staring and gasping for breath. There had been clouds in the sky once, but they were gone, burned away by the heat. Nothing stood between the surface of their moon and the searing heat of the sun. Saul coughed. It turned into a fit that seemed as if it might consume all that remained of his breath, and to make it worse, he began to laugh.

  Mara shook him gently.

  “Stop it! You need your strength.”

  “For what?” Saul coughed out. “Oh, I had plans, didn’t I? The grand finale. Do you think they are still holding the entertainments in Admah? Do you think they have let out all t
he gladiators to roam the halls and find what pleasure they can in their final moments? Perhaps they are just fainting in their seats, giving way to the heat, or seeking one last cold drink. The party never ends, in Admah…”

  “It has ended,” Mara said softly. “I think maybe it ended a long time ago. We’ve been parodying what we once were — going through the motions and losing ourselves in whatever sensation presents itself, but there is nothing new. Nothing has been new for so long I can’t even remember when the boredom first set in.”

  “You were always quicker than the others,” Saul said. “You have seen things sooner, understood them better. And I? I have been the one who was blind. I had this vision, this final moment of glory that would make all of it worthwhile and usher us toward a higher realm.”

  Deep, heaving coughs cut off his speech, and he doubled up in pain. Mara held him tighter, clutching him to her sweaty body and laying her head on his shoulder. Eventually the coughing passed. Saul laid very still, and Mara thought for a moment that he might be finished. Then he regained control, and continued.

  “I wish that they had never come, Colonel Sheppard and his team. I wish that they had gone to any of a thousand worlds they might have enjoyed and left us to the façade of our brilliance. I had it worked out so carefully. It was going to be so…splendid.”

  “It was never going to be splendid,” Mara chided him. “It was going to end. That is what we have all been seeking, even if we weren’t willing to admit it. There is nothing left on the road we chose so long ago. When our brethren took the higher road — the road to ascension, we chose to descend and see just how far down we could go. Over the past few days, the answer to that became too obvious, and we reacted poorly. We should have let them go. Maybe we should have gone with them, or turned the city away and traveled.”

  “There was a time when that was still possible,” Saul said. “I can remember thinking about it — dreaming about it — standing in the conservatory and watching the stars and wondering why we did what we did day after day and night after night.”

  “We did it for you,” Mara said. “You know that, and you knew that. We did it because you convinced us that it was the right thing to do. We believed in you when we knew deep inside that we should believe in ourselves and seeking our own fulfillment. It was the easy way — the entertaining way.”

  “It was entertaining, wasn’t it?” Saul said.

  “It certainly had its moments.”

  Saul coughed again, and this time blood trickled from the edge of his mouth. He fought through the pain.

  “It’s ironic,” he said.

  “What?”

  “This…” He tried to wave his arm, but it nearly sent him into another fit, and he grew still. “I wanted so much to see that last moment — to ride Admah into the next level of existence — to feel the heat wash over me and melt me and make me one with all the molecules of the universe. I planned it, I dreamed of it, and in the end…it was my inability to let go of the material world that cost me my own dream. If I’d just seen Sheppard and the others on their way — just kept my eyes firmly on the future. If I’d just understood how much it meant to me…”

  He stiffened then and with a rasping gasp sagged against her. He was gone. Mara stroked his hair and watched his still face for a moment, then gently eased him off her lap and onto the parched ground. She stood, and found the effort almost more than she could bear. Turning, she saw that the guards who had accompanied them still waited. They leaned on trees or lay sprawled on the ground. The heat bore down and through them all.

  “Let’s try to make it back to the city,” Mara said. “It won’t be much comfort, but it will be some. If Saul will miss the finale, it doesn’t mean that we all should.”

  She began walking back toward the city. One of the guards, a tall young man with dark hair, stepped up beside her and offered his arm for support. She took it gratefully and, leaning on one another, they staggered back toward Admah. Behind them, the others struggled along as well as they could. They moved very slowly, and the city seemed to be miles distant. The air wavered with heat.

  Very distantly, Mara was aware of the heat of the ground burning up through her shoes to the soles of her feet, and that her clothing clung to her, matted with sweat. She wished she’d brought water, knew it wouldn’t help, and kept on putting one foot in front of the other.

  “Do you think,” she asked the guard through thick, parched lips, “that the bar will be open?”

  They both laughed, and it nearly did them in. Then, without another word, they continued on toward the city.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The gate was surrounded on all sides by Wraith ground troops. Sheppard was about to order Cumby and Ronon back into the jungle for cover, when a sudden blast of energy vaporized one of the Wraith darts. In the center of the clearing, impossibly, the horse of the Ancient’s reared. Rodney sat astride it and, across the beast’s neck, Teyla clung for dear life.

  “What the hell?” Cumby said. “Rodney?”

  The lance fired again, sending a rippling blast of energy across a line of advancing Wraith ground troops.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Ronon said. He stood and ran forward, drawing his weapon and flanking Rodney’s charge.

  “There’s equipment here,” Cumby called out, “but I don’t see a team.”

  “Get your weapon and stay out the line of fire.” He ducked behind the scant shelter of the gate and toggled his radio. “This is Colonel Sheppard. Does anyone copy?”

  The radio squawked. “Colonel Sheppard, this is Lorne. Sir, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Where are you?” Sheppard shouted as a dart screamed overhead.

  “Not far from the gate, Colonel, but we can’t get close enough to dial Atlantis. We’re pinned down — there’s too many of them.”

  Sheppard glanced over to where Rodney swung the lance of the Ancients from side to side, skewering Wraith warriors and sending bursts of power into their ranks, driving them into retreat. Beside him, using the horse as a shield, Ronon backed him up.

  “Get back to the gate, we’ve got you covered,” Sheppard said. “But you aren’t going to believe how unless you see it.”

  “On my way.”

  * * *

  Rodney barely had time to think. He’d fired at the dart instinctively, but now that he’d had a moment to take in his surroundings, he saw the surrounding forest was alive with Wraith. Above them, more darts appeared. He knew Sheppard must be behind him, and Ronon had stepped up at his side. When there was a temporary break, he turned. Teyla was weakening, and she’d started to slump off the side of the horse. Rodney grabbed her easily in one armor-strengthened arm and lowered her to the ground. He turned, and saw Sheppard rushing up from behind.

  Rodney turned back to the battle without another glance. The helmet had brought his mind to life in ways he was unaccustomed to…he was aware of threats almost before they occurred, and the armor reacted with incredible speed. It was almost as if he was only along for the ride.

  There were two darts closing in. Rodney spurred the Ancient horse and it veered to one side, drawing fire away from where Teyla had fallen. He raised the lance, aimed, and a bolt of energy slammed into one of the two darts. It dove off to one side, and he spun sending a bolt at the second, even as his mount spurred forward to avoid incoming fire.

  He vaguely heard Sheppard behind him, ordering others to move up and provide cover, but he was one with the helmet, and the horse, and the lance moved almost of its own accord. He fired again and again, lunging from side to side to avoid incoming fire. The Wraith on the ground began to converge. He took a last shot at one of the darts. It struck home and the craft wobbled, made a hideous screeching sound, and slammed in through the trees overhead, disappearing into another explosion of flame.

  Rodney ditched the lance. He drew the great sword and spun, driving his mount along the front rank of Wraith. He slashed right, and then left, and then drove his bla
de deep through the armor of a third Wraith soldier. A fourth came at him from the left, and he tried to pivot back. Before he could make it, Ronon stepped in. The big man fired, and the Wraith reeled back. Rodney caught the gleam of battle in Ronon’s eyes, and he smiled, though no one could see it beneath the helmet.

  He felt it. His normal reaction to a situation like this was nothing but a very strong urge toward self-preservation, but now — with the visor guiding him and the Ancient weapons giving him strength and speed — he felt invincible.

  Lorne came up suddenly on the other side and with him two others. Rodney thought one of them was named Gravel, but he couldn’t quite recall. They advanced on the retreating Wraith with a vengeance, keeping in a tight group.

  * * *

  Cumby turned and stared at the approaching Wraith. He saw the others battling for their lives, and stared incredulously at Rodney, who led the attack. Then he turned, and nodded to himself. It was his turn to make a contribution. He hunkered down low to make as small a target as possible, and he ran toward the DHD. He didn’t look at the battle again. Either he’d make it, or he wouldn’t. He’d never actually dialed an address for a gate, but he’d seen it done dozens of times and for him that amounted to owning the skill. He knew the address for Atlantis. He knew the addresses of every gate that had been opened since he’d been part of the Atlantis crew, and several others he’d chanced across in the course of his work.

  He had no experience in battle and was terrified, but he kept moving. Somehow, seeing Rodney and Teyla again, when he’d thought they were dead, opened an unexpected reserve deep inside him. He wanted to be part of it. He wanted to do something that mattered, and this was his chance. He wanted to open that gate.

  A blast from one of the Wraith weapons shot past him and he ducked, but he didn’t look up to see where it had come from. He kept his head down, and he ran for the DHD. When he finally turned and put his hands on it, he saw that Sheppard wasn’t far behind him. The colonel was dragging Teyla’s limp body, dodging blasts as well as possible.