STARGATE UNIVERSE: Air

by James Swallow

  Park pointed at a screen where a series of Ancient digits flickered past. “Roughly nine hours.”

  Telford considered this. “Dial out every twenty minutes. Maintain regular contact with them.”

  The woman made a negative noise. “We do have power issues to be aware of, sir. Dialing the gate is a significant drain on what seem to be limited resources at this point.”

  He ignored another jolt of searing pain from Young’s injury and braced himself. “Right now, the away mission is priority one.”

  Johansen heard the tightness in his voice. “Sir…”

  He waved her away. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

  Mehta moved to look over the console. “I understand there are other Stargates in range, is that right?”

  Brody nodded. “Four other addresses came up in the system, but we seem to be locked out from here.”

  “Have you tried working around it?”

  Park folded her arms. “Doctor Rush didn’t think that was a good idea.” From her expression, it was clear the woman didn’t fully agree.

  “I think it makes sense to know what the options are,” said Telford. “Do what you can to learn more about those alternates.”

  Brody spoke up again. “There has to be a good reason why these addresses are being disqualified.”

  Telford eyed him. Perhaps Colonel Young was willing to let the civilians call the shots, but he wasn’t about to do the same. “In case I wasn’t being clear, I was giving you an order. If there are good reasons, find out exactly what they are.” He turned to Johansen. “Okay, let’s keep moving, I want to see more.”

  The medic frowned. “You really should rest.”

  “Lieutenant…” he began, a warning in his voice.

  “Sir, Colonel Young’s body needs time to recover,” she insisted.

  “Just give me something for the pain.”

  Johansen shook her head. “The body feels pain for a reason, sir, I’d rather not mask it—”

  “Just do it, Lieutenant,” he snapped. Insubordination seemed to be spreading like a rash around here. “From the sounds of things, you need my help.”

  She relented. “Yes sir. My med-pack is back in the colonel’s quarters. If you’ll come with me?”

  Telford gave a tight nod and walked stiffly after her. Young better damn well take more care of my skin than he has of his own, thought the colonel.

  It wasn’t one of the best residential districts outside of D.C., but it was better than most, maybe good enough for a generous critic to call it ‘low-rent’ — even if the rent actually wasn’t that low. After the argument over his acceptance of the Icarus Base posting, Emily had finally made good on an old threat and moved out. Young didn’t like this place; she deserved better. But as he was coming to realize, she had deserved better from him for a long time.

  The staff car pulled to a halt and Young got out. His chaperone was one of O’Neill’s men, a serious-looking major named Peterson, and the officer intercepted him before he could walk away.

  “I’ll go up.” Peterson jerked his thumb at the apartment block. “I’ll shout down when she’s ready to see you.”

  If she’ll see me, you mean. Young nodded and stood against the car, waiting. He glanced down, and it was Telford’s face that looked back up at him from the reflection in the window. He wondered how the hell he was going to explain this to his wife. Would it be better for him to pretend to be Telford? Tell Emily he was ‘passing on a message from Everett’? Or would that just be a kind of cowardice?

  He blew out a breath. He could never lie to her. Emily was his wife, and she knew him better than anyone else, better than he knew himself. She would know. She would know it was him, no matter what face he was wearing.

  He closed his eyes and tried to picture her. Tried to picture her smiling at him. It was hard to frame the moment in his mind, and after a while he sighed and gave up.

  “Colonel,” said Peterson, walking back down the steps toward him. He said nothing else, just gave Young a nod and a look that seemed to say good luck, you’ll need it.

  He took the stairs carefully, resisting the urge to break into a jog, grateful for the moment to be free of the pains of the injuries he’d sustained on the Destiny. His wife was at the door, and she seemed unsure of what to make of the man coming toward her.

  He couldn’t help but smile when he saw her. “Emily…” Without thinking, he reached out to embrace her, but she backed off.

  “Don’t,” she said, eying him warily.

  For a moment he couldn’t be sure of the reason why; is she suspicious because she’s seeing Telford, or because she knows it’s me?

  “All I said was that you can come in,” she continued, and stepped aside.

  He gave a nod, the smile fading, and walked in. Inside, the apartment was compact but warm, and everything in it was Emily. He sat opposite her across a low table and felt a pang of guilt, of loss.

  “Are you going to explain all this to me?” she said.

  “I will,” he said, and he did. Over the next twenty minutes he told her what his job with the Air Force actually entailed, where Icarus Base really was, what had happened there, all of it. Every piece of fantastic truth and grim reality. He told her things that nobody else could possibly know about them both, intimacies shared that only Everett Young could speak of.

  When he was done, Emily’s silence stretched away from him. He could see her struggling to process it all, daring herself to believe it.

  She shook her head. “It’s just… It’s ridiculous. You’re supposed to be my husband? You come here and tell me this…fantasy story?”

  “It’s true,” he said simply, “All of it. Every word. I would never lie to you, Emily.”

  His wife heard the honesty in his voice and clasped her hands together. “Okay. Let’s say it is true. Why are you here now? Why are you putting me through this?”

  The question struck the breath from him. He had thought the reason was obvious. “I’m here because I wanted to…” He tried to form the words say goodbye, but he couldn’t do it.

  After a moment, Young shook his head and stood up. This is never going to work. He’d made a grave error coming here, reopening this wound again. “I’m sorry. I…” He walked toward the door, then halted. “I want you to know that I didn’t chose the job over you. Not when I left, and not now. I love you, Emily.”

  Young walked down the stairs in a daze, feeling hollow inside. This was a mistake, he told himself, all you’ve done is create more pain for both of you. It would have been better for her to get a visit from an Air Force pastor and a couple of men with a folded flag.

  He crossed toward the car, where Peterson was waiting. The major looked at him as he approached. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

  Young’s stony look was all the answer he gave; but then he noticed Peterson looking past him. He turned to find his wife had followed him down. The major got into the car to give them a moment of privacy.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Emily spoke first. “How does this change anything?”

  Another unexpected question. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say I believe all this,” she went on. “I don’t really, but even if I did…

  You did choose. You chose to go.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t choose this.”

  Accusation was sharp in her tone. “You knew there was a chance you wouldn’t be coming back.”

  “I am coming back, Em,” he insisted. The words sounded weak in his ears.

  “No, don’t give me the party line,” she retorted. “I’m not your troops. You wouldn’t have come here like this to say goodbye if you really thought there was a chance.”

  He wanted her to believe him. “I’m doing everything I can. I’m going to do everything I can. I want nothing more than to get back here to be with you.” He took a breath. “I want nothing more than for you to be here for me when I do come home. I’m just saying… I don’t know when
that will be.”

  Emily folded her arms and shook her head “You made your choice, Everett. I made mine. Nothing has changed. I really do hope you’re going to be okay.”

  “Em…” He reached out a hand to touch her arm.

  She stepped back, out of his reach. “Please. Let me go.”

  He stood and said nothing as she turned and walked back into the apartment.

  Scott rested his hands on the assault rifle slung across his chest as Rush bent down in the sand before him. Working in the shadows cast by Greer and the lieutenant, the scientist was running the sample test again, swirling the blood-colored mixture of heated sand and acid reagent.

  Rush held up the glass flask and sighted through it. The liquid within remained resolutely red.

  “Struck out again,” muttered Greer. “How many is that now?”

  Scott ignored the comment. “All right, come on. We keep going.”

  The scientist paused for a drink, tipping back his canteen to take a long draught.

  “You better save some of that,” Scott warned him. “We got a way to go yet.”

  Rush screwed the cap back on to the bottle and clipped it to his belt. “We need to slow down.”

  Scott shook his head, walking up to the top of the closest dune. “What we need is to cover more ground.”

  The other man sighed. “It’s going to be impossible to maintain this pace on the way back.”

  “Maybe for you,” said Greer, with a sniff.

  Rush shot a narrow-eyed glare at the Marine. “Both the lieutenant and yourself are boys playing soldier. But I’ve got no interest in that game.”

  Scott saw Greer stiffen at the insult. “I’m not playing anything,” he said firmly. “I’m trying to save the lives of everyone aboard that ship.”

  Rush cast around. “If you continue at this pace, we’re going to die out here.” He upturned the beaker in his hand and angrily shook out the solution inside, spilling it across the sand in a ruddy patch.

  Scott looked away. “Maybe we will—” He began; he suddenly trailed off as he caught sight of a strange swirl of sand blowing toward them. It looked like a tiny dust devil, and for a second Scott was certain that it was moving against the direction of the breeze over the tops of the dunes.

  Rush was still talking, his irritation rising. “Look around, man. You’re light-years from the admiring eyes of your father, or your drill sergeant or whoever’s approval it is you’re trying to get with all this macho posturing—”

  Greer rocked forward and grabbed the scientist by the shoulders, dragging him to his feet. “That’s enough outta you. Get up and move, now.”

  “Get your hands off me,” snapped Rush, pushing Greer away. His temper flaring, the Marine immediately leveled his weapon at the other man.

  Scott turned back from the sight of the swirl. “Hey, did you see that?”

  “What?” Greer snarled.

  The lieutenant’s eyes widened as he saw how the situation was turning. “Sergeant, lower your weapon,” he ordered, and Greer reluctantly obeyed.

  “Did you see something out there?” asked the Marine, still glaring at Rush.

  Scott looked back in the direction of the blowing sand, but the eddy of white dust was gone. It had to have been a mirage. “I don’t know… nothing.” Scott shook his head, dismissing the thought. “Let’s move on,” he ordered.

  “One hour,” insisted Rush, determined to have the last word. “Then we start circling back.”

  Scott shrugged. “Fine. One hour.”

  The three men continued their course to the northwest, leaving behind the depression in the dune where Rush had scooped out his sample, and the streak of red fluid across the white sand.

  Unseen by any of them, a complex, ever-turning matrix of spinning mineral particles rode up the curve of the dune, following the path they had taken. The swirl of sand moved over the patch of liquid, back and forth, dithering by it.

  Then swiftly, far faster than the sunlight would have dried it out, the moisture was drawn off beneath the passage of the tiny funnel of dust.

  With the fluids absorbed, the swirling sands drifted away, shadowing the footprints of Scott and the others.

  Tamara opened the door to the sleeping chamber being used by Colonel Young, and Telford hobbled past her. His irritation was increasing by the moment, and his pain was doing the same, even if he refused to admit it to her.

  The man’s behavior was reckless; Young’s body had suffered severe injuries and it needed time to heal. Telford was treating it like a rental car, pushing it too hard with no regard to the consequences. And when the communication was cut, it would be Young who would have to deal with those consequences, not Telford. She frowned. Tamara Johansen wasn’t the type to buck the chain of command if she could help it, but right here and right now, she was the chief medical officer aboard the Destiny, and that gave her the right to protect her patients. No, scratch that, she was the one and only medical officer aboard the Destiny.

  Telford rolled up his sleeve and offered her a bicep. Tamara rooted around in her pack, quickly loading an injector pen.

  Doctor Mehta, who had followed them back, shot a look at the drug ampoule she was using and frowned. Before Mehta had a chance to comment, Tamara stabbed the injector into the arm and discharged it.

  Telford blinked, suddenly looking confused and faint. “What have you…?” he managed; then the life went out of him and he slumped. Tamara caught the body — Young’s body — and lowered it carefully to the bed.

  Mehta gave her an accusing look “That was supposed to be for the pain. What did you give him?”

  “A strong sedative, which we are desperately short on and I should not have had to use in this case, just so that Colonel Young can return to a body in working condition,” she snapped back.

  “You’re out of line, Lieutenant,” Mehta began.

  Tamara shook her head. “Disregarding the health of another human being is out of line. I’m well within my rights as ranking medical officer. He’ll be out for an hour or two.”

  As she made to leave, Mehta’s expression became animated. “Wait! What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  Tamara shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t care. I have other patients to attend to. Unless you can help, just try not to get in anyone’s way.” She stepped out and let the hatch close behind her.

  They could try to court-martial her if they wanted, she reflected, but considering she was already technically supposed to be out of the Air Force by now, and the fact she was a hell of a long way from any board of inquiry, Tamara wasn’t going to let it bother her.

  Eli reflected that his new role as ‘squad leader’ wasn’t really being taken that seriously by Palmer and Franklin, and Sergeant Curtis seemed only capable of responding to him with a nod or a grunt. He started wondering if having a name for their group might have helped strengthen the bonds of shared duty. Maybe ‘Bravo Team’, or ‘Unit Delta’, that kind of thing.

  “Stop here,” said Palmer, and the group halted.

  “Yeah,” Eli added quickly. “Here. That’s, uh, right.”

  The geologist ran the test for the umpteenth time; water, sand and heat, red acid stuff into the mix. Swoosh around the beaker and wait. And wait. And wait…

  Palmer shook her head and sighed. “I take it that’s not good?” said Eli.

  “No,” she retorted irritably. “Red means bad.”

  He turned and looked over at Franklin and Curtis, who were perched on the lip of a dune, conferring over the kino remote. The drone itself was sitting in his backpack, inactive and inert for the moment. Eli wondered how powerful the suite of sensors inside the device were; if only they had a manual, he was willing to bet it could find the limestone they needed on its own. Of course, right now the thing was little better than an RC toy. “Hey guys, another negative over here,” he told them, walking over. “I’ll radio Scott and tell him we’re moving on.”

  Franklin didn’t look up from th
e remote’s screen. “Yeah, that’s not what’s going down.”

  That stopped him dead. “It’s not?”

  The two men stood up, and suddenly Eli felt an old and hatefully familiar sense of intimidation. “No,” said Curtis.

  “There are four other viable addresses in this thing.” Franklin waggled the remote in his hand. “I think I found an override that will allow us to dial them from here.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Curtis cut off Eli’s reply. “Look around. This planet is a dead zone.”

  He tried again. “But—”

  “We should’ve been trying to dial these other planets from the start,” said Franklin.

  Eli held up a hand. “Doctor Rush said that—”

  Clearly, neither of them wanted him to finish a sentence. “We don’t care what Rush said,” Curtis replied.

  Franklin nodded. “We don’t trust him.”

  Eli looked to Palmer, wondering if that we included her as well. “He doesn’t want us to all die.”

  It clearly did. “That doesn’t mean we trust him to make the right decisions,” she said.

  “You too?” He frowned. “But what about the lake bed?”

  She threw up her hands. “It could be hundreds of miles from here. We could be blowing our only chance of finding a decent place to evacuate to.”

  Franklin took a step forward. “Maybe the ship did bring us here because there’s lime on this planet. For all we know, the Ancients had a way of locating it that we don’t. But right now, that’s not helping us.”

  Curtis was nodding. “For that matter, I’m sure they could have stopped the ship for more than twelve hours to find it, and recover it with the proper tools.”

  The other scientist was nodding too. “The fact is, the Ancients wouldn’t have let the life-support system get that screwed up in the first place. Rush is set on fixing the ship. He’s deaf to any other logic. We need to find a planet that we can survive on.” He gave Eli a hard look. “This might be our last chance.”

  “That ship jumps to FTL, we could be dead before it drops out again,” Curtis added.