The Stars My Destination (SGA, ensemble) 13/17
Title: The Stars My Destination (13/17)
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/Star Trek 2009 (mashup)
Length: 91,750 (total); 6,210 (this part)
Characters: All of them!
PairingS: Canonical levels of Elizabeth/Simon, Teyla/Kanaan
warnings: Graphic violence
Summary: When a terror from out of time threatens the heart of the Federation, the crew of the USS Atlantis must band together in order to stop it. But can they overcome their own demons to stop the greatest threat they'll ever face?
Thirteen
"No! No no no no! Did you attend any classes for the past four years? No, just stop, give that to me, you clearly cannot be trusted with actual tools-"
Rodney grabbed the flux coupler out of the idiot's hands and shouldered him (her? didn't notice) aside; he picked up a coil spanner instead, and clamped off the leaking conduit properly, the most basic precaution a sentient life-form should be taking in order to not kill themselves or overload an entire segment of the power gird. In fact, he could keep talking while doing it. "Apparently the only reason I was put on this ship was to keep you people from sticking your fingers into every random socket you come across, and if I have to stand over the shoulder of every mental deficient with delusions of adequacy to keep you from causing even more damage I'm just going to have Weir confine you all to quarters and start doing everything myself, because for one thing it would probably be faster-"
"Rodney," somebody said quietly.
"-and also I'd be assured that it being done accurately and to spec, to the extent we can do
anything according to spec when we're basically rebuilding entire decks with stone knives and
bearskins-"
"Rodney..."
But he was busy double-sealing the breached conduit, like they'd been trained for, and also adding -"and obviously that's a problem that I will be taking up with Starfleet Commander in my final report, assuming we don't blow ourselves up before we get back to Earth-"
"Rodney!"
"What?" He finished the patch and turned around, expecting the original idiot of a technician to be nagged him. Instead, Radek was standing over him, arms folded across his chest, glaring down at him like some kind of tiny Slavic god of wrath. "Oh. You. What now?"
"I have been nominated by the rest of the engineering staff to punch you in the face," Radek said,
perfectly deadpan. "Please stand up and remove your goggles."
"Do you have time for this?" Rodney demanded, gathering up the toolkit. "I don't have time for this. I have things to do, unlike some people around here-"
"You think we are not working?" Radek demanded. "You think we are not frustrated also?"
"You're sure as hell not showing it," Rodney snapped back.
He climbed to his feet and tried to return to the work he'd been doing (rerouting power around some damaged couplings in a breached compartment, which was, hi, kind of important-) but Radek put up a hand to stop him. Rodney, of course, didn't actually believe that Radek was going to hit him; any flinch-like reaction he may have had was entirely the result of the grimy sweat dripping into his eyes. "And who says you are the one allowed to scream and insult, eh?" Radek demanded. "Who died and made you commander?"
"That would be Castilho," Rodney snapped.
Radek flinched. "All right. Yes. Bad figure of speech."
"Are we done here yet?" Rodney demanded, tugging his filthy, sweaty t-shirt away from his
neck. "Because I have thing to do before we get to Delta Vega, and if all you have to say is that I've hurt someone's feelings-"
"You have individually insulted the entire engineering department," Radek said flatly. "I counted."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "They deserved it."
"They did not!" Radek said. "And you cannot keep shouting at people for no reason!"
"So what am I supposed to do, then, mmm?" Rodney demanded. "Ignore every obvious mistake until one them gets us all killed? Have a good cry about the tragic fate of the Vulcans? Go back to my quarters and hide under the bed, maybe? Because that one's looking like a pretty damn good alternative, except-oh, way-I have too many things to do. So excuse me for sublimating my abject terror in a vaguely constructive fashion, because if I actually stop to think about anything that's happened in the last twenty-one hours I'm going to have a complete nervous breakdown and I do not have time for that!"
Rodney hadn't even been aware of his voice rising, in volume or in pitch, but when he was done
the corridor seemed deafeningly loud in comparison. Radek just stared at him for a minute, then quietly said, "Oh."
"Yes," Rodney said fiercely. His heart seemed to be doing something funny in his chest; with his luck, it was a fatal arrhythmia. "Are we done here?"
"You are not the only one who is frightened, Rodney," Radek pointed out, as if Rodney might not have noticed.
And screaming was a fine Ingram/McKay family tradition, the perfect response to any crisis, whether it was a failing power coupling or a pregnant teenage sister or a typo in your dissertation abstract. "Yeah, but I'm apparently the only one actually working. Speaking of which, don't you have warp coils you're supposed to be stripping before we get to Delta Vega? Chop, chop."
Radek sighed, and stomped away, muttering things that weren't in the Universal Translator's database.
-\-\-\-\-\-
It took a lot longer to get to the spot Elizabeth had indicated to him than Jonn intended, partly because her map didn't quite match the actual geography of the mountains-not that he could blame her, since her memory was fifty years out of date and also of another universe-and partly because the cave they had to climb through was a lot darker, wetter and colder than he anticipated, especially with all the rain. Beckett, lugging a bag of "helpful supplies," looked more and more dubious all the time.
"Maybe we should go back," he suggested at one point, watching Jonn try to lower himself through a crack without breaking a leg. "Get the proper equipment, that sort of thing?"
"It's fine," Jonn grunted, feeling in the shadows below him for toe holds. He'd been so relieved that he'd actually talked Beckett into coming, he hadn't stopped for much more than flashlights and some water for the hike; if they could actually catch up to the Atlantis, the ship could use a new CMO, and if they couldn't, Jonn would have an escort to keep him from being labeled AWOL. "The Atlantis is halfway there, and we need-aha!"
He found a ledge, one that bore his weight, and then another-and then he was dropping down onto stone that was too smooth and level to be natural. He flicked his flashlight around warily, and spotted Elizabeth's last landmark-a stone pillar in the middle of the room, inscribed with the same writing as the puddle jumper. Don't touch it, she'd warned him, just go into the next chamber. "We're almost good," he called up through the crack. "Toss your bag down."
By the time Beckett got down, red-faced and sweating, Jonn had found an arched tunnel exiting off the other side of the pillar. "What is this place?" Beckett asked, eying the pillar.
"I...don't entirely know," Jonn admitted. When he lowered the flashlight he thought he could just make out a faint light at the end of the tunnel-a machine? Some kind of glowing mold? "C'mon, this way."
"You brought me here, but you don't know what it is?" Beckett asked incredulously.
"I got directions from a friend," Jonn said, and then paused for a second when he realized what he'd just said. If you told him two hours ago he'd ever refer to Elizabeth Weir as a friend...either of them, actually...
They proceeded slowly to the end of the tunnel, wary of any surprises in the shadows. The light grew ever brighter, and when Jonn finally came around the corner into the room he found the source: a blue-green hemisphere set into a wide, angled pedestal. His heart pounded as he recognized what Elizabeth had described to him. "This is it," he told Beckett, approaching the pedestal.
"That's the thing that's going to get us to Delta Vega?" Beckett asked, playing his flashlight around the sides of the chamber.
Jonn pointed his flashlight across the room, just as Elizabeth had instructed. "Nope. That is."
"My god!"
It was, he thought ludicrously, bigger than she'd described. The ring of silver-gray metal was easily five and a half meters across at its widest point, and it was set upright in the stone so that its inner rim was flush with the floor. In the twin beams of their flashlights, Jonn could just pick out the features around the edge: seven vaguely triangular panels along the outside, and clusters of dots along the inside, like constellations. The pedestal had the same clusters engraved on glassy tiles around its center hemisphere. "Do the Hoffans know this is down here?" Beckett asked.
"Gonna have to say no," Jonn said absently. He had to set the flashlight down so he could shrug off his jacket and push up his sleeve. The seven symbols Elizabeth had drawn on his arm hadn't smeared, thankfully. "I don't think you're supposed to stand too close to it."
Beckett glanced at him and did a double-take. "So this is some kind of...transportation device?"
"Supposed to be." Jonn found the first symbol in the address and pressed down on the tile. There was a low buzzing sound from the pedestal, and the ring lit up, each chevron glowing blue-green and bright enough to light up the room; each tiny constellation lit up in turn, a pattern of lights chasing itself around the ring before stopping on the symbol he'd selected. Huh.
Beckett backed away a little, and didn't seem to know what he ought to stare at, while Jonn entered the rest of the symbols into the pedestal. The buzzing sound got louder with each keystroke, and low enough to feel the vibration in his bones-who knew what kind of power source they were messing with. He took a deep breath, and pressed his hand flat against the hemisphere-
-and then jumped back instinctively as a cloud of energy came bursting out of the ring. Beckett very nearly hit the floor. But the cloud didn't quite reach their location before being sucked back into the hole, and then there was nothing inside the ring but what looked like a puddle of luminescent water...if water could stand perpendicular to the floor, that is.
"You honestly expect me to...do what, exactly?" Beckett asked shakily. "Walk into that thing?"
"I'm...almost positive it's not going to kill us," Jonn said, because yeah, he trusted Ambassador Weir, but still.
"This is madness," Beckett said, grabbing for his pack. "You're mad."
"And you promised to come with me," Jonn said. He quickly pulled his jacket back on and came around the side of the stool to grab Beckett's arm. "Come on. Delta Vega's right on the other side. We'll beat the Atlantis there."
Beckett looked at the shimmering gateway, grimacing. "You're seriously going to attempt to go through that thing?"
Jonn exhaled. "Don't really have a choice. There's something I gotta do there."
After a long moment of hesitation, Beckett shook Jonn's hand off and straightened up. "Right. Lay on, MacDuff."
And after that, Jonn couldn't really chicken out. He looked right into the pool of energy, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath...just in case. Just like a transporter, Elizabeth had assured him. Only transporters weren't so creepy looking, or buried in ancient caverns, and all you had to do was stand there-
"Here we go," Jonn said, and took it at a run.
-\-\-\-\-\-
There was little for a communications officer to do on a ship without an antenna; once they passed beyond range of Hoff, Teyla had to search for something to busy herself with, and ended up sitting at the sensor station on the bridge, reviewing data on Michael's ship. Sleep would have been the wiser thing, but the last time she had laid down to sleep she had been plagued with disturbing dreams of these...creatures, that she could not put aside.
Wraith, she told herself. Call them by their true name. Except she could not, not in front of all the oh-so-serious Federation officers who believed in neither gods nor monsters. She found herself tracing the pendant under her uniform again and again, thinking of her father's contempt for signs and portents, the legends of demons in the dark. The ship that had hovered in space had been a real thing, made of metal and plastic, with engines and an atmosphere for a crew of flesh and bone. But that terrible feeling of coldness, of malice, reaching across five kilometers of space to rake at her mind as if with with pointed claws-if that was not the Wraith, then what was?
But if Michael was one of the Wraith, the ancient enemy of the Ancestors returned from wherever they had vanished to...how could they possibly stand against such an enemy, even with the might of the Federation? Or did it mean the return of the Ancestors themselves was at hand, and they would soon descend from their heavenly plane with flaming swords to purge their worlds of evil? Apocalyptic nonsense, she would have called it once-We cannot wait for the Ancestors to bring justice to our worlds, he father had always said, but he referred to social problems, not murderous enemies from the stars. Two hands at work achieve more than two thousand raised in prayer.
But could mortal hands slay demons? What did gods need with a starship?
"Hey." The soft voice startled her more than it ought to. Ensign Ford was standing over her shoulder, looking worried. "You okay, ma'am?"
"I am fine," she said, schooling her face. "I am simply trying to...understand."
"Yeah, you and the rest of the Federation," Ford said. He leaned against the edge of the console, folding his arms over his chest. "I keep thinking about how we could possibly hit something like that. All those fighters-"
"They are a fearsome enemy," Teyla said. "But they are mortal, just as you and I." And if she said it often enough, she might believe it.
"Hope so," Ford said. He watched the screen for a moment as she built another sensor composite, trying to unlock Michael's secrets. Eventually, however, he cleared his throat. "Uh. Listen, ma'am, you're pretty good friends with Commander Weir, right?"
Teyla looked up at him, frowning. "I would say so, yes."
Ford glanced around the bridge, once, and then leaned over and lowered his voice further. "Why'd she go postal on Sheppard like that? I mean, he was sort of right."
"He challenged her authority to her face and embarrassed her in front of all of us," Teyla pointed out, looking at the screens rather than Ford's face. "And if he was truly on board this ship without authorization, his punishment was deserved."
"Yeah, but he was right," Ford said again. "We're the biggest ship left between here and the Neutral Zone. Somebody's got to stand up to them."
"And as she pointed out, if we attempt to do so alone we will be destroyed," Teyla said.
Ford was quiet for a moment. Then: "He knew you guys' names. And he knew she was from Vulcan."
Teyla exhaled. "If you are proposing that Michael may target Earth or Athos next, I am sure the thought has already occurred to her." It had certainly occurred to Teyla, and while Elizabeth was transmitting her official report to Starfleet Command from Hoff, Teyla had sent a discreet word to Halling for the Council. Not that the Athosians had any ships that could stand against him any better than the Atlantis had, but perhaps, if they had sufficient forewarning they could avoid the fate of the Vulcans.
Reports suggest as many as nine out of ten are missing or dead, had been the report they received on Hoff. Many fled into the desert and remain unaccounted for. Evacuees have been advised to remain aboard their ships indefinitely. She could not bear to think to hard on it, and to imagine it happening on Athos, its cities blasted and the people driven into the woods to dwell in tents...
"Do you think she's right?" Ford asked earnestly.
Teyla took a deep breath. "I think she made the best decision with the resources and information she had available."
Ford lowered his eyebrows. "That's not an answer."
"I am aware of that." She watched the rotating model of Michael's ship, a comfortable abstraction of reality. Lines and shading showed where Sheppard and Ford had fired into the engines, and the signs of plasma blow-back into the rest of the ship. And yet they has still gone into warp, wounded but not paralyzed. There was nothing supernatural about powerful technology, but still, if the ship could absorb such a blow...
She saved her work and logged out of the sensor station. "I believe it is time I had words with Commander Weir."
"Great," Ford said warily. "But, uh, if she asks, I didn't say anything, okay?"
She is not something to fear, Teyla wanted to say-but of course, someone like Ford would not know that yet. And Elizabeth may not have realized what sort of impression she had created by casting Sheppard off the ship. "I will not speak of this directly," Teyla assured him, and headed for the turbolift.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Jonn ran through the gate and had a moment to register some of the most intense cold he'd ever felt; then he fell down. At least this time he got his hands up in time to prevent a complete face-plant, and anyway there was nowhere for him to roll. He found himself on all fours, up to his wrists in slushy, dirty snow. The sky above was a uniform green-gray, and there was nothing in any direction but plains of wind-swept whiteness, occasionally broken by an outcropping of black rock. He wasn't sure if this was actually Delta Vega, but it definitely wasn't Hoff.
The gate on this side was glowing under a crust of ice, and located on a crumbling stone plinth; Jonn had gone crashing right over the first step. As he picked himself up, Beckett came stumbling out of the shimmering puddle, eyes screwed up tightly; he stopped just short of taking his own tumble, and finally looked around. "My god," he blurted again.
"Told ya," Jonn said with more confidence than he felt. It hadn't occurred to him to dress for the weather, or even try to figure out what the weather was, and the only sign of life for kilometers around was a single point of white light on the horizon.
Beckett looked around, and apparently came to the same conclusion. "We can't stay out in this weather," he said, chapping his hands. "We need to go back, get some coats-"
"I said, there's not time," Jonn insisted. "We don't know how long Weir's going to stay here before setting off for Earth."
"And we're not going to make it to the depot without proper clothing," Beckett said. He turned around, making to go back into the puddle-
-which promptly winked out in front of his nose. He actually stuck a hand out and waved it around, as if to confirm that the gateway was gone. Then he looked over his shoulder at Jonn. "How do we go back?"
"Sorry," Jonn said. "Didn't exactly plan a retreat." He didn't even see another pedastle in front of this ring, though if it had fallen on its side he supposed it might be buried under a snowdrift. Didn't seem likely, though.
Beckett sighed, and turned towards the depot. "Right. In that case, you're carrying the bag."
-\-\-\-\-
A candle could be the single most dangerous object on a starship. Thirty-four crew members had been injured or killed by a fire in Engineering during the battle over Vulcan, and another fire had partially disabled their forward sensors. But Elizabeth had never been fully comfortable with holographic substitutes, and when given minutes to pack a bag before meeting her shuttle, the first thing she had grabbed was a white taper candle and a tiny electric lighter.
Illogical, of course. Simon would've-
She exhaled and tried again to get comfortable on the floor. The captain's stateroom seemed vast and dark, and more than a little grisly, but her original quarters were adjacent to a depressurized compartment...and it wasn't as if Sumner was using it at the moment. The candle flickered a little as her movement disturbed the air, then settled again. If only her mind would settle so easily.
The door chimed in the other room, and for a moment she considered ignoring it; they couldn't be at Delta Vega yet, and she had hardly slept since being roused to go to Vulcan. But that would be petty, and at any rate she was in command (for now, at least) and that came with certain responsibilities. Reluctantly, she blew out the candle and climbed to her feet. "Come in."
Teyla entered, looking as exhausted as Elizabeth felt. "I hope I am I not disturbing you," she said.
"No more so than anything else," Elizabeth said, and waved her onto the little couch below the windows.
Teyla sat, and looked at her hands for a moment. "I noticed that Dr. Simon remained on Hoff," she said.
"Yes, he did," was all Elizabeth said, because as much as she liked Teyla she wasn't sure she could bear to talk about that right now. "Was that what you wanted to discuss?"
"In a sense, it is one of the things," Teyla said. "I cannot imagine how it felt to see Vulcan under attack."
"It wasn't clouding my judgment, if that's what you're implying," Elizabeth said. Teyla just raised an eyebrow. Oh, damn-"Sorry," she added quickly. "I suppose I'm already preparing to be interrogated over my report."
"You expect Starfleet Command to find fault with your actions?" Teyla asked.
"Almost certainly." And I'm not certain they'll be wrong, either.
After a moment, Teyla said. "There was something else I wanted to discuss, Elizabeth." And the first name, not the rank, made her sit up a little further and pay attention. "It may be relevant to what we saw at Vulcan; I do not know for certain."
"You said you knew something about Michael," Elizabeth remembered suddenly. No, not knew-sensed. It was easy to forget sometimes that Teyla was a telepath, but the way she'd reacted as soon as they dropped out of warp-was that how Michael had known their names? But then why single out three of them out of all the crew...?
"I have told you of something about my people's laws on thought-sharing," Teyla said slowly, not quite meeting Elizabeth's eyes. "My father worked his entire life to reverse the most egregious restrictions, and even he did not fully succeed. But there is a very old reason why it was even criminalized in the first place."
"You told me once it was religious," Elizabeth prompted.
She nodded, and took a very deep breath. "We-the people of Pegasus-were made by the Ancestors, in their likeness; this is what we are taught, though I know the people of the Federation do not believe it. But there was another race-grotesque parodies of the Ancestors who wanted nothing more than to destroy everything they had created. They were called the Wraith.
"It is said that the Wraith raised a vast army among the stars, and went to war with the Ancestors; that is why they were driven from this plane of existence. And for ten thousand years, the Wraith preyed on the people of the Ancestors-it is said they fed on the souls of those they captured, and every hundred years they would come to cull the worlds they claimed as theirs. Until one day they simply ceased to come, without explanation."
Come to cull the worlds they claimed. Elizabeth thought of all those tiny fighters and their inexplicable transporters, all the life signs on that massive ship...but no, it couldn't be true. Could it? "What happened to these Wraith? Or is thought to have happened?"
"That is the basis of a great schism among the people of the Pegasus quadrant," Teyla admitted. "Some hold that they pursued the Ancestors onto a higher plane, where they do eternal warfare. Some say they went to war against themselves and were destroyed. Still others say they merely went into a deep sleep, and one day will return to cull their herds one final time." She forced a weak smile. "I have long tried to remain agnostic on the subject."
"And what does this have to do with your telepathy, exactly?" Elizabeth asked, hoping Teyla wasn't about to follow through on the obvious conclusion.
"The Wraith do not need to speak as humanoids do," Teyla said, averting her eyes again. "On this, all sects agree: they share their thoughts directly, mind to mind. Only ten, perhaps twelve percent of Athosians are capable of though-sharing to any degree, but those who can...it is called the Gift of the Wraith, for that reason. It is said that we were once used as their prophets and their slaves, and at one time the penalty for sharing thought was death."
And Teyla had doubled over as if in pain the moment they dropped out of warp. Elizabeth, spontaneously, took her hand, and squeezed it gently. "What did you sense, from that ship?"
"Hunger," Teyla blurted. "And anger. I was...I could not sense their thoughts more clearly than that. But if these are not the Wraith of history, they are the nearest thing possible."
And this was far from the first time the Federation had gone to war with self-proclaimed gods. Elizabeth settled back on the couch, thinking long and hard. If these Wraith of legend were based on a real species, perhaps they did have the means to hibernate-some kind of suspended animation technology? That would help explain where Michael had been all this time, if he was truly the one who'd destroyed the Kelvin. But what real reason could they have to take such a massive number of hostages? And why come all the way to Vulcan to get them?
How does it feel to watch your world burn?
"If these are the Wraith of Pegasus, or something like them, how do we proceed?" Elizabeth forced herself to ask. "Because I find it hard to imagine negotiating with something that 'eats souls.'"
"If Michael is one of the Wraith, he must be stopped at all costs," Teyla said with conviction. "Especially if there truly are more in hibernation elsewhere in the Pegasus quadrant."
"I understand that," Elizabeth said quickly; she didn't want to think about a plague of those monstrous ships spreading out across the galaxy. If they could do that to Vulcan, did Earth stand a chance? Bolarus? If O'Neill couldn't get the fleet back from Vorash on time...or even if he could...but what other choice did they have?
"We know that his ship is damaged," Teyla added softly. "Perhaps that was why he fled from Vulcan."
"Or perhaps he just finished whatever he'd come to do," Elizabeth said.
"His ship is capable of warp fourteen," Teyla pointed out. "He could have attacked any other planet in this quadrant in the time it took us to reach Hoff, but he has not. I could hope that he has chosen to sleep for another twenty-five years, but I do not believe we can take that chance. And we are still close enough to pursue him."
Elizabeth smiled wryly. "I'm surprised to hear you taking Jonn Sheppard's side in this."
Now it was Teyla's turn to take Elizabeth's hand. "This is not a question of taking sides, Elizabeth. It is a question of what is right, and what is necessary. The fleet at Vorash cannot get here with any speed, and in the meantime Michael goes free."
"We have no idea where he is, Teyla," Elizabeth pointed out. "And even if we did-even if he's damaged-look at what happened at Vulcan. He's just too powerful. When the fleet gets back from Vorash, when we can regroup-"
"When will that be?" Teyla asked. "And what may Michael do in the meantime?"
Elizabeth shut her eyes. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but that will be all." She couldn't bring herself to see the look on Teyla's face-betrayal or frustration or, God help her, pity. And when the door slid shut again, Elizabeth went back into the bedroom, and lit the candle again. If she had to, she would burn it to a stump.
-\-\-\-\-\-
The supply depot wasn't all that warm inside-twelve degrees was warm enough to protect the stockpiles from damage. Still, in comparison to the growing snowstorm outside, the access corridor was a glorious sauna, and Jonn sighed as he slumped against the wall. The backpack, ironically, had actually helped-it insulated his back against the cold and wind-but still, Vulcans weren't exactly built for the cold.
"Let's see your hands then," Beckett said, though he was shivering just as badly. Jonn held up his green, chapped hands and flexed his fingers, to show there wasn't any frostbite; he wasn't so sure about his feet, and as for the rest of him...well, hell, he wouldn't mind a little strategic revision on the ears. Beckett nodded, satisfied. "Right. Let's never do that again."
"Not arguing," Jonn wheezed. He sat down for a few minutes and hugged his legs to his chest, trying to raise his core temperature. Beckett, meanwhile, started studying a map mounted on the wall while slowly rubbing his chest and sides for warmth.
"Looks like the main cargo transporters are in the center of the building," he said after a minute. "That'll be the best place to find the Atlantis crew, right?"
"Yeah," Jonn said. Now that they were actually here, he wasn't entirely sure how to get back aboard-he somehow doubted that Weir had spontaneously forgiven him, and McKay was probably a little too busy to beam Jonn up on the sly.
Then again, speaking of McKay...
Jonn climbed to his feet again-which were starting to regain feeling, in that painful pins-and-needs way-and shouldered the pack again. "All right, Doc. Follow my lead on this one."
"Is it going to involve any more unknown technology?" Beckett asked warily.
"Not this time. Promise." Jonn glanced at the map, and started off towards the transporter room. "We just need to get on that ship and get to Commander Weir without anybody seeing us."
Beckett sighed. "Should've bloody stayed home..."
They started finding Atlantis crew members quickly, but everyone wore same standard-issue black jackets, and most of them didn't give Jonn a second look; they were too busy hunting through inventories and wrangling antigravs. He kept his head down out of principle, though, and as they got closer to the central chamber he ducked into the first store room that looked empty and grabbed a couple of boxes off the shelves. "Take these," he told Beckett.
"What in God's name for?" he asked, hoisting the box Jonn passed him. "Och, careful there, not all of us are Vulcans..."
"Just hold it in front your face and look busy," Jonn told him.
The central chamber of the depot consisted of four massive transporter pads, capable of materializing bulk cargo, and a landing pad for shuttles in the case of things that couldn't be safely or conveniently beamed. The Atlantis crewmen were utilizing both, and the open hangar doors were letting in a chilly wind and a fine drift of snow. Jonn hitched his box higher and headed for one of the transporter pads, since they wouldn't be the only crew members hand-carrying something bulky. He quietly took up a position at the back of the pad, and Beckett stepped up beside him, struggling to hold his own box high enough. All they had to do was dematerialize-
A human with a blue tunic and a ponytail suddenly poked him in the side. "Hey, you. What's that you're carrying?"
Jonn tried not to look like he was avoiding eye contact. "Sorry?"
"What. Do. You. Have." The blue tunic waved a padd and stylus at him. "So we can check it off McKay's anal-retentive inventory?"
Shit. Of course there was a list, and of course Rodney had made it excruciatingly detailed. "Self-sealing stem bolts," Jonn blurted.
"Me, too," Beckett said, though it was hard to hear since he was holding the box at armpit-level, directly in front of his face.
Blue Tunic narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then wrote something on the padd. It seemed to take an absurdly long time, but then again, Rodney did love his lists. "All right," he finally said. "Dematerializing in twenty."
Hope you didn't actually need those, buddy, Jonn thought, squirming in place. Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen...
The cargo transporter vanished in a glittering curtain, and one of the Atlantis' transporter rooms faded into view. Jonn had to wait until the people in front of him cleared out to get off the pad, but once he did he ditch his "bolts" and then go track down Weir and-
"Hold it." Jonn peeked over the top edge of his box for the source of the voice. A vaguely familiar man with a master chief's stripes was standing in his path, and he had a phaser. Shit. "What've you got there, crewman?"
"Stem bolts," Jonn muttered.
The chief smiled. It did not look nice. "Then why's the box labled 'thermocoupling sealant'?"
Jonn's stomach sank. "Well, shit, I guess I grabbed the wrong box," he said, trying for genuine distress.
The chief just pulled the communicator off his belt. "Bates to bridge. Kavanagh was right, we've got trespassers in Transporter Room Two. Requesting additional security to deal with them."
"Bridge here," said a voice that sounded a lot like Ford. "How the hell do you get trespassers off an uninhabited planet?"
"I betcha Commander Weir would like to know that, too," Jonn called, raising his voice to be heard over the comm line.
"Shut up," Bates snapped, at the same time Ford blurted, "Sheppard?"
"That'd be me," Jonn said. He set his box down and sat on it. "And if you want to know how I got here, you'd better get Weir in, because I'm not talking to anybody else."
Bates raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He glanced at Beckett.
Beckett dropped his box with a wince. "I'll talk to just about anybody, but I'm not sure I'll be much help, because I've no bloody idea what's going on."
-\-\-\-\-\-
It only took about five minutes for Weir to turn up, and Jonn fought the urge to stare: she'd cut her hair off above her shoulders, revealing a slight natural wave. Suddenly she looked like the woman from Ambassador Weir's memories, the one that somewhere, somehow, had been some Jonn Sheppard's friend.
Weir did her own staring for a moment when she saw who her trespassers were. "How did you do that?" she asked flatly.
"Hello, ma'am," Jonn said mildly. "Nice to see you, too."
She stepped up to the edge of the platform, staring alternately at him and Beckett, and Jonn was struck by the differences between this Elizabeth Weir and the woman on the planet. Not just the age-something in the way this Weir carried herself, in the dart of her eyes and the turn of her mouth. Even with the haircut, there was something different, something off. "We haven't seen any other ships capable of warp six or higher since we left Vulcan," she said flatly. "So you didn't fly here. And the transwarp transporter is still a theoretical model without any kind of practical implementation. So I say again: how did you get to this planet?"
"The real question is why," Jonn said. "It's because we need to talk."
Weir's eyes narrowed. "I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Sheppard."
"Yeah, but I got a few things to say to you." Jonn stood up, but stepped off the pad, so he wouldn't tower over her. "Look, I'm sorry I called you a coward. I'm sorry I blew up at you. But you need to listen to me. Please."
Weir studied him for a moment, and he wished he knew how to read her expressions, whether she was giving him a chance or just contemplating more inventive ways to keep him restrained. Finally, she gave the smallest of nods, barely a twitch-did that mean what he hoped it meant? "Chief, I want you to confine Mr. Sheppard to quarters for the time being. Dr. Beckett-" She paused, as if just registering his presence. "What exactly are you doing here, Dr. Beckett?"
"I've been asking that myself," he said mournfully.
She sighed. "All right. I'll have you assigned some quarters and notify Nurse Ysep that you're available for duty." And she breezed out of the room without a second glance.
Jonn looked at Bates, who looked back with an expression of frustration. "She knows I don't actually have quarters on this ship, right?" he asked.
"I'll find some," Bates said, and grabbed Jonn around the arm to lead him out of the room.
Chapter One
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Fourteen
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/Star Trek 2009 (mashup)
Length: 91,750 (total); 6,210 (this part)
Characters: All of them!
PairingS: Canonical levels of Elizabeth/Simon, Teyla/Kanaan
warnings: Graphic violence
Summary: When a terror from out of time threatens the heart of the Federation, the crew of the USS Atlantis must band together in order to stop it. But can they overcome their own demons to stop the greatest threat they'll ever face?
Thirteen
"No! No no no no! Did you attend any classes for the past four years? No, just stop, give that to me, you clearly cannot be trusted with actual tools-"
Rodney grabbed the flux coupler out of the idiot's hands and shouldered him (her? didn't notice) aside; he picked up a coil spanner instead, and clamped off the leaking conduit properly, the most basic precaution a sentient life-form should be taking in order to not kill themselves or overload an entire segment of the power gird. In fact, he could keep talking while doing it. "Apparently the only reason I was put on this ship was to keep you people from sticking your fingers into every random socket you come across, and if I have to stand over the shoulder of every mental deficient with delusions of adequacy to keep you from causing even more damage I'm just going to have Weir confine you all to quarters and start doing everything myself, because for one thing it would probably be faster-"
"Rodney," somebody said quietly.
"-and also I'd be assured that it being done accurately and to spec, to the extent we can do
anything according to spec when we're basically rebuilding entire decks with stone knives and
bearskins-"
"Rodney..."
But he was busy double-sealing the breached conduit, like they'd been trained for, and also adding -"and obviously that's a problem that I will be taking up with Starfleet Commander in my final report, assuming we don't blow ourselves up before we get back to Earth-"
"Rodney!"
"What?" He finished the patch and turned around, expecting the original idiot of a technician to be nagged him. Instead, Radek was standing over him, arms folded across his chest, glaring down at him like some kind of tiny Slavic god of wrath. "Oh. You. What now?"
"I have been nominated by the rest of the engineering staff to punch you in the face," Radek said,
perfectly deadpan. "Please stand up and remove your goggles."
"Do you have time for this?" Rodney demanded, gathering up the toolkit. "I don't have time for this. I have things to do, unlike some people around here-"
"You think we are not working?" Radek demanded. "You think we are not frustrated also?"
"You're sure as hell not showing it," Rodney snapped back.
He climbed to his feet and tried to return to the work he'd been doing (rerouting power around some damaged couplings in a breached compartment, which was, hi, kind of important-) but Radek put up a hand to stop him. Rodney, of course, didn't actually believe that Radek was going to hit him; any flinch-like reaction he may have had was entirely the result of the grimy sweat dripping into his eyes. "And who says you are the one allowed to scream and insult, eh?" Radek demanded. "Who died and made you commander?"
"That would be Castilho," Rodney snapped.
Radek flinched. "All right. Yes. Bad figure of speech."
"Are we done here yet?" Rodney demanded, tugging his filthy, sweaty t-shirt away from his
neck. "Because I have thing to do before we get to Delta Vega, and if all you have to say is that I've hurt someone's feelings-"
"You have individually insulted the entire engineering department," Radek said flatly. "I counted."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "They deserved it."
"They did not!" Radek said. "And you cannot keep shouting at people for no reason!"
"So what am I supposed to do, then, mmm?" Rodney demanded. "Ignore every obvious mistake until one them gets us all killed? Have a good cry about the tragic fate of the Vulcans? Go back to my quarters and hide under the bed, maybe? Because that one's looking like a pretty damn good alternative, except-oh, way-I have too many things to do. So excuse me for sublimating my abject terror in a vaguely constructive fashion, because if I actually stop to think about anything that's happened in the last twenty-one hours I'm going to have a complete nervous breakdown and I do not have time for that!"
Rodney hadn't even been aware of his voice rising, in volume or in pitch, but when he was done
the corridor seemed deafeningly loud in comparison. Radek just stared at him for a minute, then quietly said, "Oh."
"Yes," Rodney said fiercely. His heart seemed to be doing something funny in his chest; with his luck, it was a fatal arrhythmia. "Are we done here?"
"You are not the only one who is frightened, Rodney," Radek pointed out, as if Rodney might not have noticed.
And screaming was a fine Ingram/McKay family tradition, the perfect response to any crisis, whether it was a failing power coupling or a pregnant teenage sister or a typo in your dissertation abstract. "Yeah, but I'm apparently the only one actually working. Speaking of which, don't you have warp coils you're supposed to be stripping before we get to Delta Vega? Chop, chop."
Radek sighed, and stomped away, muttering things that weren't in the Universal Translator's database.
-\-\-\-\-\-
It took a lot longer to get to the spot Elizabeth had indicated to him than Jonn intended, partly because her map didn't quite match the actual geography of the mountains-not that he could blame her, since her memory was fifty years out of date and also of another universe-and partly because the cave they had to climb through was a lot darker, wetter and colder than he anticipated, especially with all the rain. Beckett, lugging a bag of "helpful supplies," looked more and more dubious all the time.
"Maybe we should go back," he suggested at one point, watching Jonn try to lower himself through a crack without breaking a leg. "Get the proper equipment, that sort of thing?"
"It's fine," Jonn grunted, feeling in the shadows below him for toe holds. He'd been so relieved that he'd actually talked Beckett into coming, he hadn't stopped for much more than flashlights and some water for the hike; if they could actually catch up to the Atlantis, the ship could use a new CMO, and if they couldn't, Jonn would have an escort to keep him from being labeled AWOL. "The Atlantis is halfway there, and we need-aha!"
He found a ledge, one that bore his weight, and then another-and then he was dropping down onto stone that was too smooth and level to be natural. He flicked his flashlight around warily, and spotted Elizabeth's last landmark-a stone pillar in the middle of the room, inscribed with the same writing as the puddle jumper. Don't touch it, she'd warned him, just go into the next chamber. "We're almost good," he called up through the crack. "Toss your bag down."
By the time Beckett got down, red-faced and sweating, Jonn had found an arched tunnel exiting off the other side of the pillar. "What is this place?" Beckett asked, eying the pillar.
"I...don't entirely know," Jonn admitted. When he lowered the flashlight he thought he could just make out a faint light at the end of the tunnel-a machine? Some kind of glowing mold? "C'mon, this way."
"You brought me here, but you don't know what it is?" Beckett asked incredulously.
"I got directions from a friend," Jonn said, and then paused for a second when he realized what he'd just said. If you told him two hours ago he'd ever refer to Elizabeth Weir as a friend...either of them, actually...
They proceeded slowly to the end of the tunnel, wary of any surprises in the shadows. The light grew ever brighter, and when Jonn finally came around the corner into the room he found the source: a blue-green hemisphere set into a wide, angled pedestal. His heart pounded as he recognized what Elizabeth had described to him. "This is it," he told Beckett, approaching the pedestal.
"That's the thing that's going to get us to Delta Vega?" Beckett asked, playing his flashlight around the sides of the chamber.
Jonn pointed his flashlight across the room, just as Elizabeth had instructed. "Nope. That is."
"My god!"
It was, he thought ludicrously, bigger than she'd described. The ring of silver-gray metal was easily five and a half meters across at its widest point, and it was set upright in the stone so that its inner rim was flush with the floor. In the twin beams of their flashlights, Jonn could just pick out the features around the edge: seven vaguely triangular panels along the outside, and clusters of dots along the inside, like constellations. The pedestal had the same clusters engraved on glassy tiles around its center hemisphere. "Do the Hoffans know this is down here?" Beckett asked.
"Gonna have to say no," Jonn said absently. He had to set the flashlight down so he could shrug off his jacket and push up his sleeve. The seven symbols Elizabeth had drawn on his arm hadn't smeared, thankfully. "I don't think you're supposed to stand too close to it."
Beckett glanced at him and did a double-take. "So this is some kind of...transportation device?"
"Supposed to be." Jonn found the first symbol in the address and pressed down on the tile. There was a low buzzing sound from the pedestal, and the ring lit up, each chevron glowing blue-green and bright enough to light up the room; each tiny constellation lit up in turn, a pattern of lights chasing itself around the ring before stopping on the symbol he'd selected. Huh.
Beckett backed away a little, and didn't seem to know what he ought to stare at, while Jonn entered the rest of the symbols into the pedestal. The buzzing sound got louder with each keystroke, and low enough to feel the vibration in his bones-who knew what kind of power source they were messing with. He took a deep breath, and pressed his hand flat against the hemisphere-
-and then jumped back instinctively as a cloud of energy came bursting out of the ring. Beckett very nearly hit the floor. But the cloud didn't quite reach their location before being sucked back into the hole, and then there was nothing inside the ring but what looked like a puddle of luminescent water...if water could stand perpendicular to the floor, that is.
"You honestly expect me to...do what, exactly?" Beckett asked shakily. "Walk into that thing?"
"I'm...almost positive it's not going to kill us," Jonn said, because yeah, he trusted Ambassador Weir, but still.
"This is madness," Beckett said, grabbing for his pack. "You're mad."
"And you promised to come with me," Jonn said. He quickly pulled his jacket back on and came around the side of the stool to grab Beckett's arm. "Come on. Delta Vega's right on the other side. We'll beat the Atlantis there."
Beckett looked at the shimmering gateway, grimacing. "You're seriously going to attempt to go through that thing?"
Jonn exhaled. "Don't really have a choice. There's something I gotta do there."
After a long moment of hesitation, Beckett shook Jonn's hand off and straightened up. "Right. Lay on, MacDuff."
And after that, Jonn couldn't really chicken out. He looked right into the pool of energy, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath...just in case. Just like a transporter, Elizabeth had assured him. Only transporters weren't so creepy looking, or buried in ancient caverns, and all you had to do was stand there-
"Here we go," Jonn said, and took it at a run.
-\-\-\-\-\-
There was little for a communications officer to do on a ship without an antenna; once they passed beyond range of Hoff, Teyla had to search for something to busy herself with, and ended up sitting at the sensor station on the bridge, reviewing data on Michael's ship. Sleep would have been the wiser thing, but the last time she had laid down to sleep she had been plagued with disturbing dreams of these...creatures, that she could not put aside.
Wraith, she told herself. Call them by their true name. Except she could not, not in front of all the oh-so-serious Federation officers who believed in neither gods nor monsters. She found herself tracing the pendant under her uniform again and again, thinking of her father's contempt for signs and portents, the legends of demons in the dark. The ship that had hovered in space had been a real thing, made of metal and plastic, with engines and an atmosphere for a crew of flesh and bone. But that terrible feeling of coldness, of malice, reaching across five kilometers of space to rake at her mind as if with with pointed claws-if that was not the Wraith, then what was?
But if Michael was one of the Wraith, the ancient enemy of the Ancestors returned from wherever they had vanished to...how could they possibly stand against such an enemy, even with the might of the Federation? Or did it mean the return of the Ancestors themselves was at hand, and they would soon descend from their heavenly plane with flaming swords to purge their worlds of evil? Apocalyptic nonsense, she would have called it once-We cannot wait for the Ancestors to bring justice to our worlds, he father had always said, but he referred to social problems, not murderous enemies from the stars. Two hands at work achieve more than two thousand raised in prayer.
But could mortal hands slay demons? What did gods need with a starship?
"Hey." The soft voice startled her more than it ought to. Ensign Ford was standing over her shoulder, looking worried. "You okay, ma'am?"
"I am fine," she said, schooling her face. "I am simply trying to...understand."
"Yeah, you and the rest of the Federation," Ford said. He leaned against the edge of the console, folding his arms over his chest. "I keep thinking about how we could possibly hit something like that. All those fighters-"
"They are a fearsome enemy," Teyla said. "But they are mortal, just as you and I." And if she said it often enough, she might believe it.
"Hope so," Ford said. He watched the screen for a moment as she built another sensor composite, trying to unlock Michael's secrets. Eventually, however, he cleared his throat. "Uh. Listen, ma'am, you're pretty good friends with Commander Weir, right?"
Teyla looked up at him, frowning. "I would say so, yes."
Ford glanced around the bridge, once, and then leaned over and lowered his voice further. "Why'd she go postal on Sheppard like that? I mean, he was sort of right."
"He challenged her authority to her face and embarrassed her in front of all of us," Teyla pointed out, looking at the screens rather than Ford's face. "And if he was truly on board this ship without authorization, his punishment was deserved."
"Yeah, but he was right," Ford said again. "We're the biggest ship left between here and the Neutral Zone. Somebody's got to stand up to them."
"And as she pointed out, if we attempt to do so alone we will be destroyed," Teyla said.
Ford was quiet for a moment. Then: "He knew you guys' names. And he knew she was from Vulcan."
Teyla exhaled. "If you are proposing that Michael may target Earth or Athos next, I am sure the thought has already occurred to her." It had certainly occurred to Teyla, and while Elizabeth was transmitting her official report to Starfleet Command from Hoff, Teyla had sent a discreet word to Halling for the Council. Not that the Athosians had any ships that could stand against him any better than the Atlantis had, but perhaps, if they had sufficient forewarning they could avoid the fate of the Vulcans.
Reports suggest as many as nine out of ten are missing or dead, had been the report they received on Hoff. Many fled into the desert and remain unaccounted for. Evacuees have been advised to remain aboard their ships indefinitely. She could not bear to think to hard on it, and to imagine it happening on Athos, its cities blasted and the people driven into the woods to dwell in tents...
"Do you think she's right?" Ford asked earnestly.
Teyla took a deep breath. "I think she made the best decision with the resources and information she had available."
Ford lowered his eyebrows. "That's not an answer."
"I am aware of that." She watched the rotating model of Michael's ship, a comfortable abstraction of reality. Lines and shading showed where Sheppard and Ford had fired into the engines, and the signs of plasma blow-back into the rest of the ship. And yet they has still gone into warp, wounded but not paralyzed. There was nothing supernatural about powerful technology, but still, if the ship could absorb such a blow...
She saved her work and logged out of the sensor station. "I believe it is time I had words with Commander Weir."
"Great," Ford said warily. "But, uh, if she asks, I didn't say anything, okay?"
She is not something to fear, Teyla wanted to say-but of course, someone like Ford would not know that yet. And Elizabeth may not have realized what sort of impression she had created by casting Sheppard off the ship. "I will not speak of this directly," Teyla assured him, and headed for the turbolift.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Jonn ran through the gate and had a moment to register some of the most intense cold he'd ever felt; then he fell down. At least this time he got his hands up in time to prevent a complete face-plant, and anyway there was nowhere for him to roll. He found himself on all fours, up to his wrists in slushy, dirty snow. The sky above was a uniform green-gray, and there was nothing in any direction but plains of wind-swept whiteness, occasionally broken by an outcropping of black rock. He wasn't sure if this was actually Delta Vega, but it definitely wasn't Hoff.
The gate on this side was glowing under a crust of ice, and located on a crumbling stone plinth; Jonn had gone crashing right over the first step. As he picked himself up, Beckett came stumbling out of the shimmering puddle, eyes screwed up tightly; he stopped just short of taking his own tumble, and finally looked around. "My god," he blurted again.
"Told ya," Jonn said with more confidence than he felt. It hadn't occurred to him to dress for the weather, or even try to figure out what the weather was, and the only sign of life for kilometers around was a single point of white light on the horizon.
Beckett looked around, and apparently came to the same conclusion. "We can't stay out in this weather," he said, chapping his hands. "We need to go back, get some coats-"
"I said, there's not time," Jonn insisted. "We don't know how long Weir's going to stay here before setting off for Earth."
"And we're not going to make it to the depot without proper clothing," Beckett said. He turned around, making to go back into the puddle-
-which promptly winked out in front of his nose. He actually stuck a hand out and waved it around, as if to confirm that the gateway was gone. Then he looked over his shoulder at Jonn. "How do we go back?"
"Sorry," Jonn said. "Didn't exactly plan a retreat." He didn't even see another pedastle in front of this ring, though if it had fallen on its side he supposed it might be buried under a snowdrift. Didn't seem likely, though.
Beckett sighed, and turned towards the depot. "Right. In that case, you're carrying the bag."
-\-\-\-\-
A candle could be the single most dangerous object on a starship. Thirty-four crew members had been injured or killed by a fire in Engineering during the battle over Vulcan, and another fire had partially disabled their forward sensors. But Elizabeth had never been fully comfortable with holographic substitutes, and when given minutes to pack a bag before meeting her shuttle, the first thing she had grabbed was a white taper candle and a tiny electric lighter.
Illogical, of course. Simon would've-
She exhaled and tried again to get comfortable on the floor. The captain's stateroom seemed vast and dark, and more than a little grisly, but her original quarters were adjacent to a depressurized compartment...and it wasn't as if Sumner was using it at the moment. The candle flickered a little as her movement disturbed the air, then settled again. If only her mind would settle so easily.
The door chimed in the other room, and for a moment she considered ignoring it; they couldn't be at Delta Vega yet, and she had hardly slept since being roused to go to Vulcan. But that would be petty, and at any rate she was in command (for now, at least) and that came with certain responsibilities. Reluctantly, she blew out the candle and climbed to her feet. "Come in."
Teyla entered, looking as exhausted as Elizabeth felt. "I hope I am I not disturbing you," she said.
"No more so than anything else," Elizabeth said, and waved her onto the little couch below the windows.
Teyla sat, and looked at her hands for a moment. "I noticed that Dr. Simon remained on Hoff," she said.
"Yes, he did," was all Elizabeth said, because as much as she liked Teyla she wasn't sure she could bear to talk about that right now. "Was that what you wanted to discuss?"
"In a sense, it is one of the things," Teyla said. "I cannot imagine how it felt to see Vulcan under attack."
"It wasn't clouding my judgment, if that's what you're implying," Elizabeth said. Teyla just raised an eyebrow. Oh, damn-"Sorry," she added quickly. "I suppose I'm already preparing to be interrogated over my report."
"You expect Starfleet Command to find fault with your actions?" Teyla asked.
"Almost certainly." And I'm not certain they'll be wrong, either.
After a moment, Teyla said. "There was something else I wanted to discuss, Elizabeth." And the first name, not the rank, made her sit up a little further and pay attention. "It may be relevant to what we saw at Vulcan; I do not know for certain."
"You said you knew something about Michael," Elizabeth remembered suddenly. No, not knew-sensed. It was easy to forget sometimes that Teyla was a telepath, but the way she'd reacted as soon as they dropped out of warp-was that how Michael had known their names? But then why single out three of them out of all the crew...?
"I have told you of something about my people's laws on thought-sharing," Teyla said slowly, not quite meeting Elizabeth's eyes. "My father worked his entire life to reverse the most egregious restrictions, and even he did not fully succeed. But there is a very old reason why it was even criminalized in the first place."
"You told me once it was religious," Elizabeth prompted.
She nodded, and took a very deep breath. "We-the people of Pegasus-were made by the Ancestors, in their likeness; this is what we are taught, though I know the people of the Federation do not believe it. But there was another race-grotesque parodies of the Ancestors who wanted nothing more than to destroy everything they had created. They were called the Wraith.
"It is said that the Wraith raised a vast army among the stars, and went to war with the Ancestors; that is why they were driven from this plane of existence. And for ten thousand years, the Wraith preyed on the people of the Ancestors-it is said they fed on the souls of those they captured, and every hundred years they would come to cull the worlds they claimed as theirs. Until one day they simply ceased to come, without explanation."
Come to cull the worlds they claimed. Elizabeth thought of all those tiny fighters and their inexplicable transporters, all the life signs on that massive ship...but no, it couldn't be true. Could it? "What happened to these Wraith? Or is thought to have happened?"
"That is the basis of a great schism among the people of the Pegasus quadrant," Teyla admitted. "Some hold that they pursued the Ancestors onto a higher plane, where they do eternal warfare. Some say they went to war against themselves and were destroyed. Still others say they merely went into a deep sleep, and one day will return to cull their herds one final time." She forced a weak smile. "I have long tried to remain agnostic on the subject."
"And what does this have to do with your telepathy, exactly?" Elizabeth asked, hoping Teyla wasn't about to follow through on the obvious conclusion.
"The Wraith do not need to speak as humanoids do," Teyla said, averting her eyes again. "On this, all sects agree: they share their thoughts directly, mind to mind. Only ten, perhaps twelve percent of Athosians are capable of though-sharing to any degree, but those who can...it is called the Gift of the Wraith, for that reason. It is said that we were once used as their prophets and their slaves, and at one time the penalty for sharing thought was death."
And Teyla had doubled over as if in pain the moment they dropped out of warp. Elizabeth, spontaneously, took her hand, and squeezed it gently. "What did you sense, from that ship?"
"Hunger," Teyla blurted. "And anger. I was...I could not sense their thoughts more clearly than that. But if these are not the Wraith of history, they are the nearest thing possible."
And this was far from the first time the Federation had gone to war with self-proclaimed gods. Elizabeth settled back on the couch, thinking long and hard. If these Wraith of legend were based on a real species, perhaps they did have the means to hibernate-some kind of suspended animation technology? That would help explain where Michael had been all this time, if he was truly the one who'd destroyed the Kelvin. But what real reason could they have to take such a massive number of hostages? And why come all the way to Vulcan to get them?
How does it feel to watch your world burn?
"If these are the Wraith of Pegasus, or something like them, how do we proceed?" Elizabeth forced herself to ask. "Because I find it hard to imagine negotiating with something that 'eats souls.'"
"If Michael is one of the Wraith, he must be stopped at all costs," Teyla said with conviction. "Especially if there truly are more in hibernation elsewhere in the Pegasus quadrant."
"I understand that," Elizabeth said quickly; she didn't want to think about a plague of those monstrous ships spreading out across the galaxy. If they could do that to Vulcan, did Earth stand a chance? Bolarus? If O'Neill couldn't get the fleet back from Vorash on time...or even if he could...but what other choice did they have?
"We know that his ship is damaged," Teyla added softly. "Perhaps that was why he fled from Vulcan."
"Or perhaps he just finished whatever he'd come to do," Elizabeth said.
"His ship is capable of warp fourteen," Teyla pointed out. "He could have attacked any other planet in this quadrant in the time it took us to reach Hoff, but he has not. I could hope that he has chosen to sleep for another twenty-five years, but I do not believe we can take that chance. And we are still close enough to pursue him."
Elizabeth smiled wryly. "I'm surprised to hear you taking Jonn Sheppard's side in this."
Now it was Teyla's turn to take Elizabeth's hand. "This is not a question of taking sides, Elizabeth. It is a question of what is right, and what is necessary. The fleet at Vorash cannot get here with any speed, and in the meantime Michael goes free."
"We have no idea where he is, Teyla," Elizabeth pointed out. "And even if we did-even if he's damaged-look at what happened at Vulcan. He's just too powerful. When the fleet gets back from Vorash, when we can regroup-"
"When will that be?" Teyla asked. "And what may Michael do in the meantime?"
Elizabeth shut her eyes. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but that will be all." She couldn't bring herself to see the look on Teyla's face-betrayal or frustration or, God help her, pity. And when the door slid shut again, Elizabeth went back into the bedroom, and lit the candle again. If she had to, she would burn it to a stump.
-\-\-\-\-\-
The supply depot wasn't all that warm inside-twelve degrees was warm enough to protect the stockpiles from damage. Still, in comparison to the growing snowstorm outside, the access corridor was a glorious sauna, and Jonn sighed as he slumped against the wall. The backpack, ironically, had actually helped-it insulated his back against the cold and wind-but still, Vulcans weren't exactly built for the cold.
"Let's see your hands then," Beckett said, though he was shivering just as badly. Jonn held up his green, chapped hands and flexed his fingers, to show there wasn't any frostbite; he wasn't so sure about his feet, and as for the rest of him...well, hell, he wouldn't mind a little strategic revision on the ears. Beckett nodded, satisfied. "Right. Let's never do that again."
"Not arguing," Jonn wheezed. He sat down for a few minutes and hugged his legs to his chest, trying to raise his core temperature. Beckett, meanwhile, started studying a map mounted on the wall while slowly rubbing his chest and sides for warmth.
"Looks like the main cargo transporters are in the center of the building," he said after a minute. "That'll be the best place to find the Atlantis crew, right?"
"Yeah," Jonn said. Now that they were actually here, he wasn't entirely sure how to get back aboard-he somehow doubted that Weir had spontaneously forgiven him, and McKay was probably a little too busy to beam Jonn up on the sly.
Then again, speaking of McKay...
Jonn climbed to his feet again-which were starting to regain feeling, in that painful pins-and-needs way-and shouldered the pack again. "All right, Doc. Follow my lead on this one."
"Is it going to involve any more unknown technology?" Beckett asked warily.
"Not this time. Promise." Jonn glanced at the map, and started off towards the transporter room. "We just need to get on that ship and get to Commander Weir without anybody seeing us."
Beckett sighed. "Should've bloody stayed home..."
They started finding Atlantis crew members quickly, but everyone wore same standard-issue black jackets, and most of them didn't give Jonn a second look; they were too busy hunting through inventories and wrangling antigravs. He kept his head down out of principle, though, and as they got closer to the central chamber he ducked into the first store room that looked empty and grabbed a couple of boxes off the shelves. "Take these," he told Beckett.
"What in God's name for?" he asked, hoisting the box Jonn passed him. "Och, careful there, not all of us are Vulcans..."
"Just hold it in front your face and look busy," Jonn told him.
The central chamber of the depot consisted of four massive transporter pads, capable of materializing bulk cargo, and a landing pad for shuttles in the case of things that couldn't be safely or conveniently beamed. The Atlantis crewmen were utilizing both, and the open hangar doors were letting in a chilly wind and a fine drift of snow. Jonn hitched his box higher and headed for one of the transporter pads, since they wouldn't be the only crew members hand-carrying something bulky. He quietly took up a position at the back of the pad, and Beckett stepped up beside him, struggling to hold his own box high enough. All they had to do was dematerialize-
A human with a blue tunic and a ponytail suddenly poked him in the side. "Hey, you. What's that you're carrying?"
Jonn tried not to look like he was avoiding eye contact. "Sorry?"
"What. Do. You. Have." The blue tunic waved a padd and stylus at him. "So we can check it off McKay's anal-retentive inventory?"
Shit. Of course there was a list, and of course Rodney had made it excruciatingly detailed. "Self-sealing stem bolts," Jonn blurted.
"Me, too," Beckett said, though it was hard to hear since he was holding the box at armpit-level, directly in front of his face.
Blue Tunic narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then wrote something on the padd. It seemed to take an absurdly long time, but then again, Rodney did love his lists. "All right," he finally said. "Dematerializing in twenty."
Hope you didn't actually need those, buddy, Jonn thought, squirming in place. Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen...
The cargo transporter vanished in a glittering curtain, and one of the Atlantis' transporter rooms faded into view. Jonn had to wait until the people in front of him cleared out to get off the pad, but once he did he ditch his "bolts" and then go track down Weir and-
"Hold it." Jonn peeked over the top edge of his box for the source of the voice. A vaguely familiar man with a master chief's stripes was standing in his path, and he had a phaser. Shit. "What've you got there, crewman?"
"Stem bolts," Jonn muttered.
The chief smiled. It did not look nice. "Then why's the box labled 'thermocoupling sealant'?"
Jonn's stomach sank. "Well, shit, I guess I grabbed the wrong box," he said, trying for genuine distress.
The chief just pulled the communicator off his belt. "Bates to bridge. Kavanagh was right, we've got trespassers in Transporter Room Two. Requesting additional security to deal with them."
"Bridge here," said a voice that sounded a lot like Ford. "How the hell do you get trespassers off an uninhabited planet?"
"I betcha Commander Weir would like to know that, too," Jonn called, raising his voice to be heard over the comm line.
"Shut up," Bates snapped, at the same time Ford blurted, "Sheppard?"
"That'd be me," Jonn said. He set his box down and sat on it. "And if you want to know how I got here, you'd better get Weir in, because I'm not talking to anybody else."
Bates raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He glanced at Beckett.
Beckett dropped his box with a wince. "I'll talk to just about anybody, but I'm not sure I'll be much help, because I've no bloody idea what's going on."
-\-\-\-\-\-
It only took about five minutes for Weir to turn up, and Jonn fought the urge to stare: she'd cut her hair off above her shoulders, revealing a slight natural wave. Suddenly she looked like the woman from Ambassador Weir's memories, the one that somewhere, somehow, had been some Jonn Sheppard's friend.
Weir did her own staring for a moment when she saw who her trespassers were. "How did you do that?" she asked flatly.
"Hello, ma'am," Jonn said mildly. "Nice to see you, too."
She stepped up to the edge of the platform, staring alternately at him and Beckett, and Jonn was struck by the differences between this Elizabeth Weir and the woman on the planet. Not just the age-something in the way this Weir carried herself, in the dart of her eyes and the turn of her mouth. Even with the haircut, there was something different, something off. "We haven't seen any other ships capable of warp six or higher since we left Vulcan," she said flatly. "So you didn't fly here. And the transwarp transporter is still a theoretical model without any kind of practical implementation. So I say again: how did you get to this planet?"
"The real question is why," Jonn said. "It's because we need to talk."
Weir's eyes narrowed. "I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Sheppard."
"Yeah, but I got a few things to say to you." Jonn stood up, but stepped off the pad, so he wouldn't tower over her. "Look, I'm sorry I called you a coward. I'm sorry I blew up at you. But you need to listen to me. Please."
Weir studied him for a moment, and he wished he knew how to read her expressions, whether she was giving him a chance or just contemplating more inventive ways to keep him restrained. Finally, she gave the smallest of nods, barely a twitch-did that mean what he hoped it meant? "Chief, I want you to confine Mr. Sheppard to quarters for the time being. Dr. Beckett-" She paused, as if just registering his presence. "What exactly are you doing here, Dr. Beckett?"
"I've been asking that myself," he said mournfully.
She sighed. "All right. I'll have you assigned some quarters and notify Nurse Ysep that you're available for duty." And she breezed out of the room without a second glance.
Jonn looked at Bates, who looked back with an expression of frustration. "She knows I don't actually have quarters on this ship, right?" he asked.
"I'll find some," Bates said, and grabbed Jonn around the arm to lead him out of the room.
Chapter One
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Fourteen