Out of Legends, Part 20 - Epilogue
Title: Out of Legends
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page
Author's notes:
The things about the Gate are necessary repetitions, as Harper needed to be told again, due to his amnesia. My apologies.
This is the end of this particular story. Yes, I know it’s an open end, and a sequel is already in the planning phase. Watch out for “The Legend Continues” on this place.
EPILOGUE
“So,” Harper asked the good doctor, “where exactly are you gonna take me?”
Carson smiled. “To the Gate Room of Atlantis.”
Harper glanced up into his face doubtfully. “And you believe I’m gonna find it familiar… why again?”
“Because you’ve already seen something similar,” the doctor answered. "It might trigger your memories… or so we hope. Now, go on, the technicians are waitin’ for ya.”
The elaborately decorated door panels turned automatically to the side to allow him in, and Harper stepped into the dimly lit room, looking around with genuine interest. He had to admit that the place was awesome, even if there wasn’t much going on at the moment. Mottled blue light seeped down from a ceiling so high above that it disappeared up into darkness, casting the curved, elegant design in shadows that stretched out in all directions. Perhaps not surprisingly for a place named after a sunken mythical city, the arrangement made one think that they were deep underwater.
In front of him, a wide staircase rose, leading to other levels and balconies that arched as if the place were a palace. Or an old-fashioned opera house.
“Man,” escaped from Harper before he could hold back, “this is a frigging ballroom!”
A handsome, dark-skinned man looked up from his elaborate control panel and smiled, white teeth gleaming in his dusky face. He seemed vaguely familiar, but right now, Harper couldn’t really place him.
“Not quite,” he said with a supremely… educated accent that made Harper feel painfully inadequate, and to hate the man instantly for it. Who was this guy anyway, the lost prince of Ultima Thule or what? “Although we did throw a party here once,” the man continued. “But mostly, it’s the Gate room - no more and no less.”
“Gate room, huh?” now Harper was sure they were making fun of him. “I don’t see any gate here.”
“It’s right behind you,” the man said, still grinning.
Harper turned around slowly, prepared for some elaborate joke. What he saw was a huge circle, in a vertical position, the lower rim of which disappeared beneath the floor of the room. Well, it was big enough for a slipfighter to fly through, so one could call it a gate, for the sheer size of it. But actually, it was just an empty circle, made of some unknown material. Strange symbols were glittering blue all around it, like on some gigantic cloak-face.
“So that’s the gate, eh?” Harper eyed it with a frown. “And where’s it supposed to take you?”
“To other planets,” the dark-skinned man replied matter-of-factly.
“To… other… planets,” Harper repeated blandly. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Dark-and-Handsome replied calmly. “If you’d care to come over here to my console, I can show you how it works.”
Still suspicious that they were pulling his leg, Harper walked over to him, not even noticing as he moved that small white lights were blinking on on his trail.
The inhabitants of Atlantis noticed it all too well, though, and they exchanged meaningful looks behind his back. The small lights were usually turned off for the night shift to save energy; they only came back online when somebody with a strong natural ATA gene walked over them. Strong being the key word there. So far, only Major Sheppard and Dr. Kusanagi had triggered the automated reaction.
The control panel itself looked like some bizarre instrument with large, rhomboid keys to push, Harper decided. He also noticed that the keys bore the same symbols as the large circle - the Gate - across the room. That couldn’t have been mere coincidence.
“Look,” the technician, or whatever his function was, said, “this is the dial-up device. There are unnumbered possibilities for these symbols to combine, and many of them represent a code that would connect our Gate with another one, on a different planet. Six symbols represent coordinates in space that determine the location of a planet with a Stargate, plus we need a seventh one, the point of origin. Which is this place, where we are now.”
Harper nodded. That actually made sense - in theory. That was how you triangulated a fix point in three-dimensional space. So yes, he understood the idea behind the whole thing. The practice, however, seemed impossible to him.
“I understand how you navigate,” he said. “But how do you do the actual travelling?”
“The two gates build up a temporary wormhole, one of which we can keep open for thirty-eight minutes per dial,” the other man explained. “I could bore you to death with details about molecular decompression and the likes, but honestly, what’s the point? It works. We all have gone through the Gate and came out unharmed on the other side. The actual technology is millennia beyond our knowledge, although I’m sure Dr. Zelenka here would love to share some of his more… creative theories with you.”
“Ne, ne,” the slight, wild-haired man sitting at the nearby console shook his head… and had to put his glasses back in place, as they were sliding down his nose. “No time. Must watch deep space sensors for Wraith hive ships. Must calculate their courses and drop-outs for Major Vogel.”
He had a strong accent, different from that of the others, and Harper had the feeling that English probably wasn’t his first language. But the apparent existence of deep space sensors interested him more than the man’s person at the moment, so he strolled over.
“Found anything yet?” he asked, leaning causally on the dead and dark part of the console.
The thing lit up under his fingertips with a rainbow of multicoloured lights, causing collective gaps and wide-eyed astonishment by all Atlantis personnel present.
“That,” Dr. Zelenka swallowed hard - several times - before he could speak again, “that was spectacular. Not even Major Sheppard had ever got this strong reaction, and he’s man with strongest natural gene here.”
“Aye, that was remarkable,” Carson nodded. “But first, we should do what we’ve come here in the first place. You said we can count on the return of Sergeant Stackhouse’s team, right?”
“Any time now,” the technician answered, and in the same moment, an alarm began to sound.
“Incoming wormhole,” another technician, this one somewhat younger and almond-eyed, looked over to them. “I read Sergeant Stackhouse’s IDC.”
“Lower the shield,” Mr. Dark-and-Handsome ordered.
The technician threw a switch, and in the next moment the middle of the empty circle turned molten blue, like the rippling surface of a small lake. And through that semi-liquid horizon, a group of soldiers marched into the Gate room, seemingly out of nowhere.
And in a flash of memory, Harper saw the Hoffan cave, with the same circle of grey metal, and Hoffan soldiers marching through the blue puddle of light. He turned away from the Gate, looked at the dark-skinned man behind the console and remembered seeing him, bloody and battered, on the Andromeda’s hangar deck.
“Your name is Grodin, isn’t it?” he asked, a little tentatively.
The man nodded. “It is. You guys saved me from certain death but a few weeks ago. Right now, however, I think Carson should check you for the ATA gene. You can’t imagine how important that is.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Everyone was just as surprised as Carson and Peter had been to hear that Harper had the ATA gene - well, everyone save Major Vogel, that is, who’d seen the lifesign detector react to the little engineer, during the siege. He’d just forgotten about it in all the hassle. Which was understandable, considering the fact that he’d had to go back to infirmary with his reopened feeding wound, shortly thereafter.
Now, however, he was fully healed again, and the memory of the Ancient tool reacting to Harper resurfaced again.
“He told me he had touched something in the Gate room of the Hoffans, and the thing began to sparkle in multicoloured lights,” Tyr remembered. “The Hoffans said that the machines reacted like that sometimes, but they had no idea what the cause might have been.”
“That’s interesting,” Rodney said. “This would be the first time that we found ATA gene carriers in the Pegasus galaxy. The Athosians don’t have it all, and not even the gene technology works for them… as if the Ancients had deliberately left it our of their genetic make-up. Or blocked it some way.”
“Of course, the thought to test the Hoffans never occurred to us,” Carson added thoughtfully. “We were… otherwise occupied at that time. I’d like to do it at some time, though.” He looked at Theresa. “Finding natural gene carriers in the Pegasus galaxy could change the balance of power considerably… and endanger the Hoffans even more. This possibility mustnae be mentioned anywhere outside this room.”
Dylan Hunt, who’d recovered aboard the Andromeda as well as it was possible for a person of a hundred and thirty-something years and accepted an invitation to visit Atlantis, shifted in his seat.
“Can you tell me what exactly this ATA gene is?” he asked.
“It’s a genetic fingerprint,” Carson explained, “which allows someone such as me to operate any technology on Atlantis. I was actually born with the gene, just like Dr. Kusanagi and several other people, which makes us much more proficient at operating Ancient technology.”
“Right, and you forget the point where you’re deadly afraid to use it, which makes you an even lousier pilot than I am,” Rodney commented.
Carson gave him an annoyed look. “In any case,” he continued, “I developed an inoculation which allows those who don’t naturally possess the gene, such as Doctor McKay, to be able to use some of the Ancient technology as well. Of course, an artificial gene never works quite as well as a natural one,” he added smugly.
“I see,” Dylan said thoughtfully. “Is it possible, then, that these Ancients of yours once existed in our universe, too?”
“Theoretically… aye, it is possible,” Carson replied. “Although it’s not bloody likely, considering how far apart our realities are.”
“Well, in our reality, the Pegasus galaxy has been quarantined for millennia,” Dylan reminded him, “because all scout ships sent there either got lost or returned with the desiccated corpses of a dead crew aboard.”
“That would mean that at least the Wraith must exist there, too,” Teyla said with a frown.
“But if they do, the Ancients must have existed there, too,” Rodney pointed out. “We do know that the Wraith were created when the Ancients accidentally introduced human DNA to the iratus bugs. No Ancients, no Wraith.”
“Those people could have encountered the iratus bug itself,” Carson said.
Rodney shrugged. “Perhaps. But the ATA gene is definitely of Ancient origins. If Harper has it, there had to be Ancients on Earth at some point of its history. What happened to them? Why aren’t there any stargates in your reality… and no Goa’uld either, for that matter?”
“Their history must have run along very different lines,” Dr. Corrigan, the head archaeologist of Atlantis said. “Perhaps they never built Stargates, concentrating their research on building startships instead. Without Stargates, the Goa’uld of your reality are perhaps still swimming in the primordial waters of P3X-888, fighting with the local Unas for dominance.”
“And what happened to the Ancients?” Theresa asked. “Have they all ascended and left this level of existence behind?”
“That would be one possible explanation, yes,” Corrigan answered. “It would explain why not even the Commonwealth had ever heard of them, despite consisting of three galaxies and having a level of technology to their disposal that rivals that of the Ancients.”
“Or perhaps they are a completely different species in our reality,” Dylan said. “The Vedrans certainly…”
Carson shook his head. “No, Captain. The Ancients were entirely humanoid. In fact, they were the first manifestation of the human form, That is why some of us were born with a natural ATA-gene.”
“Does this mean that other members of my crew could also have the gene?” Dylan asked.
“In theory, aye,” Carson said. “But in fact, Mr. Harper is the only one who actually has it. I assume all that genetic engineering you folks are so fond of has the gene removed from the stock everywhere but on Earth.”
The gleeful smile spreading all over Harper’s face could have illuminated a rainy day.
“Oh, this is rich,” he declared smugly. “I’ve been treated like some street rat all my life because I’m an nonenhanced little mudfoot from Earth, and it turns out that all those wonderful enhancements have gotten rid of the gene that can make the coolest technology in four galaxies work! Man I do so love poetic justice! Speaking of which... can I object to the Übers getting the artificial thing? They’ve got every other advantage; it would be only fair that they had to leave something to other people.”
“There’s no need for ya to object, Mr. Harper,” Carson said, ignoring Tyr’s growl. “The gene therapy wouldnae work for Nietzscheans. The drastic changes in their genetic make-up make them incompatible.”
“What about us?” Beka asked. “I mean, Dylan won’t be flying any combat missions, due to his current shape,” she glanced at Hunt apologetically, “but I’d love to try my hand on one of those puddle jumpers of yours. And you could use another experienced pilot.”
“We can try,” Carson said doubtfully, “but I wouldnae be too optimistic, love. Even regular humans of your universe have been genetically tampered with to an extent that would make the gene therapy… well, risky at best. I’d say we should stick to Mr. Harper, for the time bein’. His natural gene is so strong it matches Major Sheppard’s, at the very least. In fact, it’s quite extraordinary.”
“The Harper is extraordinary,” the little engineer said in deep satisfaction. “That’s sweet. I think I’m beginning to love this galaxy.”
The others laughed. Perhaps Beka was the only one who had at least an inkling what it truly meant the often-ridiculed little mudfoot to have something - and something of such profound importance - that the others couldn’t even hope to have. There was something in the eyes of the Lantean people that hadn’t been offered Harper all too frequently: respect. One couldn’t blame him for basking in it a little.
“But what do you need me for?” he asked. “You guys have got plenty of people with the natural gene, haven’t you?”
“Sure,” Theresa replied, “but nobody had one quite as strong as yours. Atlantis reacts better and faster to the stronger natural genes, and sometimes even seconds can matter.”
Harper digested that piece of information for a moment… then his eyes widened in awe. “You mean the city is sentient?” he asked.
“Well, yes… more or less,” Rodney answered. “I mean, it’s not only a city, you know, it’s also a starship, and it’s only logical that she would react the same way as the jumpers do to their pilots, and…”
“Rodney!” Theresa’s voice was sharp and disapproving. “I thought we’ve agreed that this particular aspect of Atlantis won’t be discussed for the time being. “No offence intended,” she added, glancing at Hunt, “but I’m sure you won’t spread the blueprints of your ship right away, either. Not even for allies.”
Dylan nodded. “True enough.”
“Man!” Harper had recovered from his shock in record time. “A starship of the size of a city… That’s more than anything even the Commonwealth could come up in its heyday! You mean she can actually fly?”
“She could, if we had the right energy source; which, unfortunately, we don’t,” Rodney answered impatiently. “Same problem we have with powering up the Gate enough to get home.”
“You mean you’d need one of those zippo things?” Harper asked.
Rodney glared daggers at him. “Zed-P-M,” he corrected, emphasizing every syllable as if he’d be speaking to a particularly slow-witted child. “They’re called ZedPM: zero point modules, because… forget it, we can discuss the particulars later. Bottom line is: no, one of the things can’t make Atlantis fly. Fort hat trick, you’d need three of them. Regularly, the city should be equipped with six ZedPMs to be fully operable. Unfortunately, we don’t even have a single one. Atlantis is a ten-thousand-year-old relic, the energy sources of which have been completely depleted while she was sitting on the bottom of the ocean.”
“The shield,” Harper guessed. “It must have had a forcefield to withstand the pressure of so much water.”
“Right,” Rodney said. “And since our naquadah generators can’t produce nearly enough energy to operate the shield, we’re practically sitting ducks. Target practice for the Wraith or anyone who can shoot at us from orbit.”
“That is why we’re so relieved to have the Andromeda above us,” Theresa Weir added. “Until we find an alternate energy source, you’re our first line of defence.”
“We’ll have to leave in short order, though,” Dylan said. “The ship has suffered severe damage in the battle with those Wraith hive ships. We need to make repairs in order to remain battle-ready.”
“Can our engineers help you with that?” Theresa asked. “I mean, we need to repair the damage in Atlantis, too, but we surely can spare a few people, now that Dr. Zelenka has recovered.”
Dylan looked at Harper. “What do you think, Mr. Harper?”
“Well, the first order of things would be to take Andromeda into the asteroid belt, so that she can mine for the necessary minerals,” Harper answered, “but yeah, some help would be good. Especially now that the bugs are gone to take care of their spawn. We’re seriously undermanned in the machine shops, boss.”
“Discuss the details with Dr. McKay and Dr. Zelenka,” Theresa said. “They would know whom they can let go for a while. Can you take a couple of our geologists with you though? We need to look for naquadah, in order to build some more generators to replace the ones we’ve lost. There is but a small chance to find naquadah here, extremely rare mineral as it is, but we need to try, at the very least.”
Dylan nodded. “I see no problem with that. Send any scientist you want. It will be good to have more people on board again. Sometimes the ship seems so… empty.”
“Just like the city,” Theresa replied with a wistful smile. “All right, then; one thing settled, several hundreds to go. Carson, how’s medical research on the Magog DNA versus Wraith enzyme going?”
“We’ve managed to clear Mr. Anasazi’s system of all traces of Magog DNA,” Carson replied. “Still working on the possibility of using it to neutralize the Wraith feeding enzyme, but that’s a long shot. I cannae guarantee you any quick results.”
“Is there any chance to use Magog DNA as a weapon against the Wraith?” Tyr asked.
Carson gave him an appalled look. “I’m not workin’ on a bloody biological weapon here, man!” he protested.
“Perhaps you should,” Tyr said calmly. “You klu… you humans can be so unreasonable sometimes. Do you believe the Wraith would hesitate to eat or murder any of you, in order to find a way to your precious Earth, where they could eat the rest of your people?”
“That’s no reason to commit genocide,” Carson snapped.
“You display the same sentimental folly the Commonwealth showed towards the Magog,” Tyr said. “You must stop thinking of the Wraith as people. Yes, they are sentient, but they are also ruthless monsters who do not consider you anything else but dinner. Kill them, or they will kill you. It is that simple.”
“That attitude wouldn’t make us any better than they are,” Kirkitadze said dryly.
“And all your current attitude would make you is a desiccated corpse with a good conscience,” Tyr retorted. “You humans truly disgust me with your moralising stupidity. When your survival is at stake, you cannot afford the luxury of being concerned about ethics.
“That is your view on life,” Theresa said coolly, the Diamond Than’s warnings echoing in her mind. “We happen to see things differently.”
“Fine,” Tyr growled. “Be a fool. I am certain that I can find other people in this galaxy with a healthier sense of self-preservation.”
“You already have,” his Second Wife, now fully equipped with bone blades and superhuman strength, said calmly. “My government is more than interested… and our scientists have the necessary samples to do our own research.”
Theresa gave her a bewildered look. “But you’re already immune against the enzyme!”
“That’s true,” Lavinia Anasazi replied, “but we’d like to beat the Wraith without using our own bodies as a weapon. A Wraith feeding attempt, even an unsuccessful one, is anything but pleasant.”
Harper, Dylan and Major Vogel shuddered in unison.
“No kidding,” the major said. “However, I personally do have a problem with biological warfare… or with genocide, plain and simple. My people have done it before - or, at the very least, they tried. Our entire society is still suffering from the consequences. Nietzscheans might not have a problem with it, but mere humans aren’t made to carry that sort of burden for generations.”
“A strange statement for a soldier,” Tyr commented.
“Not really,” Vogel said. “As you say, I’m a soldier. I might have to kill to protect others, but I’m not a murderer.”
“And I ain’t one of those mad scientists bound for world domination,” Carson added. “My experiences on Hoff have shown me clearly where the line is I wouldnae cross.”
Tyr shrugged. “It is your funeral. Yours and of those who will die just because you are too queasy to use the weapon that could save them.”
Carson became red-faced with indignation, but Theresa raised a hand before he could think of a suitably sharp answer.
“This is a topic for a longer and more specific discussion,” she said. “For the time being, let’s figure out the best way to cooperate as we go: step by step. Rodney, see that you select the engineers who’ll go with the Andromeda. I’ll reinstate connections with Hoff, so that Mr. Anasazi and those Perseid gentlemen who are still there can have an easier way to travel. Everything else will right itself in time… or so I hope. Any other things we need to discuss right now?”
There were none. The details would need time and a lot of work to be figured out.
“Good,” she said. “This meeting is adjourned, then. I’m expected in the infirmary to greet our newest citizens, now that they have finally returned from the mainland.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Athosian tradition demanded that a child should have close ties with the soil of the planet he or she lived on. Usually, they were conceived and born on the naked earth, and they spent the first six years of their lives planet-bound, unless they had to flee from a culling - an all too frequent event in the Pegasus galaxy. Despite their rural lifestyle, they knew well enough how to use technology, though… they just chose a life close to nature. It also made them less visible to the Wraith, but that wasn’t the main reason. First and foremost, they wanted to form a close bond with their homeworld, whichever planet that happened to be.
That Anika and Marta would come to Atlantis after less than two weeks of giving birth was highly unusual. Atlantis might be the city of the Ancestors and thus considered a sacred place by many, but it was also an artificial structure, made of cold metal. The Athosians - with the sole exception of Teyla - only came there when it was inevitable. Sentient or not, it felt dead to them, unlike the soil of the mainland.
But Anika and Marta had both unusual families. They had bound themselves o the Earth people, and the part of the family that lived in Atlantis had the right to be with the children as well. So they had decided for a short visit, making both Carson and Radek very happy. Besides, the children needed their basic inoculations, so it was only reasonable to come to the infirmary and be done with it in one session.
When Theresa Weir entered the maternal ward, she saw an idyllic picture unfold before her eyes. Radek Zelenka, his bruises faded almost into nothingness, was holding his son, whom they had named Toran, after Marta’s late husband, who’d been taken by the Wraith at the same tame as Colonel Sumner. The baby had Marta’s colouring and soft features, but the intense blue eyes of his father. In the official records of Atlantis, he was mentioned as Toran Aleksandr (after Radek’s brother) Zelenka, but Toran was the name that actually mattered.
Anika and Carson’s daughter, Fiona (named after Carson’s mother) was a curly blonde, blue-eyed baby, who already furrowed her tiny brow the same way her father did when confronted with a serious problem. It was an adorable sight, and her second Mum, tough-as-nail ace pilot Lisa Lindstrom, visibly melted into a puddle at it. Theresa had the feeling that Lt. Lindstrom would be asking for maternity leave, sooner or later.
And then there was Tamerlane Anasazi: a baby boy of considerable size, with a caramel skin somewhere between the colouring of his mother’s and his father’s, jet-black hair coiled in tight curls and his father’s amber eyes. His little arms were still smooth, with only barely noticeable bumps where one the vicious bone blades would break through. Freya and Lavinia both radiated pride and happiness, and Leonidas Anasazi, as the former Leuk Kassai was called now, was every bit the proud big brother. He, too, looked fully Nietzschean now, his still growing bone blades neatly flattened against his forearms, and he’d begun to grow out his hair the same fashion as Tyr wore his.
Watching the new families, Theresa understood that Carson had been right. They were leading a life here that was very different from the one they had left behind on Earth. For Radek and Carson - and for Stackhouse, too, whose wife was due to give birth any time now - future was here in the Pegasus galaxy.
And regardless if they ever found a way to reconnect with Earth, many might follow them indeed.
Perhaps she should make that first, all-deciding step towards Peter Grodin as well. This was her life now, too, and as Carson had said, there was no reason to spend it alone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria by Barbarossa was standing on the observations deck of the Andromeda Ascendant and looking down at the planet Lantia in deep satisfaction. His First Wife had given birth to a strong and healthy son, with excellent genes. His Second would follow suit soon enough. As soon as her body had fully recovered from the strain the changes had put on it. Tyr was looking forward to fathering another child, but he was in no particular hurry. It was important that Lavinia would be in best health at the time of conception, and besides, they had time.
Time that he needed to put to best use to teach his adopted son what it meant to be a Nietzschean, and a Kodiak at that. Leonidas was eleven years old - almost a man in Nietzschean terms - but he had not benefited the traditional teaching and training a Kodiak child would get in its youngest years. They had a lot to catch up with - and later, when Leonidas had learned enough, Tyr would take him to some deserted planet and test his survival skills in the Kodiak survival ritual. Then and only then would Leonidas truly be allowed to put down his childhood name and wear the proud one he had been gifted upon.
So yes, he had time. He was virile and healthy again, thanks to the efforts of his Second and the kludge doctor. He’d have enough time to father more children with the wives he already had… and to look out for other wives, adding promising genetic traits of other human fractions to the Kodiak gene pool; perhaps even find some more potential converts. He was good at long-time plotting. His previous life had taught him patience.
Right now, his place was aboard the Andromeda, no matter how much he would have preferred to stay in Atlantis with his family. He had not forgotten Rev Bem’s warnings. He needed to keep an eye on Trance, in case she was going to try something foolish or dangerous - or both. Rommie had promised to watch the creature, but Tyr didn’t trust anybody but himself when it came to the safety of his family.
All in all, his plans were developing nicely. They might be lost in a foreign galaxy - in a foreign universe, to be more accurate - but they had a bright future before them. A much brighter one that he could have hoped for at home. Sure, at home he would have done anything to take his vengeance on the Drago-Kazov Neanderthals. But here he could recreate his entire people, making a whole race bear his genetic stamp. What could a Nietzschean have wished for more?
Immortality, in the form of countless progeny, was within his reach. So was power and leadership in a galaxy that needed strong leaders against a mighty foe. He was determined to grab both and make his name unforgettable.
~The End~
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page
Author's notes:
The things about the Gate are necessary repetitions, as Harper needed to be told again, due to his amnesia. My apologies.
This is the end of this particular story. Yes, I know it’s an open end, and a sequel is already in the planning phase. Watch out for “The Legend Continues” on this place.
EPILOGUE
“So,” Harper asked the good doctor, “where exactly are you gonna take me?”
Carson smiled. “To the Gate Room of Atlantis.”
Harper glanced up into his face doubtfully. “And you believe I’m gonna find it familiar… why again?”
“Because you’ve already seen something similar,” the doctor answered. "It might trigger your memories… or so we hope. Now, go on, the technicians are waitin’ for ya.”
The elaborately decorated door panels turned automatically to the side to allow him in, and Harper stepped into the dimly lit room, looking around with genuine interest. He had to admit that the place was awesome, even if there wasn’t much going on at the moment. Mottled blue light seeped down from a ceiling so high above that it disappeared up into darkness, casting the curved, elegant design in shadows that stretched out in all directions. Perhaps not surprisingly for a place named after a sunken mythical city, the arrangement made one think that they were deep underwater.
In front of him, a wide staircase rose, leading to other levels and balconies that arched as if the place were a palace. Or an old-fashioned opera house.
“Man,” escaped from Harper before he could hold back, “this is a frigging ballroom!”
A handsome, dark-skinned man looked up from his elaborate control panel and smiled, white teeth gleaming in his dusky face. He seemed vaguely familiar, but right now, Harper couldn’t really place him.
“Not quite,” he said with a supremely… educated accent that made Harper feel painfully inadequate, and to hate the man instantly for it. Who was this guy anyway, the lost prince of Ultima Thule or what? “Although we did throw a party here once,” the man continued. “But mostly, it’s the Gate room - no more and no less.”
“Gate room, huh?” now Harper was sure they were making fun of him. “I don’t see any gate here.”
“It’s right behind you,” the man said, still grinning.
Harper turned around slowly, prepared for some elaborate joke. What he saw was a huge circle, in a vertical position, the lower rim of which disappeared beneath the floor of the room. Well, it was big enough for a slipfighter to fly through, so one could call it a gate, for the sheer size of it. But actually, it was just an empty circle, made of some unknown material. Strange symbols were glittering blue all around it, like on some gigantic cloak-face.
“So that’s the gate, eh?” Harper eyed it with a frown. “And where’s it supposed to take you?”
“To other planets,” the dark-skinned man replied matter-of-factly.
“To… other… planets,” Harper repeated blandly. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Dark-and-Handsome replied calmly. “If you’d care to come over here to my console, I can show you how it works.”
Still suspicious that they were pulling his leg, Harper walked over to him, not even noticing as he moved that small white lights were blinking on on his trail.
The inhabitants of Atlantis noticed it all too well, though, and they exchanged meaningful looks behind his back. The small lights were usually turned off for the night shift to save energy; they only came back online when somebody with a strong natural ATA gene walked over them. Strong being the key word there. So far, only Major Sheppard and Dr. Kusanagi had triggered the automated reaction.
The control panel itself looked like some bizarre instrument with large, rhomboid keys to push, Harper decided. He also noticed that the keys bore the same symbols as the large circle - the Gate - across the room. That couldn’t have been mere coincidence.
“Look,” the technician, or whatever his function was, said, “this is the dial-up device. There are unnumbered possibilities for these symbols to combine, and many of them represent a code that would connect our Gate with another one, on a different planet. Six symbols represent coordinates in space that determine the location of a planet with a Stargate, plus we need a seventh one, the point of origin. Which is this place, where we are now.”
Harper nodded. That actually made sense - in theory. That was how you triangulated a fix point in three-dimensional space. So yes, he understood the idea behind the whole thing. The practice, however, seemed impossible to him.
“I understand how you navigate,” he said. “But how do you do the actual travelling?”
“The two gates build up a temporary wormhole, one of which we can keep open for thirty-eight minutes per dial,” the other man explained. “I could bore you to death with details about molecular decompression and the likes, but honestly, what’s the point? It works. We all have gone through the Gate and came out unharmed on the other side. The actual technology is millennia beyond our knowledge, although I’m sure Dr. Zelenka here would love to share some of his more… creative theories with you.”
“Ne, ne,” the slight, wild-haired man sitting at the nearby console shook his head… and had to put his glasses back in place, as they were sliding down his nose. “No time. Must watch deep space sensors for Wraith hive ships. Must calculate their courses and drop-outs for Major Vogel.”
He had a strong accent, different from that of the others, and Harper had the feeling that English probably wasn’t his first language. But the apparent existence of deep space sensors interested him more than the man’s person at the moment, so he strolled over.
“Found anything yet?” he asked, leaning causally on the dead and dark part of the console.
The thing lit up under his fingertips with a rainbow of multicoloured lights, causing collective gaps and wide-eyed astonishment by all Atlantis personnel present.
“That,” Dr. Zelenka swallowed hard - several times - before he could speak again, “that was spectacular. Not even Major Sheppard had ever got this strong reaction, and he’s man with strongest natural gene here.”
“Aye, that was remarkable,” Carson nodded. “But first, we should do what we’ve come here in the first place. You said we can count on the return of Sergeant Stackhouse’s team, right?”
“Any time now,” the technician answered, and in the same moment, an alarm began to sound.
“Incoming wormhole,” another technician, this one somewhat younger and almond-eyed, looked over to them. “I read Sergeant Stackhouse’s IDC.”
“Lower the shield,” Mr. Dark-and-Handsome ordered.
The technician threw a switch, and in the next moment the middle of the empty circle turned molten blue, like the rippling surface of a small lake. And through that semi-liquid horizon, a group of soldiers marched into the Gate room, seemingly out of nowhere.
And in a flash of memory, Harper saw the Hoffan cave, with the same circle of grey metal, and Hoffan soldiers marching through the blue puddle of light. He turned away from the Gate, looked at the dark-skinned man behind the console and remembered seeing him, bloody and battered, on the Andromeda’s hangar deck.
“Your name is Grodin, isn’t it?” he asked, a little tentatively.
The man nodded. “It is. You guys saved me from certain death but a few weeks ago. Right now, however, I think Carson should check you for the ATA gene. You can’t imagine how important that is.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Everyone was just as surprised as Carson and Peter had been to hear that Harper had the ATA gene - well, everyone save Major Vogel, that is, who’d seen the lifesign detector react to the little engineer, during the siege. He’d just forgotten about it in all the hassle. Which was understandable, considering the fact that he’d had to go back to infirmary with his reopened feeding wound, shortly thereafter.
Now, however, he was fully healed again, and the memory of the Ancient tool reacting to Harper resurfaced again.
“He told me he had touched something in the Gate room of the Hoffans, and the thing began to sparkle in multicoloured lights,” Tyr remembered. “The Hoffans said that the machines reacted like that sometimes, but they had no idea what the cause might have been.”
“That’s interesting,” Rodney said. “This would be the first time that we found ATA gene carriers in the Pegasus galaxy. The Athosians don’t have it all, and not even the gene technology works for them… as if the Ancients had deliberately left it our of their genetic make-up. Or blocked it some way.”
“Of course, the thought to test the Hoffans never occurred to us,” Carson added thoughtfully. “We were… otherwise occupied at that time. I’d like to do it at some time, though.” He looked at Theresa. “Finding natural gene carriers in the Pegasus galaxy could change the balance of power considerably… and endanger the Hoffans even more. This possibility mustnae be mentioned anywhere outside this room.”
Dylan Hunt, who’d recovered aboard the Andromeda as well as it was possible for a person of a hundred and thirty-something years and accepted an invitation to visit Atlantis, shifted in his seat.
“Can you tell me what exactly this ATA gene is?” he asked.
“It’s a genetic fingerprint,” Carson explained, “which allows someone such as me to operate any technology on Atlantis. I was actually born with the gene, just like Dr. Kusanagi and several other people, which makes us much more proficient at operating Ancient technology.”
“Right, and you forget the point where you’re deadly afraid to use it, which makes you an even lousier pilot than I am,” Rodney commented.
Carson gave him an annoyed look. “In any case,” he continued, “I developed an inoculation which allows those who don’t naturally possess the gene, such as Doctor McKay, to be able to use some of the Ancient technology as well. Of course, an artificial gene never works quite as well as a natural one,” he added smugly.
“I see,” Dylan said thoughtfully. “Is it possible, then, that these Ancients of yours once existed in our universe, too?”
“Theoretically… aye, it is possible,” Carson replied. “Although it’s not bloody likely, considering how far apart our realities are.”
“Well, in our reality, the Pegasus galaxy has been quarantined for millennia,” Dylan reminded him, “because all scout ships sent there either got lost or returned with the desiccated corpses of a dead crew aboard.”
“That would mean that at least the Wraith must exist there, too,” Teyla said with a frown.
“But if they do, the Ancients must have existed there, too,” Rodney pointed out. “We do know that the Wraith were created when the Ancients accidentally introduced human DNA to the iratus bugs. No Ancients, no Wraith.”
“Those people could have encountered the iratus bug itself,” Carson said.
Rodney shrugged. “Perhaps. But the ATA gene is definitely of Ancient origins. If Harper has it, there had to be Ancients on Earth at some point of its history. What happened to them? Why aren’t there any stargates in your reality… and no Goa’uld either, for that matter?”
“Their history must have run along very different lines,” Dr. Corrigan, the head archaeologist of Atlantis said. “Perhaps they never built Stargates, concentrating their research on building startships instead. Without Stargates, the Goa’uld of your reality are perhaps still swimming in the primordial waters of P3X-888, fighting with the local Unas for dominance.”
“And what happened to the Ancients?” Theresa asked. “Have they all ascended and left this level of existence behind?”
“That would be one possible explanation, yes,” Corrigan answered. “It would explain why not even the Commonwealth had ever heard of them, despite consisting of three galaxies and having a level of technology to their disposal that rivals that of the Ancients.”
“Or perhaps they are a completely different species in our reality,” Dylan said. “The Vedrans certainly…”
Carson shook his head. “No, Captain. The Ancients were entirely humanoid. In fact, they were the first manifestation of the human form, That is why some of us were born with a natural ATA-gene.”
“Does this mean that other members of my crew could also have the gene?” Dylan asked.
“In theory, aye,” Carson said. “But in fact, Mr. Harper is the only one who actually has it. I assume all that genetic engineering you folks are so fond of has the gene removed from the stock everywhere but on Earth.”
The gleeful smile spreading all over Harper’s face could have illuminated a rainy day.
“Oh, this is rich,” he declared smugly. “I’ve been treated like some street rat all my life because I’m an nonenhanced little mudfoot from Earth, and it turns out that all those wonderful enhancements have gotten rid of the gene that can make the coolest technology in four galaxies work! Man I do so love poetic justice! Speaking of which... can I object to the Übers getting the artificial thing? They’ve got every other advantage; it would be only fair that they had to leave something to other people.”
“There’s no need for ya to object, Mr. Harper,” Carson said, ignoring Tyr’s growl. “The gene therapy wouldnae work for Nietzscheans. The drastic changes in their genetic make-up make them incompatible.”
“What about us?” Beka asked. “I mean, Dylan won’t be flying any combat missions, due to his current shape,” she glanced at Hunt apologetically, “but I’d love to try my hand on one of those puddle jumpers of yours. And you could use another experienced pilot.”
“We can try,” Carson said doubtfully, “but I wouldnae be too optimistic, love. Even regular humans of your universe have been genetically tampered with to an extent that would make the gene therapy… well, risky at best. I’d say we should stick to Mr. Harper, for the time bein’. His natural gene is so strong it matches Major Sheppard’s, at the very least. In fact, it’s quite extraordinary.”
“The Harper is extraordinary,” the little engineer said in deep satisfaction. “That’s sweet. I think I’m beginning to love this galaxy.”
The others laughed. Perhaps Beka was the only one who had at least an inkling what it truly meant the often-ridiculed little mudfoot to have something - and something of such profound importance - that the others couldn’t even hope to have. There was something in the eyes of the Lantean people that hadn’t been offered Harper all too frequently: respect. One couldn’t blame him for basking in it a little.
“But what do you need me for?” he asked. “You guys have got plenty of people with the natural gene, haven’t you?”
“Sure,” Theresa replied, “but nobody had one quite as strong as yours. Atlantis reacts better and faster to the stronger natural genes, and sometimes even seconds can matter.”
Harper digested that piece of information for a moment… then his eyes widened in awe. “You mean the city is sentient?” he asked.
“Well, yes… more or less,” Rodney answered. “I mean, it’s not only a city, you know, it’s also a starship, and it’s only logical that she would react the same way as the jumpers do to their pilots, and…”
“Rodney!” Theresa’s voice was sharp and disapproving. “I thought we’ve agreed that this particular aspect of Atlantis won’t be discussed for the time being. “No offence intended,” she added, glancing at Hunt, “but I’m sure you won’t spread the blueprints of your ship right away, either. Not even for allies.”
Dylan nodded. “True enough.”
“Man!” Harper had recovered from his shock in record time. “A starship of the size of a city… That’s more than anything even the Commonwealth could come up in its heyday! You mean she can actually fly?”
“She could, if we had the right energy source; which, unfortunately, we don’t,” Rodney answered impatiently. “Same problem we have with powering up the Gate enough to get home.”
“You mean you’d need one of those zippo things?” Harper asked.
Rodney glared daggers at him. “Zed-P-M,” he corrected, emphasizing every syllable as if he’d be speaking to a particularly slow-witted child. “They’re called ZedPM: zero point modules, because… forget it, we can discuss the particulars later. Bottom line is: no, one of the things can’t make Atlantis fly. Fort hat trick, you’d need three of them. Regularly, the city should be equipped with six ZedPMs to be fully operable. Unfortunately, we don’t even have a single one. Atlantis is a ten-thousand-year-old relic, the energy sources of which have been completely depleted while she was sitting on the bottom of the ocean.”
“The shield,” Harper guessed. “It must have had a forcefield to withstand the pressure of so much water.”
“Right,” Rodney said. “And since our naquadah generators can’t produce nearly enough energy to operate the shield, we’re practically sitting ducks. Target practice for the Wraith or anyone who can shoot at us from orbit.”
“That is why we’re so relieved to have the Andromeda above us,” Theresa Weir added. “Until we find an alternate energy source, you’re our first line of defence.”
“We’ll have to leave in short order, though,” Dylan said. “The ship has suffered severe damage in the battle with those Wraith hive ships. We need to make repairs in order to remain battle-ready.”
“Can our engineers help you with that?” Theresa asked. “I mean, we need to repair the damage in Atlantis, too, but we surely can spare a few people, now that Dr. Zelenka has recovered.”
Dylan looked at Harper. “What do you think, Mr. Harper?”
“Well, the first order of things would be to take Andromeda into the asteroid belt, so that she can mine for the necessary minerals,” Harper answered, “but yeah, some help would be good. Especially now that the bugs are gone to take care of their spawn. We’re seriously undermanned in the machine shops, boss.”
“Discuss the details with Dr. McKay and Dr. Zelenka,” Theresa said. “They would know whom they can let go for a while. Can you take a couple of our geologists with you though? We need to look for naquadah, in order to build some more generators to replace the ones we’ve lost. There is but a small chance to find naquadah here, extremely rare mineral as it is, but we need to try, at the very least.”
Dylan nodded. “I see no problem with that. Send any scientist you want. It will be good to have more people on board again. Sometimes the ship seems so… empty.”
“Just like the city,” Theresa replied with a wistful smile. “All right, then; one thing settled, several hundreds to go. Carson, how’s medical research on the Magog DNA versus Wraith enzyme going?”
“We’ve managed to clear Mr. Anasazi’s system of all traces of Magog DNA,” Carson replied. “Still working on the possibility of using it to neutralize the Wraith feeding enzyme, but that’s a long shot. I cannae guarantee you any quick results.”
“Is there any chance to use Magog DNA as a weapon against the Wraith?” Tyr asked.
Carson gave him an appalled look. “I’m not workin’ on a bloody biological weapon here, man!” he protested.
“Perhaps you should,” Tyr said calmly. “You klu… you humans can be so unreasonable sometimes. Do you believe the Wraith would hesitate to eat or murder any of you, in order to find a way to your precious Earth, where they could eat the rest of your people?”
“That’s no reason to commit genocide,” Carson snapped.
“You display the same sentimental folly the Commonwealth showed towards the Magog,” Tyr said. “You must stop thinking of the Wraith as people. Yes, they are sentient, but they are also ruthless monsters who do not consider you anything else but dinner. Kill them, or they will kill you. It is that simple.”
“That attitude wouldn’t make us any better than they are,” Kirkitadze said dryly.
“And all your current attitude would make you is a desiccated corpse with a good conscience,” Tyr retorted. “You humans truly disgust me with your moralising stupidity. When your survival is at stake, you cannot afford the luxury of being concerned about ethics.
“That is your view on life,” Theresa said coolly, the Diamond Than’s warnings echoing in her mind. “We happen to see things differently.”
“Fine,” Tyr growled. “Be a fool. I am certain that I can find other people in this galaxy with a healthier sense of self-preservation.”
“You already have,” his Second Wife, now fully equipped with bone blades and superhuman strength, said calmly. “My government is more than interested… and our scientists have the necessary samples to do our own research.”
Theresa gave her a bewildered look. “But you’re already immune against the enzyme!”
“That’s true,” Lavinia Anasazi replied, “but we’d like to beat the Wraith without using our own bodies as a weapon. A Wraith feeding attempt, even an unsuccessful one, is anything but pleasant.”
Harper, Dylan and Major Vogel shuddered in unison.
“No kidding,” the major said. “However, I personally do have a problem with biological warfare… or with genocide, plain and simple. My people have done it before - or, at the very least, they tried. Our entire society is still suffering from the consequences. Nietzscheans might not have a problem with it, but mere humans aren’t made to carry that sort of burden for generations.”
“A strange statement for a soldier,” Tyr commented.
“Not really,” Vogel said. “As you say, I’m a soldier. I might have to kill to protect others, but I’m not a murderer.”
“And I ain’t one of those mad scientists bound for world domination,” Carson added. “My experiences on Hoff have shown me clearly where the line is I wouldnae cross.”
Tyr shrugged. “It is your funeral. Yours and of those who will die just because you are too queasy to use the weapon that could save them.”
Carson became red-faced with indignation, but Theresa raised a hand before he could think of a suitably sharp answer.
“This is a topic for a longer and more specific discussion,” she said. “For the time being, let’s figure out the best way to cooperate as we go: step by step. Rodney, see that you select the engineers who’ll go with the Andromeda. I’ll reinstate connections with Hoff, so that Mr. Anasazi and those Perseid gentlemen who are still there can have an easier way to travel. Everything else will right itself in time… or so I hope. Any other things we need to discuss right now?”
There were none. The details would need time and a lot of work to be figured out.
“Good,” she said. “This meeting is adjourned, then. I’m expected in the infirmary to greet our newest citizens, now that they have finally returned from the mainland.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Athosian tradition demanded that a child should have close ties with the soil of the planet he or she lived on. Usually, they were conceived and born on the naked earth, and they spent the first six years of their lives planet-bound, unless they had to flee from a culling - an all too frequent event in the Pegasus galaxy. Despite their rural lifestyle, they knew well enough how to use technology, though… they just chose a life close to nature. It also made them less visible to the Wraith, but that wasn’t the main reason. First and foremost, they wanted to form a close bond with their homeworld, whichever planet that happened to be.
That Anika and Marta would come to Atlantis after less than two weeks of giving birth was highly unusual. Atlantis might be the city of the Ancestors and thus considered a sacred place by many, but it was also an artificial structure, made of cold metal. The Athosians - with the sole exception of Teyla - only came there when it was inevitable. Sentient or not, it felt dead to them, unlike the soil of the mainland.
But Anika and Marta had both unusual families. They had bound themselves o the Earth people, and the part of the family that lived in Atlantis had the right to be with the children as well. So they had decided for a short visit, making both Carson and Radek very happy. Besides, the children needed their basic inoculations, so it was only reasonable to come to the infirmary and be done with it in one session.
When Theresa Weir entered the maternal ward, she saw an idyllic picture unfold before her eyes. Radek Zelenka, his bruises faded almost into nothingness, was holding his son, whom they had named Toran, after Marta’s late husband, who’d been taken by the Wraith at the same tame as Colonel Sumner. The baby had Marta’s colouring and soft features, but the intense blue eyes of his father. In the official records of Atlantis, he was mentioned as Toran Aleksandr (after Radek’s brother) Zelenka, but Toran was the name that actually mattered.
Anika and Carson’s daughter, Fiona (named after Carson’s mother) was a curly blonde, blue-eyed baby, who already furrowed her tiny brow the same way her father did when confronted with a serious problem. It was an adorable sight, and her second Mum, tough-as-nail ace pilot Lisa Lindstrom, visibly melted into a puddle at it. Theresa had the feeling that Lt. Lindstrom would be asking for maternity leave, sooner or later.
And then there was Tamerlane Anasazi: a baby boy of considerable size, with a caramel skin somewhere between the colouring of his mother’s and his father’s, jet-black hair coiled in tight curls and his father’s amber eyes. His little arms were still smooth, with only barely noticeable bumps where one the vicious bone blades would break through. Freya and Lavinia both radiated pride and happiness, and Leonidas Anasazi, as the former Leuk Kassai was called now, was every bit the proud big brother. He, too, looked fully Nietzschean now, his still growing bone blades neatly flattened against his forearms, and he’d begun to grow out his hair the same fashion as Tyr wore his.
Watching the new families, Theresa understood that Carson had been right. They were leading a life here that was very different from the one they had left behind on Earth. For Radek and Carson - and for Stackhouse, too, whose wife was due to give birth any time now - future was here in the Pegasus galaxy.
And regardless if they ever found a way to reconnect with Earth, many might follow them indeed.
Perhaps she should make that first, all-deciding step towards Peter Grodin as well. This was her life now, too, and as Carson had said, there was no reason to spend it alone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria by Barbarossa was standing on the observations deck of the Andromeda Ascendant and looking down at the planet Lantia in deep satisfaction. His First Wife had given birth to a strong and healthy son, with excellent genes. His Second would follow suit soon enough. As soon as her body had fully recovered from the strain the changes had put on it. Tyr was looking forward to fathering another child, but he was in no particular hurry. It was important that Lavinia would be in best health at the time of conception, and besides, they had time.
Time that he needed to put to best use to teach his adopted son what it meant to be a Nietzschean, and a Kodiak at that. Leonidas was eleven years old - almost a man in Nietzschean terms - but he had not benefited the traditional teaching and training a Kodiak child would get in its youngest years. They had a lot to catch up with - and later, when Leonidas had learned enough, Tyr would take him to some deserted planet and test his survival skills in the Kodiak survival ritual. Then and only then would Leonidas truly be allowed to put down his childhood name and wear the proud one he had been gifted upon.
So yes, he had time. He was virile and healthy again, thanks to the efforts of his Second and the kludge doctor. He’d have enough time to father more children with the wives he already had… and to look out for other wives, adding promising genetic traits of other human fractions to the Kodiak gene pool; perhaps even find some more potential converts. He was good at long-time plotting. His previous life had taught him patience.
Right now, his place was aboard the Andromeda, no matter how much he would have preferred to stay in Atlantis with his family. He had not forgotten Rev Bem’s warnings. He needed to keep an eye on Trance, in case she was going to try something foolish or dangerous - or both. Rommie had promised to watch the creature, but Tyr didn’t trust anybody but himself when it came to the safety of his family.
All in all, his plans were developing nicely. They might be lost in a foreign galaxy - in a foreign universe, to be more accurate - but they had a bright future before them. A much brighter one that he could have hoped for at home. Sure, at home he would have done anything to take his vengeance on the Drago-Kazov Neanderthals. But here he could recreate his entire people, making a whole race bear his genetic stamp. What could a Nietzschean have wished for more?
Immortality, in the form of countless progeny, was within his reach. So was power and leadership in a galaxy that needed strong leaders against a mighty foe. He was determined to grab both and make his name unforgettable.
~The End~