STARGATE SG-1 STARGATE ATLANTIS: Points of Origin - Volume Two of the Travelers' Tales (SGX-03) (STARGATE EXTRA (SGX-03)) Page 27

  “Later guys,” Colonel Sheppard said. “We got what we need, now unhook your gear and let’s get outa here.” He put a hand to the radio he wore on his vest. “Daedalus, this is Sheppard. Do you copy?”

  As they disconnected their equipment, Hermiod noticed the mass in the adjacent chamber begin to move.

  There was a hiss of static and Caldwell’s scratchy voice could barely be heard through the interference. “Sheppard, we’re here but we’re having trouble locking on transporters.”

  The fleshy mass was pulsating now, trembling. Hermiod withdrew a step. “Colonel Sheppard,” he said. “I believe we have another problem.”

  As he watched, the flesh ballooned, swelling under the long black coats of the dead Wraith warriors, mixing with the white hair. Blood boiled and the mass began to rise, limbs combined with bone, skulls merging. At the center of the new creature, the red hair of a Queen flowed. Her mouth opened and she keened.

  “Oh crap,” Sheppard said, lifting his weapon. Into his radio he barked, “Caldwell, we need to get outa here!”

  “Can’t do it,” came the reply. “Looks like the hive’s shielded.”

  “Daedalus, standby,” Sheppard said, dropping his hand from the radio to his weapon. “McKay!”

  “Already on it.” Dr. McKay bent once more over the Wraith screen, fingers flying across the interface.

  Ronon and Teyla took the front line of defense, while Colonel Sheppard anchored the center. Although he was not present in the flesh, Hermiod withdrew behind them as they fired into the mass. As he had feared, their weapons had little effect; the creature simply absorbed the bullets.

  “Sheppard,” Caldwell said, “you need to hurry — something weird is happening to that hive. It looks like it’s melting.”

  “Trust me, we’re hurrying. Things are a little weird down here too.”

  As he spoke, a gray tendril snaked out from the Wraith mass and grabbed Ronon, lifting him from the ground, aiming him for its mouth. His arms pinned to his side, he could not fire. But Teyla unsheathed a dagger and kicked off the wall, launching herself onto the creature and stabbing at its limb. The thing screamed, splitting the flesh around its mouth, and dropped Ronon.

  Spinning in mid-air, Ronon managed to both land on his feet and open fire at the same time. The creature howled, but did not retreat.

  “Rodney!” Sheppard barked. “How long?”

  “This isn’t fair! I’m under a lot of pressure here and I didn’t have a good breakfast. I think there was citrus juice in that fruit salad. I feel my throat swelling up.”

  Hermiod had hoped he wouldn’t have to connect his mind to the corrupted Wraith systems, but it was clear now that he had no other choice. He reached out and touched the Wraith data core, found the input paths and downloaded part of his mind directly into the alien systems. The communication stone translated a simulation of the hive’s mind into his own, and as the living ship sensed his presence he felt a sticky web begin to ensnare his thoughts.

  The web vibrated, speaking to him. You are sick, old one.

  “As are you,” Hermiod responded. He searched the web, seeking the systems that controlled the hive’s shielding. He sensed great danger here; the hive was protecting itself and in his mind it was as if an iratus bug crawled through the web toward him. He knew he was close to what he sought, the creature’s mandibles punching for him just as he located the shield controls. It stabbed at his mind, a driving pain that obscured his vision, but he fought it off long enough — he hoped — to deactivate the shields. The moment it was done, he wrenched his mind out of the network, freeing himself from the deadly environment. But, even sick as it was, the hive was too strong. It overwhelmed his holographic communication systems and started to follow his mind back to the Daedalus. Desperate, Hermiod flung himself away and shattered the connection.

  When he returned to awareness, he found himself sitting at his station in engineering.

  “Hermiod,” Dr. Novak asked, concerned. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  He had to focus through a cloud of pain in order to check the console before him. “I am well,” he assured her after a moment, and felt a swell of relief when he saw that the hive’s shielding was indeed down. “Colonel Caldwell,” he said, opening communications to the bridge. “I am transporting Colonel Sheppard’s team directly to the bridge.”

  By the time Hermiod reached the bridge, Daedalus was under fire. Colonel Sheppard and his team were there, looking shaken but unharmed as they watched the battle unfold on the view screen.

  “Shield’s holding,” reported Lieutenant Jordan from the operations station.

  “Target all forward railguns,” Caldwell barked. “Fill missile tubes one and two. We can’t let them leave with what they know.”

  Enemy fire smacked the Daedalus’ shields and an arc of super-accelerated ordinance streamed from the railgun turrets toward the hive. Unfortunately, it did not appear to be sufficient to destroy the ship.

  “Shields are down to twenty percent,” reported an airman. “The hive is focusing on our hyperdrive.”

  “Colonel,” Sheppard said. “Hermiod disabled their shielding…”

  Caldwell looked at him. “Can we beam a nuke aboard?”

  Hermiod did not like the plan, but Colonel Caldwell had not asked for his opinion. “We can,” he said. “I will need to make some modifications to the weapon from my station in engineering.”

  “Then do it,” Caldwell said.

  “I will accompany you,” Teyla’s said, her offer surprising Hermiod.

  Few of the crewmembers, sans Dr. Novak, volunteered to spend time with him, and Novak’s awkward affections proved to be vexing at times. Still, he had promised Supreme Commander Thor that he would try to facilitate a better social integration with the human crew. Apparently, there had been some complaints about ‘arrogance’ in his last personnel report from Colonel Caldwell. “As you wish,” he said to Teyla.

  Sheppard nodded at her and she hurried with Hermiod to engineering. It was not an easy journey. Pipes vented gas, and power flickered throughout the ship. Crewmembers ran past conducting damage control, nearly knocking Hermiod over several times.

  But at last he reached his station and climbed onto the platform in front of the Asgard console. The wall monitor behind him lit up, displaying damage to the Daedalus, and runes reported down the sides of the image as he adjusted the control stones.

  Hermiod detested Colonel Caldwell’s plan, but he understood the necessity of stopping the Wraith. He deactivated the safeties on the fission device within the weapon, then transported it into the hive’s engine cooling chamber. There, it could not be reached in time to be deactivated.

  “The weapon is deployed,” he reported to the bridge. “Detonation in five, four, three, two…”

  The shockwave hit the ship, rocking her enough that Hermiod was forced to hold on to keep his balance. The hive, and all life aboard it, was destroyed.

  Hermoid dipped his head in acknowledgement of the fact. “We’ve given these infants too many toys to play with,” he said in his own language.

  From behind him, Teyla said, “The Wraith devour entire worlds.”

  He blinked at her, unsure whether she had understood his language or whether she had simply sensed his discomfort. Teyla was extremely perceptive, even by human standards.

  “Indeed,” was all he said.

  Then, to cleanse his thoughts of the destruction he’d wrought, he focused on the biological analysis of the data he’d collected from the anomalous Wraith mass.

  Teyla lingered close by while he worked, her presence distracting. He did not understand why she was still there now that the battle was over. “If you are not busy,” he said at last, “I find that I work better alone.”

  “Yes,” Teyla said. “You have made
your discomfort around humans well known. Though of late, you seem to be more troubled.”

  Her answer surprised him. After some thought, he decided to allow himself a moment of self-indulgence. “Your people are… spiritual?”

  Teyla tightened the cords on her tactical vest, keeping herself ready, on edge. “Most of our religion is based on the return of the Ancestors to deliver us from the Wraith. I once believed them to be gods and their city to be an ethereal plane where we could all live forever in safety — where we would meet again the loved ones taken by the Wraith.”

  “But now that you have joined the expedition from Earth, your perceptions must have changed.”

  Teyla inclined her head in agreement. “I have found my faith interrupted, but my response to what I have learned has proven flexible. The Ancestors were indeed once flesh and blood, but now they have ascended and watch us like gods.”

  Hermiod felt a stab of pain, the symptoms of his disease rearing up once more, and with a thought released more of his medication. Its anodyne properties cleared his thoughts, though the effects would eventually diminish. “There are many primitive races that view the Asgard as gods,” he said. “We have allowed them this view, although we have rules about interfering in their natural development. We would have told them the truth of our existence once they had developed sufficiently.”

  “You speak of this as if it is in the past.”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t divulge the truth to this human, but his people would not see another solar rotation of their world. “The Asgard were once mortal like you, or at least shorter lived and more vulnerable to disease and aging. Our species’ evolution became solely based on technology, and without the primal fears of primitive races the need for religion declined. Though we still traded stories to entertain, I’ve always found such stories frivolous.”

  “You are frightened,” Teyla said, startling him again with her perception. “And you are looking for comfort in religion.”

  “During the last cycles, I have reviewed many of the old stories and legends of my people.”

  “What is religion but old stories?”

  Hermiod had always prided himself on his intellect, validating his existence with his mental accomplishments. Now, as a result of his people’s final attempt at genetic manipulation to correct the cloning failure, a degenerative disease was destroying his mind. It was hard to describe what was happening to him, but a single archetype from his research into ancient Asgard myths haunted him: Fenrir, the wolf, the devourer of the sun. And the symbol of disease. It hunted his people now, and it would indeed devour them all in the end.

  An alert on his console drew his attention back to the present; the analysis of the data was complete. Hermiod began to review it, but what he saw filled him with a sudden, sharp fear. The Asgard, it seemed, were not the only race to be hunted a wolf.

  He looked up at Teyla. “I require the presence of Colonel Caldwell and the Atlantis team immediately.”

  “I have determined that the phenomenon we witnessed on the hive ship is indeed an infection,” Hermiod said. “The disease is operating at a level of complexity I have only seen in one circumstance before — and I believe you are all infected.”

  “Oh this is bad,” Dr. McKay said, reviewing Hermiod’s data. “This disease looks like it’s been engineered…”

  While they spoke, Hermiod surreptitiously scanned for signs of disease among the humans. Unfortunately, the Atlantis team and the rest of the bridge crew were already suffering from varying levels of infection.

  “…it’s using a level of chemical engineering beyond anything I’ve ever seen,” Dr. McKay was saying, as he checked a status report on one of the work stations. “Oh good, at least the hyperdrive is still down.”

  “That’s good?” Ronon said.

  “Well we can’t risk carrying the disease to any inhabited world,” McKay said. “We’ve seen what it did to the Wraith.”

  “Yes, but how can we cure it?” Teyla asked, her attention turning to Hermiod.

  “First, we will need to know more about the infection source,” he said. “According to the Wraith logs, they searched the source of the lone signal we picked up — the nearby asteroid — and returned to their ship infected. I have the coordinates and I believe there is a structure within the asteroid that is habitable. It is most likely that it is the source of infection.”

  “So we beam down and find the cure?” Colonel Sheppard asked.

  “It is unlikely to be so simple,” Hermiod said. “But perhaps we will discover the data we need to synthesize a treatment.” He hesitated before he continued. “However, we cannot all go.” He moved to stand closer to Colonel Sheppard. “I believe everyone aboard the ship is infected, Colonel Sheppard, but you and Dr. McKay will exhibit few immediate symptoms. You are disease carriers.”

  “Nice.”

  “Others,” Hermiod continued, “such as Ronon and Teyla, will succumb swiftly.” He looked at Teyla with sorrow. “Your minds will soon be overtaken by the disease.”

  Ronon reached for his weapon and Hermiod backed up a step. “What does that mean?”

  His face, Hermiod noticed, was starting to gleam with sweat and there was something dark feathering the whites of his eyes. It only confirmed what the scan had already revealed. “It means the disease will soon control your higher brain function.”

  Teyla said, “Then you must go, John. You and Rodney. Leave us here, and find a cure.”

  Sheppard looked torn. “I can’t just —”

  “You must,” Hermiod insisted. “It is your only chance to save them. And yourself.”

  While they’d been talking, several of the bridge crew had set aside their duties and now sat, listless, in their chairs, or stood with their arms hanging at their sides. Their eyes were glazed, unseeing, laced with the same dark filigree he’d seen in Ronon’s eyes.

  “Colonel Sheppard…” Hermiod warned.

  “Yeah, I see it.” Sheppard eyed the bridge crew and reached for his weapon.

  “They are now subject to the wolf,” Hermiod said. “We must leave while we can.”

  As one, the crew rose from their stations, but still they did not approach. Nor did they blink. Even Ronon and Teyla had turned slack-mouthed and still.

  “Okay,” Sheppard said. “McKay, back up real slow.”

  “What? We’re leaving Teyla and Ronon behind?”

  “You heard him, we don’t have any choice!” Sheppard snapped, and even Hermiod could sense his distress.

  In silence, he followed Sheppard and McKay off the bridge. Once they were in the corridor beyond, Dr. McKay sealed the bulkhead. “That’s bought us a little time,” he said, “but they control all ship functions from the bridge.”

  “I can bypass the bridge stations from engineering,” Hermiod told them.

  Colonel Sheppard nodded. “So let’s go.”

  As they passed through the corridors of the ship, infected crew members turned from their perfunctory tasks or stood, motionless and glazed, the telltale filigree of black knotting through the whites of their eyes.

  “They are disorientated while the Fenrir — the disease — takes over their pre-frontal cortex,” Hermiod explained. “The microbe is unsure of how to control them. But once it can…” He did not believe he needed to say more; they were all familiar with what had happened to the Wraith.

  Once they reached engineering, Hermiod activated his hologram emitter in order to beam down with McKay and Sheppard. His doppelgänger manifested for a moment, but then scattered into a billion pixels. “The communication stones are suffering the same error as they did on the hive ship,” he said in confusion. “Something is interfering with them.”

  “Then I guess you’re just going to have to do it the old-fashioned way,” Colonel Sheppard said. “Let’s m
ove.”

  Hermiod nodded and activated the transporter.

  Sheppard materialized into darkness, into breathless air within the asteroid, and the sudden dislocation of the transporters was as disorientating as always. “Ugh,” he complained. “Did I mention I hate Asgard transporters? No offence, Hermiod.”

  “I am not offended.”

  Sheppard blinked into the darkness, distracted by a sensation of something familiar, like seeing an old friend from across the room. He sent a thought out, just in case he was right, and ahead of him a set of stairs lit up in rows, illuminating the language of the Ancients. “Well hello,” he said. “What have we here?”

  “Welcome to the city of… Discenna,” McKay read. “Please enjoy your stay. Discenna is the Ancient word for ‘to learn.’ An Ancient research colony, maybe, but what’s it doing out here?”

  Around them, a familiar operations center came sluggishly to life — a much smaller, less welcoming version of the one on Atlantis. It looked almost derelict but Sheppard didn’t need to see the decay to know that this place was sick; he could feel it like something cold and clammy on his skin.

  “This is fascinating,” McKay said, hooking up his laptop to the Ancient systems. Sheppard scanned the control room, turning a slow three-sixty, keeping his hands on his weapon. He couldn’t understand why the Ancients would build this place inside an asteroid, but he could see that in places the rock had smashed through windows as if it was somehow encroaching on the city. It seemed more likely that the asteroid had collected itself around the city.

  “Okay, we have one ZPM still clinging to life,” McKay reported. “Wow. This thing has been floating out here for eons.”

  “Reviewing navigational logs,” Hermiod said. “It looks like the city’s point of origin was the planet Dakara, in the Milky Way galaxy. It left near the same time as Atlantis left Earth.”