STARGATE SG-1 STARGATE ATLANTIS: Points of Origin - Volume Two of the Travelers' Tales (SGX-03) (STARGATE EXTRA (SGX-03)) Page 28

  “Makes sense,” Sheppard said. “Part of the Ancient exodus after the plague — Wait a second, is this disease the same one that wiped out the Ancients?”

  “No, Colonel Sheppard.” Hermiod continued to scan the Ancient database. “What has infected you is not the plague. It appears you are infected by the cure.”

  “The cure?”

  “It was designed to seek out the plague and destroy it,” he said, still reading. “The Ancients made it highly infectious, so that it would spread from world to world.”

  “Oh sure,” McKay sighed. “And what could possibly go wrong with that plan?”

  “A great deal, apparently,” said Hermiod, without a trace of irony.

  Sheppard glanced around the derelict control room. “I guess it’s too much to ask that they left a note behind letting us know how to cure the cure?”

  As if summoned by his thought — and perhaps it was literally true — a shimmering figure appeared at the top of the stairs. “Cool,” Sheppard said. “Right on cue.”

  “To all who approach Discenna, be warned,” the hologram said. “The city is quarantined and its star drive is disabled. We had hoped we could create a cure to the disease that wiped out our people, and continued our research as we traveled to our new home. However, we have failed and have suffered a containment breach. For the safety of the both galaxies we have marooned ourselves in this dead place. But be warned that you too are now infected with the cure we had intended as salvation and, for the same reason, you cannot be allowed to leave this place.”

  The bright city lights turned scarlet, shading the control room bloody. “Oh great,” Sheppard sighed. “Hermiod, get us outa here.”

  “One moment,” the Asgard said. “I am still downloading their data on the Ancient ’cure’.”

  “You heard the lady, we don’t have all day here…”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Uh-oh,” McKay said, his gaze fixed on his laptop. “Looks like the city’s taking precautions to keep us from leaving.”

  “What kind of precautions?”

  He looked up, face shadowed in the red light. “It’s deactivating life support, starting to vent oxygen.”

  “Okay, that’s it.” Sheppard grabbed Hermiod’s delicate arm. “We’re outa here. Now.”

  The Asgard nodded. “The download is complete; I have the data I require. Prepare to transport.”

  McKay snatched up his laptop, cables still dangling, and a moment later the white light of the Daedalus’s transporters embraced them and they were gone.

  The compartment to which Hermiod transported them was mostly used for storage and, as such, he hoped it would be empty of diseased crew.

  A box of MREs lay on its side, evidence of some disturbance, spilling out foiled packages onto the floor. Dr. McKay ripped one open and began to eat.

  Colonel Sheppard shook his head. “Really, McKay?”

  “What?” He stuffed the rest of the meal into his vest. “I don’t do well when my blood sugar falls too low.”

  “Fine,” Colonel Sheppard said. “I’m gonna head to the armory and get a zat to start taking care of the crew. You two, head down to engineering, make sure they don’t get the hyperdrive online, and start working on a cure. If we don’t find one, we might have to —”

  “Please don’t say it,” Dr. McKay said.

  “I won’t then.”

  Checking the corridor outside the store room, Colonel Sheppard gave Dr. McKay and Hermiod clearance to move out. Hermiod followed Dr. McKay through the corridors, moving quietly and avoiding the crew as much as possible until they reached engineering. Once inside, Dr. McKay sealed the bulkhead doors and Hermiod input a fractal code into the locking mechanism.

  “Crap,” Dr. McKay said, moving to check Dr. Novak’s console. “Looks like they’ve almost got the hyperdrive repaired.”

  Turning away from the door, Hermoid said, “I am enacting security protocols to attempt to secure the doors, but the infection is highly intelligent. I do not think it will hold for long.”

  “What?” Dr. McKay said. “What do you mean it’s intelligent?”

  “I learned from the Ancient database on Discenna that the design of the Ancient cure is similar to a Replicator cell,” he said. “Each cell itself is limited in function, but when networked together they form a single organism — a single intelligence.”

  McKay stared at him in silence, as if looking for a reason to dismiss his words. But then he snapped his fingers in the air. “So we’re not dealing with millions of individual bugs. Each one is a cell within an organism — a hive mind, just like the Replicators.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then maybe we can attack them like they’re Replicators? If we interrupt their communication, stop them from talking, then — boom — the whole organism fails. They’d just be inert cells drifting around our bodies and our immune systems could simply flush them out.”

  Hermiod inclined his head in agreement. “I believe you are correct. However, that raises the question of whether we should take such a drastic measure.”

  “Whether we should? Are you kidding?”

  “No, I am not making a joke,” Hermiod explained, with some confusion. “I do not know how intelligent the organism has become, but it is possible that I could use the communication stones to speak with it.”

  “Oh come on!” McKay scoffed. “You want to reason with the alien entity now? This isn’t Star Trek you know.”

  “I do not understand that reference, Dr. McKay, but I do think it is a plan worth pursuing. Survival is the prime motivation for all life forms, and if we can offer this one an alternative to its own destruction then it is possible that we can persuade it to leave the ship’s crew unharmed. And we will not be required to exterminate it.”

  “But what alternative can we offer it?”

  Hermiod blinked at him. “That, we cannot know unless we ask.”

  From beyond the doors, there came a sound. A slow, methodical hammering. “They must have sensed us trying to access the hyperdrive,” McKay said. “They’re trying to get in.”

  “We do not have much time,” Hermiod agreed. “Will you permit me to try and communicate with the Fenrir?”

  McKay frowned. “You’ve got about as long as it takes me to McGyver a way to interrupt its comms.”

  “Understood,” Hermiod said, and reached for one of the communication stones he had used to facilitate his holographic projection. “Using this, I should be able to communicate with the gestalt mind.” He made the necessary adjustments, altering the crystalline structure with a harmonic lance. Once he applied the power, the crystal would rotate frequencies until it made the connection.

  “Fine,” McKay said. “You’ve got two —”

  There was a moment of disorientation, of the world changing around him, and then Hermiod found himself at home.

  At least it felt and looked like Orilla — the new Asgard home world. The Asgard council had selected the world because of its atmosphere, strategic location, and rich deposits of neutronium that would have been used to rebuild the Asgard civilization. However, instead of finding a lush garden to plant their seeds, his people discovered only a bed on which to lay their heads for sleep.

  A breeze blew through the tall and ancient evergreens at the edge of the forest, and Hermiod stood alone in the wood. Avian lifeforms chirped from their perches in the high branches. The forests rolled over the granite hills and spilled out onto the crystal blue seas. The Ancients terraformed and seeded many such worlds in this fashion, and Hermiod had never seen just how beautiful their creation was. If flesh could become water and spirit grown into tree, perhaps the Asgard could have a place in time after all.

  He spotted Fenrir lurking in the shadows, the Ancient cure taking the f
orm of a wolf. Hermiod called to it. “Can you hear me?”

  The wolf stepped out of the shadows. It sniffed the air between them and its fur shimmered silver, flowing in mercurial motion. “We have waited,” Fenrir said.

  “My people understand waiting.”

  “We will soon leave the forest and travel to many worlds… and learn and grow and become more.”

  “I will have the means to stop you,” Hermiod said. “But I do not wish to. You are… not like the Wraith. Yet, you are not like humanity.”

  The wolf’s eyes looked to the double moons that hovered like promises of hope in the sky. “We wish to live. The Wraith showed us hunger, but we have seen compassion in the minds of the humans.”

  “They are the children of your creators, who also shared this gift.”

  “We do not remember our makers. We slept long, then the hungry ones woke us.”

  “You were created to heal. Perhaps you can heal us.”

  The wolf walked up to him, pawing the moss and reached up to touch his face. A kindness showed in its eyes — the kindness Hermiod’s people had seen in both the humans and the Ancients. It was then that he decided this species was worthy of survival.

  “We are sorry,” Fenrir said. “We can heal sickness, incorporate other microbes, but we cannot remake you.”

  That was as Hermiod had expected. “But you will leave the humans in peace,” he said. “And we will find you a home world on which to grow and thrive.”

  The wolf dipped its head. “Let it be so.”

  Hermiod stood alone in the council room of the Gladsheim on Othala — the great citadel that housed the Asgard government. The spires and cloisters of the cathedral had been rebuilt several times through the history of his people, and this would be its last incarnation. Sculpted metal towers glowed in the vibrant light from the system’s young sun, and runes of the ancient laws of the Asgard were carved down its surface. The hall’s many chambers housed the executive and scientific branches of the collective, and from here the top leaders in every field met to consolidate all current knowledge, preparing it to be presented to the humans if the council so approved. Chief Archon, Freyr, Thor, and Assir sat in their woven metal chairs at the conference table in the dark room. Penegal’s mind had degraded too far, and he was left to his peace and dignity along with the other two absent councilors. The gravity of Hermiod’s task weighed on his heart, but he vowed he would speak the truth no matter the consequences.

  “Hermiod,” Supreme Commander Thor began. “I commanded you a question. I now command your answer.”

  “Indeed,” Hermiod said. He found all the pretension bothersome.

  “In your opinion, are the humans ready to receive the sum of our knowledge? Will they use it in peace?”

  “No,” Hermiod said, certain of his answer. “They will use it in war.”

  “Perhaps it would be better to leave this universe in silence then,” Chief Archon said. Hermiod could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

  “I do not agree,” Supreme Commander Thor said. “The humans do not seek out war. They only seek to protect themselves. They emancipated the galaxy from the Goa’uld and now seek to fight an even more powerful enemy in the Ori — an adversary that surpasses even our power — and through our arrogance, we will not be here to help them.” The council showed their division, and Hermiod knew his report would be the deciding factor; he, Hermiod, had become Fenrir — destroyer or creator.

  “The humans will use this power to make war,” Hermiod said. “However, the Supreme Commander is correct. Our legacy will be used in the pursuit of peace. For this is the dual nature of humanity. This knowledge is all that we are: if what we leave behind creates war and destruction, then that was the true nature of the Asgard. If we trust who we are, then our work will create life and bring light to the universe. The humans have learned much from us and have used our tools to protect the less advanced races of the galaxy, as we would. Let them be our inheritors.”

  “Your final report?” Supreme Commander Thor inquired.

  “Their role is clear,” Hermiod said. “They are the Fifth Race.”

  Stargate SG-1

  Piper’s Song

  Laura Harper

  ‘Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives —

  Followed the Piper for their lives.

  From street to street he piped advancing,

  And step for step they followed dancing’

  — The Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning

  Though he wasn’t a permanent resident at his cabin in rural Minnesota, Jack O’Neill liked to think he knew the area as well as any local. And so he was pretty sure that if there had always been a sinister-looking mountain rising — no looming, this thing definitely loomed — above the forest lining the road into town, he’d have noticed it before now.

  There was the issue of the fish, of course. It was anyone’s guess where those had come from; in her official report, Carter had said something about causality and the timeline, but he didn’t know how a skirmish in Egypt five thousand years ago could mean his pond was suddenly populated by a whole school of Northern Pike. He’d shrugged it off though, on the firm understanding that Carter knew a lot more about this stuff than he did.

  A mountain, however, was a different story. He was almost certain that massive geological features didn’t just spring up overnight, regardless of whether someone had been futzing with past events on the other side of the world.

  He pulled his truck to a stop and grabbed his sunglasses from the dash, before squinting up at the soaring peak that lay black and craggy against the sun, throwing its shadow across most of the surrounding woods. “Huh,” he grunted.

  Jack reached over to where his cell lay on the passenger seat, but hesitated before picking it up. After a moment’s thought, he flipped it open, hit the camera button and snapped a few images of the strange mountain. His gut told him it was a threat, calling to mind old images of vast pyramids that came from the sky.

  Whatever the hell was going on it would have to be called in, but he wanted to be sure what they were dealing with here. And to find that out he guessed he’d need another, smarter, pair of eyes on the situation.

  The town was only another five minute drive up ahead, but with a final glance at the mountain, he put the truck in gear, swung a U and headed back to the cabin. He was aware of the black shadow in his rear-view mirror as he drove away. In the distance, he thought he heard music.

  If he was honest, Jack had half expected that the mountain wouldn’t even show up in the photos he’d captured on his cell — the world he lived in meant that the impossible was often commonplace — but there it was on the tiny screen, a dark outline against the clear morning sky.

  He scrolled through them as he opened the back door and walked into the kitchen.

  Footsteps echoed up the hall. “You know, leaving the crossword on my laptop to tempt me into finishing it still counts as me winning the bet.” He looked up at Sam leaning against the doorjamb, torn fragment of newspaper in her hand. “The twenty dollars means you have to finish it yourself.”.

  He hid a smile and walked over to snatch it from her hand. “Oh is that where I set that down? I was almost done too.”

  “Almost done? You had five filled in and four of them were the names of teams who made the playoffs in last year’s Stanley Cup.”

  “Well, listen to you, all experty on hockey.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty good at retaining information if I hear it often enough.”

  “I get that.”

  She smiled, and then glanced down at the phone still open in his hand. “So what were you looking so concerned about?”

  “Oh yeah, that. I was hoping you could take a look at something for me.” He handed her the cell phone and she squinted at the grainy imag
es on the screen. “What do you think?”

  She scrolled through the images and then looked up at him, nonplussed. “Um, it’s… a big mountain?”

  “It’s a big mountain that wasn’t there yesterday.”

  “What? Where?”

  “About five klicks west of here. In an area that I’m almost certain was all trees about twenty-four hours ago.”

  Sam turned her attention back to the screen. “You’re telling me this mountain sprang up overnight. I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  Jack shrugged. “And yet there it is. Any ideas?”

  She raised her eyebrows and puffed out her cheeks, a sure sign she was stumped. But he’d seen that look on her face before and he knew it wasn’t necessarily a permanent state. Already, she’d be trying to figure out the answer. Though he pretended otherwise, this was the part he liked to watch.

  “From the size of it, it could be a ha’tak. Only…”

  “It’s not their style? Yeah, that’s what I thought. If this was Goa’uld, we’d know it by now.”

  “And it can’t be related to anything we — or even the alternate we — did in ancient Egypt. I mean, sure, retrocausality could create a variance in local eco-systems, but of course you know that already…”

  “Sure I do.”

  “…but we’re talking tectonic movement here. I don’t see how our actions in the past could’ve suddenly just made a mountain.”

  He nodded and sat down at the table. “That’s what I thought. So, what then? Aliens?”

  “It seems likely.”

  Great. He sighed. “Don’t you just hate it when work follows you home?” Then, with a brighter expression, “So what say we go check it out?”

  There wasn’t really any need for the question. Sam was already on her feet, pulling her jacket from the peg behind the door. “I’ll call the SGC.”