STARGATE ATLANTIS: Angelus Page 14

  Zelenka grimaced. He didn’t like guns. He had been given some extremely basic training in how to use them when he had joined the expedition, but he had found the entire process distasteful, and promised himself that he’d not pick a weapon up again if he could possibly help it. He left the gun where it was, and closed the door of the guard station.

  Although the corridor was quite cool, being so close to the open gallery, the coffee hadn’t been steaming. Zelenka wondered how long the post had been abandoned.

  He walked on past it, towards the door to Angelus’ lab. The door, he could see as he approached, was open, and warm light shone from within. According to McKay, the Ancient worked almost constantly, taking no more than an hour’s rest a day, if that. Whether that was due to his evolved physiology or his obsession, no-one could say.

  No sound, barring the hum of machinery, came from inside the lab. Zelenka slowed as he neared the door — maybe the Ancient was asleep after all. The technicians assisting him would have gone back to their own rooms by now, surely?

  He slowed, stopping just before he got to the door, and then leaned around it.

  Angelus was inside. Zelenka had not actually seen the Ancient before, but there could be no mistaking who he was looking at. He was clad in a kind of loose robe or toga made from shimmering golden fabric, and his skin was as pale as marble.

  The Ancient was standing in the middle of the lab, very still. He had his left hand raised, and he was looking intently at his own palm.

  Zelenka frowned, unable to determine exactly what was going on. Angelus had an expression on his face that was part interest, part puzzlement, and part… What? Something close, Zelenka decided, to wonder. It was as if the mechanics of his own limb were somehow fascinating him — he was turning the hand very slightly, flexing the fingers just a little, as though to study the way it moved.

  In the strange, shifting light from the display holograms behind him, Angelus looked to Zelenka almost completely alien.

  He backed away, slowly, until he was certain that his footfalls wouldn’t disturb Angelus in his reverie, and then turned and headed back towards the gallery. He could not interpret what was going on in the lab, but neither could he bring himself to interrupt it — partly through fear, but also from a sense that what he had witnessed was something desperately private.

  But whatever was happening here, he decided, Carter would need to be told. Even if Angelus had not seemed so strange, the empty guard post could not go unreported. Besides, Zelenka wanted to be away, and soon.

  The night had offered him enough strangeness already; it was a heady brew, and he could drink no more of it. It was making his head spin.

  The thought of the city core, so alien and impersonal a few minutes ago, was now heartbreakingly comforting.

  As he neared the guard post, he slowed. It was as empty as before, the door slightly ajar. When he looked in through the plexiglass he saw the gun and the mug just as he had left them. There was a thought in his head, a nagging itch of a thought that was so unlike him, so out of character that he couldn’t quite tell where it came from. But it wouldn’t go away.

  He was tired, that must have been the cause. Fatigue was finally catching up with him, he realized with a grim smile, and a heavy, muzzy feeling was taking hold of him from the neck up. Still, the thought was insistent.

  You’re a damned fool, he told himself. And as he did so he ducked into the guard station and grabbed the gun from the table.

  As soon as he had done it, he regretted it, but his feet were already carrying him away. He found himself starting to run, the gun heavy and cold in his fist. It was a hateful thing to hold, but there was a seductive nature to it as well. Trotting down the silent corridor, almost overwhelmed by nervousness and fatigue, there was something about the weapon that gave him strength.

  A stupid kind of strength, he knew. A foolish, false bravery that was more likely to get him into trouble than anything else. After all, hadn’t he just stolen a piece of military equipment?

  That thought struck him as he reached the end of the corridor, and brought him up short. He stopped, lifted the gun to stare at it. Almost, he realized with a shivering sense of irony, as Angelus had been looking at his own hand.

  He was still looking at it when he heard something next to him breathe.

  Chapter Nine

  My Little Eye

  If Zelenka’s day had been one of disturbing revelations, he was certainly not alone in that. Teyla Emmagan was faring no better.

  Things had started to go sour for her almost as soon as the day had begun, with her return trip through the Stargate. Teyla was used to walking out of the gate and into Atlantis; falling uncontrollably out of the event horizon was a bad way to come home. She’d not had any time to prepare herself for the trip back from Malus Rei, that was the problem. There had been no time to ready herself for the strange, headlong sensations involved in being flung between worlds. Instead, she had entered the rippling surface of the event horizon in mid-leap, desperately trying to evade a hail of Malan crossbow bolts.

  Although there was a degree of subjective time between entering one Stargate and leaving another — enough to remember the feeling of being hurled about, at least — in terms of objective time the journey was instantaneous. Teyla came out of the Atlantis Stargate in mid-air, the other half of the frantic jump she had made back on Malus Rei, but the Malan gate had been neglected so badly it was leaning askew on its foundations. The change in perspective was startling in other ways, too; Teyla started her leap at early evening, and ended in morning light, tumbling uncontrollably along the gate room floor.

  Dust, gritty and pale, puffed out along with her, as did several crossbow bolts. Thankfully, due to the angle of the Malan gate these whickered harmlessly over her head and clattered into the ceiling of the gate room.

  Teyla scrambled up, dropping into a fighting crouch with her gun raised, in case any Malans came out after her. But as she did so the gate closed, the mirrored surface of its event horizon scattering into quantum foam and spinning away to nothing.

  Half a crossbow bolt tumbled out of the foam and skittered forlornly along the floor.

  Teyla straightened up, and then turned to those who had gone before her. “Is everyone all right?”

  The rest of the team — three medics, two engineers and a handful of armed marines — nodded, raising clouds of gray powder as they did so. Malus Rei was prey to dust storms, and it was during a particularly violent one that the inhabitants had turned on them. Just like Teyla, all of them were covered in the stuff, and most had bits of cloth tied around their faces to keep the worst of it out of their lungs.

  “Very well,” she told them. “I will make my report to Colonel Carter. I suggest the rest of you take a shower and then get some rest. It has been a trying few hours.”

  She watched them disperse, trailing dust and grumbles, then wandered away from the gate. She stooped to pick up a bolt, and as she got up she saw that Carter was trotting in to meet her. “Good morning, Colonel.”

  “Teyla, it’s good to see you back in one piece. What happened?”

  Teyla coughed, tasting dust. “I am afraid things did not go well, Colonel. The Malans did not appreciate our efforts. Or our presence.”

  Carter was looking at the crossbow bolts littering the floor. “They attacked you?”

  “Their offspring did… I have to admit, being chased out of town by crossbow-wielding children is not an experience I have any desire to repeat.”

  “I’ll bet.” She glanced up at the operations balcony, and then stepped closer to Teyla. “Listen, we need to talk. Can you come up to my office?”

  “Of course.” Teyla unwrapped the cloth from her own nose and mouth. “Right now?”

  Carter smiled. “When you’ve gotten some color back.”

  As planets go, Malus Rei — Carter’s people called it M2S-318 — was largely unremarkable. It was dry, and dusty, and prone to storms, but it had a sizeable popula
tion, scattered in tough little townships that huddled around natural wells. During the previous day, Teyla had led her team through the Malan gate on a goodwill mission: the plan had been to visit several of the larger settlements and provide the inhabitants with medical supplies, food, and other material aid. Nothing would be asked for in return, but obviously there were benefits for the Pegasus expedition in terms of information and a growing network of local allies. Such missions had proved invaluable in the city’s previous location, and the tactic had been adopted again, now that the new resting place of Atlantis seemed to be permanent.

  The Malans, however, were simply not receptive to goodwill. Perhaps they had been culled once too often by the Wraith, or maybe the harshness of their dusty lives had made them naturally surly. Or perhaps, Teyla thought to herself, as she showered the powdery dust out of her hair, they were simply desperately unpleasant people. There were all kinds of humans in the galaxy, she knew. It would have been naïve to assume there were none who were, by their very nature, just plain bad.

  She should have found the Malan attitude to children a warning, she decided. Any race who regard their own offspring as expendable has serious issues. Although, she had to admit, using the children as warriors had a certain twisted logic. After all, when one is being chased by hordes of filthy, dust-caked youngsters — even those armed with crossbows and jagged iron knives — it is hard to shoot back.

  Well, from now on the Malans would be alone on their stormy little world, sending their children out into the choking dust to gather water and farm their tough, fibrous root crops. They had their way of life, and it would be folly to try and convince them it was wrong, even if it went against everything Teyla had been brought up to believe.

  Besides, there were people in the galaxy who not only needed help but would welcome it. In future, she would direct her energies towards such folk, and let those who were just plain bad make their own way.

  Carter was not alone in her office when Teyla arrived in the control room. She was talking to a young, dark-haired woman with glasses, and standing to one side of the office was a middle-aged man wearing what Teyla took to be Earth civilian clothing. She didn’t recognize either of them, and the emotions of the man were hard to read. But the woman seemed agitated, even afraid.

  Teyla found an empty seat and watched them, curious as to what was going on and unwilling to simply walk into what looked like a difficult situation. From what she could see, the woman had a request for Carter, and it seemed that the Colonel wanted to acquiesce. But she kept looking over to the man, and each time she did there was a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  Somehow, this civilian seemed to be in charge of the situation.

  It was a puzzle. Teyla did not know Colonel Carter well — the woman had only been in charge of the Pegasus expedition since the loss of Doctor Weir, not much more than three weeks earlier. Since that time she and Teyla had not interacted much, and the few conversations they had shared had been models of stiff professionalism. But from what she did know about Carter, Teyla couldn’t imagine her as someone who would give up authority easily. Whoever this man was, he must have been in a position of considerable power.

  After a few minutes, the young woman appeared to realize she was getting nowhere. When she left Carter’s office, the man went with her. Neither of them were talking, but the woman was plainly upset.

  Teyla watched them pass. As they did, she heard one of the techs near her curse under his breath.

  She turned to him. “Is something wrong?”

  The man — bearded, somewhat heavy-set — shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

  “Is there a fault with the Stargate?”

  He was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the control board in front of him. Then: “It’s not the Stargate. Look, perhaps I shouldn’t say, but…” He glanced briefly over to Carter’s office. “The girl who was just in there? She’s a friend of mine.”

  “I see.” Teyla moved her seat closer to the man. Franklyn, she remembered. “She seems troubled.”

  “Yeah, well… She’s been assigned to the Ancient’s tech team. Not like she’s been given any choice in the matter, either.”

  That was unusual. From what Teyla knew about the technical assignments on Atlantis, there seemed to be considerable leeway in who ended up with any particular task. She had seldom heard of anyone protesting an assignment, and never being refused in the way she had just observed.

  “So, your friend does not wish to work with Angelus?”

  Franklyn shook his head. “She’s won’t tell me why. But I swear, something that she’s seen down there has scared the living… Er, daylights out of her. I told her to see Carter, get reassigned. But it doesn’t look like she’s buying it.”

  Teyla looked over towards the office, and saw Carter beckoning her in. “I am due to see the Colonel now. Perhaps I could ask on your friend’s behalf?”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Let me talk to her again first. I don’t want to speak for her, you know?”

  “I understand. Thank you for being candid, Mr Franklyn.”

  She got up, and walked across the gangway to join Carter, pausing at the doorway. “Colonel?”

  “Teyla, please come in.” Carter was sitting behind her desk, and she gestured at the seat opposite her. Teyla moved it slightly away from the desk and sat, keeping her posture alert but neutral, hands folded in her lap. After what she had seen here, and heard from Franklyn, the atmosphere in the office was less than comfortable.

  Carter seemed to sense this. “Staffing problems.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “You and me both. Anyway, the Malan situation. I guess it went badly.”

  “I will submit a full report, Colonel. Suffice to say that I do not believe we should return anytime soon.”

  “From what I heard, if you hadn’t been on the ball things might have been a lot worse.”

  Teyla understood the expression, but she couldn’t help wondering where it stemmed from. How could one be on a ball and yet alert for danger? The language of Earth people, she had decided some time ago, was a stew of words. How they understood each other was a mystery, much of the time. “Thankfully, there were no injuries. All we lost was some pride and some time.”

  “Right…” Carter nodded absently. She seemed lost in thought, her fingertips tapping at the desktop nervously. Teyla, slightly disturbed but not wanting to break into Carter’s thoughts, simply waited.

  Finally: “Teyla, you’ve spoken to Angelus, right?”

  “Once, yes.”

  “How did he strike you?”

  Strike? Oh. “He was… Polite.”

  Carter raised an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

  “Intelligent. Extremely so. He seemed…” Teyla scrunched her face in thought, trying to put into words how Angelus had seemed when she had been with him. How could she effectively talk about the immeasurable sense of pain emanating from him? Or the regret, the loneliness? She had been talking to a man who had slept ten thousand years while his children built cities under mountains, and had seen them die in fire. Where were the words for that?

  “He was sad,” she said quietly.

  Carter sighed. “I know what you mean. But listen, there’s something else. When you talked, it was about the location of his homeworld, is that right?”

  “It is. Ronon and I found no information about the Eraavi or their home, so I asked Angelus to help me locate it in our database.”

  “And he was okay with that? He didn’t try to hide it, or give you the runaround at all…”

  Teyla didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “Colonel, what is this about?”

  Carter looked at her hard for a moment. “I’ve got reason to believe Angelus might have been lying about Eraavis.”

  “Lying? To me?”

  “To all of us. McKay is sure that Angelus couldn’t have made the trip across Replicator space in that ship of
his — it’s just too far.”

  “That is... I mean, I am very surprised. I had no sense he was being dishonest with me. Just the opposite. Colonel Carter, I would swear that he was telling me the truth.”

  Carter shrugged. “Maybe there’s been some kind of mistake. If Rodney’s figures are wrong… All I’m saying is, we have to be open to the possibility that Angelus lied.”

  “In which case, we should confront him.”

  Carter snorted. “Oh, I’d love to. But that man who was in here earlier? He’s an observer from the IOA.”

  “The group on Earth that tells you what to do.”

  “Yeah, them. Well, the Advisory want anything Angelus is selling, and they’ve sent that observer here to make sure we play ball. If I start accusing Angelus of screwing with us now, they’ll hear about it and drag him right back to Earth. My hands are tied.”

  Teyla sorted out the stew of words in her head. People were afraid Angelus would accidentally summon the Replicators if he began building his weapon again, she was quite aware of that. So of course he couldn’t be allowed to be taken to what was, by all accounts, a very populous world. The Advisory had made a highly effective threat. No wonder Carter had deferred to the observer.

  The Colonel’s hands were, metaphorically, tied. Her own were not. “I understand. This must be very difficult for you.”

  “I’ll get by.”

  “I am sure you will, with help.” She stood up. “I may have made an error when I located Eraavis. I think it would be useful if I did some… Research on the matter.”

  Carter smiled softly. “Thank you. Let me know as soon as you find anything. Personally.”

  The languages of Earth people were complex, it was true. And yes, sometimes it was hard to determine what they were saying. On the other hand, occasionally they could make themselves very clear indeed.