02 - Reliquary (7 page)

Corrigan was saying, “I found some indications that part of the city might
have been in place before construction started on the repository, but most of it
is about the same age. We’re not looking at an intrusion into a long-term
occupation site.” He had found writing carved into some of the buildings, some
in Ancient and some that was completely unfamiliar. Teyla hadn’t recognized it,
either. There had also been some decorative carving, mostly worn down to nothing
by the weather, just a few ghostly traces of leaves and vines. Corrigan
continued, “I think the Ancients were building this place with the help of
another group. Whether they were humans or not, whether they were native to this
planet or not, I have no idea.”

They were sitting around a battery lamp, the bedrolls and other supplies for
the night stacked against the wall, the life sign detector out to make sure
nothing crept up on them in the dark. John would have preferred a campfire, but
it was really too warm for one, and the lamp was an adequate if less comforting
substitute. They could hear the sea from here, the distant roar of the waves
rolling up the rocky beach; after months of living in Atlantis, it was a
deceptively homey sound.

Listening to Corrigan, Kolesnikova had been drawing patterns in the dirt with
a finger. “I think we are all hoping, after what our friends found down in the
bunker, that the people who did that were not the Ancients.” She looked up,
regarding them all seriously. “Are we not?”

“Yeah. We are. At least I am.” John looked at Teyla, who just nodded soberly.

Kavanagh’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I still believe what we found was
part of a hospital. And considering that, there may have been a pressing need
for it, which explains why it was built inside the repository.”

John had settled across the battery lamp from Rodney, so he had a good view
of the elaborate eye roll, the rubbing the hands over the face, and the
exasperated gesture to whatever deity might be listening to grant something,
possibly patience or strength, to deal with Kavanagh’s boneheaded stupidity. At
least, that was John’s interpretation of what Rodney was doing over there.

“But with the Stargate, this place is only moments away from Atlantis,” Teyla
said pointedly. “If these people needed medical help, why not take them back
there?”

“Whether it was built by the Ancients or not, the underground was not a
hospital, or not just a hospital,” Kolesnikova told her. “There are devices
similar to the quarantine system in Atlantis, rooms that must have been
laboratories, also the remains of defensive capabilities, of weapons
manufacture.”

With a snort, McKay picked up the pack of MREs, digging through it and
holding the bags up to read the labels by the lamplight. “A hospital, quarantine
laboratories, and weapons development. What does that sound like to everybody,
dead people in little cells aside?”

“Biological warfare,” John said, setting a water bottle aside. He saw Ford
exchange a troubled expression with Teyla, and Kinjo gazed out the empty doorway
toward the repository. The others just looked grim.

Kavanagh frowned. “Not necessarily.”

“Oh, please.” Still flipping through the MREs, McKay threw him a sour look.
“You’ve been theorizing in advance of your data since we got here.”

“Atlantis has literally miles of laboratory space,” Kavanagh said, his voice acidic. “Why would they need to put a biological weapons
development laboratory out here, in a structure meant to house a meeting place
for other races or other human civilizations?”

“They didn’t,” McKay told him. He had finally selected an MRE and proceeded
to rip the package open. “True, the working laboratory space on Atlantis is
phenomenal. If they were pursuing a bioagent to use against the Wraith, we’ll
find it there. This just supports my point that the lower levels were not built
by the Ancients, or at least not the Atlantean Ancients.”

It was Kavanagh’s turn to roll his eyes. Kolesnikova rescued the supply pack
from Rodney and briskly started to pass out the bagged meals, putting an end to
the conversation with, “Let’s speak of something else while we eat, shall we?”

John thought that was the best idea he had heard all evening, and cut off
Kavanagh’s attempt at a rebuttal by turning to Teyla and explaining loudly what
chicken tetrazzini was and why she probably wouldn’t like it.

Earlier, John had taken the puddlejumper up to dial the Stargate back to
Atlantis and transmit his report, updating Elizabeth on what they had found,
their inconclusive conclusions so far, and what Rodney and Kavanagh had said
about the possibility of finding a ZPM. He had practically heard her reserving
judgment over the suggestion of an Ancient facility that might have experimented
on humans. And she must have read more in John’s voice than he had intended,
because she had asked, “How much more time do you think we should devote to
this?”

John had let his breath out. “At least another couple of days. Seriously,
from what McKay and the others are turning up, there’s every chance there is a
ZPM down there somewhere. What state it’s in is another story. But if we can’t
find it in the next couple of days, I’d recommend bringing in another team for a
longer stay. We just can’t pass up this opportunity.”

“Yes, I agree. We’ll reevaluate in twenty-four hours, if anything happens to
change your opinion.” There was a pause. “You sound resigned, rather than
enthusiastic.”

John hesitated, considering asking her if she had ever seen
Dawn of the
Dead,
or read
The Stand.
No, probably not. “Well, you haven’t seen
the working conditions. I’m going to complain to my union rep.”

“I see.” She had sounded amused, which was good.

Now people were digging into their food with the usual range of reactions
from disgust to dogged tolerance. McKay actually claimed to like MREs and never
complained about them; it was one of the things about him that made him an
unexpectedly low-maintenance companion on field missions.

Kolesnikova was asking Corrigan about Earth’s Atlantis myths. “How did the
stories of Atlantis come to center on the Greek islands, when the actual city
landed in the Antarctic region? Or was the word carried to Plato somehow, and he
set his version of the story in the land he was familiar with?”

“That’s always been my theory,” Corrigan told her, warming to the subject.
“Now, the island of Thera was always associated with Atlantis, usually because
of a volcanic eruption that destroyed the Greek settlement there. Part of the
island still exists today, with a giant hole in the center where the eruption
occurred.” He looked absent for a moment. “There’s a huge number of myths about
Greek vampires—Vrykolakas—associated with the modern island, which is called
Santorini. I hadn’t really given that any thought until we came here and
encountered the Wraith, but the association with Atlantis, and vampires, is a
little…indicative, if you think about it.”

Kolesnikova sighed. “Perhaps the Atlanteans visited Thera, and left some
warning about the Wraith there, that was perhaps destroyed by the eruption.
Cretan civilization was also thought to be very advanced, was it not?”

McKay was listening skeptically. “It’s probably a coincidence.” He turned to
John abruptly, asking, “Do you still find this place incredibly disturbing? Again, dead bodies in little cells aside.”

John lifted his brows, surprised at the abrupt turn. “Yes. It’s creepier
during the day than Atlantis ever has been at night, including during the time
the Darkness creature was drifting around eating power sources and attacking
people.”

McKay nodded. “Right. I’ve got a theory about that.”

“A theory?” John stared at him, brows drawing together. “Earlier today you
said I was insane.”

“That’s beside the point.” McKay shifted forward, explaining intently, “We
know the Ancient technology responds to humans who have the Ancient gene, either
naturally or artificially with the ATA therapy. We know the receptors must emit
some kind of field that allows them to interact with the human nervous system,
even though we can’t isolate it yet. And though it often seems to work best when
the operator is in physical contact with the device, it’s not always necessary.
So that field must be broadcast continually all over Atlantis, from the lights
to the stations in the operations tower. You’ve gotten used to the presence of
that field, even though you’re not consciously aware of it. The lack of it is
affecting you here because parts of this place are built with the same type of
materials that were used to build Atlantis, even if the construction is
inferior. Those materials may be affecting your perceptions, making you expect
to experience the field when it isn’t there, causing a cognitive dissonance.
Or—” McKay interrupted himself, staring distractedly into the distance. “Maybe
these people tried to duplicate the field for their own purposes, and it’s
broadcasting in a different range, causing us—you—to—”

“Hold it.” John put that Freudian slip of “us” together with the way McKay
had shut down the conversation about Corrigan’s vampire theory, which, if you
had to pick one or the other, went a lot better with dinner than the hospital
versus biological warfare development lab argument. He said accusingly, “Dammit,
Rodney, you feel it too. Why didn’t you say something about it when I asked you earlier?”

“It was Dr. McKay who first mentioned the cannibalistic mutants with psychic
powers,” Teyla contributed helpfully.

McKay frowned at her in a wounded
et tu, Brute
way.

The others looked confused. “Cannibalistic mutants what?” Ford demanded.

Kavanagh was still stolidly eating his MRE. He shook his head in disgust. “I
wonder about you people sometimes.”

Corrigan was pretending to be engrossed in his field notes, and John caught
Kinjo mouthing the word ‘sometimes?’ at Boerne.

Kolesnikova held up her hands placatingly. “All that aside, I have had the
gene therapy, and I too feel something is not right about this place. I haven’t
had as much experience with exploration as you all, so I had put it down to
that. I thought it was normal to be afraid all the time.”

“It is, but I don’t think it’s just that,” John told her.

“Which is what I just said,” Rodney insisted.

“Maybe it’s something else that’s making you guys jumpy,” Ford said. “Maybe
something in the air down there.” He threw a cautious look at Kavanagh,
apparently not wanting to be caught in the middle of the earlier argument. “If
they were experimenting with chemical or biological warfare…”

“There may be dangers down there our equipment can’t detect,” Kolesnikova
added.

Rodney said, not helpfully, “If there was anything airborne, it was too late
the moment that shaft opened.”

Kavanagh shook his head. “The air down there isn’t stale,” he said, obviously
giving it serious consideration. “It’s being recycled, and must be drawn in from
outside. There were probably scrubbers in the system, though it’s unlikely they
would last this long. But the air movement has been constant; anything released
in the destruction would have been flushed away long ago. We should, however,
avoid opening any more of those sealed cells. If there’s a contagion, it’s in
there.”

Teyla nodded, her face sober. “Yes, there must be a constant source of fresh air. There is no odor of mold or rot.”

“It does stink down there,” John countered, surprised she hadn’t noticed, and
that Kavanagh hadn’t mentioned it. “Kind of musty, and rotten. Really rotten.
You could smell it when the shaft opened, and it got worse the longer we stayed
down there. Just like you’d expect from…” Everybody was staring at him
quizzically. “What?”

Kavanagh was frowning slightly at him, the way you did when you thought
someone was making an inappropriate joke. “There’s no odor, Major.”

If it hadn’t been Kavanagh, who didn’t have a sense of humor at the best of
times, John would have suspected they were screwing with him. He still suspected
it. “Oh, come on.”

“It is true, Major Sheppard,” Teyla assured him carefully. “There is no odor
of death. Salt from the sea, rock, metal, dust, but nothing foul.”

Ford nodded agreement, and none of the others objected. John looked at Rodney
for help, always a mistake. Rodney was squinting at him with deep suspicion.
“Are you seeing things? Or hearing things? You know olfactory and auditory
hallucinations are a sign of—”

“Stop. It.” John glared at him, then grabbed his pack, firmly stuffing his
water bottle back in. “We need to get some rest, people. We’ve got a long day
tomorrow.”

Teyla stood out on the plaza under the stars, breathing the sea air. She was
on the third watch, after Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford, and was rather
enjoying the peace and quiet. Like Atlantica, this planet had two small moons,
one nearly full, the other just a rising sickle shape, and they lit the plaza
and the old ruins with a gentle pearly glow. She thought Sheppard was right;
there was something in the air about the repository, something wrong in the
building’s very walls. Something that didn’t seem inherent to the ruined city,
or the sea and the plain beyond it. Even this small distance away from the structure, her spirits had lifted a little. Enough that she was
able to enjoy the night air and the sky, to feel comforted by the small sounds
her friends made as they slept in safety.

A footstep on the pavement made her turn and she saw a figure step out of the
doorway of their shelter. She moved toward it, recognizing him by his height and
the way he stood. “Dr. Kavanagh? Were you unable to sleep?”

His head turned toward her, and he said a little uncertainly, “Yes, I just
needed some fresh air. It’s all right.”

Teyla’s brow knit in concern, and she stepped closer, trying to get a better
look at him in the dim light. “You do not sound well. If you are ill, you should
tell Major Sheppard and return to Atlantis immediately. If there is some
contagion in the lower levels—”