The Lost

Chapter Twelve: Ghosts in the Wind

“Arclight, this is Roundhouse Zero Six. Repeat, this is Roundhouse Zero Six. Do you copy?” The sky was filled with a million stars, the Milky Way stretching from mountains to mountains, glittering like the most amazing special effect a kid ever dreamed up. “Arclight, this is Roundhouse Zero Six.”

The radio crackled. There was no reply.

“It’s no use, Shep.” Holland’s voice was labored.

“Don’t start that.” John thumbed the radio on again. “Arclight, this is Roundhouse.”

“Tell Sabine…”

“Tell her yourself,” John snapped. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Did you tell anybody where you were going?” Holland said. His blue eyes were shadowed in the darkness.

John let out a long breath. “There wasn’t anybody to tell who wouldn’t try to stop me. Not since Mitch and Dex bought the farm.”

“They don’t know where we are. They aren’t coming,” he said. “We’re going to have to walk out.” Holland gave a hollow laugh. “And I can’t walk.”

“Arclight, this is Roundhouse Zero Six.”

“It’s been real, dude.”

“Don’t start.” John looked out across the broken rocks of the canyon at the lambent night sky. “Don’t start with me, Charlie.” There were things he could say, things maybe he should say. But it would be too much like the end. Too much like saying goodbye. At least Charlie wouldn’t start with that honor to have served with you crap. Just hang in there.

The sky pulsed with light, stars and galaxies rotating impossibly fast, spinning over the mountains like a wormhole.

He reached for Holland's hand but it was cold, cold and dry as.

He looked. A dessicated corpse leered up at him, skin aged and withered to leather over bone, the chest wound gaping where it had been fed upon, hand crumbling to dust in his.

John jerked awake, heart pounding. He was sitting up in the entrance of the little cave, his back against the wall, P90 in his lap pointed out, covering the only approach. Across the broken rocks of the canyon the night sky was lit up with the brilliance of the Pegasus Galaxy, looking toward the center, bright enough to cast strange shadows. Beside him, just where Holland had lain, Teyla slept.

He reached, touched her hand.

Cold and dry as…

His heart shuddering in his throat he grabbed it, crushing it in his, feeling the bones in her hand grind together, his breath escaping in gasp.

John? Her voice sounded muzzy with sleep, coming awake suddenly.

Cold ran down his back, shaking with the sudden burst of fear, everything kicking into overdrive with nowhere to go.

Her fingers moved in his. John?

He couldn't speak, couldn't move. Not without saying or doing something terrible. Not still seeing before him with his mind's eye.

Teyla propped up on one elbow, her brows knitting as she looked at him. Her hand closed in his, squeezing his fingers back. She said nothing. She said nothing while he breathed, while his pounding heart slowed.

Beyond her, Carson and Dahlia slept, mylar blankets reflecting dim light, side by side against each other. He had the watch, and he had dozed off. He had to sleep. Sometime he had to sleep and then…

That is how it happened. Did it not? she said quietly.

John nodded. He didn't trust his voice.

Teyla sat up laboriously, careful of her hip, her hand still in his, leaning against the wall beside him, her other arm sliding around his back. It was cold, so very cold. The temperature drops in the desert at night.

I had to sleep. I fell asleep. I couldn't stay awake any longer and when he stopped. His own voice sounded ragged, strange.

When you woke he was dead.

Gentle. Even. That was Teyla. He nodded.

He woke to find a corpse in his arms, already stiffening against his shoulder.

Yes, he said.

Oh, John, she said, and bent her head to his breast in comfort, her hand tight on his wrist.

He dropped his face against her hair, warm and real and so far from dead. Teyla.

I grieve for you, she said, And for all you lost.

I can't. I don't.

She lifted her face, a rueful expression on it. You forget that I once spent an entire day with you believing that I was Captain Holland.

I said…

You said a great many things. Her dark eyes were gentle, but her hand on his wrist was tight enough for him to feel it. But I am Athosian, and I do not follow your stupid rules. You said nothing that made me think badly of you.

I can't even. His heart was pounding so loudly, one fear piled on top of another, and nothing to do, nowhere for it to go.

Look at me. Teyla's voice was low and urgent, her hand tightening around his wrist like cuffs. He could not look away. You have said nothing that makes me think badly of you, then or now.

He couldn't look away. He couldn't disbelieve her. Teyla didn't lie, not like that. Not with that sound in her voice, not with her eyes snapping as they did.

I have thought nothing ill of you, John. In all the firmament, you are my fixed star.

At that he closed his eyes. He couldn't look, couldn't see what was written on her face so plainly. There were no words. He had no words. He never did, even in the face of death. Teyla, he said, hoping she knew it was apology, that it stood for everything that crowded round in circles, forever unsaid. He dropped his face to her hair, holding her tight, tight as though he would never let go, as though the world would end and they would still be sitting like this, his arm around her and her hand tight on his wrist, his face against the top of her head and hers against his shoulder.

I know, she said. I know.

She knew everything, knew him to the bone and still dared to look. He rested on her while the stars moved overhead, unfamiliar stars in strange constellations. One of them was home. One of them was Atlantis.

For as long as it could be. For as long as the powers that be allowed it. Before something happened, and he was sent back to Earth, before there was a road that led to another desert, another death where at least he wouldn't take anybody with him. Sooner or later, it always goes that way. You can't escape forever.

They sent me home, he said. After. They sent me home, and Nancy. John swallowed. One day they'll send me home.

I will not let you go, she said, and her voice was fierce. Do you not understand that I am stronger than that?

If I get hurt, he said. If I get hurt badly enough I'll get sent back. And sooner or later I'll be reassigned anyhow.

If you are reassigned you can resign, she said. And let them hunt you through Pegasus if they wish, though I imagine Sam would have small stomach for it. And if you are hurt, do you really think that we would allow them to send you back to Earth? Do you think Ronon would allow it, having gone with you and seen your family?

John shook his head, his face against her hair. If the Air Force does it, you can't stop it. If it's bad enough.

She lifted her eyes to his. We are your family, John. When Ronon says he is your brother, he means it. We will not let anyone take you away. We will not let it happen. And do you not think that Carson would move mountains to treat you here no matter what anyone said or allowed? That Radek would open the Stargate for us even if it were locked down? That Sam would fail to find you if you did not want to be found? Teyla smiled a long, secret smile. And do you not think that General O’Neill knows that? Do you think he does not know what an asset you would be to the Genii or to any government of Earth as a contractor? Even if you lacked two good legs, do you think that Mr. Desai or the Ariane corporation would not hire you in a heartbeat to be their man? He is too clever for these things not to have crossed his mind. John, you need never return to Earth if you do not want to.”

He let out a long breath he did not know he was holding. It was true.

“John, there is no road that leads to the places you dread. Not anymore. You have passed every turn that led there, and now it is all unknown.”

He put his forehead to hers. “One of those screwed up vets who drifts from job to job, never quite getting it together, the kind of guy who dies alone in a cheap motel somewhere…”

“We are your family, and we will never let that happen.” Her voice was flat. “Perhaps you will die in space, or in the cocoon of a hive ship, but you will not die on Earth, John Sheppard. That is fact.”

“Ok.” He took a deep breath. “I can live with that.”

“Good,” she said, her hand still tight on his wrist. “Now you should sleep. I will watch.”

“You’re tired too and you’re hurt…” he began.

“I have slept for several hours.” Teyla checked her watch, the luminous dial shining faintly in the dark. “Nearly six hours, actually. It is midnight here, with ten hours to run until dawn.”

“And getting colder all the time.” In the cave it must be in the sixties from their body heat, but outside the temperature must be in the fifties and dropping.

“Sleep a while,” she said. “I can watch, and you can sleep here beside me where you will hear if I make any sound.” She let go of him, lifting her head. “You must be able to fly the Ancient warship, and right now you cannot.”

He nodded. Right now he wasn’t sure he’d trust himself to find his way from the jumper bay to his own quarters. “Ok.”

“Lie down and rest as you can,” she said, pulling the third mylar blanket from around her and passing it to him. “I will call you if I see anything.”

“Maybe just for a minute.” He stretched out as much as he could, his knees still bent because of the narrowness of the entrance. Nice, soft rocks. Cold. He pulled the blanket up to his chin. He’d never sleep like this, not keyed up and frozen.

The last thing he saw before he drifted off was Teyla silhouetted against the stars, her chin lifted, the barrel of the P90 beside her.

John woke to darkness and soft voices.

“There. Is that better?”

“Much better, thanks.”

It took a moment to place the voices. Dahlia Radim and Carson.

“I think there is another MRE in my pack,” Teyla said. “Carson, perhaps you should try to eat.”

John rolled over, sitting up. It was still dark. In the back of the little cave Dahlia was helping Carson to sit up. He looked drawn and pale, but far more alert than he had before. Dahlia was looking in the pack, and drew out a foil packet as he watched.

“That’s the one,” Teyla said from the other side of John. She was still sitting in the entrance, the gun across her lap, barrel pointing out into the night. Her breath made a cloud of steam in the cold air.

John scrubbed his hand across his unshaven face. “How long did I sleep? And how much has the temperature dropped?”

“Five hours,” Teyla said. “And I think it is around freezing.”

“You’ve been sitting there like that for five hours? You should have woken me.”

“I have been warm enough.” Teyla dropped her voice. “Also I am not sure I can move. My hip has stiffened up.”

John swallowed, his voice low enough for Carson not to hear. “You may have a hairline fracture.”

“It does not matter if I do or not,” she said. “There is nothing that can be done about it, and I cannot stay off it. We are twelve miles from the Ancient warship. We must get there. When we do I will rest it.”

John nodded slowly. “Ok. Carson looks better. Let’s get a meal into everybody and then we’ll go on. It’s cold enough that those reptile things should be out of the picture. I can carry you if I have to.”

“Let us hope you do not have to,” she said.

Which was quite a concession, coming from Teyla. He knew better than to ask if it hurt. Obviously it hurt like hell.

“There are two more MREs in my pack,” he said. “Let’s split one of them. Some energy.”

“Some caffeine,” she said with a smile. “Even if the water is cold the granulated coffee will dissolve. And cold coffee is better than none.”

“Yeah, let’s not get between you and your coffee,” he said.

“It is a tempting vice from Earth,” she said, and her eyes danced with mischief. “Perhaps a vice we could share.”

“I’m good with that.” He dug out the MRE and handed it to her. “I’ll get the water. Carson, how are you holding up?”

They walked on under the bright stars, through the cold night. Carson could walk, though Dahlia stuck close beside him. The bleeding had stopped, and some rest and food seemed to have stabilized his blood pressure some. It probably wasn’t good for him to walk twelve miles, but he could do it.

Teyla could hobble, John’s left arm around her waist to help, but it was slow going on the broken terrain. A walk that might normally take them three or four hours was likely to take twice that. And when the sun rose and the temperatures began to climb again, those lizard things would awaken.

The cold air cleared his head. Or maybe it was a few hours sleep and some coffee. But he felt more like himself.

They halted every hour for ten minutes. By the third halt John thought his left shoulder was going to freeze that way, hunched over so that he could get it under Teyla’s. One disadvantage of her being so much shorter than him.

“We’ll be there soon,” he said.

Dahlia Radim nodded. “This is where the canyon comes out onto the plateau, just there. After that it is not far to the ship, maybe five of your miles.”

“And not too long to dawn.” John looked up at the sky where the stars were already paling.

“I have never seen the lizards on the plateau,” Dahlia said. “Perhaps they only hunt in the canyons.”

“I hope so,” Carson said fervently. He was sweating in the cold air, and he looked clammy.

“Once we get to the ship you can just get comfortable,” John said. “Dahlia and I will take it from there.”

“If the ship will fly,” Teyla said. She refrained from saying anything pointed about Radek Zelenka. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking it. He was.

“I think it will fly,” Dahlia said somewhat indignantly. “If I did not think it would, we would not have made this bargain in the first place.”

“We’ll see when we get there,” John said.

It was a scoutship, smaller than the Orion had been but larger than a puddle jumper. Perhaps it had once carried a crew of fifty to a hundred, but now it lay half covered in sand. The slanting morning sunlight limned its battered hull, streaked and pitted to the color of old sand. No markings remained, blasted away by the sandstorms of thousands of years.

Carson looked gray with exertion. “That’s peachy,” he said, giving voice to the thought John would not. “That thing’s supposed to fly?”

“We have been doing repairs for nearly a year,” Dahlia said. “I have gone as far as I can without someone powering it up.”

“Ok.” John took a deep breath. “Let’s get on with it.”

Teyla set her teeth for the last little distance.

“The hatch we have been using is over here,” Dahlia said.

It opened smoothly, a good sign. Or at least a sign that the Genii engineering teams knew how to lubricate a door.

Dahlia went in first, turning on a battery powered lamp that was sitting in the hall. It cast a yellow glow ahead of them. “We’ve been using these lamps,” she said. “It doesn’t appear that there’s anything wrong with main power, but we can’t initialize it.”

“This is a job for Rodney,” Carson said, leaning on the doorframe.

“Yeah,” John said shortly.

Dahlia turned around. “Where do you want to go first? The bridge or main engineering?”

“Let’s get our people settled first,” John said with a wary look at Carson.

“We’ve been using the crew lounge behind the bridge when we were here,” Dahlia said. “It’s this way.”

Two more of the battery powered lamps illuminated what had once been a fairly small curved room with wide viewscreens along one wall and recessed lighting in the ceiling. Several metal tables and chairs had been pulled together, and some stained white cushions were piled in one corner with a bunch of grey Genii military blankets. The air was stale, but not cold.

Dahlia switched on the lamps. “We have a heater too,” she said, “But it’s down in engineering now since that’s where we were working last. This is where we’ve been staying.”

“It’s perfect,” Carson said, looking longingly toward the pile of cushions. “Just pull one of those down for me, pass me a blanket, and I’ll be a happy man.”

John wrestled one down, spread it with a blanket, and added a second for good measure. He patted Carson on his good shoulder. “Why don’t you have a nap while I see if this baby will fly?”

Carson nodded. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will stay here with Carson,” Teyla said, sinking onto a second cushion, her left leg stiffly out before her. Which said a great deal about how much this walk had taken out of her.

“Ok.” John looked at Dahlia. “The bridge then.”

The layout was similar to the Orion and the Aurora, but smaller as fitted a smaller ship. The panels had been carefully cleaned, but stood dark. One of them was broken, the viewscreen cracked wildly.

“We couldn’t fix that,” Dahlia said, her voice oddly hushed.

There were no remains. Would there not be after so long, or had the Genii done something with them? Running his hand over the silent consoles, he had to ask.

“We didn’t find any,” Dahlia said. She sounded surprised. “Maybe the survivors of the crash evacuated to the Stargate and took their casualties with them.”

“Maybe,” John said. There was always such a sense of people in the spaces they’d inhabited, even military spaces. When he was a kid they’d gone on a World War II battleship when they were on vacation. It was restored as a museum, tied up at a busy pier next to seafood restaurants selling Calabash clams and t shirts, but below decks in the long, silent corridors he’d still had that feeling, as though all the men who had served there were waiting, and at the claxon would come running out, pulling on shirts and sidearms. They might have been pleased to know their ship was a museum. Hell, maybe they were. Maybe those old guys with beer guts and baseball caps embroidered “Navy” were the same guys. Maybe they were the survivors.

But the Ancients wouldn’t be coming to reclaim this ship. He was the closest thing it was going to get.

John laid his hand on the communications panel. Ok, baby, he thought. Let’s see what you’ve got. Come on. Wake up for me.

With a shudder the panel purred to life, screens and buttons lighting, monitors flickering as power ran down damaged conduits.

He walked left. Weapons control. Tactical. Come on, honey. Wake up.

Lights flickered, the panel humming, something sparking underneath.

Propulsion.

It shivered under his hand, stabilized.

Shields.

Screens lighting, buttons flashing red and yellow alarms ten thousand years old.

Hyperdrive.

Internal systems.

The overhead lights came on, the floor lights around the bridge flared to life blue and white. Somewhere there was the soft sound of air circulation systems starting, blowing cool in his face.

Wake up, baby.

Around him the Avenger came to life.