Its engine glow faltered, flickering as the power began to fail. Whole lines of windows began to glow horribly bright as fires engulfed its decks.
Ellis took no pleasure in watching the slow death of an enemy. “Missiles,” he ordered.
Apollo was passing under the Asuran vessel, Deacon pouring power into the thrusters, swinging the ship down in a sharply angled burn. As the Replicator’s shadow passed over the viewports, Meyers triggered the missiles. Four sparks appeared at Apollo’s bow, rose, then darted back along the ship’s hull. Ellis resisted the urge to follow them with his gaze as they passed over him and out of sight.
A second passed, and then — for a brief time — night turned to day.
It took some time to get the shard on board. It had been rendered inert by the Asuran attack, and was drifting amongst an expanding cloud of debris from the cruiser. Meyers had some difficulty finding it amidst all the scrap metal.
Eventually, though, the ship was located. Deacon, despite his earlier misgivings, was able to execute some very fancy flying indeed, even surrounded by the shattered corpse of the Replicator vessel, and matched vectors with it. With the doors to the bomb bay open, Apollo was able, very slowly and very gently, to scoop the little craft aboard.
Now that it was close enough to see, the vessel was certainly striking. Partly because of its design; it was at once cluttered and graceful, sinister and effortlessly elegant, as though a predatory insect had been frozen halfway through changing into a musical instrument. But the ship also caught the eye because of what it seemed to be made of.
Ellis, standing with McKay just outside the ring of armed marines he had posted around the ship, was having a hard time taking his eyes off it. “Is that what I think it is?”
“What, gold? Yeah.”
“Who would have a gold spaceship?”
“Somebody rich.”
There were technicians checking the ship out, scanning it for radiation, toxins, or any sign it was about to blow up and take half of Apollo with it. They had been checking for several minutes, but no-one had started running yet. Ellis was almost hopeful.
“So you’ve not seen anything like this before.”
McKay shook his head. “No. Nothing like this design at all. It’s not Goa’uld, not Asgard, certainly not Wraith… I’ve checked through every database I can lay hands on, but I’ve got nothing.”
“But you recognized the language he was speaking.”
“Maybe. No. Yes. Ehh…” McKay made an exasperated gesture. “It sounded a little like Latin. Look, I’m not the languages guy, okay? Maybe I’m wrong.”
“And if you’re not?”
“If I’m not, then I think we’re in a whole heap of trouble.” The scientist cocked his head to one side, still looking at the ship. “Interesting trouble, but still… You know…”
“We live in interesting times.” Ellis puffed out a breath. “If those guys don’t give me an all-clear soon, I’m going to go over and start kicking that thing anyway.”
As if on cue, the lead technician turned and gave him the thumbs up. Ellis gave McKay a grim smile.
“Let’s see what we’ve got.”
“Just… Don’t kick it.”
The two men crossed the bay, passing between two of the marines and drawing close to the ship. McKay’s stealth sensors clung above their heads, almost forgotten, their launch racks raised and retracted. It wasn’t even certain if they were going to be deployed at all, now. Apollo’s new acquisition had thrown everything into question.
There were round, glassy protuberances at the forward end of the ship that Ellis had thought might be viewports, but he was disappointed to find them totally opaque when he studied them. He noticed McKay walking away from him while he was trying to peer through, looking agitated as he focused his attention on the vessel’s flanks. It took him less than a minute to make a complete circle of the craft, after which time he rejoined Ellis and shrugged. “If there’s a door in this thing, I can’t see it.”
“Doctor, there’s at least one pilot in this ship, and he might still be alive. If you can’t find a door, I’ll give the order to cut through the hull.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t do that…” McKay frowned. “Dammit, there’s got to be a way in. What’s the point of a spaceship you can’t get- Jesus!”
“What?” McKay had jumped back, holding one hand in the other as if he had burned his fingers on something. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! I mean, I don’t know. It just started moving!”
Ellis stared. A section of the ship’s hull had separated into a filigree of intricate metal plates, sliding under and through each other like some bizarre puzzle. He could hear the faint whisper and click of the mechanism that moved them, a distant chiming…
The plates snapped apart, vanishing into concealed recesses in the hull. When they were gone, they left an open hatchway.
The two nearest marines were right next to Ellis, gun muzzles nosing ahead of him. Boots rang on the bomb bay floor as the others ran into position. Ellis looked down and realized he had drawn his own sidearm on reflex.
He left it in his hand as he put his head and shoulders into the ship.
The interior of the vessel was as complex and unfathomable as the outside. The space Ellis was looking into was quite small, so he guessed there were compartments fore and aft, but he couldn’t see any obvious hatches or openings. He grimaced, wondering whether he would need to be as lucky as McKay to find the right control and get to the pilot before he died.
“Hello?” he called, feeling slightly out of his depth. “Anyone?”
To his left, the front of the ship, something moved. He heard it, quite clearly. A moment later, the wall between him and that compartment split into dozens of randomly-shaped panels and hinged away to nothing.
The man in the mask lay near the front of the ship, on a couch that was half chaise longue, half dentist’s chair.
Ellis clambered in to crouch next to him. He could see the man moving, one slender arm lifting fitfully from under the golden robes he wore. The masked head turned towards him, slowly, as if borne down by the weight of the metal.
McKay was standing in the doorway. He nodded at the mask, urgently. Ellis reached up and lifted the lustrous thing away.
As he did, the pilot smiled. “Thank you, Tau’ri.”
Ellis set the mask down. It really was quite heavy. “Are you injured?”
“Yes.”
“Can we help?”
“Yes.”
McKay stepped closer. “What can we do?”
“Take me to Atlantis,” the man whispered, his dark eyes closing. “Take me home.”
Chapter Two
…For I Have Sinned
There were days when Atlantis enjoyed quite glorious weather, days when the waters around it lay so still and clear they rivaled the sky for blueness. There were days when the winds blew in sweet from the mainland, gentle and warm, bringing almost imperceptible scents of forest and mountain. There were days when those within the city yearned to be out, and those outside could think of nothing but raising their faces to the open skies and basking in air so fresh that nowhere on Earth could match it.
The day that the golden ship came down was not one of those days.
Samantha Carter was out on the balcony, the railed platform jutting out from behind the control room. The bulk of the tower was providing some shelter from the elements, but she was still perched some nine-tenths of the way to the top, and at this height there was no such thing as a warm breeze. She looked up at a sky that was all wind and clouds, and screwed up her face against yet another blast of cold drizzle. “I don’t see it.”
“Give ’em time.” John Sheppard was next to her, leaning out over the balcony wall and squinting down at the waves, a dizzying eight hundred meters below. “This isn’t something they’ve done before.”