Bates turned half away, tapping his radio. Rodney finished, “Never mind, I got it.”
John put his back against the wall, trying to ignore the still-growing buzz of the ATA and his throbbing head. At least he had been able to borrow a tac vest and a P-90 from an unconscious Marine. Braced against the corridor wall opposite him, Bates watched him narrowly. Keeping his voice low, he asked John, “You sure you’re up for this?”
They were in position in the jumper bay’s access corridor, which was a lousy place to have to attack. There was a jog in the passage right as it turned into the bay, forming a small foyer, and the Koan could just stand in there and shoot anybody who made that last turn into the bay. John just said dryly, “That’s a really stupid question.”
He was working off pure adrenaline and a burning desire to kill Dorane. Waiting for the grenades to be brought from the armory, he hadn’t even been able to sit down for fear he wouldn’t be able to get up again. He had already told the others that, if the bioweapon was still in the jumper, he would go in for it alone. At least he hadn’t had to explain why this was best, since Rodney had told everybody on the control gallery that John was dying. It was one small relief that Elizabeth had called in, reporting that the Koan had withdrawn when the controlled Marines guarding their room had collapsed. On John’s instructions, Bates had told her to stay in the lower levels with the others until they dealt with the bioweapon. John hadn’t wanted to speak to her himself, because he was desperately trying to avoid having the “by the way, this is probably it for me” conversation with anyone.
Over the radio, John could hear the low-voiced discussions in the ’gate room as Ramirez got the launcher set up. He whispered into his headset, “What’s your status?”
“Ready, sir.” With the transporters back online it had only taken a few minutes to get the stun grenades, but the medlab was still scrambling to organize hazmat and biohazard gear.
John had put Ramirez in the ’gate room with the launcher, and himself, Bates, Audley, and the only other Marines still mobile enough to hold a gun in the jumper bay’s access corridor. Most of the military personnel were still unconscious from the control drug or the stunners; Teyla, who had had some level of resistance to it that the others hadn’t, was the only one on her feet, and she was still unsteady enough that John had made her stay down on the control gallery. Many of the others had been injured in the first Koan attack, and one man, Masterson, had been killed. “McKay, what about you?”
“Ready.” McKay sounded tense. “I can override from down here if he tries to stop it from one of the jumper consoles.”
John caught Bates’ eye, got a nod in reply, and said, “Ramirez, as soon as you get a clear shot, fire. McKay, open the doors.”
There wasn’t a rumble in the floor; the Ancient technology worked too smoothly for that. But over the radio John could hear the faint hum of the doors retracting, hooting cries of alarm and surprise from the Koan.
There were distant clunks as the grenades hit, then a reverberation, muffled by the bay doors. John counted six seconds, gave Bates the signal, and ducked around the corner. The door slid open for him, and they moved into the bay, spreading out.
The big space was dark and would have been quiet except for the piercingly loud roar of the ATA in John’s head. A chemical haze and an acrid scent from the grenades hung heavily in the air. Koan sprawled around the edges of the retracted floor, some moaning in pain, others lying limply. The jumpers were stacked unharmed in their vertical launch racks, all still powered-down. John couldn’t see Dorane or hear his shield, but it might be blending in with the ATA’s din.
Jumper Five was in a rack on the second level, innocuous and inert like the others, and John started toward it. Three Koan suddenly popped up from behind a jumper across the bay, firing wildly. Bates and the others went for cover, returning fire, but John was closer to Five, and he was pretty sure the Koan’s aim was lousy.
He ducked behind Jumper Two and climbed up the steps to the narrow walkway. Five’s rear hatch was down and he bolted for it, slamming himself inside. He hit the floor, covering the interior with the P-90.
It was dark and John was still wearing the sunglasses, but he could just make out Dorane sitting on the floor in the cockpit doorway. He was holding a small black box. There was something different about the shape of his head, something odd about the way he was hunched there, but John could see the dim aquamarine glow of the personal shield on his chest, and hear his breathing.
There was still firing outside, but John’s radio crackled and Bates’ voice said, “Major, did you get it?”
“Negative, stay back,” John ordered sharply. “He’s in here with it.”
He heard Bates cursing and McKay telling someone, “That’s it, we’re dead.”
Dorane still hadn’t said anything, hadn’t moved, and that was making every nerve in John’s body twitch in individual alarm. He flicked off the sunglasses.
Dorane just watched him, eyes gleaming faintly in the dimness. He had long silver spines threaded through his gray hair now, running all down the sides of his face and neck. The hand that rested on the little box had large hooked silver claws, twisted and useless.
John managed to say evenly, “Wow. You’re a little different.”
Dorane tilted his head. “The transformation occurs whenever I leave my athenaeum for more than a few hours. It’s inhibited by the field I use to activate my version of the Ancient gene. It prevents me from staying in this city, from traveling to any other world.” His voice was different, deeper, a little raspy. “I told you, all my people were affected by our biological weapons.”
“Yeah, you told me,” John agreed. Dorane’s physical changes were so exaggerated he looked like a caricature of the other Koan. “But I wasn’t listening to that part.” He hasn’t set that thing off yet. Because he wanted to bargain? Or because it was a timed release? “What’s in the box?”
Dorane’s claws tightened on the black container. “It’s a very small explosive, only meant to release a substance into the air.”
And McKay’s right again; we’re dead. But John was getting more sensitive to the ATA by the minute; maybe it was getting more sensitive to him. And if he could get this jumper out of the bay and through the Stargate…
Automated launch sequence, John thought at the jumper. Through the port above Dorane’s head, he saw Jumper One’s interior lights flash as it powered up. No, no, not you, this one. Five. Next to One, Three shuddered a little, as if its drive might have tried to activate and failed. Oh, crap. Keep talking. “That’s disappointing, because I really didn’t want you to have the satisfaction of killing me. But you already did, didn’t you? Did you think I didn’t know that?”
“I suspected it.” Dorane had his back to the port and couldn’t see what was happening in the jumper racks. “I didn’t expect you to be able to function this well in spite of it. But it means nothing. You claim a Lantian heritage, but even with the gene, you’re all just cattle for the Wraith.”
“Thanks, but we already knew that.” The firing outside had stopped, and through his headset John could hear Bates breathing heavily and McKay having a tense and mostly unintelligible conversation with Grodin. “Why don’t you just head for the Stargate? You can probably make it.” Launch, you little bastard, he thought, trying to focus on Five’s unresponsive console. The ATA was just one omnipresent roar, and he couldn’t sort out any individual signal from the jumpers. Across the bay, Three’s interior lights flashed as it powered up. Damn it. He flew One and Three the most; Five had been Boerne’s jumper. It made sense that the little ships would attune themselves to a regular pilot.