You could leave us here and go get the warship, Teyla said. Come back for us with the ship. Her voice was low enough that Dahlia couldn't hear.
John shook his head. There are nowhere to set it down here. And if I can't get it going without Dahlia Radim, that's going to be a problem. He took a long drink of water from his canteen. Besides, once we get to the ship we'll have climate controlled rooms that we can actually secure against those critters. I can't leave you here with those things hunting and take half the firepower.
Teyla nodded seriously, chewing another mouthful of beans and rice. We will walk out together, then.
Right, he said. We'll walk out.
Chapter Eleven: Quicksilver
Quicksilver dreamed, and in his dreams he walked through blue green corridors lit from above, light pouring in from skylights far up on the side of white towers. Quicksilver dreamed, and in his dream he was looking for something. It was just there, surely. If only he could remember what it was he was seeking.
It might be just around this corner, or down this corridor through heavy doors ornamented with bronze, or past these windows of stained glass. It might be here. It might be just there. If he could remember what it was.
In his dreams, Quicksilver walked Atlantis.
Up a short flight of stairs, and he stood in a huge room where the Stargate waited, glittering with the cold sheen of naquadah, just as the Ancients made it. But it was not what he sought. That was further. Somewhere.
Up another flight of stairs, and consoles beckoned. He could step up to them, could do something.
She stood on the walkway beside him, a slender dark haired woman in a red shirt, and her eyes were on him. Rodney, she said, Wake up.
What?
Her eyes did not leave his, urgent and kind at once. Wake up, Rodney. You're dreaming.
If I just look at the consoles I can see the dialing address.
She shook her head gravely. So. Wake up, Rodney.
Quicksilver woke.
Across the room they shared, his brother slept in his alcove, the lights dimmed for sleeping.
Quicksilver sat up, a curious sense of unreality about him. He had dreamed. He had dreamed of some strange place, and of a queen with dark eyes who spoke to him, who told him within a dream that he slumbered and forbade him the consoles. She had forbidden him. He was sure of that, for all that she had stood quietly by.
He reached for the pipette of chilled water that stood by and drank greedily. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He felt it in every bone in his body.
Dust stirred, rolled over, his eyes hooded with sleep. “Are you well, my brother?”
“I dreamed of Atlantis,” Quicksilver said. His hands shook on the pipette, and he stared at them. Why should he shake? What was wrong?
“What did you dream?” Dust asked.
“I dreamed of a queen,” Quicksilver said slowly. “She spoke to me.”
“Dark haired or fair?” Dust asked.
“Dark,” Quicksilver said. “Dark haired. Small. Slight, I mean.” He pressed his hands together, searching. From somewhere he dredged up words. “Dr. Weir.”
“She Who Is a Strong Place,” Dust said. “You must have known her.”
Quicksilver blinked. “How could I have?” he asked. “You said that she had been dead for years, but I was only captured a few weeks ago. How could I have known her?”
Dust’s mouth opened and closed, an expression of dismay crossing his face. “Well, obviously not. It must have been someone else.”
“Yes, obviously,” Quicksilver said sharply.
And yet. There was something about the way Dust turned from him, something in the dream that made his scalp prickle.
“Do you remember more?” Dust asked.
“No,” Quicksilver said. After all, there was no need to say he had nearly seen the gate address for Atlantis. There would be time enough to tell him later.
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.