Seeing Dorane in control of their ’gate room, was painful in a way John hadn’t expected. He had never been part of the SGC; this was a Pegasus Galaxy thing, where access to a Stargate was to be protected at all cost, at any cost. Wraith might come through the ’gates, but mostly they came from the air, and controlling your ’gate meant survival.
McKay asked tightly, “What did you do with the rest of the people who were stationed in this area?”
It was the question John had been trying to think of a way to ask without wrecking his act. Dorane glanced back with mild interest. “They are being held in a secure room on the level below. Your leader Weir was very sympathetic to my people’s plight, and obligingly sent two gateships back for them. Teyla and Kinjo accompanied them, and by the time they landed to pick up the Koan, the majority of each crew, besides the pilots, of course, were mine.”
The pilots would have had the Ancient gene or the ATA therapy. John hoped they were both still alive. “And so you’re moving in permanently?” he asked. He threw a look at Ford where he stood like a statue on the gallery, guarding Grodin.
Dorane laughed. “Of course not. Without full power, this city is ridiculously vulnerable to the Wraith. It’s fit only for scavengers, now.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” John said, giving Rodney, whose mouth was open, a chance to think twice and shut it.
Dorane reached the gallery and stopped to look directly at McKay. Private Benson came to stand at his side, his expression dull-eyed and blank. Dorane said, “Some of your people have managed to fortify one of the levels lower down in this section. The doors are sealed, the transporters refuse access, and I can’t convince the city systems to give me control.”
That’s a relief. John was betting it was the area around the medical lab, which was in one of the most defensible sections of the city’s center and a designated point of retreat if the operations tower became compromised. Which meant, if they were lucky, Dorane hadn’t found and killed Beckett, who was the strongest natural Ancient gene carrier next to John. He doubted Dorane had managed to trap the entire expedition. If the group holding the medlab had been able to raise any kind of alarm, there were probably people who had escaped to go to ground in the remote parts of the city. But even if they couldn’t be found, they were still trapped. There was no way off Atlantis other than the Stargate or a jumper, and the mainland was too far away to reach except by air. Hopefully Dorane hadn’t had time to send anybody there to mess with the Athosians yet.
Dorane was still eyeing McKay with thoughtful deliberation. Rodney said grimly, “I don’t know yet if anyone has told you about my various allergies, but if you use any of your freakish retroviruses on me, I’ll probably just fall over dead.” He managed to sound as though he was sort of looking forward to it.
Dorane countered, “But it might just make for a more interesting — if brief — experiment.”
John shook his head and stared at the ceiling. See, this is why I told you to shut up, Rodney. McKay did a little uncomfortable twitch, but lifted his chin and snapped, “Would it be more or less brief than getting shot?”
Dorane didn’t bother to answer that one. “Are you willing to help remove the naquadah generators for transport back to the repository in exchange for your life — for the moment? Dr. Kavanagh has explained how the generators are tied in to the original power systems, but he admits that they are dangerous devices, and that as you installed them, you are better qualified to remove them.”
The naquadah generators? John thought, eyes narrowing. He’s serious — he really is going back there. McKay looked as if he had been asked to remove his own kidney with a spoon, but he said, “Oh right, as if I have any choice.”
Dorane inclined his head, apparently taking that for acceptance. “If you complete that successfully, perhaps I will need you for a longer time.”
“You’ve been here before, after the Ancients left,” John said, interrupting whatever McKay was about to reply. “Why didn’t you take the ZPMs? You could have gotten through the ’gate with at least two of them without collapsing the city shields.”
“I had no need for them at that point. I had given up.” Dorane’s eyes fixed on John. He said, with an eerie lack of inflection, “Your people have given me new hope.” His expression shifted and he almost smiled. “And you seem to have done an excellent job of reviving the city of your forebears. Except of course for the essential defensive elements. I’m certain the Lantians would be delighted that their children have made such good use of their legacy. And that those children will be of such help to me.”
It wasn’t comforting to know that their speculation had been correct; Dorane didn’t want the city, he wanted the people in it. John said, “Yeah, it’s too bad they aren’t here to see it. Of course if they were, they’d probably be killing you right about now. Too bad they didn’t take care of that earlier.” He showed his teeth in something that wasn’t a smile. He could feel McKay glaring at him, but he was supposed to be crazy, so he didn’t think a lot of hostility was out of place.
“I’m sure they felt their punishment was effective.” Dorane turned, starting down the gallery, telling John, “Come with me.”
John followed, Benson trailing behind him, obviously as insurance he didn’t change his mind.
McKay started to follow, but a Koan blocked his way. John glanced back over his shoulder, keeping his expression noncommittal. McKay managed to glare and look frightened at the same time. John didn’t like the idea of being separated either, but he didn’t see any way to prevent it.
Dorane led the way down to the conference room. The embossed panels were already open, allowing access into the room where the walls were all soft metallics, with squares of copper, lapis, and turquoise. When Dorane walked in and sat down at the table, John had that sudden feeling of violation you got when your house was robbed, that “unwelcome strangers touching your stuff” feeling. This was the room where they had briefings, yelled at each other, made plans, worried about overdue ’gate teams.
Laroque, one of the operations staff who worked with Grodin, was seated at the table already, an open laptop in front of her. The dead expression on her face told John that she had been given the control drug. She had a bruise on her cheek, and her dark hair had been pulled out of its usually scrupulously neat bun, as if someone had grabbed her by it. It provided John with an image of what might have happened on the control gallery, and he had to stop in the doorway and quell a violently homicidal impulse. Benson had a P-90 aimed at his back, and it wasn’t like the personal shield would let him rip Dorane’s throat out anyway.
Dorane regarded him for a moment with that chill calm, then gestured to another chair. As John dropped into it Dorane said, “There is another small pocket of resistance. They have not sealed themselves off as well as the others, but they are trapped, so there is not much point in attempting to extract them, at least for the moment. I have jammed your communication devices and had the Lantian com system taken offline, but I can speak to them through this technology.” He glanced at Laroque, and she used the laptop’s keyboard to call up a program.
John just had time to realize that the laptop must be set up for video conferencing when the screen flickered to a view of another room. Elizabeth was leaning on a table, turning her head to face the video feed. He heard a rustle as someone else moved just out of the camera’s range. It gave John an instant to brace himself. Elizabeth saw him and straightened. “John!” Then, staring, she asked uncertainly, “John?”