Brimstone

Chapter Sixteen

Mara led Sheppard and the others through the loud, excited mob and out of the area surrounding the arena. Once they reached the passage leading to the team’s quarters, it grew much quieter.

“What was that thing?” Cumby blurted out. “I mean, you’ve fought them, Colonel — that wasn’t a Wraith.”

“No, that was no Wraith,” Sheppard said. “I don’t know what the hell it was, but it wasn’t a Wraith.”

“There was Wraith in it,” Ronon said, his voice betraying the disgust Sheppard felt. “It’s head was too big, though. Weird.”

“It was like a bad science fiction movie monster,” Cumby agreed. “The Pegasus answer to Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Yes,” Teyla said, “while it’s head appeared Wraith-like I could not sense its mind — I felt no Wraith consciousness.”

“Genetics,” Rodney said. “That thing was a hybrid — there was some human in it, some Wraith, and something else that, frankly, I find too repellent even to contemplate.”

“You got that right,” Sheppard growled.

“Who does that?” Teyla cut in. “Who plays with living beings in this way?”

Ronon raised an eyebrow. “That Woard isn’t that different from how you all made Michael.”

Sheppard looked at him, but as the sting of truth faded he held his silence; they hadn’t done it for sport, but they had done it. And for their own self interest too.

Mara had remained quiet since they left the arena behind. Now, tentatively, she spoke. “The creatures are bred in labs beneath the city. That isn’t the first of the Woard, but it is the largest that has ever been bred. Each time one has been defeated, they work harder to make the next invincible. This last one was by far the largest and it lasted longer in battle. They have been working to improve the design for a very long time.”

“What?” Cumby looked horrified. “Do they have cages full of Wraith and other creatures down there?”

“Oh no. They take genetic samples — tissue and other data — from fallen entertainers. None of the creatures was ever anything other than what is seen in the arena.”

“Oh, well, then,” Rodney said, “that makes it all better. Instead of a genetic prison, we have crazy Ancient scientists cooking up monsters in the catacombs. I mean, how could that go wrong? How could there possibly be a problem with changing the genetic makeup of natural creatures to create something new? Has anyone considered what happens if these ‘adversaries’ get loose?”

“That has never happened.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says before the stink hits the fan,” Rodney replied. “You want examples? I can give you ten.”

They reached Sheppard’s room and gathered inside. Mara started to follow, but he stopped her. “I’m going to need some alone time with my people,” he said. “You understand?”

Mara was clearly disappointed, but she nodded. “I will see you later?”

“Anything’s possible.” Sheppard smiled at her and without a word she disappeared back into the hallway. He watched her go, torn between sympathy and contempt, then he turned and closed the door.

The moment they were alone, Cumby crossed over to where Rodney was circling the room, studying the walls. “I’ve noticed something.”

“Oh really?” Rodney replied. He didn’t look up. “Did you perhaps notice that I was busy? Did you notice that I was concentrating on something and think to yourself, ‘Hey, if I went over and started talking to Dr. McKay, he’d be distracted, and maybe I could keep him from finding a way to get us out of this mess?’ Something like that?”

“About the walls,” Cumby said, unperturbed. “Have you studied the pattern on the tapestries?”

“Pattern?” Rodney said. “What pattern? I haven’t seen two tapestries the same since we got here.”

“There are no matches.”

Rodney started to question him and then stopped. “Okay, right, photographic memory. So none of them is alike — they bore easily, and diversify their interior design. So what if none of the images repeats itself? In fact, that would seem to indicate that there is no pattern, so what are you talking about?”

Cumby stepped closer to the wall. He ran his finger down a zigzag stitched seam. “Look here.”

Rodney looked.

Then Cumby stepped about four feet to the right, and ran his finger down a different seam. This time, rather than the zigzag pattern, the two tapestries were joined by interlocking strips. The image to the right of that seam included a temple, and on the wall of that temple, a four-armed block cross pattern was formed. Closer inspection showed that the same interlocking pattern ran around the cross.

“I’ve seen this same anomaly in the pattern around various shapes throughout the city,” Cumby said. “At first I didn’t pay any attention to it — I’m always noticing things like this, and to be honest it usually means nothing at all. This time, though, I started to realize that the shapes I was seeing fell at regular intervals.”

“As if they were hiding something,” Sheppard said.

“But…”

Before Rodney could speak there was a knock on the door. When it opened, Saul stood in the doorway. He held yet another oddly colored drink, and it was obvious that he’d had several in between. His eyes were dark, and the smile that curled his lips was anything but friendly. Before he spoke, he took a sip.

“I suppose by now,” he said, “you’ve managed to put all the pieces together in your minds. The gate you came through is never going to carry you back to Atlantis, or to anywhere else. No one who visits Admah is treated any differently. You could puff out your chests, threaten me with how your people will come for you — all standard arguments, I assure you — but you’d be wasting your time.”

“Is that right?” Sheppard stepped forward, hand on his weapon.

“None of you is ever going to leave this city,” Saul said, his gaze resting on the gun, unperturbed. “It’s a simple fact that you can either accept or not — either way, you have no ability to change it. I am here to offer you the same options that we offer all our visitors. You’ve sampled our hospitality. You’ve witnessed our entertainments. I’ve explained the choice.”

“As choices go,” Sheppard said, “it leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I’d have expected more cooperation from you, of all people, Colonel,” Saul smiled. “Mara has certainly taken an interest in you and there are far worse fates that could befall a man than to catch her attention.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Sheppard said. “There is no choice, Saul. You’re holding us prisoner here. Citizen or entertainer, it makes no difference.”

“Not to mention,” Rodney said from where he stood by the wall, “the fact that we’re flying straight into the sun — and you won’t tell us what you’re going to do about it!”

“In most corners of the universe, that’s hardly considered civilized,” Sheppard agreed.

“And yet,” Saul sipped his drink again and his smile broadened, “this is the only corner of the universe that will ever matter to any of you ever again. Or to me, for that matter. Those are the rules we exist by, so here we are. You have a choice to make and I will bear witness; join us as citizens, or enter the arena.”

“I have a question,” Ronon cut in.

Everyone turned to the big man.

“I want to know about the sword,” he said. “The sword that was used to fight the Woard. That was no ordinary blade.”

“Very observant,” Saul said. “Very good indeed. No wonder the elders have been sizing you up. I thought it was just your musculature…”

Ronon glared and even Saul seemed somewhat taken aback.

“The weapons differ in every battle, of course,” Saul said. “When the adversary is one of the specials — those bred for extreme size or violence — something has to be done to even the odds. We like a good competition, and we like the bets to be worth our while. No one is entertained by a battle with an obvious outcome. Our weapons are enhanced, of course, to ensure maximum entertainment.” His gaze moved to Sheppard. “You,” he said, “could use one. And you.” He flicked a glance at McKay.

Rodney swallowed. “Me? Are you kidding?”

“We can alter those warriors who choose to fight the specials,” Saul said, studying Ronon with a speculative air, “but the weapons respond so much better to those who are born to them.”

“They wouldn’t work for me,” Ronon said. “I wouldn’t want them.”

“Too much honor,” Saul chuckled. “Of course, something like the Woard might change your mind. Bravery is all well and good, but it is no substitute for life.”

“If you say so.”

Saul didn’t answer, regarding the rest of the group with his half drunken gaze. “You have until morning to make your decisions. Think carefully, my friends, it is the most important decision you have ever made.”

With that he left and Sheppard stood very still until the door had closed behind him tightly.

“We have got to get out of here,” he said as soon as the door was shut. “And fast. Rodney — how’s it going?”

“Slowly,” he replied, as he and Cumby moved back to the tapestry and began running their hands around the seam of the cross pattern they’d been studying. After only a short search, Rodney caught something with his finger, tugged, and the panel of tapestry peeled away. “Or maybe not.”

Behind it, the wall was smooth metal, and set into that metal they saw a square panel. Rodney worked quickly. He pulled a hex key from one of his pockets and quickly unfastened the panel. Behind it, circuits gleamed and lights flashed.

He slipped cables from his pocket, plugged them into his laptop. The other ends of the cables fit snugly into jacks in the access. “Yes,” he muttered, “just the same as Atlantis.”

He tapped some keys, waited, tapped a few more, and then began typing furiously. No one in the room moved, or said a word. Finally, he tapped a final key, and waited. Sheppard found himself holding his breath. Then, suddenly, Rodney raised his hand in a fist, pumped it downward, and said, “Yes!”

“You’re in?” Sheppard guessed.

“Of course I’m in.”

“Great. Now find us something we can use — I have no intention of dying here.”