STARGATE UNIVERSE: Air (30 page)

“
They don’t think we’re going to find the lime here. They want to look for another planet that will support life
.”

Scott listened, thinking.
An exodus site?
The idea had merit, but not if they went about it in some half-assed, screw-the-orders way.

“They’re going to get themselves killed,” Rush was saying.

Greer leaned in. “Don’t we need that remote to get back to the ship?”

“Well… When we’re past due, they’ll dial in to check on us,” Scott told him “We can radio for another one.”

“That’s not the point,” maintained Rush. “The fact is, a few hours is nowhere near enough time to determine if a planet is safe, let alone viable for sustaining life. I promise you, the ship is our only real hope of ever getting home.”

Scott nodded. “Greer, you stop them if you can. I’ll go on, turn back when I have to.
Go
.”

Greer gave a sullen nod, then scowled at Rush and pointed in the direction of the Stargate “You lead.”

Rush gave a hollow sigh and started walking, and Scott turned away, heading out into the endless dunes.

He walked on and on, across the shimmering fields of burning white.

The heat was almost unbearable, and it seemed like a cowl of heavy wool around him, stifling him, strangling his every footstep. It was hard to breathe, and each lungful of the strange, dry air felt like it burned him inside, sucking the moisture from his tissues.

Scott stopped for a small drink from his precious reserves of water, swilling the tepid, blood-warm fluid around his mouth. The urge to tip back the whole canteen and drain it dry was strong, but he resisted it. Instead, he paused to rest, turning in place to survey his surroundings.

A slight gust of wind pulled at the flaps of his duty jacket, stirring up scatterings of sand around his boots. Scott looked in the direction it had come from and saw the same swirl of dust he’d seen before. It came closer, dancing over the curvature of the dune, no taller than the height of a small child. He froze, unsure of what he was seeing. Was it some kind of atmospheric phenomena, some quirk of this alien world’s environment?
Was it…alive
?

The swirl — he didn’t know how else to think of it — whipped around his ankles and he felt the faint prickle of static electricity. Then it was moving, back and forth, drifting to a halt in front of him.

Something seemed to be attracting it to him. Scott glanced at the canteen in his hand and held it out at arm’s length. Carefully, he let a few drops of water spill out onto the dune, and took a step back.

The swirl of sparkling sand moved again, spinning toward the patch of water, dancing around it. As Scott watched, the liquid vanished, drawn into the vortex of the tiny dust-devil.
Thirsty little guy,
he thought.
Just like me.

The lieutenant carefully moved into a crouch, bending closer to get a better look. When he was a hand’s length from it, the swirl suddenly spun away, drawing more sand up with it as it went. Scott frowned as the thing retreated and his gaze dropped.

The sand had blown away, forming a shallow depression in the lee of the dune, and there beneath the white dust was the pale, ashen face of a dead man, a priest’s collar visible at his neck.

Scott’s shock was a physical jolt, and he threw himself back from the sight, gasping out a dry, crack-throated wheeze. He blinked and forced himself to look again; there was nothing there but a drift of bone-white granules. Scott shuddered and gathered his wits, taking a long breath before getting back to his feet. He was more tired than he realized; the fatigue was starting to play tricks on him.

Off toward the horizon he found the swirling dust-devil vortex once more, this time dancing to and fro along the top of a sandy ridge. As he watched, it dissipated and vanished.

After a long moment, he hefted the pack and began to walk in that direction.

Rush took a step and staggered on a loose drift of sand, wavering on the edge of losing his balance. He grimaced and lurched forward, regaining his stability in an inelegant fashion.

Behind him, Greer trudged on, sure-footed and steady. Rush wondered if the Marine felt the heat as much as he did;
probably,
he reasoned,
but he’s just too obtuse to show it.

“I need water,” Rush told him.

Greer made no move to answer his request. “We’re almost there. Keep walking.”

“I guess I assumed since I gave Scott my canteen, that we’d share.”

Greer snorted. “You were wrong about that.”

What made you think you’d get any succor from this man, Nicholas?
He heard his wife asking the question as they walked on in silence. “I should have known…” muttered Rush.

Greer eyed him. “Yeah, you think you know me pretty well, don’t you?”

Rush gave a humorless chuckle. “Remember, Sergeant, I helped choose the personnel for Icarus Base. I read your file. You were not on my list, by the way.”

“You think I care?” came the reply.

Rush looked back at him. “You seem to think that because you were born into impoverished circumstances, it gives you the right to be angry at the world.”

“You think that’s why I’m angry?” Greer’s voice took on a dangerous edge.

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Without the military, you’d probably be in jail, or worse.”

Greer made a spitting sound. “That’s what all you rich people think.”

“Rich?” Rush turned and laughed at him. “My father worked in a shipyard, Sergeant.” His temper was rising. “I earned a scholarship to Oxford while I was working two jobs. I earned the right to make decisions without having to explain myself to you or anyone else.”

It was Greer’s turn to shrug. “Doesn’t look like it to me.”

The man’s tone made his annoyance flare and he halted in front of him “I need water,” he demanded.

“Keep walking.” Greer came face to face with him, daring Rush to argue.

Enough was enough; if this thug wasn’t going to let him drink, then he would have to take what he needed. Rush pushed forward and grabbed at the canteen.

Greer blocked him. “Don’t ever touch me!” he snarled, and shoved back.

Rush’s response was immediate, and — judging by the millisecond of shock on the Marine’s face — a lot more aggressive than Greer had expected.

The two of them tangled in a push-and-shove match, each pressing against the other; but Greer’s training gave him the edge, and the sergeant knocked Rush’s leg out from under him, sending the scientist over and sliding down the side of the dune. Furious, Rush scrambled back, trying to get to his feet. He looked up and found the muzzle of Greer’s rifle an inch from his forehead.

“Do that again,” growled the Marine, “and I will put a bullet in your face and forget about you.”

Rush rose slowly. “You need me. Otherwise, I suspect you would have done that by now.”

Greer seemed to be considering it; then in the next moment his let the rifle drop on its strap and started walking again.

“Give me some water,” Rush grated.

The Marine did not. “Right now, I’m praying to God above that dehydration will shut you the hell up. Walk, or die here. Take your pick, Mister Decision-Maker.”

Rush’s eyes narrowed, and after a moment, he began to walk.

Eli came to the top of the dune just as the Stargate flashed open, and with care he picked his way back down the slope of shifting sands. He saw Curtis and Palmer looking over Franklin’s shoulder as he worked the remote. The kino zipped through the open wormhole and vanished.

“Looks like it’s worth a shot to me,” said Franklin.

Curtis nodded and hefted his rifle. “Let’s do it.”

Eli tried to call out, and the first time all his parched throat let out was a squeak of dry air. He was on the verge of stumbling over, his stamina all but spent, his body pushed way beyond its physical limits. He tried again. “Wait! Stop!”

They ignored him. “It’s not perfect but it’s better than here.” Franklin was reading planetary data off the remote. “Vegetation, water, air…” He looked up at Eli as he came panting toward them. “It’s not too late to come with us.”

He shook his head, breathing hard. “Don’t… Don’t do it…”

But they were already walking away. “We’ll dial back as soon as we know it’s safe to evacuate everyone.”

“You’ll never get home…” Eli called after them.

Curtis was taking the lead, and Palmer was a step behind as they walked up the stone ramp leading to the gate. “You don’t know that,” Franklin retorted. “Maybe there’s a way to use the gate system to connect the dots.”

Dots? What dots?
Eli blinked. Right now, the only dots he could see were those in front of his eyes. He gave a shaky gasp. “There has to be a reason the ship locked out those addresses!”

Curtis and Palmer disappeared through the puddle, and Franklin gave a dismissive wave of the hand, stepping up after them.

The sharp crack of a gunshot sang through the air and splinters of stone exploded in front of Franklin’s feet. Eli spun about to see a figure atop one of the nearby dunes; Sergeant Greer, his rifle raised to his shoulder, his aim steady.

Eli turned back to Franklin and saw the train of thought on his face. The man looked at Greer, at the Stargate, back to Greer again. “Don’t do it!” Eli warned.

Behind them, Rush came scrambling up the sandbank just as Franklin bolted for the open wormhole. “Shoot him!” shouted the scientist.

The gun barked a second time and Eli saw a sudden flower of red blossom on Franklin’s shoulder. The man gave a thin, reedy scream, twisted and fell in a heap on the ramp. The shiny metal remote pad fell from his fingers with a clatter.

Eli ran as quickly as he could toward the gate. Franklin was pale and semi-conscious, bleeding heavily from the glancing bullet hit, but still alive. He hesitated, unsure of what to do, while ahead of him the gate gave a shriek of air and deactivated.

A shadow fell across him and Eli looked up to see Greer and Rush. “Why’d you do that?” he demanded.

“He told me to,” said Greer, nodding noncommittally toward Rush.

“We just saved his life,” insisted the scientist.

Eli found that a little hard to take. “By shooting him?”

“He’ll live,” said Greer, dismissive.

“You just stranded Curtis and Palmer.” Eli pointed at the gate.

“We can send them another remote,” Greer bent to recover the device Franklin had been using. “I wasn’t taking any chances.”

Abruptly, Eli realized they were a person short. “Where’s Scott?”

“Still looking for limestone,” said Rush.

Eli felt his gut tighten and he checked his wristwatch; he’d set a timer before they’d left the
Destiny
. “It’s almost half-time,” he said. “We have less than six hours left before the ship leaves.”

Greer grabbed his radio. “Lieutenant Scott, this is Sergeant Greer, come in.”

Eli frowned. “I hope he’s turned back by now.”

“Lieutenant, come in,” Greer repeated. The only reply was static.

Rush bent down and began to work on Franklin’s wound. “He’s either out of radio range or is lying face down in the sand. Dead, or soon to be.”

Eli made a choking noise. “Yeah, that’s the spirit. Think positive.”

Greer checked his rifle and slung it over his shoulder, dropping the rest of his pack on the stone ramp. “I’m going back for him.”

Rush didn’t look up. “That’s suicide.”

“I’m not leaving him out there.”

Eli nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

Greer shook his head. “You’re just going to slow me down.
Again
.”

Eli’s shoulders sagged. “Right…”

“Someone needs to get this man back to the ship,” Rush broke in. “He needs proper medical attention.”

The Marine gave Eli an appraising look, then handed him the remote. “Dial,” he said simply, then indicated Rush with a jut of the chin. “He can take Franklin back. You wait here for me.”

“I can do that.” Eli studied the remote, remembering the activation sequence. “You have five hours and change to find him and get back here.”

“It has not been a pleasure knowing you,” muttered Rush.

Greer’s lips thinned and he reached for the holster at his belt. He pulled out his pistol and offered the weapon to Eli.

He took it gingerly. Eli had played enough
Call of Duty
games to know a Beretta handgun when he saw it; it was heavier than he expected. “What do I need this for?”

“Just in case,” said the Marine evenly.

“In case of what?” Greer began to walk away, and he called after him. “I don’t even know how to fire this thing!”

The other man stopped, took the gun and worked the slide to put a bullet in the chamber. Then he flipped off the safety catch and cocked the hammer before slapping it back into Eli’s palm. Now all he needed to do was pull the trigger.

“You better be here,” said Greer.

Eli gave a nod. “I will,” he promised.

The Marine broke into a loping run and swiftly climbed the dune slope before disappearing from sight.

Eli held the pistol, the metal warm in his hands. He could smell the lubricant oil on it. He slowly turned to Rush. “I have a gun,” he said firmly.

The scientist rolled his eyes and went back to bandaging Franklin’s wound.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Matthew Scott walked on.

It had become a mechanical, mindless process, one foot in front of the other, over and over, trudging across the ivory sandscape. As he struggled to sustain his consciousness, it became a contest of sheer applied will. His training, his stamina, his spirit, any combination of all these things, they were the force keeping his feet moving, long past the point where his body should have failed.

And the heat; the punishing, endless heat tore into Scott through his sweat-soaked uniform. Dimly, he could feel it killing him by inches.

At the edges of his vision there were blurs, ghostly shapes that could have been heat-haze mirages or specks of dirt caught in his eyes. He sensed a strange pressure in the back of his skull and something pulled him, compelled him to turn around. He did so, stumbling and righting himself before he could fall.