Martha Wells: Reliquary

“And if this is just a big projector room, it’s not new. We’ve already found plenty of projectors,” John added, just to mess with Rodney a little more. A lot of the living quarters had small theater rooms; the science team had already been able to use parts from a damaged laptop to convert one to play the DVDs people had brought along in their personal items.

Still sitting on the floor, McKay gave him a withering look. “This is a holographic projector,” he corrected pointedly as Zelenka struggled out of the pillar.

“We found one of those already, too.”

“Oh, hey.” Ford looked intrigued. “Maybe this is a holographic game projector, for virtual reality games. That would be cool.”

“You watched too much Star Trek .” Rodney told him.

Ford snorted. “Oh, like you didn’t.”

Before John could add that a virtual reality game room would be awesome, Zelenka said, “I don’t think this is for entertainment.” He sat back on his heels, looking thoughtful and adjusting his glasses. Zelenka was Czech, short, with a fuzzy halo of brown hair, and probably the most brilliant person in Atlantis next to Rodney. He had had the Ancient gene therapy, but he was one of the forty-eight percent of the population that it didn’t affect. “There is no place to insert media. It will only play what’s contained in the memory core.” He eyed the pillar without satisfaction, then shrugged philosophically. “Perhaps it’s meant to be a museum display.”

“Whatever. Let’s try it again.” McKay shoved to his feet, wiped his hands on his pants, and slapped a touchpad.

The walls started to glow with a mild white light. Then it suddenly flashed and dissolved in a bright flare of fuzzy three-dimensional static. The pillar made a constipated burping noise that just couldn’t be good. “You broke it,” John told Rodney. The gray static stood out about a foot from the walls, and the shimmery three-dimensional quality of it was already giving him a headache.

“Oh, I did not.” McKay rolled his eyes, still poking touch-pads.

“I don’t think you should have substituted those crystals from the—” Zelenka began.

The pillar burped again, and the walls flashed, but this time John happened to be looking in the right spot and saw it had displayed an actual image, just for a second, before dissolving into static again.

“Whoa, did you see that?” Ford asked, flinching away from the brightness.

“What was it?” McKay demanded, pivoting to stare around the room.

“Those were symbols for a ’gate address.” Intrigued now, John stepped up to the pillar, hoping the thing was stuck in some kind of memory loop. Just as the pillar burped again he hit the biggest touch pad.

The walls blurred into motion, blazing with light and color. For an instant John got an impression of dark stone walls and towers, a storm-gray sky overhead. Then it all flashed into the bright liquid static again and vanished. John winced and rubbed his eyes; his retinas felt as if they had just gotten a tan.

“Ouch,” Ford commented, grimacing. “That wasn’t good. I think it’s wrecked.”

“Okay, all kidding aside, now you really broke it.” Irritated, Rodney flung his hands in the air.

John threw him an annoyed look. “I did not. It was already broken when you were screwing with it.”

Zelenka waved his hands, glaring up at them from his seat on the floor. “Hush, enough! I’m tired of watching the Major play Bugs Bunny to McKay’s Daffy Duck.”

McKay frowned down at him. “Hey, why is he Bugs Bunny?”

“It’s the teeth.” Ford nodded seriously.

John turned to him, saying earnestly, “What did you say, Ford? You want to go to the mainland and dig irrigation ditches for Hailing? Why, yes, that can be arranged!”

Swearing, Zelenka dived into the pillar console again, his voice muffled. “Recriminations later. Let me try…”

This time there was a muted flash and an image froze, stretched across three-quarters of the wall area. It was the seven symbols of a Stargate address, displayed in three-dimensional blue figures a couple of feet high.

“Huh. What do you know about that?” McKay frowned thoughtfully at the pillar. “What’s so special about this address that it gets its own kiosk and a holographic display?”

Zelenka growled from inside the device. “If I could just get past this damaged section of power input, I might be able to-Though perhaps the memory core itself is damaged, maybe when crystals were drained.” He pulled his head out to look at the address, brow furrowed. “We need to figure out a way to make it play the whole thing. It must explain itself.”

“Or,” John put in, studying the address thoughtfully, “there is a quicker way to find out.”

The address wasn’t one that Teyla recognized, which meant it wasn’t a planet that the Athosians had ever visited on their trading trips. Peter Grodin was trying to find it in the Ancient database, but that could take forever. John pushed for his quick solution, and Elizabeth Weir, the expedition’s leader, agreed.

Standing on the control center gallery level of the ’gate room, John impatiently watched the techs get the MALP ready. The self-contained probe would tell them if this was an orbital ’gate or a planetary one, check for radiation and other hazards, and the video telemetry would let them know if there was a bunch of Wraith waiting around for lunch to show up. The address had already been dialed into the ’gate, and the event horizon was a lucent pool of liquid blue glittering invitingly inside the ring.

The ’gate room was large and light and airy, designed with practicality and aesthetics in mind, like most of Atlantis. The soft copper-colored walls were inset with the elaborate geometrical patterns of stained glass that decorated all the living areas, and the ’gate itself was in the lower level of the room, with a wide sweep of stairs leading down from the gallery level to the embarkation floor. Unlike the ’gate room at Stargate Command on Earth, there was no protected area that could be sealed off if a hostile force came through; Atlantis’ ’gate room had been built at a time when the city expected only friendly visitors. The only defensive measure was a force shield over the ’gate itself that, like the trinium iris on Earth’s Stargate, prevented unwanted arrivals. The puddlejumper bay was directly above the ’gate room, with a floor and ceiling that could retract, allowing the little ships to drop into a launch position for the ’gate or lift up to leave the city.

Teyla, Zelenka, and McKay had gathered to watch, and Elizabeth Weir was standing beside John, arms folded. John thought everybody was acting like it was Christmas and Santa was about to arrive through the ’gate. Elizabeth must have thought so too, because her mouth quirked, and she glanced at him, saying, “So what are you hoping for?”

John shrugged, pretending he wasn’t just as intrigued as everybody else. What they were all hoping for, of course, was a place that might have a Zero Point Module. ZPMs were the only thing that could fulfill Atlantis’ huge demand for power, and the last of the city’s resources had been nearly used up bringing it to the surface. Now the expedition was using the naquadah generators they had brought from Earth to keep the city partially powered. This mostly worked, but it wasn’t enough to raise the city’s shields or power the Stargate for a wormhole back to Earth, so they couldn’t get supplies or new personnel, report that they were in a hell of a lot of trouble, or retreat. John just said, “Oh, I don’t know. A puddlejumper dealership and repair outlet?”

Below, the techs cleared the floor and the blocky shape of the MALP trundled through the wormhole’s event horizon. Peter Grodin, one of the British scientists, was seated at the console that acted as the dialing device and monitor for the Stargate. “And there we go. Yes. We have a safe arrival.” He shifted over to the laptop that would receive and interpret the MALP’s telemetry, glancing up over his shoulder at Elizabeth. “It’s a viable destination, at least.”