STARGATE: A New Dawna Stargate Fan Fic - Chapter 220

Wraith Orbital Station

Passing through the threshold into his quarters, the Harbinger made his way to his sleeping platform. Exhaustion permeated every fiber of his being. The reasons behind his exhaustion were simple. Too many tasks, and not enough trusted underlings to delegate these tasks towards consumed his every waking hour. He needed sleep, and finally he was forced to do so. When he awoke, the flood of unfinished tasks would be there awaiting him. Falling onto his bed bodily, the Harbinger came to rest after thirty straight hours of concentrated thought.

Closing his eyes, moments later his breathing slowed as his body’s biorhythms bottomed out. Scant minutes later, beneath the pale eyelids, his fey colored cat’s eyes began to move left, right, up, and down. The onset of rapid eye movement sleep overtook him. Of its own accord, his brainwave patterns changed as Harbinger began to dream. Images of Atlantis began to fill his dreamscape.

Opening his eyes, Harbinger is welcomed to a strange sight. Looking at his surroundings, he takes not that he is unmistakably standing in a lower passageway of Atlantis. All around him Lantean’s scurry back and forth, going about their day. Oddly, none look at him with eyes overflowing in horror at the Wraith amongst them. Looking down at his hands, his breathe catches in the back of his throat. These are not the hands of a Wraith! These hands are human! Suddenly, his hands shoot towards his face. Running them over his face, he’s taken aback that his features feel decidedly human. Moving hands to hair, he finds that his long and ornately braided white hair is now much shorter.

Unsure of what is happening, he begins to amble through the corridors unfolding before him. Names of men and women passing him spring into his mind. Memories seemingly not his own play out of events with several of the individuals he encounters. How could this be? Everything about this is so wrong, yet so familiar and right. What is happening?

Quickening his pace, he takes a route he knows will eventually bring him to the main tower. As he walks faster, he notices those around him now locking their eyes on him. Instead of content faces, he is met with menacing glares, filled with hatred. Each of their eyes have changed. Instead of browns and blues, each set of eyes is now the blackest of night, filled with what looks like bolts of lightening flashing through them. All around him, an unintelligible muttering and chanting fills the air. With each step, the crashing waves of sound roll over him, growing louder with each passing second.

His heart races, thundering against his chest, as his breathing grows heavy and labored. Energized by panic, his body begins to run, seemingly on its own. Those in his path stop where they stand, only to glare while lips move silently to the chanting filling the air. In his chest, he feels the vibration and bass from the rhythmic chant. Faster, he runs.

Rounding a corner, he see’s a transporter booth. Sprinting directly towards it, he passes several windows to the outside. Instead of a sunbathed ocean view, he notes dark skies. Tearing through pitch-black skies, horrendous bolts of lightening arc across the horizon, followed by booming thunderclaps. The smell of electrified ozone fills the air, and his senses. Into the booth he jumps, quickly punching in a destination he knows will take him near the control center.

Exiting the booth, Harbinger steps out cautiously. Looking around, he takes in his surroundings, surveying for any possible threat. Expelling a ragged exhale, he breathes a sigh of relief. He is alone. Making his way through the seemingly deserted corridor, he passes through the automatic doors. Stepping into the control room, he notes a handful of people sitting at their duty stations. Slowly, they turn their heads, casting their gaze upon him. The incessant chanting grows so loud it is earsplitting.

Reaching a crescendo, the chanting grows even louder. Reverberating through his body, he fears it might make him ill. Unable to take his eyes off the Lantean’s at their duty stations, he notes in horror a change. From their eyes and mouths, intense shafts of light erupt towards him. Blinded, he staggers back four steps. Stopping, he feels a body pressed against him, blocking his path.

Filled with horror, he turns. Face to face with his obstacle, he see’s a woman whose name springs to mind immediately. Melia! On her face is a sorrowful look. Delicately lifting her hand to his face, she cups his face in her soft hand.

“You’ve suffered so much.” Melia says softly.

“What is this madness?” Harbinger demands in a panicked voice.

“You have much to atone for.” Melia replies forcefully, in a low and frightening tone.

As she speaks the last word, light erupts from her eyes and mouth. Finding himself blinded by the intense display, Harbinger staggers back. His skin seers, as if on fire, enveloping him in blinding pain. He feels flames’ lapping over his body, as the relentless chanting drowns out his screams of agony. Collapsing bodily to the floor, he feels his body fail under the relentless assault of heat and light.

Opening his eyes, Harbinger finds himself laying in his bed. Startled, his hand shoots to his face. Yes, these are Wraith features. It was all nothing more than a horrible dream! Interrupting his moment of levity, a soft toned chime sounds in the background. Getting his attention, he looks towards the entryway.

“Enter.” Harbinger says strongly.

At his command, the entryway doors open. Stepping into the room, a Wraith commander enters, and drops to a knee. Harbinger can hear him speaking, but cannot understand what is being said. It is all mutters.

“Speak clearly!” Harbinger orders crossly.

Instantly, the muttering ceases. Oddly, the commander does not raise his head and look at the Harbinger. Leaping from his bed platform, Harbinger steels himself to punish the wayward commander for his insolence. A moment passes in silence. Slowly, the commander brings his eyes to those of the Harbinger. As in his dream, geysers of light erupt from the commanders eyes and mouth in a display of blinding light. Every corner of the compartment catches fire, as the chanting returns in sickening waves.

In a frenzy, Harbinger finds himself sitting up in bed. Shrill and breathless screams escape his lips. Looking around in a panic, he takes note that his compartment is not engulfed in flames. No chanting fills his ears. How can this be? As happened moments ago, a door chime sounds. Harbinger recoils in terror. Panic fills every ounce of his being. Again the door chime sounds.

“Enter.” Harbinger states in quiet terror.

As the doors open, in walks the very same Wraith commander seen moments ago in his dream. Panic continues to build in Harbinger. He wants to run, but what would be the point? The nightmare will continue playing itself out over and over again. Dropping to a knee, the commander begins to address Harbinger.

“My lord, the latest set of vessels receiving modifications has completed their upgrade. They have departed the site, and are in route now.” The commander explains.

“Very well. Leave me.” Harbinger ordered.

Swiftly, the commander rose and made his exit. For several moments, Harbinger sat quietly on his bed platform. How to make sense of it all?

“It was a dream, nothing more.” Harbinger whispers to himself.

Rising to his feet, Harbinger steadies himself on unsure feet. Looking at his hands, he closes his eyes. Coming to grips with his dreams, he makes his way towards the floor to ceiling mirror in the corner of his compartment. Facing the mirror, he stares intently at the features of his face. Wraith features. Seeing movement behind him, he focuses on the corner of the mirror. Staring with wide eyes, he finds himself staring into the face of Melia, as she stares back at him. Turning quickly in a panic, he finds the compartment empty.

“It’s a dream, nothing more.” Harbinger whispers to himself in dread.