Reliquary

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John Sheppard pivoted, eyes narrowed critically as he examined the large round chamber. “I don’t know, Ford. I don’t think we could mount a backboard on these walls.”

They were a pearly white ceramic, ornamented with three wide silver bands that had a faint hint of sea greens and blues woven into their metal. The sunlight that fell through the cathedral-like stained glass panels high in the peaked roof made the whole room opalescent. The floor also had translucent white-on-white patterns, long lines that were abstract and floral, sort of Art Nouveau. It was a subtle and beautiful space, but for Atlantis, that was hardly unusual.

“Major,” Lieutenant Ford said regretfully, shaking his head. “You are obsessing on the basketball. I’m thinking this would be a great place to play handball. Or racquetball. We’re in another galaxy here. You have to think outside the hoop.”

John lifted his brows, considering it. “Racquetball, huh? You may be on to something.” He doubted anybody had brought a set of rackets along as a personal item, but they could probably make them. He might even be able to talk one of the Athosians on the mainland into carving a set out of wood, which would bypass the whole “using limited materials for recreation” issue. “McKay, what do you think?”

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