“You and Todd,” Rodney said slowly. To Jennifer’s surprise, he began to laugh. “Of course he did! It must be at least a quintuple cross by now! No wonder Ember was scared to death the whole time.”
“Ember?” Ronon said.
“One of Guide’s — Todd’s — clevermen.” Rodney paused, as though he’d just realized he was translating Wraith terms. “Scientists. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was involved in developing it, it’s his kind of project.” He shook his head. “But that isn’t really relevant. So you tried this retrovirus yourself?”
Jennifer felt herself flush. “Yes. Look, after I let Todd feed on me the first time, I couldn’t let anybody else do it.”
“You let Todd feed on you?” Rodney’s voice scaled up, and Ronon gave a sympathetic grunt.
“You’ve missed a lot of fun, McKay.”
“Yes, I let him feed on me,” Jennifer said. “Somebody had to test it, and I trusted that he would revive me if the virus didn’t work. Which it didn’t, the first time, and he did.”
“You let Todd feed on you,” Rodney said again, more quietly, this time. “And restore you. Did you have any idea of the risk you were running?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” Jennifer glared back at him. “And I still do. And you may be grateful for it in the long run.”
Rodney winced at that, and Jennifer bit her lip. That wasn’t something she’d meant to say, at least not yet. She didn’t really want to know if Rodney had fed, though he must have done, to stay alive this long.
Ronon said, “So you think you passed out because of the retrovirus?”
Jennifer took a breath. “Yes. At least, that seems the most likely cause. There’s nothing else that was different.”
“Does that mean it worked?” Ronon’s expression was unreadable.
“I don’t know.” Jennifer couldn’t look at Rodney, looked at her hands instead. “I won’t know until we can test it.”
“Well, I’m not going to test it,” Rodney said. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Damn right it’s not,” Ronon said.
“Rodney.” Jennifer laced her fingers together. She couldn’t come right out and say it, couldn’t ask him when he’d last fed — couldn’t bear to think about it, Rodney with teeth bared, his claws, his handmouth fixed on someone’s chest. “Look, I’m going to need to examine you, to find out what they did to make you change.”
“If I’d known you were coming,” Rodney said, “I’d’ve stolen a dose of the drug they were giving me. At least, I assume that’s what it was, something to keep me — I don’t know, wraithified. But, no, you had to stun me first.”
“That’s because you tried to kill us the last time,” Ronon said.
Jennifer closed her eyes for a moment. “I can probably get an idea of what they were doing from a blood sample, but not here. Though it’s actually good news that this process requires a booster, that means it ought to just wear off, more or less.” Except that all their simulations showed that it didn’t wear off entirely, that Rodney would be stuck halfway, partly Wraith and partly human, just like Michael. She shoved that thought aside. “So. Do we have a plan for getting back to Atlantis?”
“Yeah.” Ronon pushed himself to his feet, began collecting more scraps of fallen wood. “McKay says we’re about fifty kilometers from the Stargate, and the terrain’s not much different than here. I figure we can walk that in two days, three at the most.” He squinted at the sky. “I’m guessing it’ll be dark in a few hours, so there’s no point in getting started today. I say we get a good night’s sleep here, and start for the gate first thing in the morning.”
“OK.” Jennifer reached into her pockets, began taking stock of what she found. There was no sign of her P90, she realized, and guessed it had been left on the hive. Basic first aid kit, a case with a second dose of Wraith-level tranquilizer — they weren’t likely to need that unless something went drastically wrong — three, no, four power bars, plus a multi-tool. She checked the last pocket. Two more power bars and a crinkly mylar emergency blanket still in its wrapper. A twist of string, and three spare elastics for her hair.
“You’ve been taking lessons from Teyla,” Ronon said, with approval. He dropped another load of wood beside the fire.
“It seemed like a good idea,” Jennifer began, and made herself stop. “Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind sharing,” Ronon said, “that’ll get us through tonight and still leave some to spare. I’ll set snares overnight. From the tracks, there’s plenty of small game.”
“Couldn’t we just, I don’t know, find fruits and berries?” Jennifer asked.
“Sometimes they pick up weird trace minerals,” Ronon said. “It’s not so bad with animals.” He pointed to one of the elastics. “Can I use that?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Jennifer watched as he twisted it around a thin, flexible stick — making a snare, she guessed.
“We’ll need to split the watches, you and I,” he said, and Rodney lifted his head.
“Hello? What about me?”
“You’re what we’re watching,” Ronon said. “If you weren’t you, I’d tie you up overnight. Or stun you.”
Rodney opened his mouth to protest, closed it again, a look almost of misery flickering across his face, before he bared teeth in a snarl that did nothing to reassure anyone. “Fine. Be that way.”
Jennifer closed her eyes again. Somehow she’d imagined that when they finally found Rodney it would just be a matter of getting him into the infirmary, that it was just a medical problem, the kind of thing that, while admittedly difficult, she knew how to handle. She had no idea what to do about Ronon, about Rodney as a Wraith, about Rodney and Ronon together or anything else that involved interpersonal relations. They were all professionals, she told herself. More than that, they were a team. Rodney and Ronon were teammates, they were friends, and somehow that would be enough to get them to the Stargate. Surely.
Chapter Three
Queen’s Return
The rain was streaking down in sheets, soaking Sam in the short distance from the Hammond’s ramp to the door. There were no transfers this time to Atlantis’s infirmary, which was a good thing. No one was critical, just bumps and bruises and a few second degree burns. That was a thing she’d look forward to reporting when she uploaded for the databurst to the SGC.
The transport chamber doors opened on Atlantis’s control room level, and Sam stepped out, almost plowing into Richard Woolsey. “Excuse me,” she said. “I was on my way up.”
“I was on my way down to see you,” Woolsey said, and that was almost unheard of. The person in charge in Atlantis waited on the starship captains to come to them. It was a protocol Elizabeth Weir had established in her first days working with Caldwell, a protocol she’d been careful to keep when she was in charge. Atlantis did not answer to the starship captains. The chain of command was made absolutely clear.
Woolsey shifted from one foot to another, stepping back to let her actually get out of the transport chamber. “Is Colonel Sheppard with you?”
“No.” Sam wondered if she looked as perplexed as she sounded. “He’s not back?”
“No.” Woolsey’s face was drawn. “We haven’t heard a word from any of the team. Nothing.” His voice sharpened. “I thought they were to return with you.”
Sam shook her head. “That was the original plan, but we had trouble getting in close enough to beam them out. I had a radio message from Sheppard that indicated they had been beamed aboard Todd’s hive ship. I thought they’d be back by now.”
“No,” Woolsey said. “We don’t know anything.”
Sam blew out a breath. If Todd were holding them prisoner they’d be getting demands any time now. But that was less likely, given that Teyla was still masquerading as his queen. “It’s possible that the hive ship also took some battle damage,” she said. “That may be more of a priority than getting to a gate and reporting in.”
A twitch
of Woolsey’s eyebrows showed what he thought of Sheppard’s enthusiasm for immediately reaching a gate and reporting in. “Did they recover Dr. McKay?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “There was a lot of interference on the radio. Sheppard said they were aboard Todd’s ship, but I don’t know if they had McKay with them or not.” She shook her head. “If not, he’s dead. Queen Death’s hive ship exploded. There would have been no survivors.” Surely they had him. Sheppard wouldn’t have beamed out without him. And if not… It was better than orders to kill him. Better than Sheppard having to fulfill those orders, if he had died at the Hammond’s guns rather than Sheppard’s hand. “I expect they have him,” she said. “I’m not certain. The communications were very spotty.”
Woolsey nodded, looking somewhat comforted.
He was worried, Sam thought. He was worried about his people. The Woolsey she’d known wouldn’t have been. When had that happened and what had changed him?
“I’m sure they will report soon,” he said.
“Yes,” Sam agreed.
Dr. Kusanagi had approached, standing well back to not be rude but close enough to indicate she had something to say, and now Sam turned to her. “Doctor?”
“The SGC has dialed in again and sent through supplies. I thought you would be pleased to know that it includes material for the Hammond.”
“Absolutely,” Sam said, “What have we got?” With a nod for Woolsey, who headed back into his office, she went down the main stairs with Kusanagi. The floor of the gateroom was filled with boxes and pallets, a couple of hundred boxes sent through the Stargate containing everything from kitchen supplies to vital medicines. One big pallet looked like it was stacked with seven or eight hundred pounds of metal plating. It also had a big red ribbon around it.
“I think these are for you,” Kusanagi said, smiling. “They’re 640 hull plating.”
“I expect they are.” Sam couldn’t help but grin. There was a tag attached to the big red bow, Jack’s handwriting. Happy Birthday.
“I did not know it is your birthday, Colonel Carter,” Dr. Kusanagi said. “Many happy returns.”
“It isn’t my birthday,” Sam said, as Kusanagi tilted her head and looked confused. It was Jack’s. Happy Birthday. Carter is still in one piece. Again. She supposed that made a pretty fair present.
Thorn looked about the audience chamber with grudging satisfaction from his place behind Waterlight. All was as it should be. Four drones guarded the doors with pikes in hand, while blades and clevermen in their numbers assembled within. If their numbers were less than Queen Death might assemble, or their colors more muted and less ostentatious, still they made a brave show. A martial show, to his eyes. Even those who stood closest their queen were dressed in plain leathers, their ornament limited to richly embroidered borders, hair clasps of silver and steel.
A blade knelt at her feet, dark green finework at his sleeves a compliment to her dress, his eyes raised. Not pallax, not yet, though that one aspired to be. His adoration was as evident as his ambition.
Her consort ignored him. Guide’s back was straight, the proud lines of his face belied his age. He wore unrelieved black, so secure in his place that he might scorn ornamentation, standing directly to her left to place himself across her heart should the need arise, off hand dagger at the ready.
Between them in tableau, Steelflower. Night dark hair fell from a fillet of iron set with moonstones, her beautiful face cast down as she listened to the blade at her feet. She wore no elaborate dress to reveal her charms. It was not necessary. Every man knew what she was, and rather than modest she seemed determined. The severe lines of tight bodice and flowing emerald overcoat spoke of stern control, of the economies of a warrior queen who loves weapons better than jewels.
And forward where the first courtiers should be, where other ambassadors should stand… Thorn let out an inadvertent hiss.
Steelflower’s eyes fell upon him just as he felt Waterlight wince.
“These too are ambassadors,” Steelflower said aloud, “in so much as you are. And we do not disdain any who come under our peace.” She nodded with her chin to the young woman who stood in front, red gold hair as tightly bound as Steelflower’s over her black coat. “This is She Who is Wreathed in Plants of Victory, kinswoman to She Who Carries Many Things, who comes before me on behalf of that greatest queen of the Lanteans. And he you have met before, the Consort of Atlantis, who is also called Guide.” Her eyes fell on the third human, a little man who stood beside the Consort. “And a cleverman of Atlantis, He Who Is Son of a Famous Ruler.”
John Sheppard looked straight back at him. This one Thorn had seen before indeed. He had been their prisoner, and he had groveled at Steelflower’s feet as abjectly as any.
Whatever Thorn might have said was forestalled by Waterlight. “You treat with the humans of Atlantis?”
“I hear out any who come to me in peace,” Steelflower said, rising from her carved chair. “Is it not true that She Who Carries Many Things is a great queen, an adversary worthy of our interest? It is she who reduced the Asurans to nothing when they had spoiled many hunting grounds and left many hives queenless. If she sends her own consort and kinswoman to treat with me, should I not hear them?”
There was no murmur of dissent within the hall, Thorn felt with surprise. Even Waterlight was more curious than afraid.
And yet Steelflower answered him, though it seemed she spoke to all assembled. “Why not speak of what we all know? We must feed. A galaxy without humans would be to us a barren desert, and we should surely perish. What else awaits us at Queen Death’s hands? If she spoils the hunting grounds that sustain us all, how shall we live? Or is it that she will bite us to the bone thus, leaving all hives at her mercy? If she controls the only foodstuffs, who then shall gainsay her anything?” Steelflower’s eyes swept over the crowd. “That is not as it should be, not as the First Mothers taught us. To each her blades and clevermen, to each her children in the chrysalis. We do not answer to one alone. Each queen shall take her own course, and any man who disagrees is free to follow another queen who better suits him.” Her eyes rested upon Thorn’s. “Is this not so, He Who Was Honored by Firebeauty?”
“It is,” Thorn said, and he felt the appreciation deeply, that she did not name him failed consort, but rather reminded those assembled that Firebeauty had chosen him not only to guard her, but to be Father to her daughter. No greater honor and trust could have been given him.
Her eyes turned from him to Waterlight, and she came down from her dais and took both Waterlight’s hands in hers as though they were near kin. “Be welcome in my zenana, dear sister. I have greatly desired to speak with you.”
“And I with you,” Waterlight said in a clear, strong voice. She was girl still, not woman, but she was queen. “I bring you alliance and name you sister. We shall stand together!” Her words rang through every part of the room, and more than one blade turned with his heart in his eyes, caught by her precocious courage. Thorn’s chest swelled with pride. Young she was, in her gown of white, her face still with the soft roundness of childhood, her tight bodice emphasizing the shape of budding breasts, but her resolution marked strength of will. She would be a worthy queen in her time. If he could but guard her so long. If he could but guard her until she grew up.
“I will stand with you proudly,” Steelflower said, hand in hand, though it seemed to Thorn that for a moment her eyes flickered over Waterlight’s head to meet those of the Consort of Atlantis. “I give you my word, my sister.”
The audience was over. Through the twining corridors that led to the Queen’s Chambers Steelflower retired, her Consort at her side, her hand lightly on his wrist. Behind, the Lanteans’ ambassador walked with her entourage, honored thus with a private audience with the queen. They had nearly reached the doors when Steelflower swayed, and it was Guide and the Consort of Atlantis who caught her, one beneath each elbow.
“Are you ok?” Sheppard whispered.
“She is faint,” Guide said. “Here and now.” He triggered the door to open before them, made as though to lift his queen in his arms to carry her.
“I am all right,” Steelflower said, waving away his hands. “Let me be.” They went inside and after the doors closed she sunk down on a padded bench, her hands clenching against the tufted fabric as though to keep the world from swimming.
“What’s the matter?” Laura Cadman asked, coming around Radek Zelenka, whose face was a study in concern.
“I am only a little dizzy,” Teyla said, but her hands did not unclench.
“She hasn’t had any solid food in nearly a month,” Sheppard said, going down on one knee beside the bench so that he could see her face. “Cadman, get one of those protein shakes out.”
“I am fine,” Teyla said.
Guide’s brow furrowed. “She must feed?”
“She can’t live on nothing but nutrition drinks,” Sheppard snapped. “They’re not meant for this. They’re ok for a few meals or even a few weeks, but she has to eat real food. She can’t just go on like this. She’s been doing it too long as it is.” He stood up, not so tall as Guide, but nearly. “She needs to go home. She needs to get off the meds and eat actual meals and sleep normal hours. She can’t keep doing this.”
Guide nodded slowly. “It is reasonable that eventually she must feed as a human.”
“She can’t with the dental work in her mouth. And these meds are messing up her blood pressure. We need to put an end to this.”
“I can’t yet,” Teyla said. “I must meet with Bitterroot first. She will come soon, and I must be here.”
“Todd can do it for you,” Sheppard said, handing her the can that Cadman had opened.
“He cannot.” Teyla took the can carefully, angling the sipping hole against her lips. “It must be queen to queen.” She looked up at Guide. “Is that not true?”
STARGATE ATLANTIS: Secrets (Book 5 in the Legacy series) Page 3