STARGATE ATLANTIS: Secrets (Book 5 in the Legacy series)

by Scott, Melissa

  Her life jolted through him, sweet and clear and true, sharp and strong as the note of a horn. He pulled back, terrified that he would see her withered already, but her face was still young, even as it twisted in pain. Her fists were clenched, there were tears at the corners of her eyes, and still he fed, helpless, gulping life. He hadn’t known how far gone he was, neither Dust nor Ember had let him truly starve, and a thousand clichés flooded through him. Rain in the desert, silence after the storm — no, it was life and reprieve, and he released her, newly afraid.

  “Jennifer?”

  She hadn’t aged, her skin was smooth and her hair still golden, but her eyes were closed, and she sagged in his arms.

  “Jennifer!” He touched her throat, trying to remember his first aid training — not that there was anything in it that would cover either being fed upon or some strange retroviral side effect — and gasped with relief to feel her pulse strong and steady under his touch. She shifted then, shrugging her shoulder the way she did sometimes in sleep, and he cradled her against his shoulder, smoothing her hair in helpless apology.

  He didn’t know how long they sat there. Long enough that the air turned thick and purple in the twilight, the sun a distant ember beyond the trees. Ronon emerged from the wood, his face set and cold. His eyes narrowed, seeing them, and Rodney said quickly, “She’s sleeping. She’s all right.”

  Ronon didn’t answer, came to kneel beside them, touched Jennifer’s neck with one big hand. He found her pulse and took a long breath like a drowning man, but pushed himself up and away to busy himself with the fire. He spitted the coney efficiently, set it to cook, all without looking at them again, and Rodney shifted uneasily, Jennifer a solid weight against his shoulder.

  “Ronon, I —”

  “If she dies,” Ronon said, “I will kill you.”

  After a moment, Rodney dipped his head. “Fair enough.”

  Jennifer rolled over, wincing as her muscles protested the slightest movement. OK, that’s the last time she would go out drinking with a linebacker, no matter how good-looking — She stopped, her surroundings registering fully. Not college, not a night of partying, not even residency, that permanent haze of misery and exhaustion. An unnamed planet, a shelter taken from a Wraith lifepod, and — Oh, God.

  She sat up, flinching. She felt as though someone had beaten her with a stick, every muscle aching. OK, that wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t life-threatening, either. So, if she was remembering correctly — She looked down at her open jacket, saw the wound just below her clavicle, the puncture marks of the claws and the puffy scar where Rodney’s handmouth had fixed to her skin. It had closed more than the claw marks, looked more like an inflamed scratch than anything serious. Automatically, she checked her pulse, tipped her head to the side as she counted: normal; her temperature felt grossly normal, too. In general, she felt as though she’d just gotten over the flu. Not pleasant, but survivable. The retrovirus worked.

  She couldn’t help smiling at that. It was an answer, maybe, and at the very least they could use it on Atlantis, so nobody else would have to go home withered to a mummy, a corpse that couldn’t be explained. Assuming it worked for Rodney. She hadn’t thought of that, that the retrovirus might taint her like the Hoffan drug, and she crawled to the front of the shelter, panic nipping at her. She could see Ronon’s back, and the ring of stones that had held the fire — and Rodney, crouched like a black bird on the far side of the fire, head down but unharmed. She sagged in sheer relief, new pains running up her arms, and made herself crawl forward.

  “Good morning.”

  Rodney’s head snapped up, fear and relief and concern chasing themselves across his pale green skin. He was looking less thin, less starved, Jennifer noted; the feeding had worked for him as well. Ronon swiveled on his knees, held out his hand to steady her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m —” She had been going to say fine, but decided to be more realistic. “I’m OK. I’m sore, though some of that could be from falling yesterday. And tired. But, yes, basically, I’m fine.” She lifted her head, looked at Rodney. “And you?”

  He gave his lopsided smile. “Much better. Thank you. I mean, I know that’s not anything like adequate — but thanks.”

  She smiled back at him, a dazed kind of satisfaction filling her. She’d saved lives before, many times, but somehow this was different, came from a different place. This must be a bit like what it was like to give birth, to bring new life out of your own body, life from life — She shook that thought away, recognizing that she was too tired, too attenuated to make it coherent, and let herself drop awkwardly onto the dirt beside Ronon.

  “You were out for more than twelve hours,” he said. He didn’t look directly at her, glanced sideways, then away. “Passed out first, I think, but then it was like normal sleep.”

  “That’s good to know,” Jennifer said. She closed her eyes, considering her body’s needs. She didn’t feel hungry — no, she was past hunger, at the point where she felt like a hollowed shell.

  “Is there —” she began, and in the same moment, Ronon held out one of the last powerbars.

  “You should eat.”

  She took it gratefully. “Yes. Thanks.”

  “There’s still some coney, too,” Ronon said, when she had finished, and she devoured that as well.

  “All right,” she said, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. The food had helped more than she had expected, and she hoped it wasn’t just a quick burst of energy that would vanish as she moved. “It’s — is it still morning?”

  Ronon nodded. “We’re about ten kilometers from the Stargate.” His voice was even, without accusation, but Rodney flinched.

  “Maybe we should have waited,” he said. “I don’t know, maybe you should have gone on and gotten help —”

  “You were going to feed anyway,” Ronon said.

  “I didn’t have a choice!” Rodney snapped. “Look, I don’t want to be overly dramatic here, but I was dying —”

  “Ten kilometers,” Ronon said.

  “I couldn’t have walked ten steps!” Rodney said.

  Jennifer looked from one to the other. “You know? This isn’t helping.”

  Ronon looked away. “Sorry.”

  ‘I didn’t —” Rodney stopped abruptly, flushing.

  “We should get moving,” Ronon said, and reached for the first of the sticks that held the shelter in place.

  It didn’t take long to break down the Wraith shelter and pack up their few belongings. Rodney insisted she take the rod he’d been using for a walking stick, and Jennifer accepted without demur. She was feeling better, certainly, but “better” was a long way from “well.” Her muscles still ached, and she only hoped the tightness would ease once she got moving.

  Walking was better and worse: better because she could put the soreness aside, fix her mind on something else — the number of steps she’d taken, the tree just at the edge of the clearing, the coney tracks in the soft ground — worse because every so often a random muscle would knot into a cramp, and she had to stop, breath hissing through her teeth, to try to work it out. The first time, and the second, she thought no one noticed, but the third time, when it caught her below the rib cage so that she had to lean hard on her walking stick, fist pressed to the spasming muscle, the others stopped, turned back with uneasy looks.

  “It’s just a cramp,” she said, and Rodney hurried to her.

  “Try stretching,” he said. “Or putting weight on it. That is, if it’s a foot or a leg, that should help.”

  “It’s not,” Jennifer said, through clenched teeth. It was hard to breathe; each movement of her ribs seemed to pull the knot tighter.

  “Try — try leaning backward,” Rodney said. “That should stretch it.”

  “Leave her alone,” Ronon said. His unspoken accusation echoed between them: if you hadn’t fed, none of this would be happening.

  “Maybe you should go on to the Stargate,” Rodney
said. “You could get help, send it back. Then Jennifer wouldn’t have to walk when she’s — like this.”

  Ronon’s scowl deepened, but his voice was deceptively mild. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Oh, for — don’t you trust me?” Rodney demanded.

  “And why should I?” Ronon answered. “If it wasn’t for you —”

  Jennifer straightened, feeling the cramp ease at last. “How much farther to the gate?”

  Rodney fumbled with the Wraith device, but it was Ronon who answered. “We’re more than halfway. Maybe four kilometers.”

  “I can walk that,” Jennifer said, and hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. “Look, right now, the important thing is to get Rodney into the infirmary. I know he looks fine now —”

  “I am fine,” Rodney said.

  Jennifer ignored him. “But he has still missed several doses of the Wraith maintenance drug, and that means his transition is well underway. He needs to be where we can monitor him properly, and we need to get him there as soon as possible.”

  There was a little silence, and then Ronon nodded. “OK.” He paused. “If you get worse, we’ll revisit this.”

  “That’s fair,” Jennifer said, and made herself start moving again.

  They had been walking for maybe another hour when the next wave of cramps hit. It was her feet this time, first the muscles of her toes, and then one in the arch of her other foot, so that she lost her balance and tumbled to the grass, trying to bend one set of toes back and the other forward. She’d never felt anything like this, a pain so sharp she couldn’t catch her breath, and she knew there were tears on her cheeks.

  Ronon knelt beside her. “What and where?”

  She blinked, the tears on her lashes starring her vision. “My foot’s cramped. Oh, God, so stupid!”

  Someone drew her foot out from under her in spite of her gasp of pain, worked her boot off and wrapped her toes gently in his hand. Ronon? she thought, but, no, Ronon was beside her, so it had to be Rodney — And then he’d pressed her foot back, flexing it hard to stretch the knotting muscles. She gave a yelp of pain, but the worst was over, just the slow, bruised feeling of overworked flesh.

  “I’m sorry,” Rodney said. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Ronon said it would help —”

  “If you’d done it right —” Ronon said.

  “I did exactly what you told me to do,” Rodney said. “I do know how to follow directions, when they’re given properly.”

  “Since when?” Ronon said. “McKay, you suck at taking orders.”

  “I do not!”

  “Will you both shut up?” Jennifer glared up at them, grabbed sock and shoe from Rodney and began to put them on. “OK, that’s — I’ve had it with both of you. I am sore and tired and my muscles keep trying to tie themselves in knots, and I don’t need to hear any more of this. From either one of you.” She knotted her bootlace, too tight, and half of it snapped in her hand. She flung it away, swearing, and hauled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on Rodney’s walking stick. “If you can’t say something useful, shut up. And stay shut up until we get back to Atlantis. I have so totally had enough!”

  There was a ringing silence in the little grove. She took a step, and another, decided her feet would hold her, and started in the direction of the Stargate. She could hear the men following, silent except for the sounds of feet on leaves and grass, but she refused to look back.

  The adrenaline had worn off long before they reached the Stargate, but she refused to slow down, refused to look at either one of them, just dragged herself to the console and pressed the symbols that dialed Atlantis’s gate. The chevrons lit and locked, energy whooshing out and then stabilizing in the lovely blue of the event horizon, and she touched her radio.

  “Atlantis, this is Dr. Keller.”

  There was a little silence, and then Banks’ voice spoke in her ear. “Dr. Keller! Are you all right?”

  “We’re — essentially, we’re fine,” Jennifer said. “Ronon and I are here with Dr. McKay.” There was an indistinct noise from the other end at that, and she closed her eyes, trying to think of everything she needed to say before she allowed herself to collapse. “Dr. McKay is himself — well, mentally, he’s himself, he knows who he is, but he’s still physically pretty Wraithy —” Oh, very professional. She stopped, took a breath to steady herself. “So he’ll need to go into Dr. Beckett’s care right away.”

  “Dr. Keller, this is Sheppard.”

  “Yes, Colonel.” That sounded better.

  “We were getting a little worried about you.”

  “It’s a long story,” Jennifer said.

  “We had to get out in a lifepod,” Ronon said. “And Keller —” He stopped, and she guessed he didn’t want to say anything about the retrovirus in front of the entire gateroom. “We’re good, Sheppard.”

  There was a brief pause, and then Sheppard said. “Open the iris. Welcome back, guys.”

  Jennifer took another deep breath, leaning hard on the metal rod as she climbed the three stairs to the open Stargate. Someone took her elbow as she stepped into the event horizon, and then there was the moment of disorientation and cold and she came out abruptly into the familiar gateroom. Sheppard was there, and Carson, bustling forward to check on Rodney — and Woolsey was there, leaning on the rail with a small, almost beatific smile creasing his face.

  “Welcome home,” Sheppard said, to Rodney, who gave an odd little smile.

  “I’m a little — well, I guess I’m the new poster child for ‘it’s not easy being green.’”

  “OK, this is seriously weird,” one of the Marines said, under his breath, and Jennifer had to fight not to laugh out loud.

  “Onto the gurney,” Carson said, to Rodney. “I don’t care if you can walk, you’re riding until we’ve had a chance to do a full check up. Don’t bother arguing, I’m not listening.”

  He turned to Jennifer. “And you don’t look so good yourself. Were you hurt?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “No. It’s — the retrovirus. The new version works.”

  Carson’s eyes widened in comprehension, and he gestured for one of the nurses. Jennifer felt her knees give way, and Carson caught her as she fell.

  Chapter Seven

  Home

  Sheppard stood for a moment in the shadow of the gate, watching as the gurneys carried away Keller and Rodney — Rodney still talking, arguing with Carson even as the doors slit shut behind them. To have him back, alive and himself again, at least mentally: he’d begun to fear that was impossible, that he might have to do the unthinkable, and he knew the smile he gave Ronon was tinged with relief.

  “Good job, buddy.”

  “Yeah.” Ronon didn’t smile back. He looked pretty beat himself, and John gave him an appraising glance.

  “You OK?”

  “Yeah,” Ronon said again.

  Woolsey was coming down the steps, Zelenka at his heels, and Carter appeared on the balcony.

  “Colonel Sheppard,” she called. “I heard —”

  Sheppard couldn’t repress his grin. “We got McKay back. In one pretty Wraithy piece, but in one piece. And very much himself again.”

  “Wonderful,” Carter said.

  “A very good job,” Woolsey said, to Ronon. “Well done indeed.”

  “It is good to have him back,” Zelenka said. “For so very many reasons.”

  Carter came to join them. “What’s the prognosis?”

  “You’ll have to ask Carson for the details, how long it’s going to take to get him back to normal physically,” Sheppard said, “but it certainly sounds like Rodney.”

  “Doesn’t look so much like him,” Ronon said. “But, yeah, it sounds like him.”

  “That’s really good news,” Carter said.

  Sheppard looked at Ronon. He was looking — odd. More than merely tired and hungry and worried — he looked like he had when he’d first come to Atlantis, lines of stress making him look older than his years
. “Ronon,” Sheppard said, and the Satedan’s eyes flicked toward him, and then away. Not good, Sheppard thought, and laid a carefully casual hand on the other man’s shoulder. He could feel the tension even in that touch, said, “Come on. We need to debrief.”

  Carter gave him a quick look at that, and Sheppard risked a fractional shake of his head. Her eyes widened just a little, and she looked away.

  “What?” Ronon said.

  “Debrief,” Sheppard said again. “Let’s go.”

  He hadn’t had much of a plan to start with, but by the time they’d reached the doors, he’d figured out the place he was least likely to be bothered. His office was in its usual state of disarray, but the city did its best to make it inviting, adjusting the lights and the heat and sliding back the shutter that closed the single long, narrow window. Outside, the sun was shining, striking sparks from the ice, and a stiff wind blew gusts of new powder sparkling past the window. Some of the stiffness eased from Ronon’s face, seeing that, and Sheppard swept papers from the spare chair.

  “Sit.”

  Ronon glanced at him then, but did as he was told. Sheppard reached into the drawer of his desk, pulled out the jar of moonshine that had found its way to him through unofficial channels. After a longer search, he found a clean-looking mug and poured a stiff shot, slid it across the desk toward the Satedan.

  Ronon took it warily, sniffed at it. “Aren’t you drinking?”

  Sheppard reached into the little portable refrigerator, pulled out a beer and held it up. “You can have a beer if you’d rather, but I thought you liked this stuff.”

  Ronon took a sip. “It’s — smooth.”

  “Yeah.” Sheppard twisted off the cap of his beer. It was earlier in the afternoon than he would have chosen, but he was pretty sure Ronon didn’t need to drink alone. “You want to tell me what happened?”

  Ronon shrugged. “We couldn’t get out, so we found a lifepod, ejected in that. McKay got us down safely, and we walked to the Stargate.”

  Sheppard lifted his beer as much in salute to the masterful understatement as to the actual actions. “Does that mean McKay had started to remember who he was?”