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

by Scott, Melissa

  He found Ronon in one of the turret rooms that the scientists called aeries, high on the side of the tower and bumped out and angled so that the big window gave a view beyond the city’s edges. Some of the scientists had speculated that the rooms might have been watchposts, or even weapons emplacements, but John was pretty sure they were meant for exactly what Ronon was doing. The big man was folded into one of the padded Ancient chairs, his feet up on the window’s low sill and a book in his hand. The sun had warmed the still air, struck gold from the metal band woven into Ronon’s hair. Beyond him, the empty south pad was drying in the sun, and past its edge the sea stretched to the horizon, touched here and there with specks of white. The exact point where sky and sea met was hazed with fog.

  “Ronon,” John started to say, but the other was already turning, looking up, his face sharpening.

  “What’s wrong?”

  For a second, John was tempted to deny it, but he knew Ronon wouldn’t believe him. Why else would he hunt him down in person rather than use the radio, if something wasn’t wrong?

  “Rodney’s in surgery,” he said.

  “What happened?” Ronon asked, after a moment. The book was still open on his lap, an accordion-like spill of paper between wooden covers. It had to be Satedan, John thought, irrelevantly, and looked toward the sea.

  “Apparently they need to take out what’s left of the feeding organ,” he said. He’d poked into the medical computers after Teyla called. “Carson and Dr. Keller were worried about infection.”

  Ronon slowly folded the book back together. “I thought they were worried about doing too much to him. That his systems were too weak to mess with.”

  “Yeah.” John bit his lip.

  “This sucks,” Ronon said, conversationally, and John nodded.

  “Yeah.”

  “Keller said getting him back to normal wasn’t going to be easy.” Ronon’s voice was very quiet.

  “Not so much,” John said.

  There was another silence. Even Atlantis seemed to be holding its breath, not even the faint noise of the ventilators sounding in the little room. Ronon dug into his pockets, came out with what looked like a wide rubber band and slipped it around his book.

  “Who’s doing the surgery?”

  “Keller. With Carson.”

  Ronon nodded, all his attention seemingly still on the book in his hands. “Did they say how long?”

  John shook his head. “Look, I was thinking. Maybe Teyla would like some company. You know. While we’re waiting.”

  “Yeah.” Ronon straightened. “Yeah, she might.”

  Teyla had her bed pulled up to a sitting position, sat with her knees up frowning at a battered-looking paperback. She looked up at their approach, her expression easing a little.

  “John. Ronon. There has been no news.”

  “They say that’s good news,” John said, and seated himself on the foot of her bed. Ronon lowered himself cautiously onto a flimsy-looking plastic chair. It crackled, but held.

  “How long as it been?” he asked.

  Teyla didn’t need to look. “Not quite three hours.”

  That didn’t sound good. John bit his lip to keep from saying anything stupid, and Ronon looked at his feet, his hair falling forward to hide his face.

  “At least — maybe Keller was right.”

  Teyla gave him a questioning look, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “About — when she let him feed.”

  “I do not think they would have risked surgery otherwise,” Teyla said.

  See? John wanted to say. Keller was right. But the point might be moot, and he didn’t feel like pushing it.

  There was movement from the door, and all three of them turned sharply. It was only Jeannie, a paper cup of tea in her hand. John looked away, but Teyla beckoned to her.

  “Jeannie. Join us if you wish.”

  Jeannie gave them an automatic smile, but drifted closer. Ronon rose to his feet and pushed the chair in her direction. She took it with a tired nod, and he perched on the next bed.

  “He’s still in surgery,” Jeannie said. “I couldn’t watch.”

  “No one should expect you to,” Teyla exclaimed.

  “I don’t think they really did,” Jeannie said. She paused. “Marie came out a while ago and said it was going well. It was just taking them a while to detach the various nerve connections.”

  John flinched in spite of himself, and Ronon grimaced.

  Teyla said, “Both Jennifer and Carson are excellent surgeons. Though I tell you something you already know.”

  “I don’t mind hearing it again,” Jeannie said “I can’t help worrying.”

  “Rodney would expect it,” John said, and Jeannie made a sound that might almost have been a laugh.

  “He would, wouldn’t he? Oh, I’ve got a few things to say to him when he gets well.”

  “Get in line,” John said.

  “She is his sister, John,” Teyla said. “I believe that takes precedence.”

  “Thank you,” Jeannie said.

  “If you want me to hold him down for you, I will,” Ronon offered.

  “I appreciate —” Jeannie began, and the door slid open again. Her breath caught, seeing Marie still in her scrubs, the mask dangling at her neck, and John swallowed a curse.

  “Oh, Mrs. Miller,” Marie said. “I was looking for you. Rodney is out of surgery.”

  John let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and Jeannie put her hand to her mouth. Teyla carefully closed her book, her face unreadable.

  “Is —” Ronon began, and couldn’t finish.

  “He came through beautifully,” Marie said. “Dr. Keller was able to remove the feeding organ intact, which minimizes the risk of infection or any other response to Wraith molecules, and she was able to preserve all of the nerves. That’s what was taking so long, making sure that there was no damage there. But it’s out, along with the vein, and his fever has already subsided considerably. Dr. Keller thinks he may be on the mend.”

  Jeannie took a breath, tears welling, and John held out his arms. She rose to his awkward embrace, clung for a moment, her shoulders heaving, then pushed herself away.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Really.”

  Marie nodded, touched her shoulder gently. “He’s back in isolation — it’s still safer for him there — but he should be waking up soon. Would you —”

  “Yes,” Jeannie said, firmly. “I’d like to be there.” She looked at the others. “You should be there, too.”

  “We will come when he is awake,” Teyla said. “Go.”

  “He’s really all right,” Ronon said, as though it had just hit him, and Marie nodded again.

  “It’s still early, but — it looks that way.” She started for the door, Jeannie at her heels, and Ronon smiled.

  “He’s going to be OK.”

  “So are we all,” Teyla said softly. “So are we all.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Prisons

  There was a light were no light should have been, far underground in icy caves that had kept their silence too long. The corridors echoed with footsteps once again, the sounds of boots on polished floors. Voices echoed in the gloom.

  Power flickered, but the batteries were emptied, the last expended in a rush days ago. Even for him it could not comply. Even for him, the power starved systems could not obey. There was nothing left to give.

  Flashlights slid over the silent terminals, screens refusing to light at his touch.

  “Ronon, I thought you said this thing was working?” John said.

  “It was,” Ronon said, coming to stand beside him. “Cadman and I had it up for a while.”

  “There is no power,” Radek said, shining his flashlight over the indicators on the wall. “There must have been some stored in batteries or the like.” He shook his head. Of course there might have been. It was likely that there were backup batteries so that the ZPM and its connections could be pulled for mainten
ance. “This is not good.”

  William, who had already been here with Ronon, looked up from the silent equipment. “We might have run out the ZPM?”

  Radek shook his head again impatiently. “If there were a ZPM connected you could not run it out with a few lights and one terminal, not even if it were almost emptied. The amount of power in 1% of the capacity of a ZPM is enormous.”

  “Maybe it’s burned out then,” William said. He shone the light over the two isolation cells at the back of the room, clear glass windows reflecting.

  “That is probable,” Radek said.

  “Ok,” John said. “Let’s see if we can find the ZPM room.” He took one final glance around the control room. “Radek, do you see anything you need in here?”

  “No.” Radek said. “These are standard environmental control systems. There is nothing here of value.”

  “They stripped the place when they left,” Ronon said from his position already in the corridor. “They didn’t leave anything worth taking.”

  “Let us hope they left the ZPM,” Radek said.

  Unfortunately, they hadn’t. Radek swore under his breath at the empty socket, while William shone his light fruitlessly into corners, as though it were likely that the ZPM were just lying around. “Pulled,” he said.

  John frowned. “Isn’t that weird? Don’t most of these installations still have a ZPM?”

  “It is unusual,” William agreed. “We’ve found about a dozen Ancient installations since the first was discovered by SG-1. In most of them there is a ZPM but it’s entirely depleted. We’ve never found one where the ZPM had been deliberately removed. That was not the Ancients’ normal method.”

  “Yeah, but weren’t most of those bases intended to be used again?” John asked. “This puppy was closed down for good. Ronon said they even took the light fixtures in the living areas.”

  Radek blew out a long breath. “Well, there is not much point in our staying. There is nothing here except the power control terminal for the ZPM, but since there is no ZPM and we have about eight of these in Atlantis…”

  “What’s this?” William said, kneeling down beside the pedestal where the ZPM should be, fingers exploring grooves in it, hard to see painted as they were to match the rest. “Bullet holes?”

  John knelt down beside him, squinting in the light of the flashlight. “Could be. If so they were sanded out and painted over. Or maybe it just got banged around.”

  “Projectile weapons?” William mused. “Why would you use projectile weapons if you had energy weapons?”

  “If you were shooting at something energy weapons couldn’t touch,” Ronon said gruffly. “If you needed some stopping power.”

  John’s long fingers ran over the small indentations. “Could be bullet holes. But if so it was before this place was abandoned. They’ve been pretty much sanded out, primed and repainted. Somebody did a nice repair job.” He stood up. “Ok. Radek, are we done here?”

  Radek spared a glance for William, who was still investigating the almost imperceptible imperfections in the pillar. “Yes, I think so,” he said.

  “Hammond, this is Sheppard,” John said, keying his radio on. “You can beam us out any time.”

  “With a ZPM?” Sam Carter’s voice sounded cheerful.

  “Unfortunately, no,” John said. “Out of luck this time.”

  “Ok. Pulling you out.”

  There was a shimmer in the air, and darkness took the installation once again.

  For a long moment, Rodney lay blinking in the harsh light, wondering where he was. Atlantis, that much was certain — there was Elizabeth, smiling at him, her expression for once relaxed and open and kind, and Carson, too, frowning at his monitors, oblivious to her presence. It was good to be home, Rodney thought, and wondered why his mind was so sluggish, why his hand was filled with a distant ache. Because he needed to feed, of course, except that was wrong. And Elizabeth was dead, and Carson, too, and he blinked harder, trying to think. Elizabeth was gone, but Carson was still there — yes, Carson was dead, but his clone was alive, and that’s who that was, looking up from the screen at the first faint movement.

  “Easy, now,” he said, and came closer to the bed. “Easy, Rodney. You’ve been through a lot.”

  No kidding, Rodney thought. His mouth was painfully dry, his throat burning, and he swallowed, wincing, not daring to speak.

  “You’re back in the isolation chamber,” Carson went on. “You’ve had surgery to remove the feeding organ from your hand — which was entirely successful — and the rest of the transition is proceeding well.”

  “Jennifer?” The word came out a croak, barely intelligible, but Carson nodded.

  “She’s fine. She did the surgery yesterday, and she’ll be in to see you shortly, I expect. In the meantime, your sister’s here to see you.”

  “Jeannie,” Rodney whispered, and turned his head to see her sitting beside the bed. He blinked at her with watering eyes, not quite believing she was really there. “Jeannie?”

  She nodded, the gold curls bobbing. “You — oh, Meredith!” There were tears in her eyes. “You idiot!”

  Rodney smiled then, relaxing, and let himself drift off into sleep.

  Jeannie was still there when he woke, though he thought her shirt was different. He had lost all track of time, he realized, had no idea of the day, never mind the hour. He blinked at her again, frowning, and she shook her head.

  “Honestly, Meredith!”

  “What?” Rodney pushed himself further up on his pillows, and was almost surprised when his body obeyed him. “Look, it’s not like I asked for this to happen to me —”

  “You got yourself caught,” Jeannie said. “Oh, look at you.”

  “I haven’t,” Rodney said, more sharply than he’d meant. That was the fear he saw, and the grief, his Wraith shape reflected in her gaze. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “The SGC asked me to come and help with the security problems,” Jeannie said. “I’ve been helping Dr. Zelenka find and close your back doors.”

  “Oh.” That made sense, even if it was painful to think of: Rodney seized instead on the piece that led elsewhere. “OK, that explains why I thought I was up against myself some of the time. Of course you could copy my thinking.”

  “Well, your ego certainly hasn’t suffered,” Jeannie said. Her expression softened. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore,” Rodney said. And he was, his muscles ached as though he’d had a fever, and there was a weird deep thrumming at the center of his bones, as though he could feel the marrow changing. “And can’t they turn the lights down?”

  “It’s pretty dim already,” Jeannie said, doubtfully.

  Rodney started to bare teeth at her, and stopped himself midway. “It’s my eyes, isn’t it? I’m going to have problems.”

  “Dr. Beckett said you’d continued to change,” Jeannie said, “to revert to normal, and I imagine that includes your eyes. But, yes, he said you’d be photosensitive for a little longer. He said the Wraith prefer a lower light level than we do.”

  I suppose we — they — do, Rodney thought. He was having trouble making that adjustment, and that made him want to snarl again. “Where is Carson, anyway?” he asked. “I’d expect him to be spending more time with his patient, considering that this is something he hasn’t exactly done before —”

  Behind her, the door slid open, and he checked. Not Carson, but Jennifer, neat in her uniform. “Oh,” he said again, and Jeannie managed a smile.

  “I’ll leave you to talk,” she said.

  “That’s not —” Rodney began, but she was talking over him.

  “I need to get something to eat anyway. I’ll be back in a little bit, Meredith. Jennifer.”

  And then she was gone, the door sliding closed behind her. Rodney fiddled with the sheet, words deserting him, and Jennifer crossed to the bedside.

  “How are you feeling?” Her voice was level, professional.

  “Sore,” Rod
ney said again. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this, his girlfriend treating him like any other patient. It wasn’t that he wanted her to fall into his arms, like the cheerleader in a high school movie — that had never been his thing, and, anyway, what he really needed was the chance to apologize, to make sure she was all right. But if this was what she wanted, what she needed from him, he’d try to provide it. “Queasy, just at the moment. And my eyes are — they’re watering, and it would help a lot if you would turn the light down. And my vision’s blurry.”

  “The lights are about as low as I can get them,” Jennifer answered. “But I’ll see what I can do. Let me take a look.”

  Rodney leaned back against the pillow, the knobs of his spine digging painfully through the padding, submitted to her peering into his eyes, her penlight flashing painfully. Green streaks filled his vision, blurring her face even further. “Ow. I can’t see.”

  “It’s actually — you’re making progress,” she said. “The internal structures are shifting back to human norms.”

  “That’s good,” Rodney said, dubiously.

  “It is, you know,” Jennifer said.

  “Yes.” Rodney paused. “How are you? Jennifer, I —”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

  “I guess the retrovirus was a complete success.”

  She nodded. “Yes — well, there are some issues, and I need to run some more tests, but — yes. It works.”

  “That’s really good news,” Rodney said. “Look, are you sure you’re OK? Because I did —” He couldn’t say it, and Jennifer looked away.

  “I’m fine,” she said again.

  Rodney reached across his body, caught her wrist in his unbandaged hand. She stood still, made no effort either to move closer or to step away. “Jennifer.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “Not right now.”

  Rodney released her, struggling to focus on her face. “I —”

  “I mean it,” she said, and Rodney bowed his head.