SGA-16 Homecoming - Book 1 of the Legacy Series

by Graham, Jo

  “So, humans, you have come this far,” the queen said. Her voice was a gentle purr, almost melodious. “Your perseverance is commendable. It is almost a pity it has brought you nothing.” She lifted her head. “Look well, humans! For I am Death, and I come as your end.”

  The image vanished. Sheppard saw one of the engineers flinch, as though anticipating the explosion.

  “And that’s when the bomb was supposed to go off,” Rodney said. Of all of them, he seemed least affected, but that was probably because he’d already seen it at least once. “The good news is, they didn’t bother to wipe what’s left of the databases, I suppose because they thought the explosion would take it out. So there’s information to be had.”

  Sheppard took a breath. “OK. Copy it—on secure laptops only, please—and get back to the gate. Marten—” That was the lieutenant in charge of the Marine detail. “—take your people and take a quick look around, make sure we haven’t missed anything or anybody. Take a couple of engineers to check for booby traps.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant saluted, gathering his men with a look, and Sheppard turned to face the Wraith.

  “And now I’ve got a question for you. Do you know her?”

  Todd blinked, shook his head slightly. “No. No, she is a stranger to me.”

  “I thought you knew all your queens,” Sheppard said. “Being a leader of an important alliance and all that.”

  “She is young,” Todd said. “And I do not know her.”

  There was something in his tone that made Sheppard think he was telling the truth. “We’ve been hearing a lot about her, this Queen Death—”

  The Wraith’s eyelids flickered, veiling the golden pupils.

  “What?”

  Todd looked away, fingers flexing nervously.

  “Don’t give me that,” Sheppard said. “You know something.”

  “Queen Death is a fairy tale. Not real.”

  For a crazy second, Sheppard wondered what the Stargate was translating as ‘fairy tale,’ and then just what kind of stories the Wraith told their children anyway. They’d probably do really well with Nightmare on Elm Street, or Halloween—the hockey mask might not present much of a translation problem—

  “There are a hundred stories,” Todd said. “They all begin, ‘once before we slept, there was a queen called Death, and she was glorious in her name.’ For anyone to take on that persona—she must be a remarkable woman.”

  “Don’t go getting sentimental on me,” Sheppard said, and Todd swung to face him.

  “I am telling you something you’d do well to remember, John Sheppard. Queen Death is a legend reborn.”

  The words sent a chill down Sheppard’s spine. A legend reborn… In spite of himself, he glanced over his shoulder toward the darkened screen, seeing again the image of the queen who called herself Death. Even Todd had been shaken by her, and that was not a good sign. Though in Todd’s case there was more than a hint of desire in it… He shoved that thought aside—the last thing he wanted to think about was Wraith sex—and straightened his shoulders.

  “You sure there’s nothing more you can tell me?” he said aloud.

  Todd’s fingers twitched, as though his thoughts, too, had been far away. “I told you I do not know her. Though I am sure you will eventually become… acquainted… with her.”

  “Nice,” Sheppard said, under his breath. “In that case, I wouldn’t want to keep you out of stasis any longer.” He lifted his P90, gestured toward the doorway. “After you.”

  The Marine detail joined them, escorted the Wraith through the crumbling corridors with weary precision, and formed up in the lengthening shadows outside the customs hall. It was well into the afternoon now, Sheppard saw without surprise. In another few hours it would be hard to see the engineers’ markers, and he touched his earpiece. “Rodney. How’s it coming?”

  “Slowly.” McKay’s voice was as sharp as if he’d been standing at Sheppard’s side. “Though it would go faster if people would stop bothering me with stupid questions.”

  “You’ve got two hours,” Sheppard said. “It’ll be getting dark after that, and you’ll have trouble getting back to the gate.”

  “I may need more time—”

  “Sure,” Sheppard said. “If you like walking through a ruined city in the dark, not being able to see where the bombs haven’t been cleared…”

  “I take your point.” There was a pause. “I’ll do what I can. McKay out.”

  Sheppard tugged at the sling of the P90, settling it more comfortably against his body, looked for the Marine sergeant in charge of the detail. The sergeant saw the movement of his head, and came to join him, moving easily through the rubble.

  “Back to the gate, Colonel?”

  “Yeah.” Sheppard squinted at him, the low sun dazzling in spite of his sunglasses. The sergeant was one of the new men—well, new to Atlantis. Baker had been with SGC for years. “Time to put him back—”

  “Gate activation! Incoming wormhole!”

  That was a blast on the emergency override, and Sheppard swore, bringing up the P90. Wraith, it had to be, they had to have triggered something in the ruins—maybe playing Queen Death’s message had done it, called her people back to see what they’d caught in the trap—

  In the same instant, Todd lunged sideways, as though to put cover between himself and humans. Someone fired—Baker, Sheppard thought, the only one who reacted quickly enough—and the Wraith swung around, roaring.

  “Hold your fire!” Sheppard shouted. There were holes in Todd’s coat, three at least: whether he’d have the strength to regenerate was an open question, and there was no way in hell Sheppard could let him feed.

  “Darts!”

  Sheppard aimed his P90 at Todd’s head, a new pattern forming in his brain. Not Queen Death’s people, but Todd’s—somehow he’d done it again, in spite of everything. “Everybody under cover! You, too, Todd.”

  “You really don’t want to keep me prisoner, Sheppard—”

  “Do it, or I take your head off. You’re not healing that.” Sheppard lifted the P90 a little further, and the Wraith backed reluctantly against a broken wall. Sheppard flattened himself into a corner—well out of Todd’s reach, but a blind man couldn’t miss the shot. The Darts’ thin scream was coming closer, and he touched his earpiece to speak on the emergency channel.

  “Everybody take cover. Let them pass this time.” He looked at Todd. “Yours?”

  “Yes.” The Wraith gave a thin smile, off hand flattened against his body, covering the holes in his coat, the healing wounds behind them.

  “Son of a bitch!” Sheppard controlled himself with an effort.

  “You do not want to keep me, Sheppard,” Todd said again. His voice was almost cajoling. “I am useless to you as a prisoner. These are my men, my alliance. I have no reason to join Queen Death. Let me go, and I’ll be a counterpoise to her.”

  “It’s not my choice.” Sheppard tipped his head to scan the sky, blue and empty after the Darts’ passage, looked quickly back at the Wraith. “Besides, what guarantee do I have that you wouldn’t just join up with her?”

  “Did it sound as though I approved her tactics?” Todd asked. “This—waste?”

  The whine of the Darts rose again, turning back for another run. Sheppard said, “Sorry.”

  “Besides,” Todd said, “my alliance is mine—mine alone.”

  Sheppard bit his lip, the Darts loud overhead. It was true that Todd wanted to be the dominant power among the Wraith, they’d learned that the hard way when he’d tricked them into destroying the Primary for him. And it was also true that they couldn’t keep him, not forever. Better to take the chance and hope he’d stand up against Queen Death for his own purposes. Sheppard touched his earpiece. “Everybody hold your fire. I’m sending Todd out.”

  Confused acknowledgements filled his ear, and he gestured with the P90. “OK. Go.”

  Todd nodded gravely, and pushed himself away from the wall. For an inst
ant, he seemed to stagger, then controlled himself, stepped out into the open, lifting his hands. The Darts responded, swooping over and down in a maneuver that left Sheppard gasping. The Culling beam sparkled, and Todd was gone. The second Dart rolled, turning for the gate, and the first followed it, low and fast.

  “Colonel! Gate activation!”

  “Let them go,” Sheppard said. “Don’t fire unless they shoot first.” He was going to have some explaining to do—he could just see Woolsey’s pinched glare—but he thought it was a chance worth taking.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Homecomings

  Mr. Woolsey was not pleased. Teyla could not think of him as “Dick” in this current mood, his mouth closed so tight that all the blood was gone from his lips, the lines on his high forehead deepening with every breath. Now and again he noted something on the pad of paper that lay before him and frowned more deeply. John was making heavy weather of his explanations, too. She glanced sideways to see him with his hand clasped on the tabletop, head slightly lowered, as though he were one of the Stamarins’ prize bulls, ready to charge.

  “We were pinned down by the Darts,” John said, “and Todd confirmed they had come for him, in response to his signal. He also offered to act as a buffer between us and Queen Death, to be a counterpoise to her alliance. So I let him go.”

  “You let him go,” Woolsey said.

  John glared at him. “Yes. I did.”

  “It didn’t occur to you that we might be able to get better terms for his release?” Woolsey’s voice was mild, but no one at the table was deceived. “That we might want something more—substantial—than his promise?”

  “We were under attack,” John said, doggedly. “And keeping him was already a problem. I didn’t see another alternative at the time.”

  Teyla took a careful breath, offered her trader’s smile. “It is to our advantage to have him in our debt.”

  “If he considers it a debt,” Woolsey said. He eyed John a moment longer, then looked at his notes. “Do we know how he managed to contact the other Wraith?”

  Rodney cleared his throat. “Um. Yes. Or at least we’re reasonably sure. He, uh, grew a replacement transmitter.”

  Teyla tilted her head to one side. This was a part of the story she had not yet heard.

  “Really,” Woolsey said, his voice flat.

  “Yes, really,” Rodney snapped. “As you know, the Wraith use synthetic biology—biological in preference to electronic or mechanical devices. While Dr. Beckett and I removed all the visible, complete transmitters and components, we missed the ones that didn’t actually exist because they were still in a dormant or seedling stage.” His voice trailed off. “So while he was in stasis he… grew a new one.”

  “Is there any chance he was able to broadcast our location?” Woolsey sat up straighter still.

  “No.” Rodney shook his head for emphasis. “No, we were scanning, and we would have detected that. And the transmitter is fairly crude, only for use in an emergency. Dr. Beckett thinks it was probably activated by passage through the gate.”

  “If the Wraith knew we were here,” John said, “they’d be on our doorstep already.”

  “Very likely,” Woolsey agreed. “But it’s not something we want to rely on.” He tapped his papers together, still frowning. “All right. I believe that’s all?”

  It would have been a brave person who suggested further matters. Teyla rose with relief, all too aware of John at her back as they moved toward the door.

  “Colonel Sheppard,” Woolsey said. “If I might have a word with you?”

  Teyla hoped she was the only one who heard the groan as John turned back into the briefing room. But no: Ronon chuckled under his breath

  “Doesn’t seem fair that Sheppard’s going to get another lecture.”

  For a second, Teyla thought of denying it, pretending not to understand, but such a choice was pointless. “He will survive.”

  “Yeah.” Ronon grinned again, his pleasure almost indecent. Even though she knew it was only because he was not the one being reprimanded, she caught herself frowning, and hastily smoothed her expression.

  “Hey,” Ronon went on, “it’s a good two hours before dinner opens. Want to spar?”

  Would I like to hit you? Just now, perhaps too much… She smiled and shook her head. “I must retrieve Torren soon. Another day.”

  “OK.” Ronon turned away, apparently oblivious to her mood.

  Teyla watched him out of sight before looking over her shoulder toward the briefing room. Behind the glass, John was gesturing as though he and Woolsey continued their argument, and she hoped he would not say anything too rash. She should not be lurking here, but she did not want to seek her quarters yet. Instead, she moved toward the doors that gave onto the more sheltered of the balconies, ran her hand over the sensor to open them. They slid back slowly, leaving an opening only a little wider than her body: an adjustment to the weather, Rodney had said. She slipped out into the cold before she could change her mind.

  She had experienced both cold and snow before, though her people had always left the high country of Athos before the snows set in, spent their winters in the temperate plains. But this was different, the cold more biting—it was the wind, Radek said, and the dampness in the air that made it seem so much colder. She hugged herself, holding in the last scraps of warmth not immediately snatched away by the wind, and moved to place herself in the lee of one of the support pillars. The supply officer had found long-sleeved shirts and heavier jackets for all of them, and there had been parkas for Radek’s repair teams, but they were still not as well supplied as they would like. There were worlds that made fine woolens, tunics and vests and warm undershirts. They would not do for uniform, but perhaps they could be worn on time off… If those worlds had not been Culled, like so many. She shivered, not from cold. They could not have predicted either the attack on Earth or the rise of Queen Death, but it was hard not to look back at what she had done and say, if only…

  Such thoughts were fruitless. She looked out to the horizon, empty of every sign of life. There were no birds here, and even if there had been, she could not imagine any of them flying so far out to sea. Radek had spoken of birds on Earth that spent their lives on the ocean, but there were none on this world. A barren world, the landmasses small and scoured by storms… Not a place they would willingly have chosen, but perhaps that would work in their favor. Surely the Wraith would not look for them here.

  The sky was darkening toward twilight, the swift-rising night that seemed to swell out of the waves. This was the planet’s winter, Radek had said; the days would grow no shorter, and the weather would be little worse. She tipped her head back, and saw toward the zenith the first shimmer of the aurora coloring the sky.

  This was a new thing, to her and to nearly everyone else on Atlantis, and she craned her neck to see. Against the twilight purple, the first blue flicker was barely visible, like slow-burning flame, or the flash of mica in a sunwashed stone. Already a strand coiled toward the horizon and vanished; a brighter arc rose and fell, half obscured by a jutting pier. Later in the night there would be sheets of color, blue and green and rose, purple and icy white and the red of embers, rippling across the sky like sheets of silk, as though some people unimaginably wealthy had pitched their tents in the high reaches of the air. Perhaps that was a story she would tell Torren when he was a little older, that the sky was full of tribes of light. He would learn of the monsters soon enough…

  “Teyla?”

  She turned at John’s voice, unable to suppress the smile that greeted him. He, too, had his arms wrapped tight around his chest, shoulders hunched against the cold.

  “The aurora is beginning early,” she said, and felt foolish for stating something so obvious.

  “Yeah.” He came to stand with her in the tower’s shelter, peering up at the sky. “There’s a lot of things I don’t love about this planet, but that—” He waved a hand toward the brightening color. “That�
��s something else.”

  “You did not see such things when you were on Earth?” Teyla could almost feel the warmth coming off his body, faint but definite in the deepening cold.

  “A couple of times. When I was in Antarctica.” John shook his head. “It wasn’t anything like this.”

  “Radek says that Lane Meyers, the funny little man who studies suns, is going mad with this,” Teyla said. “He says it will overturn half of what they thought they knew.”

  “That seems to happen a lot,” John said. “And then they can’t publish it, which makes them even crazier.”

  Teyla glanced sidelong at him. “Did you and Mr. Woolsey—resolve matters?”

  John’s mouth twitched. “Mostly. I suppose he’s right, we should have gotten more out of Todd if we were going to let him go.”

  “Yes,” Teyla said. “But you’re not wrong either.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “What else could we have done?” Teyla asked, and shrugged. “I hope good will come of it.”

  “So do I,” John said. He shivered then, and she looked toward the door.

  “I must go in. I should fetch Torren and ready him for his dinner.”

  “I’ll give you hand, if you want,” John said. “Who’ve you got watching him?”

  “Dr. Robinson had him this afternoon,” Teyla answered, and couldn’t repress a smile at John’s reflexive twitch. “She is good with children.”

  John started toward the door, which opened at his approach. Teyla slipped through, gasping in the sudden warmth, glanced back to catch a faintly worried look on John’s face. Because he had made an offer he regretted? “I would be glad of your help, John, but it’s not required.”