Cadman hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Okay. Blais, take four men, go with Dr. Zelenka. There’s a team already at the ZPM room, rendezvous with them, tell them what’s happening. Go!”
“Yes,” Radek said. He turned on his heel, heading for the transport chamber. He only hoped they would get there in time.
Chapter Eight
Quicksilver in Atlantis
Ronon flattened himself against the wall of his transport chamber as the door opened, to be faced with the barrels of lowered P90s. “Don’t shoot!”
One of the young Marines he was facing waved the others back from the door, and they took up position tensely on either side of the hallway. PFC Washington, the man’s name patch said, one of the new ones. No officers or noncoms in sight, so he’d taken charge the way he should, but he wasn’t much more than a kid. “Why are the transport chambers still working?”
“Don’t know,” Ronon said. “Everything else is locked down.”
“Not on this level,” Washington said. “The security doors on this corridor aren’t closing. There’s still access to two stairwells.”
That made it possible to actually reach the gateroom, but also meant that if the Wraith came through them they’d be into the lower levels of the tower, including the infirmary. “Anybody know how to get the doors to close?”
Washington looked at the rest of the security team, and got nothing but shaking heads. “I’m thinking no.”
“Then we’d better stop the Wraith,” Ronon said. “They’re up the stairs.”
“Right,” Washington said, a little too loud, like he was trying to steel himself into motion.
“Then move.” Ronon made for the stairway, hoping they were behind him, wishing he had something to work with besides green soldiers who’d never faced the Wraith before. He felt for his radio. “Teyla, you want to get up here?” He flattened himself against the stairwell wall at the sound of pounding feet coming down the stairs. “We’re about to have Wraith on the mess hall level.”
“I cannot,” Teyla said in his ear in frustration. “The security doors in the residential areas have sealed. Colonel Carter says that all the exterior doors near the pier are sealed as well.”
“Can’t she beam people into the city?”
“She and Colonel Caldwell are trying,” Teyla said. “But some device within the city is now transmitting the Wraith jamming frequencies, and so far she has been unable to do so.”
“All right,” Ronon said. That wasn’t their problem to solve. “Try the transport chamber.”
“I will,” Teyla said.
“We’ll be here,” Ronon said. He thumbed his pistol to stun and fired up the stairs before he could see who was rounding the landing above him. If it was a Marine team, he’d apologize later.
He heard the pistol shots from beside him ricochet off the wall, started to call for the Marines to hold their fire, and then saw the sweep of a leather trenchcoat, high boots with no laces. He thumbed the setting over to kill instead and caught the Wraith in the legs, fired again as the Wraith tumbled down the stairs, rolling to try to get its balance, the leg wound already healing.
He could see the drones coming down behind the male, and ducked under the spitting stunner fire. “Get down!” he yelled, yanking the Marine next to him to one knee and grabbing the muzzle of the young man’s P90 to point it up the stairs instead of at them. “Don’t let them get close!”
“I hear you,” the man said, firing in quick bursts. The Wraith drones staggered, one of them falling heavily and fouling the shots of the ones around him. Ronon kept his own pistol trained on the male Wraith, shooting him again and then yet again until he went still at their feet.
“Is he — ?” the Marine next to Ronon began, looking just on this side of panic.
“If he moves, shoot him,” Ronon said, and raised his pistol to cover the stairs. Eventually they’d get another Wraith captain up there who’d tell the drones to do something smarter than walk down the stairs into P90 fire. He hoped it wouldn’t be soon.
One of them screamed and launched himself off the stairs, whether trying to dodge or in a purposeful leap, Ronon couldn’t tell. Ronon scrambled back, slapped the shoulder of the young Marine next to him, grabbed his jacket and yanked when he wasn’t moving fast enough. The Wraith landed mostly on top of the Marine, rolling him over and clawing at his shirt. Ronon fired, aimed a vicious kick at the side of the Wraith’s head, and fired again when it came up fighting.
“We have to fall back!” Washington yelled from the other side of the stairs. “They’re still coming — ”
Ronon fired again, and the Wraith finally jerked and went limp. Ronon hauled him up and shoved him toward the stairs, one more obstacle for the ones on the stairs above to have to scramble over.
“Down. Go!” he yelled. “Take the next landing down!”
If the Wraith didn’t try to shoot their way down another flight of stairs, took the corridor on this level to the next landing, they’d be able to work their way around the defenders — but he just had to hope they didn’t know the city that well. “Any security teams who can hear me, we need someone to cover the south tower stairs on the infirmary level.”
“Ronon, that you?” Sheppard said over the radio.
“We’ve got about a hundred Wraith trying to come down these stairs,” Ronon said, putting his back to the wall of the landing and firing steadily, the Marines doing better this time at getting into position on either side of the staircase. “And we just gave up the mess hall level.” He hoped the kitchen staff had gotten off that floor, or at least put the heavy door of one of the walk-in freezers between them and any Wraith who got through.
“Copy that,” Sheppard said, his voice drowned out by P90 fire on his end of the radio. He didn’t sound like he was really in a position to talk. “Just hang on.”
“What do we do?” Washington yelled over the gunfire.
“Keep shooting!” Ronon yelled back. If it wasn’t a great plan, at least it was simple enough that he thought they’d have no problem following along.
John flung himself into the shelter of the doorway, flattening his back against the wall as he slammed a fresh magazine into his P90. Wraith in the gate room, Wraith on the stairs that led to the mess hall level — no, on the mess hall level — worst of all Rodney with a Wraith’s face, a Wraith’s hand and mind commanding drones as though he’d been born to it —
He shoved that thought aside, risked another glance around the corner. Most of the Wraith were still there, drones covering the approaches while the males moved into operations. If they’d been spectacularly lucky, Radek would have gotten the consoles locked down, but given that Rodney was in control of the security systems, that didn’t seem very likely. So the Wraith would be busy consolidating their control of the shield and the gate, making sure they could keep getting reinforcements… He closed his eyes for an instant, visualizing the situation. Wraith on the stairs — Wraith in the gate room and ops and then the stairs, heading down into the vulnerable parts of the city. On the mess hall floor already, and moving down — except that it made more sense to keep bringing in troops, make sure there was no way they could get control back again, and that had to mean that the stairway attack was meant to draw attention. But away from what? Rodney was up in operations — wasn’t he?
John braced himself, took another quick look around the edge of the doorway. He got one good look at the consoles, a trio of males working at the boards, before a drone spotted him and fired. He ducked back, the stun bolt splashing harmlessly on the far wall, a tight knot of fear in the pit of his stomach. All of them had had long hair, and there was no way he could convince himself that any of them was Rodney. He touched his earpiece.
“Lorne!”
“Sir?”
“Do you have a visual of ops?”
“Yes, sir.”
“See if you can spot McKay up there.” John pressed himself harder against the wall as another stunner bolt s
lammed past. He nodded to the nearest Marine, who returned fire briefly before ducking back into shelter. Words sounded in his ear, but they were drowned by the noise of the P90s. “Say again?”
“He’s not up there,” Lorne said. “Just Wraith. Regular Wraith.”
“Right.” It all fit, suddenly, the pieces coming together in his mind: the way the lockdown had been interrupted, the transport chambers that still worked, the way the diversionary attack had gone, the fact that Rodney was involved… He touched the radio again. “Radek! Radek, can you hear me?”
There was a little silence, and he could feel his heart kicking against his ribs. Too long, it had taken him too long to work this out, Rodney could be there by now —
“I hear you, John,” Radek said. “We are in the ZPM room — ”
“Rodney is headed your way,” John interrupted. “Lock yourselves in and stay alert. I’m coming to you.”
There was a pause, but Radek’s voice was steady. “OK. We will be ready.”
John took a breath. “Lorne. Rodney’s heading for the ZPM room. I’m taking a team and going after him. Cover the approaches and make damn sure he doesn’t get back in.”
“Copy that,” Lorne answered, his voice matter-of-fact for all that they both knew what he’d just been asked to do. “Good luck, sir.”
“To you, too,” John answered. He looked at the people gathered in the corridor, Marines and airmen, pointed quickly to half a dozen. “You, come with me. Degan, take over here.”
“Yessir,” the sergeant said, and John turned away. He only hoped they’d be in time.
Quicksilver glanced at the laptop he had taken from the operations room, checking the specifications of the tower against the maps in his mind. It was almost painfully bizarre to be here in the Ancients’ city, under the soaring windows that had haunted his dreams, and once or twice he had to shake himself away from some memory, some image, that rose unbidden and irrelevant. It was worth it, he told himself, worth a little disorientation to see the rout in the gate room, to see the humans fall, to punish them for what they had done to him — to him, to Dust, and to so many more.
He found the hall he wanted, the one that led to the next transport chamber that he had carefully excluded from the lockdown. It was all working perfectly, all the pieces meshing just as he had known they would, and he pointed left at the next intersection.
*This way.*
*You’re sure?* That was Ardent, the younger of the two blades he had been given to manage the drones, and Quicksilver rolled his eyes.
*Yes, of course I’m sure.*
Ardent glared at him, not quite daring to show teeth, but the other blade, Wakeful, waved his drones ahead without a word.
*Be careful,* Ember said softly, at his back, but Quicksilver ignored him, all his attention on the plan.
The transport chamber was unguarded, as he’d planned — as he’d arranged, certain doors sealing too quickly to allow the defenders to reach this hall, this chamber. He stepped forward, ready to enter their destination, but Ember caught his sleeve.
*Send Ardent first.*
The queen’s brother did snarl at that, but Wakeful nodded. *Go.*
The door slid shut, and when it opened again, Ardent and his drones were gone. Wakeful cocked his head to one side, then waved another group of drones into the chamber, and paused to listen again.
*They have secured the hall. There were human soldiers, and more in this power room, and they are fighting hard. Are you sure this is worth it, Quicksilver?*
Quicksilver was already in the chamber, turned to glare at him, and something in the movement, in the fall of light from the windows and the sleek bronze walls and the pattern of the carvings, caught at his heart. This was — something was terribly wrong here, and for an instant the faces of his friends became like monsters, so that he flung up his arm to shield himself from the sight.
*Quicksilver?*
Ember’s voice brought him back to himself, and he shook his head, hard, scowling.
*Are you all right?*
*If he is — unwell,* Wakeful began, in the same moment, and Quicksilver shook himself. The queen was depending on him. They would never reach the Milky Way without more power, and this was the greatest source of power available to them.
*I’m fine,* he said, and willed it to be true. *Let’s go.*
Radek made himself take two slow deep breaths before he looked at the young lieutenant in command of the ZPM room team. He was all too aware of how badly young lieutenants had fared on Atlantis, hoped this wouldn’t be another one. “You heard?”
“Yes.”
Radek squinted at his name badge — Sabine — and recognized the sergeant behind him with relief. Hector had been on Atlantis from the beginning, knew how to fight the Wraith.
“Permission to take a team and secure the transport chamber?” Hector asked, and the lieutenant nodded.
“Go.”
They left in a flurry of purposeful movement, and Radek looked around the chamber, automatically checking the displays. “I am to pull the ZPM,” he said. “We think that is what they want — ”
Sabine nodded, waving his men into position. “Do it quick, doc. There’s only one way out.”
“Yes, yes, I am well aware of that.” Radek moved to the first console, touched keys to begin transferring the crucial systems over to the naquadah generators. That was supposed to happen automatically if the ZPM went off-line, but he didn’t trust those subroutines, not with Rodney’s programs loose in the system. The shield was out of his control, shut down as though there was no power for it; he spared it a single glance and typed a second set of commands, watching as the city’s subsystems switched reluctantly to the new power source. The process usually seemed almost ridiculously fast, but today —
He brushed that thought aside, and shoved his glasses into a better position as he turned to the board the controlled the ZPMs. Only one of the three slots was filled, the one at the closest point of the triangular console. He entered the password that unlocked the system, and froze as P90s fired in the hallway.
“We’ve got company,” Sabine said, over his shoulder, and held out a P90. “Can you use this, doc?”
“Yes,” Radek said. He’d fired one four or five times in practice, Ronon had made sure of that since he’d been assigned to the gate team. He took it — it felt heavier — but focused on the controls a moment more, just long enough to erase his password and back out of the access screens. Sabine ducked out to join the others, keeping low.
Then there were shouts from the hall, machine gun fire and the heavy snap of the Wraith stunners, and he tucked the P90 awkwardly into firing position. He would have been better with the pistol, maybe, though he’d never really expected to have to use either one —
“Fall back!” That was Hector, he thought, and instinctively Radek stepped backward, into the shelter of one of the elaborate sculptures that protruded from the wall behind the control consoles. They’d argued, he and Rodney, about whether they were decorative or functional in some as-yet-unidentified but probably dangerous way, and he hoped he wasn’t about to have that question answered the hard way.
A body tumbled in the door, one of the Marines, and the sound of the P90s ceased abruptly. A stunner fired again, and Radek flattened himself into the shadows, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. He could hear footsteps, but didn’t dare look: two people, he thought, and then one set of footsteps retreated. Only one of them, he told himself, and eased carefully forward.
A figure in black was bent over the controls, familiar and not familiar, Rodney and not Rodney, the familiar high forehead and bony nose, the same set shoulders and the same quick hands, but all that made literally alien, snow-white hair and green-toned skin, deep sensor pits carved into his cheeks, the clever hands that moved so deftly on the controls now tipped with heavy black claws. He bared sharp teeth at some recalcitrant piece of code.
And that was not so very different from Rodne
y at the best of times, Radek thought, and lifted the P90. “Rodney,” he said. “Step away from the console.”
The white head whipped up, too fast, too sure, and the lips parted in a snarl.
“Keep quiet,” Radek said. “Quiet, or I will shoot.” Whether he would or not, he didn’t know, prayed he wouldn’t find out.
Rodney snarled again. “Are you completely stupid?” His voice was the same and different, the inflection, the pitch the same as it had always been, the timbre Wraith.
“Step back,” Radek said. “There are enough bullets in this clip that you will not regenerate.” If in fact he could. If he was truly Wraith. There was so much they didn’t know.
“And then the rest of my men will hear the shots, and come and kill you,” Rodney said. “That’s a brilliant plan!”
Nonetheless, he stepped away from the controls, moving away from the door. Radek took a step forward himself, not wanting to risk missing him even at this range. He was no longer completely in cover, had his back half to the door, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Jesus, Rodney,” he said, and stumbled to a stop. What was there to say to this Wraith that looked like Rodney, that gave him Rodney’s furious glare from slitted pupils? “If you come with me — we can help you. Dr. Keller — Jennifer — she will take care of you — ”
“Please,” Rodney said. “This is a waste of time. I’ve been taken care of here before. Put the gun down, and I’m prepared to see that you’re not harmed.”
“And you are criticizing my tactics?” Radek snapped. Maybe he could make Rodney come with him, though that was being optimistic about the hordes of Wraith outside — but maybe he could use Rodney as a hostage? He saw Rodney’s eyes shift, turned a second too late, to take the stunner’s bolt full in the chest.
STARGATE ATLANTIS: Allegiance(Book three in the Legacy series) Page 9