STARGATE ATLANTIS: Allegiance(Book three in the Legacy series)

by Scott, Melissa

  “But you still do not want me to speak in council.”

  “I still think you will speak for the Lanteans,” Kanaan said. He smiled a little, a flash of spirit in his eyes as if they were still children playing their own game of chase. “Does that make us enemies, Teyla? I think you would be a bad one to have.”

  She shook her head at him, smiling just a little in return. “It does not,” she said. “But I am still not happy about what has been decided.”

  “I did not expect you to be,” Kanaan said. “There is no answer that will satisfy you and everyone else as well, and I cannot make there be one by wishing it.”

  “I know,” she said, and then she did put her arms around him, bending her forehead to his. She felt awkward almost at once, too near not to be reminded of their ill-favored months together after Torren’s birth, but when she drew away, she thought something had eased between them.

  Torren came running toward her, then, and flung his arms around her neck. “My stick,” he said, showing it off to her.

  “It is a very nice stick,” Teyla said. In the distance, she could see Ronon looking out over one of the fields at Halling’s side. She suspected he was saying that it was a nice field.

  “I have work to do,” Kanaan said. “Find me when you are ready to leave.”

  “We will be here for a while,” Teyla said, sitting down and drawing Torren into her lap, even though that meant dodging his stick.

  “Go home now, Mama?” Torren asked, sprawling in her lap.

  “You must stay here with Papa just a little while longer,” Teyla said, stroking his hair, and hoping he would not ask her to promise that was true.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Quicksilver’s Test

  *We must Cull soon,* Bonewhite said.

  Guide frowned at the screen. He had known this was coming, had hoped they could stave it off just a little longer. *How soon?*

  *Now, ideally,* Bonewhite answered. There was a touch of rough humor in his thoughts. *But, knowing the situation — thirty-six hours. We will have to find a hunting ground, you know.*

  *I know.* Death had devastated too many worlds, picked them clean and spoiled what remained. *Riath is near, and Arcola.*

  *I have sent scouts to both,* Bonewhite answered. *Death has been there already. Arcola may serve us, but barely. I would like to hunt further.*

  Guide nodded. *That would probably be wise.*

  *Will you join us?* Bonewhite paused. *Our people grow restless, they worry we do not seek our own queen.*

  Guide grimaced. That, too, he had expected, but it still sent a pulse of fear through him. He was not nearly ready to defy Death, had barely begun to find a few allies among his peers. The failure of this last attack had helped, made some of them reconsider his suggestions, but it was too soon yet to try to build on that. Part of him was glad of the excuse, of the chance to leave the zenana and its dangerous undercurrents, to deal only with the ordinary work of keeping the hive alive and fed. And, of course, to deal with his missing queen, the one who did not truly exist — yes, he would have to deal with that as well, and soon. They could not keep up the pretence forever; perhaps it was time to disclose that Steelflower had died tragically, her cruiser overwhelmed by another hive before she could summon Consort and hive to save her. Yes, perhaps it was time, and perhaps this would be the excuse he needed to make that adjustment. Of course, it would leave him at Death’s mercy, but he was beginning to build his own alliance again — which brought his thoughts full circle. He suppressed a snarl, focused on the matter at hand.

  *I will seek leave of the queen,* he said, *and join you if I may.*

  The assembly room was empty except for the drone guards, and the doors of the inner chamber were closed, but he could feel the tension like a shout. The young blade who watched outside the door looked harried, and dipped his head more deeply than was proper, hiding his nervousness.

  *Is the queen within?* Guide asked, though he could feel her presence.

  *She is — *

  The door slid back before the boy could finish his sentence, and Death beckoned impatiently from behind her throne. Guide made a cautious bow — it was not a good sign that he had not been summoned to this council — and joined the others. The door slid shut behind him, but not before he’d felt the young blade’s relief. And that, too, was no good sign. A man so young should be lost in worship of a queen as strong as this, not afraid.

  *Most gracious queen,* he murmured, burying his thoughts, and Death flicked a hand at him.

  *You come before I would have summoned you, Guide.*

  *Then I crave your pardon,* he answered. *I came only to beg your leave and favor.*

  *Oh?*

  *My hive must Cull,* he said. *And I would go with them.*

  *Do you not trust your shipmaster?* Death asked.

  *Of course, my queen,* Guide said, and permitted himself faint surprise. *But I am commander. It is my responsibility.*

  *My queen,* Farseer said. *Since Guide is here, it would be as well to get his opinion.*

  The Old One snarled at that, but Death gave the flick of a smile. “Perhaps so. After all, it was his idea.*

  Guide bowed again, hiding a pang of fear. What had been his idea? *As my queen wishes.*

  *Nighthaze tells me he can make a stronger explosive than the one we used before,* Death said. *And Quicksilver still can master the Lanteans’ computers. You said it yourself, we should keep them in fear. Farseer has proposed that we attack again.*

  Guide kept his head down, calming the surface of his mind. He didn’t really want to see another attack on Atlantis, not when he was relying on them to be a counterpoise to Death, not when he might still be able to work with them, trade them McKay for concessions… *I believe it to be a wise choice, my queen.*

  The Old One curled his lip. *It is a waste of time and effort. We should gather the fleet and attack them directly, not fritter away our resources on piecemeal attack.*

  *We don’t have the strength.* That was Mist, newly admitted to the zenana. Guide thought he had not meant to speak, but to his credit, once the words were formed, he lifted his head bravely. *My queen, our fleet is large, but it is not overwhelming. Not to face Atlantis. Four years ago, I was part of the first attack, and saw what their defenses are like. And they are stronger now.*

  *We have the new shields,* a newcomer with a mind like the sound of water said, but he did not sound entirely confident.

  *They — I believe they will be of use,* Mist said, *but I don’t think it will be enough to overcome Atlantis.*

  *They escaped by trickery that time,* the Old One said. *They pretended to be destroyed, and your queen was fool enough to believe it.*

  Mist snarled, reaching for his weapon. *My queen was there, Old One — * He stopped himself in the nick of time, and Death turned slowly to face him.

  *What?*

  Mist went to his knees. *Forgive me, my queen…*

  Death regarded him for a long moment, her feeding hand opening and closing at her side. *It is a pity you are not as clever as you are beautiful,* she said at last, and he sagged in relief.

  Guide took a breath. He didn’t really want Death attacking through the Stargate, but he liked the idea of an all-out attack on Atlantis even less. *Surely one need not preclude the other?* he asked. *It will take time to prepare and provision our fleet to take on the Lanteans, and Mist is right that there is still work to be done on both these new shields and on this ZPM. Why not continue the gate attacks in the meantime? And send a ship or two to investigate the city’s defenses, so we are prepared for anything new the Lanteans may have devised.*

  There was a whisper of agreement, sourceless but definite, and Death smiled. *You are a cautious counselor, Guide, but wise. Farseer, see it done.*

  Farseer bowed. *I will arrange it, my queen.*

  The Old One said, *As my queen wills. But is it necessary to keep the abomination alive? He grows dangerous — remember what he said about McK
ay. We should take the knowledge from him, and use it ourselves, not rely on such as him.*

  Death shook her head. *No. Whatever else he may be, he knows his own hand, his own work, better than any man of ours could manage. And I am sure he still believes himself Quicksilver. I felt it in his mind. No, Old One, there is still use in that tool.*

  *As my queen wishes,* the Old One said.

  The tension had eased a little with the decision, and Guide bowed again. “Forgive me, my queen, if I’m importunate, but — my hive’s needs grow stronger with every hour.*

  *Do not think I don’t know your plan,* Death said, and Guide fought down a surge of pure terror. *You will seek your Steelflower, and so be it. But you have made alliance in her name, and you know well what will happen if she dares question it.*

  *Yes, my queen.* Guide folded himself almost double, his coat hissing against the floor. For a moment, there, he had thought himself undone.

  *Go,* Death said. *Your cleverman, Ember. He will remain.* She smiled. *We have need of him to handle McKay, after all.*

  *As my queen commands,* Guide said. He could only be grateful it had gone no worse.

  The third cable was holding, winding around the ZPM in its cradle, the readouts pulsing steady blue. It wasn’t yet stable enough to feed the power directly to the hive, but it was smoothing out with each new connection. Four more cables, Quicksilver thought, and the hive would be able to draw directly from it, rather than through the transformer that radiated heat in the far corner; six more, and it would be an easy transition, nothing to strain any of the systems.

  And that left him with no distractions, while Ember’s men worked, and he frowned at the power readings as though they told him something new. He could not forget what he had found in Dust’s records, could not rid himself of that lingering fear. Suppose he were McKay, suppose he were human — everything he had been told would be false, Dust’s care and kindness a lie, Ember’s dry friendship manipulation. And all his work would be treachery, betrayal of the humans who had genuinely meant to help him…

  He shied away from the thought, then made himself face it. If it were true, if he was McKay, and he was helping to destroy his own people — well, he’d have to stop. Somehow. Which was more easily said than done, considering that the queen had made it clear his life was in her hands, and that failure was unforgivable. And besides, there was still the chance that he was wrong, and that this was just some lingering symptom of having been held prisoner on Atlantis.

  What he needed was proof — something that would tell him, one way or the other, whether he was Rodney McKay or Quicksilver. He tapped his claws on the console, oblivious to the other clevermen’s wary glances. The humans had offered to help him, even when he’d led the strike force; the small human in the ZPM room could have shot him, and had chosen not to, at the risk of his own life, therefore… Therefore the others would take even greater risks to rescue McKay. He was sure, though he could not have said how he knew it, that the small, untidy human who had cornered him in the ZPM room was no warrior, and if he had taken those chances — yes, the others, their queen and the consort, they would do more. And that was a test of sorts: if they were willing to risk their lives to save him, then it was likely he was indeed McKay.

  However, that was not an entirely practical solution, not least because if he was wrong, he would also be dead. He had no illusions that the Lanteans would spare any Wraith, least of all a cleverman of his stature. So even if he had a way to confront them directly, he didn’t dare. Maybe a message of some kind — except that if they responded, it would not only confirm his fears, but it would betray him to the Wraith as well. He glanced around the laboratory, seeing his clevermen with new eyes: pale, lank-haired monsters, hands tipped with heavy claws — so must the humans see them, in the moments before they were fed upon.

  A message, he reminded himself. Some kind of message. More specifically, some kind of safe response to a message. If he told them to meet him someplace? If they went, he would know. Except that it would be impossible for him to meet them, and if they didn’t find him, queen and Consort would assume that it had been a trick, and he’d never get them to do it a second time, which ruled out rescue…

  He had been listening with half his mind to the clevermen’s conversation, and suddenly a fragment caught his attention. *What?*

  Ember looked up from his own console, frowning slightly. *I told you this before, Quicksilver. These cables aren’t easy to grow, we’ll need to take on supplies soon, if we’re to make the rest of them.*

  *Yes, yes, I heard that,* Quicksilver said. *Where were you going to go?*

  Ember looked at Salt, who said, *Gaffen is best. And we can Cull as well.*

  *Gaffen,* Quicksilver said. *I thought you said somewhere else.* He ignored the exchange of glances, turned back to his console, and let another diagnostic cascade down his screen. When he was sure the others’ attention was fixed on the new cable, he touched keys, called up information on the planet. It was unimportant except for its mineral salts, easily harvested from a thick ground cover that absorbed them into its woody stems; there was a human population, and, yes, a Stargate. He closed the window, his hands trembling, controlled his thoughts with an effort. If he could get a message into Atlantis’s systems, tell the consort to look for him on Gaffen — not that he would meet them there, that was too much, but just to look — It might work. At least he would have the chance to see if the Lanteans had used the gate — and, yes, he was sure he could make himself part of the group that went to harvest the salts. That was easy. The rest… He tapped his fingers on the console again, mapping out the message in his head. Just a piece of code, tucked just here into Atlantis’s systems — yes, if anyone knew him, that’s where they’d look, and if they knew him, he was McKay. And if he was McKay, they would come looking. The Lanteans did not leave their own behind.

  Of course, there was still the problem of gaining access to the systems, but he’d be willing to bet that Death would try throwing another bomb through the Stargate. Nighthaze had already been talking about bigger bombs, greater yield; she was bound to try it, and soon. He would be ready then.

  The chance came sooner than he had expected, but he had finished his message. Or mostly finished it: the program was complete, hidden among the tools he used to access the Lanteans’ computers. It could probably use further refinement, a few tweaks here and there — but there was no time, and it would have to do. For an instant, there was almost a voice in his mind, rough and urgent, but it was gone before he could grasp the memory. And then there was nothing but the work at hand.

  Nighthaze was in charge of the clevermen this time, instead of Ember, and instead of the queen, the Old One brought them down to the planet, ordered the drones to guard the perimeter while Nighthaze and his men busied themselves with their new toy. It was a sphere almost a meter in diameter, its surface covered with knobs the size of a man’s thumb-claw — touch-triggers, Quicksilver assumed, seeing how they held it in a suspension field. Sensible: if he could not find controls for the mechanical barrier — and he doubted there would be any in the computer — there was still a chance that the bomb might materialize close enough to trigger the explosion and destroy the barrier. He bent over his computer, readying his programs, and to his shock the Old One came to lean over his shoulder.

  *Well, cleverman. These are your weapons?*

  Quicksilver made himself focus on his screen, on the codes he entered one by one. *They are.* He could feel the Old One’s sneer, and couldn’t stop himself from adding, *At least mine work.*

  The Old One moved to face him across the barrier of the computer, bared teeth in an unfriendly smile. *You had best hope they do.*

  This time, Quicksilver curbed his response, and the Old One turned away, waving to the waiting blade. *Dial the gate!*

  The symbols circled and flashed, and the gate lit, the vortex stabbing out into the sultry air, and settling to the rippling pool of blue. Quicksilver touched
the keys that dispatched his first transmission, was not surprised when his first probe was refused. And the second, and the third… The bomb hung heavy in its frame, the other clevermen watching over their shoulders as he wrestled with the distant system, matching minds against whoever had the watch in the Ancients’ city. And then he found the weakness, a small, deliberate flaw in a piece of code, and his program slipped past the defenses, lodged itself in a corner of the system.

  *I’m in!* he exclaimed, and Nighthaze turned to signal his men. *No, wait! No, no, no, I’m just into the system, I don’t have control yet. I’ll tell you when I do.*

  He thought Nighthaze snarled at that, but he couldn’t be bothered to look, all his attention focused on the screen. Shield control — he didn’t dare overlook it, just in case the Lanteans were using it and the mechanical barrier — shield control and the environmental systems, let them worry about what he was doing there, that would draw their attention —

  And if he was McKay, he was attacking his own people. He hesitated, fingers still for an instant. If he really was McKay, he couldn’t go much further; if he was truly Quicksilver, he should do more, bring the systems into greater disarray before Nighthaze launched his bomb. But if he was Quicksilver, there would be other chances. He took a breath, and launched his message, watching it sink into the mass of Atlantis’s code.

  *Now,* he said, and Nighthaze lowered his hand. The team of clevermen urged the bomb forward, still held in its field, shoved it forward into the event horizon. Quicksilver counted seconds, saw his screen go blank as the explosion killed his transmission, looked up to see the wormhole still serene within the gate. The attack had failed.

  *Shut down the gate,* the Old One said, his anger leashed but evident, and Nighthaze shook his head.

  *Perhaps it gave them a headache, at least.*