"Twenty? I don't think so."
"See for yourself." Zelenka swung the laptop so that he could see the screen, and Rodney frowned at the numbers.
"Oh. Okay, yeah, that would work, but it's risky."
"If we have to do this, that will be the smallest risk we take," Zelenka said.
"True."
Zelenka spun the laptop away again, and typed a few final commands. "And that, I think, is all we can do now."
"Then McKay should probably go back to – whoever needs him next," Ronon said.
"I am not some kind of weird tool," Rodney began, and realized as Dr. Sommer smirked that he could have chosen his words more carefully.
"There you are," Sheppard said, from the door. He looked at Zelenka. "I thought you weren't going to have him work on the ZPM."
"He is the expert," Zelenka said, rather shortly. "And we are very nearly out of time."
"Yeah." Sheppard bit his lip. "How are you doing, anyway? How close to being done?"
Zelenka shrugged. "Almost there. We are ready to lift the city, at least, and the power is optimized."
"Yeah." Sheppard took a deep breath. "In that case – Rodney, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."
"Come with you where?" Rodney glared at him. "Is this one of those stupid euphemisms like 'helping the police with their inquiries,' because if it is, I'm not going to be nice about it."
"For God's sake, McKay!" Sheppard swallowed whatever else he was going to say, and when he did speak, his voice was careful and cold. "Yes, it is like that. General O'Neill wants you locked up for the duration. For your own protection as much as anything."
"No, it's not for my protection," Rodney said. "It's because you think I'm still working for the Wraith, and you can't trust me. You're going to lock me up while Atlantis goes into battle, and you're not going to have me when you need me."
"Is that a threat?" Ronon said.
"No! No, it's a statement of fact!" Rodney glared at him. "I'm the person who knows more about this city, more about Ancient technology and more about the kind of physics that sustains this place than anybody else here, and for once I say this without ego, you're going to need me. We're up against six hiveships, and unless Todd's decided to join us – and he hasn't, has he? Then you're going to take damage, and you're going to need me."
Sheppard shook his head. "The reason Todd hasn't joined us is that you stole the damned weapon and put it somewhere –"
"I told you where I put it!" Rodney snapped. "It's not my fault it's not there."
"You shouldn't have taken it in the first place!"
"If I'd left it there, every Wraith in the city would have known the location the minute they looked at you." Rodney stopped, abruptly aware that his calculations might have been at fault.
"McKay." Sheppard was glaring at him now. "You took the weapon. The weapon is now missing. No, we – I am not going to let you run around loose during the battle. You said it yourself, most of us wouldn't be able to tell if you were sabotaging something, and the people who could be sure are going to be too damn busy to watch you."
"This isn't O'Neill's call," Rodney said. "Woolsey's in charge here."
"And he agreed," Sheppard said. "I agreed. So unless you want me to have Ronon stun you and carry you back to the detention area, you'll come with me right now."
"You wouldn't dare." Rodney was breathing hard, short indignant breaths that made him wonder if he was going to have some kind of attack. That was all he'd need, and they'd probably find some way to blame that on the Wraith, too.
"Ronon." Sheppard's face was set. Ronon heaved a sigh, and drew his blaster.
"Wait! Just – just wait a minute." Rodney looked from one to the other. They really meant it, he thought, they really were prepared to shoot him. "All right, fine, I'll go with you. You can lock me up if that's what you want, but you know it's not going to solve the problem."
"It just might," Sheppard said.
Rodney threw up his hands, and started toward the door. "Not likely."
"Look, it protects you, too," Sheppard said.
"Oh, that's really feeble." Rodney glared at Ronon. "Walking carpet!"
"Just don't start," Sheppard said, wearily, and Rodney fell silent. There was nothing left to say, not if nobody was actually going to listen to him, but when they reached the cells he stopped in the open doorway.
"If you lock me up for the battle and nothing happens, then what? You haven't proved anything. I'm still a suspect, and you won't have me when you need me."
"And if something happens and you're locked up tight, then we have proved it's not you," Sheppard said. "And – damn it, Rodney, you took Hyperion's weapon. What in hell were you thinking?"
Rodney stepped back, suddenly too tired to fight any more. "That I didn't want the Wraith to get it," he said, quietly. "But I swear to you, John, I left it exactly where I told you."
Sheppard bit his lip again. "Can you tell me for sure that Queen Death hasn't put some other hold on you? Something deeper?"
Rodney hesitated. Of course there was no knowing, he wanted to say. It was a stupid question – how could he know whether or not the queen had implanted a subconscious command? That was why it was called 'subconscious.' But – no, he couldn't be sure. None of them could be sure.
Sheppard nodded as though he'd read the thought. "Yeah. I didn't think so."
Rodney took another step back, allowing the door to slide closed. "You know, Sheppard, if the city blows apart –"
"We'll try to remember to come get you," Sheppard answered, but Rodney had seen him flinch. It didn't feel like much of a victory, though.
John stalked out of the detention area, trying not to look as guilty as he felt. That was Rodney after all, Rodney who'd been part of the team for five years, and no matter what the Wraith did to him, Rodney wasn't going to betray them when the chips were down.
Except that wasn't true. He remembered all too clearly the Wraith with Rodney's face ordering the drones to destroy him. But that wasn't really Rodney, or rather, Rodney hadn't known himself, had believed he was a Wraith. Now that he knew who he was, he was too tough, too downright contrary, to give in to Queen Death no matter what she'd done to him.
Except that wasn't true either. The Wraith had broken Ronon once, and if Ronon could break, anyone could. He glanced at the big Satedan, who looked away. "I don't know, I think we're making a big mistake."
"O'Neill doesn't think so," Ronon said.
"Yeah, but he doesn't know Rodney."
Ronon looked at him.
"Doesn't know Rodney now," John amended. "I mean, yeah, Rodney can be difficult –
"They turned him into a Wraith, Sheppard."
John looked away. That was the crux of the matter, and there still wasn't any good answer. "Teyla says –" And he stopped, because he knew what Ronon thought of that, too. But there Ronon was wrong. Teyla was Teyla, Athosian – human – to the core, and if she thought she saw a better way to deal with the Wraith, well John would back her, just like he'd back her when she said Rodney wasn't under Queen Death's control.
As far as he knew. As far as she could tell. She wasn't certain either, not entirely.
But it's Rodney, damn it! he thought. Rodney might bitch and moan, worry about allergies and weird crap like that, but he was part of the team, he understood what that meant. He wouldn't let them down. And that meant – if there was a problem, if there was some disaster in the city, Rodney had to be let loose, because he was still the best man to deal with it. Someone had to let him out, because John himself would be in the chair flying the city.
"Ronon –"
The corridor was empty. He hadn't even heard him go. He took a step back toward the cells, as though the Satedan might be lurking, but stopped himself. He hadn't felt this alone in years.
Aboard Just Fortune, Teyla paced the width of the queen's quarters and back again, able to indulge herself with no one watching. Perssen and Thessen were in the inner room wi
th Darling, the three of them playing at a three-handed board game that had been popular among Steelflower's blades. Teyla had no patience for games at the best of times, but she was grateful that it kept them busy. The third human, Erach, seemed to be sleeping, to judge from the faint snores that blended with the sound of the ventilators.
She wanted to lay her hand on the bulkhead, to feel the ship's progress. They were due to drop out of hyperspace any time now, and that should bring them to the edge of Atlantis's system. Queen Death's fleet would be closer, too, moving inexorably toward Atlantis, and she hoped again that John had found Hyperion's weapon. What had Rodney been thinking, to take it in the first place? Had he been compelled by Queen Death?
It was not the first time she had worried at that problem, and she shook her head yet again. If there was a bond, Rodney did not know it: she was still confident in her word. But if there was a compulsion of which he was not aware.... She could see how it could be done, could do it herself, and if she could, so could a true Wraith Queen. Had she been able to question herself, when she faced Coldamber, she might not have seen the subtle bonds....
But that was not to the point. She started to lay her hand on the bulkhead again, and again stopped herself. The ship would know her, and might unwittingly betray her presence – Steelflower's presence – and she could not risk that; she would have to wait until Alabaster returned to know what was going on. Being queen had spoiled her: she still half expected to be able to bend the blades and clevermen to her will.
The deck shuddered underfoot and she looked up sharply. Had the lights flickered as well? It was hard to tell. She trailed a finger along the nearest bulkhead, the heavy hide warm to the touch. She kept her own mind tightly closed, thoughts hidden, ready to pull away the moment the ship seemed aware of her presence. Instead, there was a rush of confusion, discomfort, anger – as though the exit from hyperspace had not gone well? She took her hand away, unwilling to probe more, and went back to pacing.
Just Fortune had left hyperspace too soon, the numbers botched; they hung at the outer fringes of the target system, ten hours or more from their planned rendezvous, too far to reach the city before Queen Death's fleet could engage. Ember frowned over his console, ducking his head as the Hivemaster's anger filled the control room.
“What incompetent programmed this jump?"
“I did.” Ease matched him glare for glare. “And my calculations were correct.”
“Manifestly not!” Bonewhite snapped.
“I say they were,” Ease answered. “Ask the Engineer what happened, not me.”
“There was no flaw in the engines,” Hasten said, coldly calm as always. “I have run a second diagnostic, and my systems are unaffected.”
“Nor was there anything wrong with my navigation,” Ease snarled.
Ember ignored them both, fixing his attention on the screen. There was something wrong, something he couldn't quite see yet, an irregularity – yes, there, a flaw in the smooth code, the beautiful and perfect codes that had been shared among all the ships of the fleet.... “Hivemaster,” he said, sharply enough to cut through the swelling quarrel. “Someone has tampered with the navigation programming itself. An extra calculation was added, just here. It subtracts a set amount from our final calculation, and drops us out of hyperspace early, without damaging the ship.”
“Let me see that.” Bonewhite leaned over the console, and Ember ducked out of the way, making himself small and quiet while the Hivemaster scrolled down the waterfall of code. “By all the Mothers, this is madness!” He swung away, heavy coat swirling. “Sabotage again–”
“Indeed, sabotage again,” Alabaster said, and her words silenced the confusion of conversation as though she had flipped a switch. She stood in the hatchway, her scarlet hair loose on her shoulders, her expression mildly curious. That was frightening enough on Guide, but terrifying on a queen, and Ember was not the only one to bow in instinctive answer.
Bonewhite did not bow, but his tone was respectful. “Lady.”
Alabaster came forward, laid one hand on his sleeve. “This must be rooted out.”
“Lady, that I know!”
Alabaster showed teeth. “I say this as She Who Speaks for Steelflower. There is a promise to be kept, and we are close to failing her.”
“I know that, too,” Bonewhite said, through clenched teeth. “Hasten! You say the engines are solid? Well, here's your chance to prove it. Open a hyperspace window for me, and I'll bring us through to Atlantis.”
“Madness!” Ease said. “We cannot jump so close to a sun, the fields won't stand it.”
Bonewhite looked at Hasten. “Well?”
“It's a risk,” the engineer answered. “The deeper one falls into a gravity well, the greater the chance that the ship will break apart. But I believe we can stand it.”
“And I will lay the course myself,” Bonewhite said. His tone dared anyone to object. “Now.”
The duty pilot ducked hastily away from this state, and after a moment Ease backed away as well.
“On your head be it, to kill the daughter of the Commander.”
Bonewhite bared teeth in a sudden grin. “And if I fail, what does it matter? We'll all be dead.”
Alabaster smiled. “You are confident, Hivemaster.”
“I am, Lady.” This time he did bow.
“Then begin.” Alabaster leaned against the commander's station, tall and lithe and vital. Ember allowed himself one long look, drinking in her courage, and turned his attention back to his console, attending with half his mind while Bonewhite and Ease and Hasten contacted the rest of the fleet, Ease raising his voice to shout down any opposition. Ember couldn't blame the other commanders, but – there was no other choice, and so they all eventually agreed. Bonewhite studied his calculations a final time, and raised his face to the communications web.
"Take the course from me, or lay your own, but follow me now!"
A jumble of voices answered, affirming their readiness, and Ember braced himself against his console.
“Open the hyperspace window,” Bonewhite ordered, and Just Fortune surged through.
Zelenka said something rude in Czech, staring at his screen, and then shook his head. "Sergeant Ling!"
"I saw it, Doc," the technician on the sensors answered. "It looks like Todd's hive, but they're way out on the fringe of the system."
"Well, what are they doing there?" John demanded. He'd only planned to stop in the control room long enough to touch base with Zelenka, and it looked as though all hell was breaking loose. I've got to stop coming up here, he thought, and came to stand behind Ling.
"How far out?" Zelenka asked, and Ling typed a quick query.
"Seven, maybe ten hours? I don't get it."
"Are you telling me Todd's ships aren't going to get here for seven hours?" John's voice started to rise, and he controlled it hastily. "Crap! What's he playing at?"
"Perhaps there was some kind of problem," Zelenka said. "They are not powering down to normal – maybe they didn't solve their navigation problem correctly?"
"They're opening another hyperspace window," Ling said. "Holy crap –"
The hiveships vanished from the screen, and reappeared a moment later further into the system. Much closer, John thought, maybe an hour or maybe less, almost in orbit. Zelenka swore again.
"I would not like to try that, and I'd rather they didn't do it anywhere near my planet, thank you."
The communications screen chimed at that moment, and a picture formed: another long-haired Wraith male. This one looked vaguely familiar, and John dredged his memory: Kenny, Todd's second-in-command on the ill-fated mission where Teyla had first masqueraded as Steelflower. And now Teyla was on his ship. John didn't know whether that was likely to be good or bad.
"Atlantis." Kenny's voice hissed from the speakers. "We are here as our Queen and Commander have ordered."
"Nice to see you, too," John said. "You may have noticed we have company."
"I
see Queen Death's fleet," Kenny answered. "But I do not take my orders from you. We will engage when and if our Commander orders, and not before."
John bit his lip. "Fair enough. And I'm guessing you want to talk to him, too."
Kenny made a sound that might have been laughter. "Indeed we do."
"Absolutely," John said. "Look, just kick back, have a beer or something, and I'll go get him." He made a slashing gesture, and Banks cut the connection. "Get Woolsey and O'Neill on the double.
Guide had been waiting for some time, though he had lost precise track of the time. Not long by Wraith standards, but an unreasonable amount of time by human reckoning, and he filed that knowledge as possibly of use. The Lanteans did not know what to do in the way of courtesy if they could not offer food and drink; there was no place in their ritual for the play of dice or tiles, or the sharp exchange across the stone game. They had left him a carafe and glass as though they could not quite believe he did not require it, and someone had had the wit to dim the lights a fraction, but that was all.
The room had chairs and a long low daybed as well as the table, and Ancient writing coiled across the wall. It was the form of his youth, familiar shapes though he could only read one word in ten – invocations, blessings, perhaps, on the city's peoples? He could not tell. He turned to the long window instead, peered out into the fading evening. A chill radiated from the glass, and he hunched his shoulders inside his heavy coat, careful to keep his feeding hand well away from the cold metal of the frame. An aurora bloomed in the sky, tendrils of light rising like pale flame from the horizon, as thin as smoke, coiling silently behind the towers. He had seen auroras before, on other worlds, but nothing quite like this. He had not seen it when he had been here before – Sheppard had brought him from stasis to the Stargate in haste, there had been no time for gawking. Presumably no one else had seen it either, at least not before the Lanteans were forced to land here, but he could not shake the sense of unease.
SGA-21 - Inheritors - Book VI of the Legacy Series Page 18