She glanced at the time display and straightened her shoulders. T minus twenty, and it was time she took her place on the bridge. Her eyes strayed to the pictures above her bunk, held to the bulkheads with plain black magnets. They were all here, all her old team, Jack and Teal'c and Daniel and Cam and Vala, and though she knew she should wish them safe on Earth, she couldn't help being glad of their presence. God knew she needed 302 pilots, and Cam and Teal'c were two of the best.
The bridge crew was ready, even though wires hung untidily from a few of the consoles. Sam took her seat, and nodded to Major Franklin. "Status, Major?"
"We're ready to go, Colonel," he answered.
Sam nodded. She'd never yet managed to have that conversation with him, though she thought she knew what she was going to say when she had a minute, but at least there was no question about his abilities as a tactical officer. "Get me Atlantis," she said, and the pony-tailed airman on the communications board jumped to obey.
"Atlantis here, Hammond." That was Jack's voice, faintly ironic as always.
"We're at ninety-eight percent of optimum, General," Sam said. "We're ready to lift."
"Good job," Jack said. His voice chanced slightly, became more formal. "Colonel, the city will launch after you. Proceed to a low parking orbit and wait for us to join you. Then you and Pride of the Genii can go hunt Wraith."
"Yes, sir," Sam said. "Permission to lift?"
"Lift when ready." Jack paused. "Give 'em hell, Carter."
Sam grinned. "Will do, sir. Captain Chandler. Take us into orbit."
"Yes, ma'am." Chandler's hands moved on the controls, and Sam felt the Hammond shudder as the inertial dampeners took hold. Engines rumbled, steadied, and the Hammond rose from the pad. Chandler spun her horizontally, facing away from the towers, and pointed her at the sky. Sam couldn't suppress her grin as the sky went from blue to black, the Hammond sliding from atmosphere to vacuum, stars filling the screens. Steering engines fired, and she caught a glimpse of the Genii ship hanging further out, a graceful shape bright against the black. A secondary screen showed the night side of the planet, haloed in white, the pinpoint of light that was Atlantis the only mark on the perfect circle.
"We've achieved stable orbit, ma'am," Chandler said.
"Nice job, Captain." Sam looked at the technician. "Comm, let Atlantis know we're here."
"Yes, ma'am." The airman's hands flew across her board, and she looked over her shoulder. "Atlantis acknowledges – and the Genii ship is signaling."
"Put them through," Sam said.
"Colonel Carter." It was Ladon Radim in the screen, polite and unreadable as ever. "It's good to see you again."
"And you, Chief Ladon." Sam repressed the urge to cross her fingers.
"Major Lorne has suggested that after Atlantis is established in orbit we make a microjump to just within range of Queen Death's fleet, strike, and jump back out of range."
"Hit and run," Sam said. She could see how it would work, a quick strike to damage the cruisers, and then jump away again. "Major Franklin?"
"We can do it, ma'am."
Sam nodded. "I concur, Chief Ladon. Assuming Atlantis agrees."
"We'll await their approval," Ladon answered, and cut the connection.
"Colonel," the airman at the communications board said. "Atlantis is ready to lift."
Sam looked at the side screen, the black disk of the planet with the tiny glint of light. So tiny, to carry so many lives – but it was the Ancients' Lost City, Teyla's City of the Ancestors, unimaginably old and unimaginably powerful. She might be rising now to her last battle, but she had Sheppard in the chair and Jack in command and that had to mean something. "Confirmed," she said, and turned her attention to the tactical displays.
John settled into the chair, stretching his hands along the arms. It felt cool, waiting. He took a deep breath.
In his headset, Radek spoke from the control room, "Colonel Sheppard, we are all systems green."
"Okay," John said. "Let's do this." He closed his eyes and leaned back, the pads of his fingers sinking in the soft silicone gel that allowed the chair to connect to his own nervous system. There was the usual momentary disorientation as connections formed, the universe broadening until his own body was only a tiny part. John Sheppard sat in the chair in Atlantis.
And John Sheppard was Atlantis. He was the city, thousands of years old, home of millions of people throughout time, lost beneath the waves and found again, a wandering relic, a caravan, an ark, a place of safety that traveled through the stars as surely as a Wraith hive ship.
It's the same, John thought. It's the same idea, the same heart of it – a place that can be anyplace, a ship to sail the wide seas of night and carry people in it safe from the hazards of any shore. My home.
Yours, the city whispered, each circuit reaching for each synapse like a child reaching for its mother, like lover speaking to lover. For a moment he knew them all as the city had known them, pilot upon pilot who sat in this chair through the long centuries, chosen by luck or by skill, in honor and in hardship, a boy barely into his teens sinking into the city's systems to speak through it, its voice now his, an old woman who had died in the chair's embrace, gratefully breathing her last as a hyperspace window opened. They were the ones who had come before him, guardians all.
For a moment he saw himself, black uniform and graying hair. The chair tilted back to welcome him. This was where he belonged. This was what it needed. His mind, his touch, his strength to yield. And long after John Sheppard was dead, Atlantis would remember.
We need to go, he said.
Lines of force appeared, the city calculating the best trajectory. Far beneath, there was a rumble, mighty engines coming online, ports closing beneath the water.
That was Radek's voice on the headset, distant and near at once. "We are showing optimal power from the ZPM."
He knew that. The city knew it. It was ready.
Then go, John said.
The city trembled, engines firing, sliding upward almost impossibly slowly at first and then gaining speed, water streaming away, steaming in vast clouds superheated in the cold air, billowing out over the surface of the sea. Atlantis rose.
"God, that's beautiful." Carter's voice on the line, hushed, as though she hadn't realized she was transmitting.
The sky above darkened, a hemisphere of stars. The Hammond was below, a small bright shape against flowing clouds.
"We have achieved a stable orbit," Radek said.
Yes, the city said. All is well. Lines of force flowed about the world, easy to direct, easy to choose a path that looped the city around the world in a high equatorial orbit. There.
John opened his eyes. "Okay," he said into the headset. "I think we're good."
Chapter Seventeen
Ronon's Decision
The Pride of the Genii had no trouble maintaining the link to Atlantis; it had a bit more trouble collecting the Hammond's transmission, and Lorne suspected it might be taking the feed from the city rather than from the Hammond directly. He and Radim had retreated to what had probably been intended as a secondary control room, but which Radim had co-opted as his personal suite. One wall was covered in display screens, the feeds from the Hammond and Atlantis surrounded by the ever-changing status of Pride of the Genii herself. In the corner, Radim's cot, half-hidden by a tent-like drape for at least the illusion of privacy, looked entirely incongruous. One of Cadman's Marines had managed to make coffee, and Lorne clutched his travel mug in both hands.
In the main screen, General O'Neill was frowning down at something, presumably the tactical screen, while Woolsey had his eyes fixed on the camera. Sheppard appeared a moment later, looking predictably rumpled, and O'Neill looked up with a silent question.
"Sorry, sir," Sheppard said. "I had to get Beckett settled in the chair."
Lorne filed that for reference – they wouldn't want to ask the city to do anything complicated if Beckett was flying her, and they probably wouldn't
want to try launching drones, either. In the second screen, Colonel Carter was talking to her exec, but turned back to face her camera.
"We're good to go, sir."
Lorne looked at Radim, who nodded for him to go ahead. "We're ready, too, General."
"And is there any further word from your potential ally?" Radim asked.
"Unfortunately, nothing new," Woolsey answered. "Todd – Guide – still intends to sit this one out."
Radim made a face, but said nothing.
"Do we know yet if the hives are using their new shields?" Carter asked.
"Zelenka says we're not seeing the new power signature," Sheppard answered. "But you know how much that means."
"Well, maybe they decided it didn't work the way they wanted," O'Neill said.
"More likely they couldn't make it work without the ZPM McKay stole for them," Carter answered. "That would be nice."
Sheppard grinned. Lorne repressed the childish urge to cross his fingers. Yes, it would help if the hives weren't shielded, but they were still outnumbered and outgunned.
"Gentlemen," Radim said. "Major Lorne has come up with an idea that I think will be effective."
"Go ahead, Major," O'Neill said.
"Sir." Lorne straightened his shoulders. "If we and the Hammond were to make a short jump, to bring us into range of Queen Death's fleet, we could do a quick hit and run, do some solid damage and get back out again before they come in range of Atlantis."
"Carter?" O'Neill asked.
"Sir, I agree. The microjump is a little dicey, but I think it's worth it. Their weapons have always been shorter-range than ours. We'll jump in, hit them before they can close, and jump back out again."
Sheppard was nodding. "I like the sound of anything that takes some pressure off the city. We're pretty maneuverable for something this size, but we're not going to be dodging any of their fire."
O'Neill looked at Woolsey. "What about the remaining civilians?"
"We've assigned anyone who doesn't have an immediate duty post to one of several interior rooms that Dr. Zelenka identified as the most protected," Woolsey answered. "They're to proceed there as soon as the fighting starts – or sooner, if so ordered."
"That seems to cover it," O'Neill said. "Carter. You're sure this microjump thing is going to work?"
"Yes, sir," Carter answered. "You saw the Wraith do it, and we have finer control over our hyperdrive."
"All right. When can you do it?"
Carter looked slightly guilty, and Lorne cleared his throat. "Uh, we've already made the calculations, General."
O'Neill shook his head. "Of course you did. All right, Colonel, Major, you have a go."
"Thank you, sir," Carter said, with a quick grin, and Lorne glanced at Radim. The Genii leader nodded, and Lorne cut the connection.
"So," he said. "Do you really think this is going to work, Major?"
"Yes, sir," Lorne said. He picked up his P90, slung it over his shoulder. Not that he actually needed it, or he certainly hoped he didn't, but given that all the Genii went armed, he felt more comfortable with the weapon slung around his neck.
"It's fairly common knowledge that it's dangerous to open a hyperspace window too deep into a sun's gravity well," Radim said. "And I've figured out enough about the workings of this ship to know that it's not exempt from that limit."
Lorne hesitated. "That's true. It's tricky, and we could end up shredded. Or blow out the hyperdrive and end up trapped in the system. But – it's the best idea we've got."
"Sadly." Radim smiled. "All right, Major, let's do this thing."
Sam sat down in her big chair. "Ok," she said. "Ready for the microjump. Ikram?"
"Just another moment, ma'am," Ikram said, bent over his forward console.
"Fine," Sam said. The last thing she wanted to do was rush the navigations. An in system microjump had to be extremely precise. "Let me know when you're green." She opened internal communications. "Everyone secure for the microjump, please."
"Bay doors are secured," came the swift reply. The Hammond's landing bays were the most vulnerable part of the ship, and for hyperspace entry it was best to physically close the doors in addition to the energy shield.
"Okay, boys," Mel Hocken's voice carried easily on the line. "The garage is zipped up. Everybody take a minute to make one more run through. There's not going to be time when we revert. I'm in the A lane. Jimbo, you're right behind me."
"Right behind you, boss," confirmed Lt. Pulaski. "I've got Ellis and Mitchell in the B lane behind me."
"Confirmed," Hocken said.
Sam tried not to smile, listening to the familiar litany of the launch order confirming. Cam wouldn't like being fourth, with Teal'c behind him fifth, but it wasn't his show. The first two 302s at the front of the bay, side by side, were the A lane, the B lane the two behind them, the C lane the two behind them and so on. Needless to say, everybody had to wait their turn or there would be a big problem.
"I have the calculations," Ikram said.
Sam nodded. "Let's do it. Everybody, prepare for microjump. On my mark."
The Hammond leapt forward, starfield blurring for a moment, almost a blink rather than the usual elongation of stars, and then before she could draw a breath they were out again, almost on top of the enemy.
"Rail guns online," Davies announced.
"Fire as you bear," Sam said into the comm.
The rail guns opened up at the same time that the bay doors opened, the first pair of 302s hitting full turbos and launching into the night.
Hit and disengage – that was the name of the game. Mel Hocken spun her 302 into a hard left bank, shots telling in a long furrow along the hive ship's hull. The Hammond and the Pride of the Genii provided covering fire, the white angel streaks of Ancient drones slashing one at a time through the dark. The first time she'd seen them had been over Antarctica, General O'Neill launching them from the chair against Anubis' fleet. They'd been outnumbered and outclassed, twenty 302s against seventy or eighty death gliders – all the 302s there were, every one that had ever been built. It was the first time they'd engaged, and it stung. They'd lost nine out of twenty, including Colonel Mitchell, but Mel had been lucky. Well, lucky and good. She never discounted that.
"Take out weapons emplacements if you can," Mel said, flipping over to make a second pass on the same line. And that was pay dirt, an atmosphere plume from a hull breach beneath her, a tumble of debris.
"What the...?" Pulaski's exclamation came just as her heads up display changed, three cruisers appearing almost on top of the Hammond, Queen Death's fleet playing the microjump card too.
"Crap."
The Hammond heeled, caught in a sudden barrage of fire.
"Fall back to protect the Hammond," Mel said.
"Copy that." That was Mitchell's voice on the line. He probably wasn't actually checked out in a 302 anymore. The kind of crack up he'd had in Antarctica wasn't one you walked away from. But if Carter wasn't going to ask that question, neither was she. It wasn't like 302 pilots grew on trees.
The Hammond's shields flared, almost opaque under the volume of fire, and Mel pushed her ship harder. "Come on. Let's keep them busy."
"Cruiser's launching Darts."
"I see them, Jimbo."
This whole scene was getting dirty real fast.
Alabaster had taken the queen's station as though by right, and Guide was startled to feel something that might almost have been resentment. This was his fleet, built from the wreckage of his plans, the disaster of his capture by the Lanteans; Alabaster was not Steelflower, for all she had managed to convince Bonewhite and the others that she spoke for her. And yet.... She was his daughter, after all. He took his place at her left hand, his gaze sweeping across the displays.
The Hammond and the Genii ship were underway, and even as he focused his attention on their course, they opened hyperspace windows and vanished. Surely Atlantis was not going to run, not so quickly – but no, there they were, blinking
back into normal space at what he guessed was the limit of their weapons' range. Bonewhite hissed at the sight, and in the same moment three of Queen Death's cruisers opened windows. They reappeared within range of the Lantean ships, ready to open fire, and Guide bared teeth. Not so clever after all, he thought, watching blue fire bloom along the distant hulls.
Alabaster made a small sound, not quite a hiss of distress, and her hand reached out to touch his wrist in private communication. “We should stand with them.”
“You know we cannot. And why.”
“We cannot face Death's fleet alone.”
“They will 'find' the weapon soon enough,” Guide answered. “You'll see.”
“You have spoken with Ember.”
Guide snarled in spite of himself. The cleverman had begged an audience as soon as Guide came aboard, spilled a confused story about sabotage and mysterious transmissions. If it had been anyone but Ember, he would have discounted the matter, but Ember did not make that sort of mistake. “I have. And I will find the traitor. But – not now.”
“Commander,” Bonewhite said. “What are your orders?”
“We do nothing yet,” Guide answered.
Ease looked up from his console. “Is it wise for us to remain here, then, if we don't intend to fight?”
“We cannot run,” Alabaster said. “Even if we will not fight with them, to run would be to declare our position unequivocally. Queen Death will attack with all her strength, knowing she needs to keep nothing in reserve to face us with.”
That was certainly true. Guide caught Bonewhite's eye, saw agreement on his strong-boned face. Hasten turned from his console.
“And if Death's fleet attacks us, Commander?”
“Then we will fight back,” Guide said. “But she will not.” Let Death worry, he thought. She knew she couldn't handle both fleets, not easily; she wouldn't attack until Atlantis was defeated, and by then he could be long gone.
SGA-21 - Inheritors - Book VI of the Legacy Series Page 20