by Karen Miller
“Be nice, Rodney. We owe his people a lot: the hypderdrive, beaming technology. He can tag along if he wants to.”
“This is a fully interactive photonic projection,” Hermiod explained. “Using technology developed from what you call Ancient ‘communication stones’, it allows me some basic interaction with my environment while maintaining full communication with the Daedalus.” He paused, then added, “It is a technology well beyond your scientific understanding.”
“Well beyond?” McKay spluttered. “Do you have any idea what I — ?”
“Save it!” Sheppard ordered. “Something’s happening.” The HUD was showing a firefight among the darts — streaks of weapons fire, bright white explosions against the starless void.
“They’re firing on each other,” Ronon said, peering over Sheppard’s shoulder to look at the display.
Within moments, most of the targets had vanished from the screen. Teyla frowned. “These Wraith are acting in a bizarre manner.”
Sheppard scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Maybe they ran out of gas and got stranded here so long they started feeding on each other?”
“That is not likely,” Teyla said. “Wraith would hibernate rather than feed on each other.”
“She’s right,” McKay said. “There’s something else going on. I’m getting very odd readings from some of those darts.” He studied the sensor scans and grimaced. “It’s like… Something’s leaking from the ships. Some kind of protoplasm, maybe? It’s almost like they’re bleeding.”
“Wraith are dying,” Ronon said. “Who cares why?”
“Right,” Sheppard said. “Doesn’t change our mission, and since they’ve opened it for us we can enter the hive through the dart bay.”
“I could have hacked the bay doors,” McKay said.
Hermiod blinked at him. “Doubtful.”
Ignoring the bickering, Sheppard focused on landing the jumper. The carapace of the hive ship expanded across the viewport as they approached. Fluid pulsed through arteries that snaked over and through the deep ripples and grooves of the hull, feeding the engines and life-support systems. Two massive domes clung to the underbelly of the colony ship where the Wraith lived or hibernated, populating the domes like ants in a mound. Cocoon chambers honeycombed the remainder of the habitat, designed to hold thousands of humans awaiting the embrace of a feeding hand. Two stubby flippers jutted out on opposite sides of the hardened shell, stabilizing the flight, and bright plasma burned from several round ports along the back plane of the hive. Yet the Wraith ship hung motionless, its lights blinking and winking, reminding Sheppard of a city losing power during an outage.
McKay leaned forward, peering through the view screen. “Power is fluctuating all over the hive.”
“That is obvious,” Hermiod said.
“They’re suffering malfunctions in a major way,” McKay continued, ignoring him. “If the fluctuations don’t stabilize that ship isn’t going to last long.”
“Then we need to hurry,” Sheppard said.
McKay looked up. “What, you still want to board that thing?”
“We have to know where they were headed.”
“Does it matter, if they blow up?”
“We still don’t know if Michael’s hive gave the information they stole from Atlantis to the other hives,” Teyla reminded him, referring to their recent alliance with the enemy. Of course, it had all gone bad, and the Wraith had betrayed the expedition and stolen the location of Earth, as well as the Asgard designs for an intergalactic hyperdrive that would enable them to reach their new feeding grounds. If that knowledge had spread among the Wraith… Well, Sheppard didn’t even want to think about the consequences.
“I am detecting upgrades to their hyperdrive,” Hermiod reported. “And this course is a direct point between the Pegasus Galaxy and Earth.”
“Crap,” McKay said, glancing down at his tablet. “I am too. So they’ve definitely gotten our engine schematics. But why did they just stop out here in the middle of dead space?”
It was a good question. ‘Dead space’ was exactly the right term for this empty place, and Sheppard couldn’t imagine why anyone would stop here unless they had no choice. He missed the stars filling the screen, reminding him that life continued and thrived in the universe. Out here in the void between galaxies, nothing lived, nothing thrived. He just wanted to complete the mission and get home to Atlantis. “I guess there’s only one way to find out what’s going on,” he said. “So let’s go ask.”
But the jumper struggled on the approach to the hive, not easing into the trajectory, and warning lights started flashing on the HUD.
“We’re losing power fast,” McKay reported. “The main capacitor’s completely screwed.”
“Can we fix it?”
“We cannot repair the damage without returning to the Daedalus,” Hermiod said, calm as ever.
“He’s right,” McKay confirmed. “We’re stuck here.”
Sheppard cursed and summoned communications, hailing the Daedalus. Colonel Caldwell’s rough voice answered.
“Colonel Sheppard. What’s your status?”
“We’re about to infiltrate the hive, but we got pretty beat up on the way. Might need a ride home.”
There was a pause before Caldwell answered, a beat of disapproval; the plan had been to keep the Daedalus out of the hive’s range. “Understood,” he said at last. “We’re an hour out. Keep me apprised of your status, Colonel. Caldwell out.”
“Well he’s Mr. Warm-and-Friendly today,” McKay said.
“So long as the Daedalus is here when we need her,” Sheppard said, “I can live without warm and friendly.”
Now fully inside the hive, Sheppard set the jumper down on an empty pad close to one of the corridors leading into the ship. “Okay,” he said, turning around in the pilot’s chair. “Get in. Download the ship’s logs. Figure out if they have the location of Earth. Then get out.”
“Alive please,” Rodney said.
“Yes,” Sheppard added. “Alive, if possible.”
Ronon unholstered his pistol. “And then we blow up the hive?”
“And then we blow up the hive.”
Cautiously, the team left the cloaked jumper, though the shield shifted when Sheppard looked back and he knew it was already malfunctioning — they didn’t have much time before it failed. He did a quick headcount of the team and waved them on, but then realized they were missing one.
Where the hell was Hermiod?
Supreme Commander Thor. As per your orders, I am recording my observations through direct empathic link. A recreation of the experiences of my senses will be transmitted to the council on Othala. On a personal note, let me say that I have little faith in the success of my mission, and I wish to again protest my assignment as the human attendant. I request a transfer to the new home colony where I can be of better use during the twilight of our people.
Hermiod thought better of the last few lines and deleted them, keeping the record impersonal. What did his feelings matter now that the High Council had ratified the final sanction?
As per your orders, I have joined the lead team from the Atlantis expedition so I can observe the humans under immediate threat. I have not informed the humans of the nature of my mission, and I must tell you, Supreme Commander, that I am not comfortable with your instructions. I do not believe I am the right being for this mission. I know that you could not get a real understanding of human nature because of the status in which their leaders hold you, and this is why you commanded me to undertake my observation, since I am of lower rank and my position on this ship is one of service. However, I am isolated among the crew and the humans even consider me, as Dr. Novak has been known to call me, ‘grumpy’. I do not believe —
“You ready, buddy?” Colonel Sheppard�
�s question distracted Hermiod from his mental monograph.
“I am coming, Colonel Sheppard,” Hermiod said. The rest of the team had already disembarked from the Lantean gate-ship. But Hermiod’s fingers felt numb and he ran a neural diagnostic before he left. As he’d feared, the disease, unleashed accidentally during the last cloning cycle, had accelerated and Hermiod sent a mental signal to the reservoir of medicine built directly into his brain. The enzymes and electrolytes would ease the mental degradation, however the chemicals would only treat the symptoms not cure the disease. Complete neural collapse was inevitable. But, for now, the medicine did its work and feeling returned to his limbs.
Stepping to the edge of the back port he hesitated before entering the Wraith hive, then reminded himself that he wasn’t physically there. His body was safely connected to the Asgard systems on the Daedalus. The remote sensors fed real-time information to all of his senses, thus he saw, felt, smelled, tasted and heard as his holographic duplicate.
The rest of the unit checked their projectile weapons — primitive but effective. Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex guarded the rear, and Hermiod followed Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay. Unlike the Asgard, humans still possessed unique appearances and at times Hermiod found the degrees of physical difference overwhelming. Dr. McKay shared a similar brown shade to his hair as Colonel Sheppard, though Sheppard had grown his longer so it curled at its ends. Teyla tied her dark blond hair back before heading into combat. He couldn’t imagine how distracting hair must be. At least they all wore charcoal uniforms with matching vests.
“We need to get to the main computer core in the Queen’s chamber,” Dr. McKay said.
To be helpful, Hermiod scanned the ship and reviewed the schematics. “I have located the Wraith data core.”
“Of course you have,” said Dr. McKay, in a tone that implied sarcasm.
Despite the friction between them, Hermiod related most to Rodney McKay. He suffered similar self-doubt, and perhaps that was why he’d been so caustic while working with the brilliant human scientist. As Dr. Novak might have said, they both had a tendency to be ‘grumpy’.
His thoughts were suddenly, shockingly interrupted. Wraith stunner bolts sizzled past his face, their heat almost overloading the remote sensors. The Atlantis team immediately returned fire, their bullets piercing the armor of two Wraith drones. However, their weapons had little effect; the drones continued to fire. Hermiod scanned their stun weapons and discovered their similarity to non-lethal weapons which the Asgard had once employed against the Goa’uld. It was not difficult to calibrate a pulse from one of the communication stones that projected his hologram, and the stunners overloaded in a shower of sparks. The drones collapsed, rendered unconscious by their own weapons.
“What the hell was that?” Dr. McKay asked, scrambling to his feet from the fleshy arch in the corridor bulkhead where he’d been sheltering from the crossfire.
“I don’t know,” Colonel Sheppard said. “But I was wishing real hard…”
“Since your weapons were proving ineffective,” Hermiod explained, “I induced an overload in the stunner power supply.”
“Nice work,” Sheppard said, glancing along the corridor ahead. “Ronon, take point.”
Ronon nodded, checked his energy weapon, and moved out with long deliberate strides. It was difficult for Hermiod to keep up as they hurried through the dank corridors of the living ship, its lights dimmed and the great beast wheezing as the walls bled violet fluid onto the floor.
“It is like the darts,” Teyla said. “There is something very wrong with this hive.”
“Are you sensing anything?” Colonel Sheppard asked her.
“And I am sensing confusion among the Wraith. It is strange. I —”
Weapons fire up ahead interrupted her, sending the team into defensive positions again. But they didn’t need to fire; this time, the Wraith were attacking each other. Further along the corridor, Hermiod could see a small group of Wraith. Pink ooze dripped from beneath the masks of the drones, while Wraith warrior turned on Wraith warrior, their feeding hands swollen and hungry.
Sheppard made a face. “That looks like —”
“The funky goo that covered the Wraith darts,” Dr. McKay said. “Yeah. I think we can say that these guys are sick. I mean, more than usually sick.”
“The retrovirus?” Sheppard asked.
“Maybe. They could have been infected.”
“Let’s not stick around to find out.”
“We can get past them,” Ronon said, nodding toward a side corridor. “They’re too busy killing each other.”
Hermiod approved the passive tactic, already disgusted with the violence and bloodshed. He followed the team as they moved furtively down the ubiquitous corridors, but suddenly his vision juddered, pixilating as his hologram destabilized. Static filled his mind and he felt the projection freeze. He ran a swift diagnostic, but couldn’t isolate the malfunction from his remote location. The problem appeared to be on the hive.
“My unit is malfunctioning,” he said. “I believe that subspace interference is distorting my signal.”
“Uh-huh.” Dr. McKay checked the communication stone with his Lantean scanner, and reached out to make a small adjustment. “Above my ‘scientific understanding’, is it?”
The signal stabilized and the Hermiod’s vision cleared, the projection unfreezing. “Your assistance is noted.”
“Noted?” McKay echoed. “How about ‘thank you?’”
“How about we keep moving?” Colonel Sheppard said, gesturing McKay to precede him along the corridor.
As they walked on, deeper into the ship, Hermiod began to hear the sound of anguished moaning drift from the chambers they passed — humans, spun into membrane, waiting for their deaths. “Can we not help these people?” he asked as he glanced into one such chamber.
Colonel Sheppard traded a look with Teyla. “It is not possible,” she said, with an expression of controlled sorrow. “The kindest thing we can do is to bring them a swift death.”
“By blowing up the ship,” Ronon said, with grim conviction.
Hermiod returned his attention to the human captives. The webs that constrained them exposed their chests for easier feeding — and their faces. The Wraith fed on the human life-force to survive, and Hermiod could forgive them their biological requirements. However, they wanted to watch the terror in the faces of their prey as they died. And, for that, Hermiod deemed them monsters incapable of redemption.
He was glad to leave the feeding chambers and reach the sealed doors to the Queen’s chamber.
“Get that open,” Colonel Sheppard said, waving Dr. McKay forward.
Crouching down, McKay sliced into the spongy flesh of the wall and inserted a pair of adapter leads. “Something’s corrupting the program,” he said as more ooze seeped from the incisions he’d made. Suddenly he yanked back his hand. “Ugh, I think it sneezed on me.”
Colonel Sheppard said, “Gesundheit.”
What that meant, Hermoid could not be sure, but before he could ask Dr. McKay hissed “Got it!” and the door opened. A series of dens and parlors lay beyond, with a single throne dominating the largest room. The walls pulsed — hot and hungry — and Hermiod turned down his temperature settings.
“No Queen,” Ronon said, glancing around. “No Wraith.”
His observation that was swiftly explained; a heap of Wraith bodies lay piled at the center of the prime chamber, leaking black blood which pooled on the floor.
“What the hell?” Dr. McKay aimed his scanner at the dead flesh. “Something is reprogramming the Wraith DNA — it’s growing between the bodies. I don’t know if it’s alive or just bubbling.”
Colonel Sheppard made a face. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. All I’m saying is that it’s more than a pil
e of bodies.”
Hermiod conducted a scan of his own. Dr. McKay was right; a membrane of protoplasm connected the various corpses, merging flesh at the cellular level. It was a curious thing, but he would evaluate the data later, at a less stressful time. All he said was, “My readings are also inconclusive.”
“Doesn’t matter right now,” Colonel Sheppard said. “It’s not killing us, so just let it hangout while we access the computer.”
“I’m on it,” Dr. McKay said, turning to a glowing amber pillar at the center of the adjacent chamber. Purple screens, built into a pyramidal point, displayed data from the Wraith computer core, and Dr. McKay and Teyla accessed the systems while the rest of the team guarded the chamber.
Hermiod fixed his attention on the strange fleshy mass, watching it shift and move. He had not seen anything like it before and it made him feel uneasy — the human expression, he believed, was ‘it made his skin crawl’. He hoped they would soon be able to leave this place.
After a long period of silence, McKay hissed “Yes!” and data started spilling down the Wraith screens. It was not a language Hermiod understood, but Dr. McKay’s linguistic ability appeared sufficient.
“Looks like they were going to Earth,” he said, “but luckily for us Michael’s alliance was small, just three hive ships. This hive was on its way to join up with its sister ships, but their hyperdrive modifications failed.”
“So they’re stranded here,” Sheppard said.
“Yes, but this is where it gets weird. They picked up some kind of signal and rigged their engines for a short jump to reach the target. Maybe they thought it would be another ship or maybe… dinner.”
Hermiod moved to the screen and analyzed the signal, tracing it to its source. “I am detecting a lone asteroid in proximity to the Wraith hive,” he said. “It appears to be the source of the signal.”