He fired again, emptying his clip, ducked back into shelter to change the magazine. As long as the Wraith weren’t willing to spend too many drones, as long as they could be made to give up — He killed that thought. Of course they’d withdraw. Even the Wraith couldn’t afford to waste too many of their men. He slammed the fresh magazine into place, popped up again to begin firing. Drone bodies littered the ground, and still they kept coming, another half dozen materializing out of thin air even as he watched. He turned his P90 on them, and saw them stagger and fall. If the Wraith were trying to run them out of ammunition — yeah, that would be really bad. But surely they’d give up — they were taking too many casualties.
“Get the ones in the long coats,” Sheppard yelled. “They’re the officers, get them.”
Most of the Athosians turned their guns on the unmasked Wraith, who scrambled for cover. Jack kept firing at the drones, all too aware that the volume of fire from Sumner’s men was dropping drastically. Either they were running out of ammunition or they’d taken too many casualties, but they weren’t holding the drones off the way they needed to. Teyla dropped to one knee beside him, wrestling a fresh magazine into place, and turned her fire on the drones as well. Together they brought down another four before one of their officers got them back into shelter.
Gunfire sounded again from the far side of the camp, Carter’s people or Sheppard’s coming back at the Wraith there. That was good, kept the warriors from finding good cover. Sheppard seemed to see the same thing, waved his people forward. Jack shifted to give them covering fire, and the little group reached the next firing point without taking casualties.
There seemed to be fewer Darts overhead, but the ones that remained pressed their attack fiercely. Two dove at the mess hall, cannons firing bolts of energy. Jack aimed a couple of blasts at the canopies as they swept in, but stopped quickly, not wanting to waste the ammunition. A third Dart came in behind it, lower and slower, the beam emitter glowing in its belly. Teyla shoved him, hard, and they rolled apart just as the beam dropped a trio of drones into their shelter.
“Son of a —” Jack fired a quick burst, taking out the nearest drone with a head shot. At the same moment Teyla fired into their legs, knocking them down, and shifted her aim to finish them off.
The Dart rolled up and over into a turn, came screaming back at them. Jack lifted his P90 almost by reflex, poured a stream of fire into the canopy. The Dart wobbled, steadied, wobbled again, and the blue beam appeared, tumbling bodies into the stones behind them. Then one wing tipped up, and it bored into the ground. Something exploded on contact, knocking Jack to his knees, and he struggled to his feet to see half the newly-landed Wraith scattered on the ground, unconscious or dead.
“John! Behind you!” That was Teyla, her shot blocked.
Jack swung around, fired a short burst at the drone charging Sheppard. One of the Athosians did the same, and Sheppard fired as the drone was falling, leaving it still and definitely dead.
“Thanks.” Sheppard’s voice wasn’t entirely steady.
Jack shrugged. “You get the next one.” Along the line of the mess hall, Sumner’s men were making progress against the last of the warriors, and Carter’s people were moving in from the other side of the camp, ready to finish them off. There were no more Darts, suddenly, the sky empty, and Jack looked toward the crash, the flames already dying to nothing. “Let’s make sure there’s no one left out here.”
“Roger that,” Sheppard said, and waved his people into the ruins.
Sam slammed another magazine into her P90, dropping to one knee to catch her breath. It was the next to last, she reminded herself. Time to mop it up or get out of here. Though at the moment… At the moment, it looked as though they might be mopping up after all. The Darts had vanished after Jack’s team had knocked down that one, and the ground between the mess hall and her position was strewn with drone bodies. And the bodies of their commanders, she could count four of them in the long coats, and maybe a fifth in the shadows. Sumner’s men had retaken a couple of their forward positions and she heard a last burst of fire from her right.
“Florian?”
“That’s the last of them, Colonel,” the sergeant answered.
There was a moment of relative silence, and Sam rose slowly to her feet. “Colonel Sumner!”
She could see movement in front of the mess hall, but there was no answer for a long moment.
“Colonel Carter?”
She didn’t recognize the voice, but raised her hand anyway, knowing her skin and the movement would show clearly through the dark. “Here.”
“Careful, ma’am,” Florian said, under his breath.
“Are you clear, ma’am?” the same voice called.
“We’re clear on this side,” Sam answered, and slowly a figure detached itself from the shadows.
“It’s Ford, ma’am. Colonel Sumner’s dead. I think I’m senior officer.”
“Ok, Lieutenant,” Sam said. “We’re coming to you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Florian, stay here,” Sam said quickly. “The rest of you, too. Nestor, Saldana, with me.”
She picked her way slowly out of shelter, leaving her P90 on its sling against her chest, the airmen following nervously as they picked their way around the Wraith bodies. Ford came to meet them, his face smudged and his uniform smeared with someone’s blood, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.
“Colonel Carter? Sumner said you’d gone over to the Athosians.”
“General O’Neill wanted the civilians out of harm’s way,” Sam said. That was the simplest answer. “Then we came back for you. What’s your status?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ford took a breath. “We took pretty heavy casualties, but I think most of the civilians here are ok.”
Sam nodded. She could see Marine bodies now, withered to mummies, too many of them. The mess hall door swung open, and Marie Wu looked out, peeling latex gloves from her hands. Clean gloves, the Wraith didn’t leave a lot of injuries, but there were more bodies behind her, clearly visible in the lantern light. But not withered, Sam saw, with a gasp of relief; they were bonelessly unconscious, but not dead. Behind her, Carson Beckett rose from his knees beside another crumpled shape. This one was withered, and it took a minute before Sam recognized Sergeant Bates.
“Colonel Carter,” Beckett said. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” Sam answered, repressing the desire to say just how long she’d been waiting to see him.
“Doctor,” Ford said. “Should we, you know, harvest?”
“Not right now, Lieutenant,” Beckett said, with a guilty glance at Sam. “We’ve a solid stockpile for the moment.”
“But Colonel Sumner said it was important to take them fresh,” Ford began, and stopped abruptly, as though he’d just heard what he was saying.
“We’re all right for now,” Beckett said gently. “Colonel Carter, if I could ask your men to take over the perimeter, I’d like to take a look at the rest of the Marines?”
“Right,” Sam answered, and stepped back outside. “Sergeant Florian!”
She gave the necessary orders, then followed the last of the Marines back inside. Sergeant Pollard had gotten his stove working, and a pot of something sweet-smelling was heating on the center burner. Most of the Marines seemed to have cups already, but Sam waved away the offer with a smile. Beckett saw and came to join her.
“Aye, you wouldn’t like it. It’s heavy glucose, trying to get quick calories back into the men. The enzyme drug takes it out of them, most of them will crash for eight or ten hours if I let them.”
“All the locals say that drug is no good,” Sam said bluntly.
Beckett nodded. “I don’t doubt it. And I’d like a word or three with Charrin, if Teyla will allow it — Charrin’s by way of being their medical expert. She may know some other ways to ease the withdrawal. I told Colonel Sumner we had a problem, but he didn’t want to listen.”
“Can you wean them
off it?” Sam asked.
“I can only try.” Beckett glanced around the mess hall. “With Sumner dead, and Bates — aye, the rest of them will do as I say.”
“That’s good.” Sam looked around the room, seeing that things were more or less under control. “All right, Doctor, carry on.”
Jack picked his way through the ruined buildings, the light from his P90 his only guide. So far, all the Wraith that the last Dart had dropped were dead, or mostly so. He winced at a short burst of fire to his left, but couldn’t blame the Athosians for finishing them off. So far, he’d seen no indication that the Wraith were willing to treat humans as anything but a semi-portable food source.
He poked cautiously at another drone, rolled it over to see a jagged hole in its torso. The Wraith were resilient, it seemed, but not that resilient. The wrecked Dart loomed ahead, needle nose crumpled, half buried in the dirt. He trained his P90 on it, letting the light play across the scorched surfaces, and something moved in the shadows.
“Hold it!”
The motion stopped, the shadow resolving to one of the Wraith warriors, sprawled half across the Dart’s wing. He slid sideways, half collapse, half purposeful movement, weirdly protective, as though he was putting his body between Jack and — something.
“Move again, and I’ll blow your head off,” Jack said.
The warrior bared teeth at him, hissing, but did not speak. He didn’t move, either, and Jack decided he was going to take that as a hopeful sign. If the Wraith had Daniel, maybe they could trade this guy for him. It was a forlorn hope, he knew, but it was the best option he’d seen so far.
“You better hope you’re someone important,” he said aloud. “Because otherwise, you’re dead.”
“General?” That was Sheppard, pounding up behind him, Teyla at his side. She saw the Wraith and made a soft sound of disgust and anger, and the Wraith snarled weakly back at her.
“Kill him, General,” she said.
“Now, wait a minute,” Jack said. “They’ve got Daniel, and I want him back. Maybe they’ll make a trade.”
“The Wraith do not negotiate,” Teyla said, her voice flat. “And we cannot keep him prisoner for any length of time. He will starve, and I would not wish that on even a Wraith. Best to kill him now.”
Jack looked back at the Wraith. “You heard the lady. Any reason I shouldn’t do what she says?”
“The Queen…” The Wraith shook himself, tried again, his rough voice growing stronger. “The Queen will not trade for me. But she will trade for this, if it is not more damaged.”
“That Dart?” Jack asked.
The Wraith dipped his head. He looked young, Jack thought, beardless and with fewer of the facial tattoos that he’d seen on the other warriors, and his leather coat was ragged with holes.
“Why?” Sheppard asked.
The Wraith didn’t answer, and Jack motioned him away from the Dart. The Wraith bared teeth again, in refusal, Jack thought, and Teyla cocked her P90.
“I have no reason to keep you alive.”
“Teyla,” Jack said, but she ignored him, her eyes fixed on the Wraith.
“The Young Queen,” the Wraith said. He glanced over his shoulder, his face twisted with something that might almost be grief and fear. “She was on board.”
The cockpit was empty as far as Jack could see. Sheppard said, “In the Culling buffer?”
“Yes.” The Wraith’s eyes shone like a cat’s as the light hit them. “The Queen will trade for her. For the Dart, intact as it is.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Jack said.
“You cannot do this,” Teyla said, fiercely. “You cannot trust them.”
“Wait,” Sheppard said. “If they’ll trade for Dr. Jackson —”
“But they will not,” Teyla snapped. “They are Wraith! They do not bargain with their food, any more than you or I would bargain with cattle, or the fish of the river.”
“He says they will,” Jack pointed out.
“He lies.”
“Why would he lie?” Sheppard asked. Teyla opened her mouth to answer, but Sheppard went on before she could speak. “I don’t see what he would gain by it.”
Teyla took a breath, visibly tamping down her anger. “Very well, I will grant you that point. He gains his life, but only for such a short time as to be of little worth. Injured as he has been, he will need to feed soon. However, he has not said that your Dr. Jackson is still alive.”
“Very true.” Jack looked at the Wraith. “How ‘bout it? Because I’m not interested unless Jackson’s alive and well.”
“He was when I left the hive,” the Wraith answered. “The Queen had taken an interest.”
“And if you believe that —” Teyla stopped herself, shaking her head. “This is not a wise course of action, General O’Neill.”
“What did you plan to do with him, sir?” Sheppard asked.
“I expect we can find room for him in those cells Sumner was using,” Jack answered. “And then he can tell us how to contact his queen.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Interlude
THE CONSORT stormed into the Dart bay, teeth bared. The Master of the Darts interposed himself, but the Consort slammed him aside.
*Where is the luckless fool who has lost the Young Queen?*
The straggle of blades just climbed from their Darts gave way before him, ducking heads and making themselves small, but the bravest of them, a tall and willowy blade with a mind edged as a knife, braced himself to answer.
*He is dead.*
*And you live?* The Consort seized him by the throat, pinned him against the hangar wall, claws biting through skin and leather.
*Not by any particular intent,* Knife answered, and his grief was bright and sharp as a scratch in metal. *I do not believe she is dead, she was not among the fallen that we saw —*
*But you cannot say she lives.* The Consort flung him aside. He hit the hull of a Dart under repair and slid to the floor. Sensibly, he stayed there, a cleverman kneeling nervously beside him, and the Consort turned on his heel. *Darts! I will go after her, I will kill them all, wipe them out completely —* He looked around, teeth bared. *Do you not hear me? Ready a Dart for me.*
*The Queen has forbidden it.*
Seeker came slowly down the wide aisle between the repair stations, his face impassive. The Consort could feel the cleverman’s anger beneath his calm, but snarled nonetheless.
*And you would have me leave her there? Trapped the Mothers know where? You’re mad to ask it!*
*If she is not within the buffer, then she is dead,* Seeker said. *We must hope she is there, and make plans to recover the Dart intact.*
His mind was cold, hard and brittle as ice, and the Consort wanted nothing more than to shatter that calm. *You would as soon see her dead —*
Seeker moved then, faster than any of the watching blades would have believed possible from a cleverman of his age and stature, his feeding hand fastening on the Consort’s chest, his off hand clasping him by the collar. *How dare you?*
The silence stretched between them, terror and fury and love for both mother and daughter roiling between them, carried in the touch of skin, and slowly the Consort looked away. Seeker released him, breathing hard.
*It appears her Pallax survived.*
*Only until I see him.* The Consort smiled without humor, and Seeker sighed.
*As you will, but let us rescue her first. And that will require the use of the Pallax, I fear.*
*I can wait.*
*I’m sure you can.* Seeker paused. *The Queen wants you. Now.*
The Consort snarled a final time, but straightened his coat where Seeker had disarranged it. “Very well.”
Even the drones, deliberately dulled and insensitive as they were, cowered in the rage that radiated from the queen’s chamber. The Consort checked in spite of himself, and Seeker gave a thin smile.
*Oh, yes,* he said, and nodded for the unhappy blade who supervised the guard to announce the
m.
The door slid back, as they had known it would, and the Consort lifted his head as he entered. The Queen whirled to face him, her scarlet hair lifting like a banner, feeding hand spread and ready.
*How could you allow her to run such a pointless risk?*
*I did not know she intended to join the battle,* the Consort said. *Had I known —*
*Had you known, you would have joined her,* the Queen snapped. *Fool and incompetent! You should have known!*
*The Young Queen is hard to persuade to any course of action,* Seldom Seen pointed out.
*That is not helpful,* the Queen said. *Be silent, or depart.*
Seldom Seen spread his hands in submission, bowing. Seeker took a breath, but the Consort touched his sleeve. *She is your daughter,* he said, to the Queen. *I am only your consort, when I am that. I am not permitted to give her orders.*
This was an old and tender quarrel, and the Queen snarled aloud. *It is you who taught her such tactics! Your hardheaded folly that has brought us to this.*
*And I, as you have often reminded me, am not a queen, to give her orders!*
The Consort’s teeth were bared, and the Queen turned on him, feeding hand outstretched. *Down!*
There was a moment of utter silence, as though everyone within the zenana held their breath, and then, slowly and not without grace, the Consort knelt, back straight, head up in mute defiance. The Queen caught him by the throat, handmouth against his skin, forcing his head up and back. Her claws dented the skin of his cheeks, not quite drawing blood.
*The Young Queen is not yet dead.* Spark’s mental voice cleaved the silence. *And I believe we can still save her.*
The matter hung in the balance for half a heartbeat, and then the Queen released the Consort. She turned slowly, her teeth still showing, and Spark managed a bow that was more graceful then nervous.
*If you will permit, of course.*
*What makes you say she is alive?* The Queen’s response was mild enough, but Spark was not deceived. He bowed even more deeply.
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