by Jo Graham
“You’re saying this would turn them all into Ford?” John asked.
“It very well might,” Carson said solemnly.
Jennifer cleared her throat. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”
John looked at her, his eyebrows rising. “Yes?”
“That’s one of the possibilities,” Jennifer said, biting her lower lip. “But certainly not the only one. I think it’s a pitfall we should be aware of. But there are less drastic modifications that could be made.”
“Not that wouldn’t have some effect on the human in question,” Carson said sharply, and Radek wondered if he were not thinking of the disastrous side effects of the Hoffan retrovirus, rather than strictly speaking the fate of Lt. Ford.
Carter put her head to the side keenly. “Do we actually know what side effects we’re talking about when we’re not discussing an exact formulation? Isn’t this all hypothetical at this point?”
“Yes,” Jennifer said, and Carson sighed but did not contradict her.
“Then how can we decide whether or not the side effects are too severe if we don’t yet know what they are?” Carter asked. “Isn’t that a question for on down the line?”
John sat up straight in his chair. “Look, we don’t know if this will work, and we don’t know what the side effects might be. The question is whether or not we find out. What’s the harm in getting some more information before we make the decision?”
Ronon stirred, uncoiling like a sleepy cat, but there was nothing lazy in his movements. “That’s not the question. The question is whether we work with the Wraith.” He looked around the table. “How many times now have we decided we’re going to make some deal with the Wraith? And every single time we’ve gotten screwed. Michael was a great idea. And then there was this hive we were going to ally with. And then there were Todd’s deals. The question is how many times we’re going to keep beating our head into the same wall before we get smart.” His eyes met John’s. “They’re Wraith. We can’t trust them. Every time we do, people die.”
Carson blanched.
Radek cleared his throat with a quick glance at Ronon. “I am not sure I am comfortable with this either. Ronon has a point that this has not worked well in the past. Over and over we have been sold on a medical solution, but it does not work or it makes things worse.” He thought he saw Ronon relax a tad. He had not expected anyone to back him up. He should have known better with Radek.
Teyla said nothing, just looked from one to another with her golden eyes.
“And if we don’t do this?” Jennifer asked. “If we just let this opportunity pass by? What does that get us? We need to find out if this is possible. Just because we have a retrovirus doesn’t mean we have to use it.”
Radek sighed. “That is the Oppenheimer argument. We will develop a nuclear bomb to see if we can. The problem is that once you have developed something you no longer have control of it. Once it exists it will be used. It will not be your decision, nor Colonel Sheppard’s. It will be the decision of the Air Force or the IOA, and your opinions will no longer carry any weight. There are times it is best to leave the genie in the bottle.”
“The genie doesn’t stay in the bottle once anyone knows it’s there,” Carter said. “A number of governments were working along parallel lines toward the bomb. It was just a question of who got it first. When something is possible, someone will figure out a way to do it. And if you’re lucky it’s you before it’s someone else.” She looked at Radek. “Would you rather it had been Hitler who got there first? Or Stalin?”
John cleared his throat. “That’s a point. Todd knows this is possible.”
“Thinks it is possible,” Carson corrected.
“Thinks it’s possible,” John agreed. “He may be right. If he is, and if this thing is viable, we’re better off having a piece of it than having no idea what Todd’s up to or how far this thing has gone. We can’t prevent him from doing this work without us.”
“We could kill him,” Ronon said. “Say we’re going to do the deal, get in close, and don’t make a mistake.”
“He is our ally,” Teyla snapped.
“He’s a Wraith,” Ronon said. “In case you’re forgetting.”
“I remember it well,” Teyla said, leaning forward in her chair. “But he has come to us in good faith. And you suggest we repay that with treachery. I am surprised you suggest something so dishonorable.”
“People!” John cut off Ronon’s reply, and he subsided into his chair in silence. “Right now we need Todd. We need the intelligence, and we need the shot at finding McKay. Assassinating Todd is not on the agenda.”
“Put it on there for next week,” Ronon growled.
John ignored it manfully, Radek thought. Instead he looked at Jennifer. “Dr. Keller, do you think this is worth pursuing? It’s you he’s asking for.”
“I do,” Jennifer said, though her face was taut and pale. “I’m willing to return to Todd’s hive ship as he asked and see if this line of research is promising.”
“And give the Wraith one more hostage,” Ronon said under his breath.
“I am perfectly capable of looking after Dr. Keller,” Teyla said pointedly.
“Ok,” John said. He didn’t look away from Jennifer. “It’s your mission and your call. Take a look at his research and see what you think. And we’ll go from there.” He glanced at Carson. “You’ll stay here. We need you if Dr. Keller is gone, and with your arm messed up, you’re still out of the field.”
Carson sighed. “If that’s how it is,” he said.
“It is our best chance,” Teyla said.
“I hope we do not regret this,” Radek said.
Chapter Fifteen
Quicksilver
They had moved the ZPM from the lab to the hyperdrive compartment, were slowly rewinding the cables that would knit it into the hive’s systems. Rodney watched as Stone and Nightheart brought another cable into play, looking from them to the power displays and back again. Everything was working as it should, the lights steady blue, the indicators that marked the new cables fading from the first white heat of the connection as the load evened out. There was only so much he could do to slow down the work, at least not without arousing suspicion, though it made him twitch to see how far they’d come already. It was a good thing that Ember had always urged caution; Rodney merely let himself be persuaded more often, or led them further down paths he knew would be dead ends. If —when — he got out of this, he would know more about hive ships than any other human — more even than Jennifer, and she’d almost become one.
He blinked at that, blindsided by memory. Jennifer. He could almost see her face, her dark blonde hair, the way her mouth tightened as she considered a problem — her eyes wide with fear as the hive seed engulfed her. Not the ideal frame, he knew that now: better a male, both for size and bone mass, and to preserve the breeding stock. The collision of memories, real and false, Rodney’s and Quicksilver’s, rocked him back on his heels, and he put out a hand to steady himself.
*Quicksilver?* That was Salt, his tone uncertain, and Ember came quickly to him.
*Are you all right?*
*Fine.* Rodney managed a snarl, felt concern flicker through Ember’s mind.
*When did you last feed?*
The question made his stomach roil, threatening dry heaves that would betray him. His feeding hand ached sharply, and he closed his fingers tight, waving the question away with his free hand. Ember’s frown deepened.
*You must not —*
The door of the lab slid open, interrupting him, and Rodney bared his teeth again in a snarl that he didn’t feel. The Old One came all the way into the lab — a blade among clevermen, unescorted, a sight to raise hackles as well as to inspire fear. Rodney straightened his spine. He was Quicksilver, brother of Dust, chief of the queen’s clevermen.
*Well?* He put all the impatience he could muster into the thought, and the Old One smiled.
*Our queen wishes a report on
your progress.*
*It would go faster if I weren’t being interrupted,* Rodney said.
The Old One tipped his head to one side. *Are you well?*
*I’m fine.* Rodney thought his snarl was more convincing this time. *And, as you see, we progress. It’s not easy to mate an Ancient device to our own technology.*
*No,* the Old One said. *They did not intend for anything of theirs to be of use to others.*
*Well, not to us,* Rodney said. If he could lose himself in the problem, that was his best defense. *There must be some humans native to this galaxy who have the gene that lets them use it — it’s much more common in the Milky Way —*
*Not a gift they wished to share,* the Old One said. *Perhaps it did not go so well, with those other humans.*
*I don’t know,* Rodney began. Focus on the problem… He was aware, suddenly, of the Old One’s golden eyes fixed on him, of the Old One himself, his face smoother, less harshly molded than the other blades and clevermen. Older, certainly, you could see the age in him, in the thinning hair, but different, too, as though he’d been made to a different pattern — He felt the Old One’s mind on his then, pressing gently, subtly, drew his false memories around him like a shield: Quicksilver, brother of Dust.
*My lord,* Ember said, and the pressure vanished.
The Old One turned, lips parting in a snarl. *You neglect your responsibilities, cleverman. Quicksilver hungers.*
Ember dipped his head, and Rodney said, *I’m busy. I’ll feed later.*
The Old One shook his head, his attention still on Ember. *The queen charged you with his care. I am displeased.*
*I am sorry,* Ember said, though the tone of his mind suggested otherwise. *The queen has also bade us hasten the work at hand.*
*And I am not a fruit-fed child, to be managed by him,* Rodney said. *I have work to do.*
The Old One looked back at him, expressionless, the touch of his mind barely a whisper. “Nonetheless. It has been the queen’s thought for some little time that you, Quicksilver, are not as well cared for as she would wish. And Guide has made it known that he needs his chief cleverman returned to him someday.*
*No,* Rodney said. Ember hissed softly, and the Old One tipped his head again.
*Do you defy our queen?*
*I’ve spent ages getting him used to my methods,* Rodney said, groping for an excuse. If he lost Ember— He killed that thought, hurried on, hoping the Old One had not seen his fear. *Him and his men. I don’t want to go through that all over again. It’s a waste of time.*
*It is the queen’s will,* the Old One said.
*But—* Rodney bit off the rest of the thought, seeing Ember bow his head.
*As the queen wishes,* Ember said. His tone was tightly controlled, showing no more than the barest respect. *I and my men will return to Just Fortune. At once.*
*And what am I to do for assistants?* Rodney demanded. He was shaking, clenched his fists on the nearest console, and tried to project anger rather than the terror that seized him.
*Nighthaze will assist you,* the Old One said. *Perhaps he will make better progress.*
*I doubt it,* Rodney snapped. *I told you, I’ve just got them trained—*
*The queen commands,* the Old One said, and Rodney bit back the rest of what he would have said. He could feel again the touch of the Old One’s mind, the subtle memory of Death in her glory, beautiful and compelling and now completely terrifying.
*Quicksilver,* Ember said.
Rodney gasped and turned to see the other man bowing deeply.
*It has been an honor to work with you.* Behind him, the rest of his men were bowing with equal respect, the murmur of their minds startling.
*And I am honored to have worked with you,* Rodney said. It occurred to him that there were others he needed to say that to as well, and pushed the thought aside.
One by one, the clevermen filed from the lab, men whose minds he’d come to recognize, whose strengths and weaknesses he knew too well: Salt, Stone, Whiskey, Crossroads, Ember last of all. Ember paused beside him, his body blocking the Old One’s gaze for an instant, as he drew his off hand across Rodney’s wrist. Words trailed with the touch, more secret than a whisper.
*Forgive me,* he said, and then was gone.
Rodney forced himself to glare at the Old One. *You have taken more than half my men! How am I supposed to finish this without them? And with our queen urging haste.*
*I will send Nighthaze to you,* the Old One said. *But I am sure you will manage.*
*Oh, yes,* Rodney said. *I’m sure I will.*
The Old One showed teeth in something that was almost a smile, and turned away. Rodney watched the lab’s door slide shut behind him, tightened every muscle in his body to keep from shaking. He was alone. Ember — well, he might be a Wraith, but at least they were on the same side, more or less, and that counted. That counted a lot, when there wasn’t anybody else. Sheppard will come, he told himself. They’ll come for me, the team will, and all I have to do is stay alive…
He was aware, abruptly, of the last three clevermen standing silent and uneasy in their corners, turned on them with a snarl. *Well? What are you waiting for? We’ll have to work three times as hard to make up for that piece of folly—* He only hoped they could not feel the stark terror behind the words.
Chapter Sixteen
Home Truths
Ronon got up last, following Radek toward the door. He didn’t look around.
Crap, John thought. But what he said was, “Ronon.”
Ronon stopped, letting Radek leave ahead of him. John saw his shoulders square before he turned back. “Yeah?”
“You got a problem?” John asked quietly.
“Yeah.” Ronon met his eyes solidly. “I do. I think you’ve stopped making good decisions about this.”
“We’ve been over every angle,” John said. “You’ve said your piece.” He sat down on the edge of the conference table. It might be a good idea to make this look a little more casual.
“Yeah.” Ronon nodded. “And you’re wrong. You’re talking about trusting the Wraith. You’re talking about helping the Wraith!”
“That’s not…” John began.
Ronon lifted his chin. “It is, and you know it. It’s about making some kind of treaty with them instead of killing them all. It’s about saying it’s ok for them to keep on feeding on people.”
John shifted on the table. His sidearm was digging into his leg. “Ronon, we don’t have a way to kill all the Wraith.”
“You’re not looking for one, are you? We ought to be. We ought to be looking for a way to get rid of them forever. That’s the only answer in the end. It’s them or us.” Ronon’s eyes were level. “I used to be sure whose side you’re on.”
That felt like a body blow. But he’d taken lots of those. John’s voice didn’t even change. “And now you’re not sure.”
“I think this thing with Teyla is screwing up your judgment,” Ronon said. “You’re not thinking straight and you’re making bad decisions.” Ronon leaned back against the wall, almost too casually, as though he were trying not to make it a fight. He hesitated, lowering his voice. “You do that, Sheppard. You know that. You get too emotionally involved and you start making mistakes. I’m saying it as a friend. That’s why I didn’t say this in the meeting. You know you do it, and you know it’s a problem.”
John didn’t say anything. He didn’t have any wind.
“This thing with Teyla’s messing up your mind, man. Pull the plug on this operation, get her back to normal, and take a deep breath. When Teyla’s herself again it will all look different.”
“Teyla’s herself right now,” John said quietly.
Ronon shook his head. “It’s like a deep cover op. Sometimes they turn, sometimes they get confused.”
“Teyla’s not confused,” John said sharply. “This is Teyla. She always has the telepathy.”
“Yeah.” Ronon straightened up. “And that hasn’t always worked out. Remem
ber the time the Wraith queen took over her body and she didn’t even remember anything she did? She wrecked half the installation and kicked the crap out of me. How do you know this is Teyla? The things she’s saying aren’t normal, Sheppard. They’re Wraith. They’re not people.”
Sometimes it hurts enough that you hit back, even if you’re not going to. “Are you sure you’re not just picking a fight with Keller?”
Ronon’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
“Listen,” John got up from the table, not moving too fast. “The decision’s made. If you’re going to be the team leader, you’ve got to get with the program. And that means following orders and doing your best. If you can’t do that, tell me now. Because if you can’t, I need you off the team and somebody there who can.”
Ronon’s voice was very controlled, which was probably worse than if he’d been yelling. “I know how to follow orders, Sheppard.”
“Then do it,” John said, and very deliberately turned his back to pick up his laptop, tensed for the blow.
There wasn’t one. Just the sound of Ronon’s feet walking away.
John walked down the narrow corridor aboard the Hammond, an airman flattening himself against the wall to let him pass. John acknowledged the courtesy offhandedly and knocked on the door. This day was going from bad to worse, and right now he didn’t think he could stand another conversation with Jennifer and Carson about the retrovirus, or for that matter with anybody about the retrovirus..
“Come.” Sam was sitting at her desk in the light of the desk lamp, her hair half falling out of the French braid at the back of her neck. She looked up, startled.
“Sorry. Is it too late?” John asked. It was evening, but he’d hoped for one friendly conversation today and Teyla was too perceptive. She’d ask about Ronon, and he’d tell her. And then she’d feel like it was her fault. Or worse, she’d be furious and go start something with Ronon. Teyla had a temper.