by Jo Graham
“Very admirable, Mr. Woolsey,” Martin said.
Woolsey did his best to look modest. “Thank you, Senator.”
“Dick never asks someone under his command to do something he wouldn’t do himself,” Jack said smoothly. “He’s a hands on kind of guy.”
“Even when that means being interrogated by the enemy?” Martin’s eyebrows rose.
“I, um,” Woolsey began.
“He’s very modest about his role in it,” Jack said. “But I can’t say there is anybody in the world I would rather have had in that cell with me.” A lot of people he would rather have had out of it, but that was beside the point. Why Sheppard couldn’t have brought Sam and Daniel and Teal’c along was beyond him. The more the merrier.
“I see that it’s nearly two o’clock,” Shen said. “And unfortunately I have another meeting this afternoon. If we might try to end on time?”
Bingo, Jack thought. Poison pill swallowed. Let’s pull the plug.
Desai frowned. “It’s only quarter till…”
“We must respect Ms. Shen’s time constraints,” Strom said quickly. “I think that we should go ahead and recess on that note rather than moving on to the next agenda item. Does next Thursday suit you all?”
“I don’t know yet,” Dixon-Smythe said. “I’ll have my assistant contact you.”
“I don’t know either,” LaPierre said.
Nechayev smiled expansively. “I am at your disposal at any time.”
Chapter Nineteen
Snow
He was beginning to think he should plan his own rescue — maybe steal a Dart, or, since he wasn’t sure he could actually fly one, maybe a lifepod, they were designed for incapacitated passengers. He was fairly sure he’d located the ones nearest his own lab, and he kept track of when the hive came into orbit around a habitable planet. Like now: they had stopped to Cull, on a world with a Stargate and a reasonably large population — except he could imagine himself landing, and then what? He’d have to dial out — not to Atlantis directly, that would be too risky, because he’d have to spend time convincing them he was himself, and not a trick, so to some safer world where Sheppard could meet him — if he’d go for that again, after the last time. Not to mention all the people who’d be trying to kill a lone Wraith… Maybe New Athos? He could dial that address in his sleep, and he could probably convince Halling not to kill him right away. Maybe he could say he had a message from Todd? There was a certain perverse irony in that.
Except that he was never alone. Not that Ember had ever left him for very long, and why he hadn’t noticed that until now, he couldn’t have said, but now either Nighthaze or Heedless was in constant attendance. Heedless was Nighthaze’s chief assistant, whose tone of mind was strangely sober for such a name — but then Rodney overheard some of the other clevermen joking about the number of times Heedless had regrown fingers in the wake of his experiments, and thought he understood. Wraith humor wasn’t all that different from, say, Marine humor, when you came right down to it. If one of them had ever left him, he might have been tempted to try it, although he knew that failure meant not only that he’d be killed, but that in the process the Wraith would learn everything he’d been trying to keep from them. And that, he realized, was the key. If Sheppard didn’t come, he would not only have to escape, but he would have to do it perfectly the first time. Or die trying.
The thought was like a blow, and he glared at his screen, at the golden waterfall of data, as though it could somehow help. Succeed or make sure he died: that was the sort of thing Sheppard would say, or Ronon. He was the one who found ways to survive…
*Dice you for your thoughts,* Nighthaze said, and Rodney bared teeth at him.
*I am thinking that we have taken a wrong turn. As I told you two days ago.* One of the watching clevermen snarled at that, but Rodney ignored him. *I need to think. I’m going back to my quarters.*
*I will go with you,* Heedless said.
*No, no,* Rodney answered. *Continue your work.*
Heedless and Nighthaze exchanged a quick glance, and then Heedless dipped his head. *Your pardon,* he said, *but the Old One has given orders…*
For a moment, Rodney was tempted to protest, to see how far he could push things, but better sense prevailed, and he contented himself with another snarl. *Must he interfere in everything? Very well. But if time is lost, it is not my fault, or yours.*
They walked back to his quarters in silence, Heedless a respectful pace to the rear. If he were going to try to escape on his own, Rodney thought, this would be the moment. Heedless was strong, but not particularly young or quick, and Rodney thought he could at least knock him down, and maybe out. But the larger problem remained, and he sighed, letting the door of his quarters slide closed behind him.
It was strange how he remembered the hives as dark and dank. The lights were pleasantly bright, and the mist that curled out of the corners was cool and soothing, balm to the senses. Probably some of the difference was fear, of course, and equally of course they’d never had any reason to go into the parts of the hive where the Wraith actually lived. He snarled at his own stupidity. Carson had answered that question long ago: the Wraith saw a slightly different spectrum of light than humans did. And now that he was Wraith, he saw the hive as they did, light and pleasant and comfortable — home.
Heedless had left a game of habitats set up, a problem laid out on the overlapping circles, and as he reached for it, Rodney couldn’t help noticing that the fingers of his off hand looked somehow different, the skin more shiny than the skin of his wrist.
*Is that story true?* he asked, and Heedless blinked.
*Story, lord?*
Rodney waved his hand in the general direction of Heedless’s own. *The one your men were telling. About fingers.*
*Oh.* There was a distinct sense of embarrassment in Heedless’s mind. *That.*
*Yes, that.*
*Partly true,* Heedless said. The embarrassment was stronger now. *I was working to develop an explosive that we could grow quickly. My queen then was Starfire, and among our hunting grounds was one where the humans hid themselves in caves — natural and artificial, great runs of tunnels beneath a mountain. They would barricade themselves, and it cost time and effort to dig them out, so I thought, perhaps if we had a directional explosive, it would help us, and not kill so many of them to be impractical.* He shrugged. *I am fond of explosives.*
*So I gather,* Rodney said.
Heedless looked away. If he had been human, Rodney thought, he’d be beet red by now. *So I developed a formula, which was quite effective. But it wasn’t as stable as I’d expected, and there were… accidents. I did have to regenerate my off hand twice as a result. But it should have worked, truly.*
*Really,* Rodney said. He held up his hand to forestall any further comment. *Just tell me you’re not working on this any more?*
*No, lord,* Heedless said. *Nighthaze forbade it.*
*Which, frankly, seems like a good thing,* Rodney said. The mere idea of testing explosives on a spaceship made him cringe.
Heedless ducked his head again, and Rodney turned to his own chamber. There was no door, just the curve of the hive wall itself to shadow the sleeping nest, and he put his back to Heedless as he stripped off his outer clothes. Heedless reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t quite think who — but, yes, he could. Zelenka. Heedless reminded him of Zelenka, and with that realization came the memory of the last time he’d seen Zelenka, sprawled ungainly on the floor of the ZPM room with Ember bending over him, feeding hand outstretched.
He caught himself against the chamber wall, handmouth flattening painfully against the hive’s inner skin. He flinched back from that, from the sensation that burned like ice in his palm, and felt Heedless’s attention sharpen.
*Quicksilver? Are you well?*
*Fine,* Rodney snapped. *Just fine.* He wrenched his mind into order, made himself straighten, continue removing coat and undercoat as though nothing were wrong. He
’d nearly killed Zelenka — well, Zelenka had nearly killed him, too, but it had been a closer thing the other way around… He had killed others, and even if he didn’t know them, not like he knew Zelenka, it still mattered. And some of them he might know.
He hauled his mind away from those thoughts, from the memory of attacking Atlantis, of the puddle jumpers colliding as he dropped into the gateroom and headed for the event horizon. Right now, he couldn’t think about it, couldn’t afford to think about things like that. He had to concentrate on staying alive and finding a way to get himself off the hive. He set his coat in its place, the hive closing gently around it, and eased into his nest, drawing the quilts around his shoulders. He had never felt so alone.
Jennifer seemed refreshed when they returned to the laboratory, more alert as she bent again over their work. Guide returned to his own workstation, coaxing a dozen different simulations at once from the machine, scanning streaming data that read insufficient, unacceptable, unlikely, one probable abysmal failure after another.
With a soft snarl, he leaned closer and entered the information for another dozen compounds, watching green numbers chase one another down the screen. Across the room, peering at her own datascreen, Keller seemed to be faring little better, murmuring to herself beneath her breath as her fingers danced over the keypad.
Hours passed before Guide isolated a promising compound, and his breath hissed between his teeth with pleasure as he quickly keyed in the sequence to upload the relevant information to his portable datapad. He reviewed it as he strode to the workbench, checking for any possible errors, anything he might have missed, but this time he could find none.
“Oh, hey, do you have something?” Keller asked. Without waiting for an answer, she came to join him, tilting the datapad in his hand without so much as a by-your-leave. Of course the words were beyond her, but the formulas were universal, and he didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath as she studied the screen. “Wait, I was just thinking — ”
She caught up her own computing device, cradling it in one arm as she pointed excitedly at the screen. “Here, look at this — ” He saw what she meant in an instant, and an unbidden smile bared his teeth.
“Very like indeed,” he murmured, pleased. He set his datapad aside in order to tap a finger to her screen. “Though, this — ?”
Keller nodded as she moved past him to place her datapad on the bench beside his own, shoulder brushing him in passing. “Yeah, I know. But it makes sense for the ratio to be a tiny bit different if you think about it, you know? I was thinking more human, you were thinking more Wraith. But let’s run both. The other numbers match, and …”
Guide watched her hands as she talked, soft and unscarred, pale as some soft fruit. He was coming, grudgingly, to respect their skill and even their strange alien grace, as unfinished as they seemed. His gaze traveled upwards, taking in her long neck and smooth cheeks, still rounded with youth.
There was no fear in her, not now, at work. She reached for a slide, and her wrist brushed the knuckles of his feeding hand, and while he shivered instinctively, she did not even seem to notice. He marveled at that, as one waits with a thrill when prey picks its way close, stumbling into the trap of its own choosing.
And yet he had no desire to feed. He told himself it was because she was too useful too him at the moment, but he could not quite believe that it would be any different if he came upon her trussed for feeding. That was what came of knowing their names, he thought, with bitter amusement at his own foolishness, but it was not only that.
Unbidden he remembered a young queen at his side, gazing up at him raptly as he explained his work. Her hair had been the color of the sun, crimson as the blood of humans, exactly like her mother’s. Guide remembered her mental voice racing as she demanded answers, sought them with an understanding as quick as any cleverman’s.
“Guide?” Jennifer said, and he blinked. She was frowning at him, concerned. “I said, are you all right?”
He felt very old, suddenly, the memory like the ache of a long-healed wound. “I...sired a daughter, once,” he said, looking at the workbench as his fingers shifted slides, their glass edges sliding together with precise, faint clicks. “It is a great honor to be chosen to father any child, but to father a queen…” He trailed off, not sure she could grasp such a thing. Humans bred like animals, with no care taken in the choosing.
“I didn’t know you guys actually— I mean, I suppose new Wraith have to come from somewhere, but—” Obviously discomfited, she fumbled with a slide. “What’s her name?” she asked, in an entirely different tone.
“Her name was Alabaster,” he said after a moment. “Pale and strong as stone. Very much like our idea of you.”
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said. It sounded like sympathy, but he told himself it was only that humans were softhearted toward the young of any kind, even nurturing baby animals as though they were their own kind. Their young were born so helpless, coming forth to shiver in the air when Wraith young would still be cradled in the shipwomb, coming forth only when they were ready to be weaned and to learn more than what the constant hum of the hive taught them.
“It was long ago,” he said.
Keller nodded, looking away. “Right,” she said. “Okay. I want to get these set up, and then I’m going to bed.”
“Very well,” he replied, and set to work. In his mind, however, as his hands kept busy, he kept remembering the touch of that young mind, as bright and unscarred as ice, or stone, or snow.
Chapter Twenty
Croatoan
It was good to be home, Steven Caldwell thought, back to the Mountain where the guys on the guardpost didn’t even blink when you and three or four other people appeared out of thin air. Of course, they were expecting him. He’d called in and been ordered to Cheyenne Mountain, but since there were now precautions against beaming down through twenty six levels of substructure, he had to beam to the outside guardpost.
“Colonel Caldwell, sir,” the sergeant on duty said, snapping to attention. “General Landry requests that you report immediately.”
“On my way,” Caldwell said, making his way inside and toward the elevator, followed by his exec. Their Daedalus flight suits were a badge of honor and got quite a few glances among the blue-clad SGC personnel.
He wasn’t surprised that the moment he stepped out of the elevator the first person he saw was Richard Woolsey. Nor was he surprised that right behind him was Lieutenant General O’Neill. And Major General Landry. And Brigadier General Pellegrino.
“Welcome back, Colonel,” O’Neill said.
“Glad to be back, sir,” Caldwell said. He hadn’t expected all the brass from Homeworld Command, but he supposed that he ought to have, even though he’d sent his report ahead. No one with the IOA except maybe technically Woolsey. That would account for debriefing at Cheyenne Mountain. Whatever was going on in Atlantis, O’Neill wanted to keep it a purely Air Force matter as long as he could. Which said something right there.
“If you gentlemen will come this way,” Landry said, shaking his hand, “I’ve got a nice comfortable conference room just over here. Steven, I see your exec there is waving hard copies of your report, but I think it’s safe to say we’ve already read it. I think we’d like to go straight to the Q and A, if that’s ok with you.”
“Of course, sir,” Caldwell said. As though he’d say, no, that’s not ok. I can’t actually answer questions to my boss and my bosses’ boss.
There was the usual muddle as everyone tried to sort themselves out in an unfamiliar conference room by rank, with Landry bumping someone else down the table because O’Neill was standing in front of the end seat like he owned it, and there was a civilian who wouldn’t budge, Dr. Daniel Jackson. Caldwell wondered what the hell Jackson was doing here, but it wasn’t his call.
Eventually everybody settled. Caldwell wished somebody would offer coffee, but nobody did.
“So.” O’Neill steepled his hands on top of the hard co
py of the report. “Tell me about Queen Death.” He glanced down the table. “Catchy name. How do they come up with these things?”
Jackson looked over the top of his glasses. “I’ve been saying for years we should rename ourselves Infinitely Evil Space Superiority Command, but nobody listens to me.”
Woolsey cleared his throat. He wasn’t driving the conversation, and that said something important about how things had been going politically on Earth. “Colonel Caldwell?”
“I think we have a serious problem,” Caldwell began.
Jack had come straight from Peterson Air Force Base to Stargate Command, but Daniel hadn’t been needed until Caldwell’s briefing, so he had his car there. Jack thought Daniel waited with admirable patience through the pleasantries afterwards, waited all the way through the familiar ride up in the elevator and the check out through the guardposts. He waited until Jack actually closed the car door.
“When were you planning on telling me?” Daniel said.
“Telling you what?”
“That you’d put my name in to replace Woolsey in Atlantis.” Daniel gave him a sideways glance as he craned his neck to pull out of the narrow parking place.
Jack spread his arms on the broad leather armrests. “Never thought you’d get an SUV. I thought you cared about saving the Earth and all.”
“It’s a hybrid.” Daniel hauled the steering wheel around expertly, managing to get out with at least an inch to spare on Jack’s side. “And you’re not going to get me off topic that easily. What were you thinking, Jack? The IOA hates me about as much as they do…”
“Carter?”
“I was going to say you,” Daniel said. “And she has a first name. You could use it.”
“Force of habit,” Jack said. “And now who’s getting off topic? Look, I know you hate the IOA…”