Aulich nodded. “As long as the balloon stays intact and in range.”
“Good enough.” Ronon turned slowly, surveying the clearing around the Stargate. “So. What do we have in the way of survival gear?”
John started up the steep ramp to Osir’s hatch, Teyla at his heels. There were armed guards just inside the hatchway, two men and a teenage girl, all grimly determined, and from directly overhead came a whine of overstressed servos. The ship’s guns, John guessed, trying to depress far enough to cover the party on the ground. He hoped to hell they didn’t spark a firefight before he could get a word with the Wolf. And what the hell he was going to say…
“I’m not asking him to give himself up to be killed,” he said, under his breath, and Teyla glanced up at him.
“No. But there must be some other way.”
Damned if I see it. John swallowed the words, plastered a smile on his face as he came level with the guards. “We’re here to talk to the Wolf.”
The three exchanged glances, and the girl said, “No, you can’t —”
“Let’s see what the Lanteans can do to get us out of this,” one of the men said, and put a hand on her shoulder.
The other man nodded. “This way.”
He led them through a series of cramped corridors, passing through hatchways and down a set of narrow spiral stairs until they reached what seemed to be a mess hall or some sort of communal space. It was crowded, women and children and a few adult men packed into the seats and crammed into corners on the floor, and John frowned, unable to work out what was going on. Their guide glanced back and shrugged.
“Women and kids. And the vital crew.”
The minimum crew needed to raise the ship. All huddled together in the safest part of the ship, in the hope that they could escape the first round of firing. John nodded.
“Through here.” Their guide ducked through a narrow hatch into a corridor lined with closed doors: residential cabins, John guessed. “This one.” He knocked on the metal without waiting for an answer. “Wolf! The Lanteans are here.”
There was a moment of silence, or what passed for silence in the creaking ship, and the hatch slid back. “What do they want?”
The man in the door froze, and John caught his breath. That was a face he had never expected to see again, no matter what he’d told the man’s family. Older now, his forehead higher, with a few early threads of gray in his close-cropped hair, the left eye still a black void, all pupil, from the Wraith enzyme: Aiden Ford, who he had last seen standing ready fight off an entire hive of Wraith. Aiden Ford, who had kidnapped him and McKay and Teyla and Ronon, drugged all of them except John himself with the Wraith enzyme and taken them on a suicide mission to destroy a Wraith hive. If McKay hadn’t managed to use the enzyme to overpower his guards so that he could escape to Atlantis and bring Daedalus to the rescue, they might all have died on the hive. John had been almost positive Ford had died there, covering their retreat. But not entirely sure.
His eyes flicked over the still figure, dressed now in the Travelers’ motley gear, looking for signs of the enzyme addiction. But Ford’s hands were still, his good eye clear, his expression moving from concern to shock, not the anger goaded by the drug.
“Lieutenant,” John said, and heard his own voice strange and harsh against the hum of the ship.
“Major.” Ford’s good eye shifted. “I mean, Colonel.”
Old instincts died hard: John saw Ford’s hand twitch toward the start of a salute, and then relax.
“Teyla?”
“It is I, indeed,” Teyla said, her voice grim. “You are the Wolf?”
Ford took a shaky breath. “Yeah. That’s me. I had to do something.”
Like you did before, John thought, remembering the fear in his gut as he watched Teyla and Rodney and Ronon succumb to the enzyme, transformed to manic fighting machines and then caught by the agonies of withdrawal. They’d been warned from the very beginning that messing around with the Wraith enzyme was dangerous — the people of Pegasus weren’t stupid, and their most sophisticated cultures were more than capable of isolating and extracting the enzyme, and of discovering both its advantages and its addictive properties. But Ford had never intended to take the enzyme, not at first. He’d been attacked by a Wraith, found half dead with its feeding hand locked to his chest. The only reason he’d survived at all was that the Wraith had pumped him full of the enzyme. John remembered seeing him lying motionless in the infirmary as Beckett worked on him, remembered how it had felt when he had known that Ford was going to survive. Their victories had been small and hard-won then; they’d lost too many people in that first year, before they’d known if any of them would ever see Earth again. Unbidden, the image of Ford’s flight from Atlantis rose in memory: he could have killed Ford, should have killed him, but he hadn’t been willing to do it. He hadn’t even taken a lethal weapon with him, because Ford was one of his men, and you never left your own behind.
“This changes matters,” Teyla said, still with that note of anger in her voice.
“How the hell —?” John began, then shook his head. “No. We can get to that later. What were you planning to do, Lieutenant? Fight a hive and a cruiser single-handed?”
He saw Ford flinch, but the lieutenant’s voice was fairly steady. “We thought we could outrun them, sir. But they got in a couple of lucky shots. We didn’t expect them to follow us here.”
“You misjudged them,” Teyla said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you have a plan for getting out of this?” John asked. “Because we need to know what you were planning if we’re going to get you out of this.”
Ford shrugged. “I was going to try to hide on the ship. There’s a shielded compartment, we don’t think the Wraith can spot it. And there’s no way they’re going to let the Wraith actually board, not without a fight.”
“I do not think that will work,” Teyla said. “And there is also your family to consider. If the Wraith threaten them, or indeed any of your shipmates…”
Ford looked warily from one to the other. “How do you know about them?”
“Elizabeth told us,” Teyla said, and stopped. “But you do not know her story.”
“Dr. Weir?” Ford frowned in confusion. “How does she know?”
“It is a very long story,” Teyla began, and John cleared his throat.
“You’ve been missing a long time, Lieutenant. Short version, while you were gone, Dr. Weir was believed killed, Atlantis escaped to Earth and then returned to Pegasus and fought Queen Death, and while all that was going on, we found out that Elizabeth had ascended and then been unascended for saving McKay’s life.”
“Wow. You’ve been busy.” Ford winced. “Sir.”
John smiled in spite of himself. “Kind of, yeah.” Teyla shot him a look, and he bit his lip. “But that’s not the point.”
Ford straightened, visibly bracing himself. “With respect, sir, what is the point? Are you going to hand me over?”
“We are not,” John said, the words harder and sharper because he knew he could and suspected that maybe he should, one life for all the other people on board the three ships. Neither Guide nor Alabaster was going to give him up willingly, and John couldn’t entirely blame them. But Ford was one of his, and he wasn’t going to leave anyone behind.
“What, then, do you intend us to do?” Teyla asked. “Understand, I agree and I will back you, but – Guide will not let this go.”
“Guide’s not in charge now,” John pointed out.
“Alabaster is no less determined than her father,” Teyla said, and John bit his lip again.
“Ok, we bring him back to Atlantis.”
“I doubt that will be acceptable,” Teyla said.
“We have to try.” John shook his head. “No. We’ve got to make it happen.”
“Sir,” Ford said. “I – Can I go back? After everything? And there’s Atelia to think about – my wife. And the baby.”
“Y
ou’re listed as missing,” John said. That skated over a lot of things, but you could argue that Ford wasn’t responsible for most of them. He’d certainly make that argument, and so would General Landry. So would General O’Neill.
“I didn’t try to contact Atlantis,” Ford said. “I mean, after I – after I got off the enzyme and took up with the Travelers.”
“Everyone believed Atlantis had been destroyed,” Teyla said, cocking her head to one side. “I am sure the Travelers were no exception.”
John nodded, hoping Ford would take the excuse, but the lieutenant’s expression was grave.
“After Queen Death was killed –”
“I expect the Travelers weren’t going to rearrange their schedule for you,” John interrupted. “Look, this is stuff we can work out later. Right now, we’ve got to figure out how to keep the Wraith from killing you or all these other people.” He glanced at Teyla. “And I’m damned if I see how.”
“We will think of something,” she said, but her expression was doubtful. “And we had best return now and see what we can arrange.”
“Sir,” Ford said. “If it’s me or them – I volunteer, sir.”
“We’re not going to do that,” John said.
“What you want,” Elizabeth said patiently, not for the first time, “is for the Wolf to be gone.”
“I want him dead.” Guide showed teeth in what was meant to be a parody of a human smile.
Elizabeth ignored him. “And you want to protect your people,” she said, to Lesko, who spread his hands in frustration.
“I can’t see how we can do both. The Wolf is of our people now, we owe him that.”
“If he were to be removed from the equation,” Elizabeth said. Her throat was scratchy from too much talking, and she wished she had thought to bring a bottle of water. It had been a long time since she’d had to spend this much time arguing with anyone. “If, for example, he were to agree to cease activities and place himself under house arrest.”
“Not in Lantean custody,” Guide said.
Alabaster nodded. “Nor on Atlantis. That could hardly be considered security for us. Rather, it’s one more weapon you hold ready.”
“Perhaps a third party,” Elizabeth said. “Or a neutral world.”
“There’s no place we could leave him that the Wraith wouldn’t come,” Lesko said. “Except maybe Atlantis.”
“A world without a Stargate,” Yoran said. “Within the human sphere. That’s assuming we can trust the Wraith not to attack him anyway.”
“And that we would trust you not to retrieve him the moment our backs were turned,” Guide said. “No. Not acceptable.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “What if —” She saw movement at the corner of her eye, John and Teyla emerging from Osir to make their way down the ramp. Teyla’s face was utterly serene, a sure sign of trouble, and John’s face was grim.
“Elizabeth,” he said. “We need a word. Urgently.”
“You’ll excuse me,” she said, generally, and moved to join them. “What is it?”
“The Wolf,” John said. “He’s Ford.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. Surely that was impossible; Ford was long dead, killed covering Sheppard’s escape from a Wraith hiveship after Ford’s attempt to destroy it had gone horribly wrong. “It can’t be. Can it?”
“It is he,” Teyla said. “Though we have not had time to hear all his story.”
But I have, Elizabeth realized. The Wolf, Atelia’s husband, Jordan’s father — and that was one more proof, a human name, a name from the Milky Way, from Earth itself, the name she had almost recognized when she traveled on Osir. It made sense, everything made sense, all the pieces of the story: the Travelers had found the man who would become the Wolf sick to death from enzyme withdrawal. Dekaas had nursed him through it — she spared a moment to appreciate the irony there, Wraith worshipper, Wraith pet, using Wraith-learned skills to cure the Wraith’s devoted enemy — and Ford had recovered, healed enough to take a wife and build a life, in between attacks on the Wraith. “This complicates things.”
“No kidding,” Sheppard said.
Elizabeth gave a wry smile, and turned back to the others. “Alabaster! It seems that the man you call the Wolf is one of our people, whom we believed to be dead.”
“This changes things,” Alabaster said, “and not for the better.”
“No,” Guide snarled. “No, it does not. They still have only to surrender him.”
“We are not just going to turn him over,” Sheppard said. “Put that out of your mind.”
“He has caused the deaths not just of our people,” Alabaster said, “but of his own. How many humans now lie dead, or wait in feeding cells because of his actions? This cannot continue.”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “It cannot.” She cleared her throat again, all the pieces falling into place, a sudden insight as blinding as lightning. “There is a third path. The Wolf cannot remain with the Travelers, and he cannot be given over to you. Let us send him into exile — send him back to Earth, from which he cannot return.”
There was an instant babble of objection, and Sheppard gave her a wild look. “Can we do that?”
“Can’t we?” Elizabeth raised her hands. “Please, everyone, not all at once!”
There was an instant of shocked silence, and then Lesko said, “How can we be sure you won’t just hand him over to the Wraith?”
“Because he’s ours,” Sheppard said. Guide bared teeth at that, and Sheppard matched him glare for glare. “Lieutenant Ford is one of my men, and — as you well know — we don’t leave our people behind.”
“And if he is yours, why should we trust you?” Alabaster asked, tilting her head to one side. Elizabeth couldn’t read her expression, but thought she was less angry than Guide.
“Because we still have common ground here,” Elizabeth answered. “The reasons for our agreement are still valid.”
Alabaster inclined her head gravely.
“You are asking us to trust a great deal,” Guide said. “We have no way of knowing for certain that he will be taken to Earth at all, much less kept under confinement there. I cannot recommend this bargain.”
“The commander has a point,” Alabaster said, mildly.
“You have our word,” Sheppard said.
“You will forgive me if I find that — not entirely adequate,” Guide answered.
“We have no reason to jeopardize our agreement,” Elizabeth said, but her mind was busy with the problem. Proof that Ford was safe on Earth, and likely to remain so: from the Wraith point of view, that was reasonable. The only question was, what would they believe, and how could the SGC provide it?
“If I might offer a suggestion,” Teyla said. “You know that both General O’Neill and Mr. Woolsey have returned to Earth. If we were to escort Lieutenant Ford on his return home, and returned with photographs of him and his family with one or both of them — would that not serve your purpose?”
Guide and Alabaster exchanged looks again, and Guide said, “What proof have we that he would stay there?”
“His war’s over,” Sheppard said. “We know it, he knows it. It’s time for him to go home.”
There was another exchange of glances, and Alabaster said, “I will agree to this. You have my cleverman, my Master of Sciences Biological, on Atlantis at present. We will accept your proofs when we collect him from you.”
“That seems reasonable,” Elizabeth said.
“We’ll need to work out the details, of course,” Sheppard interjected hastily, and Elizabeth nodded. She hadn’t forgotten Atlantis’s problems, or their own mission, currently under guard in the Vanir installation. But from here, the rest was all details.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMBER flattened his feeding hand against the console, pressing the handmouth against the cold metal as though that pain would drive out the inward ache. He needed to feed. He could feel his heartbeat slowing, his blood moving sluggishly in his veins,
the bitter pulse of need in the center of his chest that echoed in his hand. He remembered all too clearly what Zelenka’s life-force tasted like, strong and salt-sweet; he could imagine Sindye’s, clear and bright, but forced his mind away. Solve the problem, he told himself. Then you can leave Atlantis and drink your fill.
He blinked hard, focusing on the screens in front of him. They had linked to Beckett’s computers, and could study both sets of results: this compound seemed to have promise, but that had been true of the last three as well. “Let’s proceed,” he said, and heard his voice harsh and croaking. Zelenka gave him a look and Ember glared back at him, then turned his attention to the screen, watching the numbers scroll past. They were heading in the right direction, climbing slowly toward a respectable peak — but did it cross the threshold? He closed his eyes for an instant, unable to make the calculation come steady in his mind, and he felt a hand on his sleeve.
“Ember. Are you all right?”
That was Zelenka’s voice — Zelenka’s life-force so close at hand, and Ember closed his feeding hand tight, digging his claws into the heel of his hand. The vein on the back of his hand was throbbing. Just a sip, just a taste, just enough to end the worst of the hunger… Zelenka had had the retrovirus, had permitted him to feed before —
“Ember?”
“I’m fine.” Ember straightened his back, baring teeth, and Zelenka stepped quickly away. Ember’s feeding hand rose without volition, the handmouth gaping, and behind him Sindye cried out.
“Major! Major Lorne!”
Ember froze, closing his fingers tight again, and heard the click of Marines arming their weapons. “There is no — I am —” He stopped, unable to continue.
Zelenka said, “Stand down! Wait, Major.” He took one step closer, though still not quite into reach. “Ember. You need to feed?”
Ember snarled soundlessly. “I am in control —”
“Answer the question,” Lorne said. He had his hand on his sidearm, and at that Ember bared teeth.
“If you shoot me, Major, I will not regenerate. Yes, I am starving, and I must feed very soon.”
Stargate Atlantis: Third Path: Book 8 in the Legacy series Page 17