*Ah, Little River.* The Queen’s touch was barely a whisper. *I didn’t know.*
Gemmion’s cheeks were wet, and she drew in a sharp breath, angry at her own weakness. “It was a very long time ago, and they are all dead.” Some in the feeding cells, some of ripe old age, and she — she had prospered in service to the Wraith, had been granted life and power among her own kind, and the favor of two different queens. She turned her sleeve carefully inside out, dabbed at the tears with the lining. “But that, I think, is why they would refuse the offer of the retrovirus. To be given to the Wraith has always been the fate of the tainted and the criminal, not something that happens to ordinary, decent folk.”
The Queen’s answer was colder than ever. *That shall change.*
It took nearly two weeks to arrange the visit to Tanator, two weeks of constant work, and Gemmion was grateful to be kept busy. The harder she worked, the less time she had to waste in dreams, though the ghosts of friends-turned-accusers still stalked her nights. They are long dead, she told herself fiercely, waking, and drove herself harder still. At last, Sanctuary leaped out of hyperspace to take up orbit around Tanator, and a few hours later Alabaster’s hive joined them. Gemmion braided the Queen’s hair while the lords of the zenana made their last preparations, and Jewel shook his head from the doorway.
*I still don’t understand why you’ve involved her.*
*Because her clevermen are the ones who made this thing, and she has the Lantean woman as well,* the Queen answered. Gemmion fastened the last thin braid, and reached for the pins that would hold them in graceful loops. It was, if she said so herself, an exceptionally becoming look for Ice, and also kept her hair out of her face if it came to fighting — unlikely, she thought, but the possibility could never entirely be dismissed. The longest of the pins could double as weapons, just in case. *It’s just possible that reassurance from the Lanteans might change people’s minds.*
*I’m not convinced,* Jewel said. *And haven’t we enough to worry about with the Lanteans coming themselves?*
*It’s only a small delegation,* Flame said, appearing behind him. *And besides, the Tanatori insisted. Ice, it you don’t leave now, we’re going to be late.*
The Queen bared teeth at him, and Gemmion deftly inserted the last pin.
“Done, Lady.” She stood back, shaking her own gown into place, and Ice gave her a quick glance.
*And are you ready, Chatelaine?*
Gemmion bowed her head. “I am.”
*Then let us begin.* The Queen rose to her feet, blue-black gown falling in elegant folds, and swept from the chamber.
They met on the old Muster Field beyond the Stargate, the city buildings stark on the horizon. In the old days, this had been where the tribute was gathered, lined up for inspection under the guns of the militia and the eyes of the Wraith, a flat, barren plain where the grass had never been permitted to grow above ankle height for fear it might conceal some fugitive. Now the grass reached almost to Gemmion’s knee, and pale blue flowers were scattered among the stalks. Lad’s-love, Gemmion remembered, with a pang. She had picked them for Edoric, a great crown of them to celebrate his majority, and he had kept them through the tavern crawl that followed the official dinner. She could almost see him pushing it back into place, lamplight gleaming on his dark curls. She shook the thought away, focusing on the approaching Wraith.
The stranger queen, Alabaster, was very pale, her hair streaming scarlet nearly to her waist. Her gown was just as pale, a milky sheath that shimmered like the inside of a shell, slit in front to show boots of the same nacreous color. Her retinue was all in black for contrast, even the human woman who stood warily to one side, hair the color of dried grass pulled up and back in an untidy fall. The Lantean cleverman, Gemmion assumed, and took her place behind her queen.
*Alabaster.* It was Ice’s place, as the ruler of fewer men, to make the first approach, and she made it with dignity, ceding nothing more than numbers.
*Well met, Ice.* Alabaster inclined her head, a gracious greeting. “Perhaps we should speak aloud, for the benefit of our — human colleagues?”
“If you wish it,” Ice answered, though Gemmion felt the ripple of confusion. Why would a human decide to live among the Wraith, if she could not feel the mind speech? “Let me present, then, my household — my Consort, my Hivemaster, my Master of Sciences Biological. And also my Chatelaine.”
Gemmion curtsied at that, head lowered, feeling the attention of Alabaster’s Wraith sweep over her. One pair of eyes lingered, thoughtful — the blade with the star circling one eye, who Alabaster introduced as her old queen’s consort, Guide; the Lanteans, she remembered, had called him Todd, though she had never known the meaning behind that name — but then he, too, had turned his attention to the problem at hand.
“It is not in our interest to distress our human kine,” Ice was saying, “and indeed we felt it was to their advantage to accept this new invention. We were as shocked as anyone that they refused.”
“And just as shocked that they wished Atlantis to interfere,” the old queen’s consort said, with a smile that meant no particular good, and Alabaster laid a hand on his wrist without looking back at him.
“Guide speaks truly,” she said. “We had thought the matter settled. I do not like that Atlantis has been invited to change our agreement so soon after it was made.”
“No more do we,” Ice said. “And that is part of why we have invited you to be present — after all, you have such excellent relations with the Lanteans.”
Both Guide and Alabaster’s Hivemaster showed teeth at that, and Gemmion dropped her eyes again, not wanting anyone to read her satisfaction. They could keep on at this for hours — and very likely would, until one of the queens gave in and offered to help the other, or the Lanteans arrived — and instead she glanced at the Lantean woman. She was skin and bone, tired circles under her eyes, though her hair, at least, was sleek enough that Gemmion didn’t think she was actively malnourished. But Alabaster’s hive had never been one to keep humans, and she took a step sideways, trying to catch the woman’s eye.
To her surprise, the Lantean — Keller, she reminded herself, Jennifer Keller — moved toward her, frowning slightly. Gemmion maneuvered herself to the end of Ice’s entourage, and Keller took a quick step to close the distance between them.
“Hello. You’re — she said ‘Chatelaine’?”
Gemmion blinked. “That’s right.”
“Are you all right?”
Gemmion lifted her head at that, stung by what she thought was a note of pity. “Of course. Our hive at least knows how to feed humans. Have they found anything for you but children’s food — fruit and pap?”
To her surprise, Keller gave a quick smile. “And I was worrying about you. Yes, I’m properly fed — I brought supplies with me, and Guide has been… conscientious about seeing that I’m supplied from the worlds we have visited.” She paused. “Chatelaine — on Earth that means something like ‘keeper of the castle’?”
“I’m the leader of our queen’s human household,” Gemmion said, and didn’t try to hide the pride in her voice. “I’m here because our queen thought I might be able to persuade the Tanatori that your retrovirus was a good idea.”
“I think it is,” Keller said. She lowered her voice slightly. “I don’t think anyone likes it very much, but something has to change.”
Before Gemmion could think how to answer that, a symbol lit on the Stargate. They all stopped to watch as the connection was established, and the wormhole whooshed outward, then stabilized. The familiar boxy shape of a Lantean shuttlecraft emerged from the pool, and circled to land a cautious distance from the Wraith ships. Gemmion heard Keller’s breath catch, saw her strain to see the figures that emerged, and then sag back again as she recognized them.
“The one you were expecting isn’t h
ere?” Gemmion asked. It was impossible not to be curious about the Lanteans, who had appeared out of nowhere to upset the balance of power in the galaxy, and especially not to be curious about Keller, who had gone against every Lantean instinct to travel with the Wraith, even to help them develop this miracle sure, and apparently done it without even the consolation of the taint to let her hear their thoughts.
Keller looked startled, and then color rose in her cheeks. “No — well, I wasn’t expecting him, he wouldn’t have come, I —” She stopped, shaking her head. “Colonel Sheppard and Teyla. And Major Lorne and Marines. I knew Ronon wouldn’t come, but Rodney — well, it’s not really his sort of job.”
A husband, a lover? Gemmion wondered. A friend, certainly, and a close one, but there was no time to question further. The man in the lead — Colonel Sheppard — raised one hand from the stock of his P90 as they came within earshot.
“Guide! Alabaster! And you must be Ice. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
This time, it was Jewel and Flame who showed teeth, but Ice’s voice was tranquil. “I am Ice. And you?”
“Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, USAF. This is Teyla Emmagen and Major Lorne. And Sergeant Peters and Corporal Ramos.”
Those were the Marines, who followed closely, weapons not quite at the ready. Probably there were more of them in the jumper, just in case.
“It’s good to see you again, Colonel,” Alabaster said. “And you, Teyla.”
The dark women in Lantean dress inclined her head in polite answer. For all that she was not Lantean by birth, Gemmion realized abruptly, she held very nearly as much power as the man Sheppard.
“We are glad to be here,” she said. “We hope that all of us can come to an easy and peaceful resolution of the problem.”
“But for that,” Sheppard said, with a crooked smile, “we’ll need to have the Tanatori here, too.”
There was something in his voice that made Gemmion look toward the city. Sure enough, a party of humans was marching toward them, the city’s blood-red flag unfurled above them, and it was all she could do to suppress a snarl of her own. The last time she had seen that flag had been on this very field, with a Wraith cruiser filling half the ground, its hatches gaping wide to take in the tribute… She saw Keller looking curiously at her, and controlled herself sharply. This was not the time for those memories, or any other; she was here to serve her queen.
She straightened her back at the Tanatori approached. The Elders’ ceremonial robes hadn’t changed at all in the centuries since she had been taken, knee-length dove-gray coats buttoned with the enormous pearls from the Southward Sea. They wore great ropes of those pearls as well, and the Eldest Coyt carried a staff topped with a golden tower. They stopped at what was clearly a careful distance, well out of reach of the Wraith but close enough to be easily heard, and the Eldest lifted his free hand in greeting.
“On behalf of the Council, I welcome all of you to Tanator. I hope we will be able to achieve a satisfactory resolution.”
“We would like nothing better,” Ice answered, “though I am disappointed that you found it necessary to involve the Lanteans so soon. But since they are here, they are welcome to observe our discussions.”
“We are grateful for your forbearance,” Coyt answered. “Though we are confused about the need for a second hive here in orbit. We have always given our allegiance to you.”
“They are here at my request,” Ice said. “It is their clevermen, with the help of the Lantean physician, who developed the retrovirus. I hoped that they might answer any questions you had, and quell any doubts as to its safety.”
“Its safety is not the question.” That was one of the other Elders, a younger man with a curly black beard, and Coyt held up his hand.
“Peace, Devor, we can discuss the details at a later date.”
“They cannot call us cowards,” Devor answered. “We have given them their tribute since time immemorial — and yes, they have kept their bargain as we have kept ours —”
“We see no need to change,” a third man said, with an apologetic smile. “It would be… destabilizing.”
At his side, an older man stiffened. “With respect, there are other choices —”
“Peace,” Coyt said again, more sharply this time. “We are here to welcome you — all of you — and to escort you back to the city. We have prepared a feast, as we always do when the Lady graces us with her presence, and we hope that everyone can be made comfortable before we settle to work.”
Gemmion saw the looks of discomfort that passed over the Marine’s faces at the mention of a feast, and kept her own face expressionless. Ice’s people, and her mother’s before her, had always fed well before coming to take the tribute: it was too easy to miss someone who might be of use to the household in the confusion of the tribute pens, there was no point in making things worse by adding hunger.
“That is kind of you,” Ice began, and to Gemmion’s surprise, Keller took a step forward.
“Perhaps you’ll let me have a word with your own medical people? I am sure I can show them that the retrovirus is both harmless and effective.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Devor said, and Coyt broke protocol to turn and glare at him.
“Enough, I said. This can be discussed later. If you will follow us, Lady, good people, we will see you well bestowed.”
Channos had changed. Gemmion knew she should not have been so surprised, but it was still startling to see the new buildings rising four and five stories above smoothly paved streets. In her day, the tallest building had been the Commandary, three stories with the observatory dome on top, and the streets had been cobbled, except for the center rails where the ox-drawn trolleys had run. The Commandary was still there, red-brick walls even more weathered, the carvings above the main entrance blurred and rain-streaked, but the observatory’s dome was sealed, its view obstructed by the newer buildings that had sprung up around it. They were mostly stone, not brick, as pale as new bread and polished to a shine, and the trolleys moved along new rails, drawing power from wires that followed the line of the streets. The people lining the streets and peering from the housetops looked different, too, women in narrow, calf-high dresses and men without hat or hood. It was as though she’d come to any other world in Ice’s hunting grounds, not her original home, and she was glad when the Elders led them down a street that had not existed in her day, turning away from what had been the city’s center.
It led to another new stone building, this one easily seven stories high, set back from the road in a lawn planted with a single neat row of trees. They, at least, were familiar: in another month, or maybe two, they would burst into a riot of blooms in every shade of yellow.
“One tree for each of the states,” an Elder said, to Teyla, who nodded as though it interested her, and Gemmion counted. Seven trees: there had been only six states when she was taken.
As the doors swung back, trumpets sounded, and young men and women in white tunic and trousers came forward to set wreaths on the guests’ heads. Gemmion knew these flowers, too, twists of scarlet piper and tiny white starfire; she had not forgotten the symbolism, either, pipers for hope, starfires for perseverance, and the heady fragrance caught in her chest, so that she ducked her head and coughed. Ice accepted hers with gracious patience — she had been through similar ceremonies before — but the Lanteans looked startled and uneasy, the Marines in particular eying each other until the younger officer, Lorne, said something to them in a low voice. Teyla accepted hers as gracefully as Ice had done, though Gemmion thought she and Sheppard exchanged wry glances.
A banquet had been set up in the inner hall, an enormous room lit by narrow windows that ran the full length of the wall, and a waterfall of iridescent silk fell from the ceiling’s central height to pool like water in the center of the room. Tables had been set around it in a
single large square, and servers were already bustling to fill carafes and tidbit platters. Music sounded from the narrow mezzanine that surrounded the room, bisecting the windows, and Coyt clapped his hands for attention.
“Good people, it is the custom of our folk to postpone business until such time as we have eaten together, as we believe those that share a meal share much goodwill. And as we know that certain of our guests require different sustenance, we offer them a more suitable option.”
He waved a hand, and the hurrying servers moved aside to allow a line of people to move forward. They, too, were dressed in white, and wore wreaths of bell-flowers, in every shade of purple — funeral flowers, Gemmion remembered, the kind you spread on the grave at the end of a long and well-lived life. There was one of them for each of the Wraith, except for the drones. She felt Ice’s shocked surprise, echoed by Jewel and Flame, and saw a flash of pure horror cross Teyla’s face before the Lantean woman had mastered herself. Sheppard took a step forward, and was stopped by Teyla’s hand on his arm.
Ice spoke almost in the same moment, her voice firm. “That is a — gracious — offer, but it is not required. Not on my account, nor on my sister queen’s.”
“No, indeed,” Alabaster said, and Gemmion felt the same shocked surprise give way to relief.
“This seems — unnecessary,” Teyla said, her voice tightly controlled. Behind her, one of the Marines muttered something unfriendly, but Gemmion couldn’t quite make out the words. “We are here to discuss whether you need to continue to render such… services, not to witness them.”
“That is not entirely so,” Coyt said. Behind him, the tribute waited silent, though two of the women held hands tightly.
“If that’s what you want,” Sheppard said, with a sudden flash of anger, “we’ll just turn around and walk. We didn’t come here to see people fed on —”
STARGATE SG-1 ATLANTIS: Homeworlds : Volume three of the Travelers' Tales (SGX Book 5) Page 10