STARGATE ATLANTIS: The Furies (Book 4 in the Legacy series) (12 page)

“No problem,” Ronon said. “Just don’t expect me to figure out what the Ancient stuff does. I can recognize a ZPM, but beyond that I got nothing.”

“That’s enough for a start,” Carter said. “Please don’t try to turn anything on, but if you find anything interesting, I’m sure Dr. Zelenka would like some video.”

“Definitely,” Radek said. “Dr. Lynn, perhaps you can figure out something about what they were doing down there.”

“I’ll do my best,” William said. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that they left an explanatory note.”

Radek looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Is that usual to find at archaeological sites that have been abandoned for centuries?”

“You’d be surprised,” William said. “People do document their activities.”

“I’ll take Cadman for backup, but we’ll need someone to fly the jumper,” Ronon said.

“Someone who is not currently engaged in critical repairs,” Radek added quickly,

Carter glanced down at her laptop, probably looking at people’s current assignments. “What about Dr. Robinson? She’s been training with the jumpers in her free time, and she could use the flight hours. This ought to be as routine as it used to be for someone to run over to the mainland.”

“There’s a lot of ice,” Ronon said.

“And there’s going to be, and people are going to have to learn to fly and land in this weather,” Carter said. “It’s a nice day, there aren’t any storms on the radar, and from what the earlier team reported, there’s a wide, flat area where you can land.”

“I see no problem,” Radek said. “This should not be hard.”

“Knock on wood,” Jeannie said under her breath, but she didn’t think anyone heard her.

Ember
had been avoiding him. Oh, it was subtle enough, nothing anyone else would notice — if anything, any other man would read it as confirmation of Quicksilver’s recovery, that Ember no longer hovered over him like a crèche master. Instead, he worked a different shift, busying himself in the biolabs rather than in the engine compartments, where the ZPM was now wound into its new socket. The tests were proceeding well, the power interface was solid… And Ember avoided him.

Rodney made his way through the corridors that laced the clevermen’s quarters, avoiding the main thoroughfare. It had been painful to walk there when he believed he was Quicksilver, and had no idea why the blades looked sideways at him; now it was too dangerous, in case his thoughts slipped, and betrayed what he had found. But he had to talk to Ember, and this was the only time he could approach the cleverman unaware.

A single drone watched the entrance to the holding pens. He stood aside at Rodney’s approach, mind blank, and Rodney stepped inside, the door sliding closed behind him. To either side, the cells stretched toward the hive’s bow, only a third full now, but… He had not been there since he had regained his memory, somehow hadn’t expected to feel anything different, but now — now he recognized the faces that hung in the webs as human, as kin, not kine. He could feel their fear, see here and there open eyes, waiting to see who would be chosen this time. There was a girl of maybe seventeen, fair hair lank about her face, her eyes sliding closed as though in prayer. Two cells beyond her, a dark young man, the web twitching as he tried, hopelessly, to free himself. An older woman, a grey-bearded man, a girl whose eyes were vivid blue: people, all of them, and he shuddered, unable to look at them any longer. He had fed on them — oh, he hadn’t done it directly, that was a minor mercy, but they were just as dead, the ones Ember had chosen for him. He was as much a murderer as any Wraith — worse, a cannibal, consuming his own kind…

With an effort, he killed that train of thought, wrenched his mind back to the problem at hand. Ember should be here — yes, there he was, just turning away from a cell. A body dangled, withered, and Rodney shuddered again.

*Quicksilver?*

Rodney closed the distance between them in a rush, slamming the Wraith against the nearest support. His feeding hand came up, almost without volition, flattened against Ember’s chest, claws digging through the layers of his coat to touch flesh. Ember hissed and flailed, got his own feeding hand between them, but Rodney had the advantage of leverage, caught his off hand and bent it up and back, pinning him against the hull.

*What—?*

They touched skin to skin, off hand to off hand, and Rodney felt the confusion beneath the words, the bright blossom of fear, the moment when Ember realized what had happened. He flexed his own fingers, setting the claws deeper, and Ember hissed again.

*Stalemate, Quicksilver. Look down.*

*Not likely,* Rodney said, but he could feel the prick of claws in his own chest, see their position reflected in Ember’s mind. They stood body to body, each ready to feed — like enemies, like blades in battle, like lovers.

*You cannot kill me,* he said.

*Watch me,* Rodney answered. Ember had lied to him as much as Dust, deserved anything he did to him—

*If you kill me,* Ember said, *the Old One will fillet your mind, strip out every secret you have ever held, and feed on you laughing.*

The image that came with the words was sharp and shockingly vivid, but Rodney didn’t relax his grip. *So?*

*You know more of Atlantis’s secrets,* Ember said. *And I have not pressed you for them.*

*You did this to me.* Rodney let his fury fill the words, the anguish of seeing himself made monster, and felt Ember tremble under his hand.

*I did not, and well you know it. Dust had the idea, some time ago, when Lastlight that you call Michael was made mad. You were his chance to test it, cleverman of Atlantis. I merely maintained what he had done.*

*And that makes it better?* Rodney felt his feeding hand pulse with his anger, ready to strip the life from Ember. There was a warning pulse in his chest, Ember matching him, and he laughed soundlessly. *Really, give me one good reason.*

*Because you won’t survive if you do,* Ember answered.

Rodney snarled, recognizing the truth in the words. *And I should trust you?*

*We are in this game together,* Ember said. *Whether I like it or not.*

Rodney blinked, another set of pieces slotting into place. Guide — yes, he knew Guide, had indeed worked with him on Atlantis, though that hadn’t quite worked out the way they’d planned. As nothing had, when they dealt with Guide.

“Todd,” he said aloud, and Ember cocked his head in question. *Guide. He’s playing another of his games — is it a triple cross, or is he working up to a quadruple cross this time?*

To his surprise, a kind of wry amusement flicked through Ember’s mind. *I wish I knew.*

*And Sheppard,* Rodney said. He was sure Sheppard had escaped, otherwise the hive would have been buzzing with the news, but he needed to be sure. *You hid the message — and, believe me, if anything goes wrong, I’ll make sure everyone knows about that — did he escape?*

*You know as much as I,* Ember said. *He is not Death’s captive, that is certain.*

And that would have to be enough, for now. Rodney said, *What does Guide want from me?*

*He doesn’t want your death,* Ember said. *And, believe me, I have urged otherwise! Nor does he love Death. But our queen is missing — as you know.*

*And he keeps in contact with Atlantis,* Rodney said, slowly. There was something about Todd’s queen, something wrong there, but the memory slipped from his grasp.

*Just so,* Ember said. He paused. *I do not know what Guide plans, nor will he tell me.*

Rodney caught a brief image, memory or fear, he couldn’t tell: Ember on his knees before Death, life ripped from him. *But he wishes you alive, and I obey.*

*And if you don’t —* Rodney took a breath, released his claws. A moment later, Ember did the same.

*I will keep you so,* he said. *For all our sakes.*

They
came out of hyperspace in an uninhabited system, just as planned.

John paced around the command podium where Teyla stood, her hands in the grips and her eyes closed. “Are you putting the shields up?”

“Yes, John.” Teyla didn’t bother to open her eyes. “They are already up. And we are here well before Guide.” She heard him cross behind her again.

At least he sounded sheepish as she instructed the cruiser to take up a high parking orbit around a gas giant. “Sorry.”

The cruiser complied smoothly. It was, for want of a better way of putting it, feeling better. The hull breach aft had repaired itself, though the skin of the hull was still thin and cold there, and the internal sensors did not work. They needed to be grafted to the neural net of the cruiser, and it had not been done. Teyla was not certain how to do it. Speaking with the ship did not make her an engineer.

Once their orbit was settled she opened her eyes and stepped back, swaying a little as her vision returned to the physical room around her, soft lit blues and grays allowing the screens to be in high contrast. He was watching her, a strange expression on his face.

“What is it?” Teyla asked.

John shook his head. “You look different when you fly. I don’t know. You look…”

“I look what?” she asked, her brows rising.

“Happy,” he said. “Well, not that exactly. Satisfied. Pleased. I guess I always thought the Wraith tech would be hard.”

“It is not hard for Wraith, John,” she said, lifting her fingers from the podium. “Why would anyone build an interface that was painful or unpleasant to use?”

“I’ve wondered that about the Ancient stuff,” John said, sitting down on the edge of the platform. “Carson’s gotten used to it, but he doesn’t like using the chair because it’s uncomfortable. And Sam said that General O’Neill found using the chair on Earth really painful. That he said using it hurt a lot. Why would you build something that way? They both have the naturally expressed ATA gene too, even out of the same cluster.”

“And you do not find it painful.” She made it a statement as she came and sat beside him on the edge of the platform, her heeled boots stretched out before her. “I have seen you when you use it. You look ecstatic, as though you are enraptured.”

“It feels really good.” John shrugged. “It did the first time in Antarctica. It feels great. I don’t even really have any words to describe what it’s like.” He looked up at the ceiling, as though recalling it minutely. “It’s like being totally safe and totally free at the same time. Like letting go absolutely into this zone where you can feel everything and see everything, and at the same time it all makes sense. Like skiing downhill, when the momentum is carrying you and you can’t hear anything except the wind and you couldn’t stop if you tried and you feel like you can fly. Like you have to let go, and it’s the best thing ever.”

“But you do let go,” Teyla said, ducking her head sideways at him. “Perhaps it is a matter of temperament as well as genetics. I do not think General O’Neill is very good at letting go. He seems to me a man who will not surrender, who cannot in some inner place in his soul.”

“You can’t control the interface,” John said. “You can’t. It’s too strong. It’s not meant to be used like that. You have to slide into it and let it show you. It will do what you want, but you can’t make it. It’s like I was saying about skiing. Gravity is going to pull you down the hill. You can’t make it work some other way. You can just steer how you get there. That’s the skill.” He spread his hands out, flexing them to shake out tension. “You think he doesn’t let go?”

“I do not know him well,” Teyla said, “But he does not strike me as someone who can cease struggling. And if it is as you say, the more he fights the more it hurts. Carson wants to make it do things that are not quite the way it wants to, and so he finds it uncomfortable if not actually painful.”

John grinned sheepishly. “And I totally let the city top.”

She nudged him sideways, laughing. “It seems to work.”

He shoulder bumped her back. “Is that what it’s like to fly a Wraith ship?”

“Ummm,” she said, thinking. “Not exactly. A Wraith ship is designed for a queen. It desires mastery. It expects to serve you. No, not even that. It craves serving you. I do not know how to say it other than that it is designed to feel pleasure when it does what you wish. Otherwise it would not go into battle. It would not do things that will cause it pain, that might even cause it to be destroyed, unless the pleasure it got from serving you were so great that it overrode even self preservation.”

“Otherwise the minute you shot a Wraith ship it would get scared and run away,” John said. “Too bad it doesn’t work that way.”

“It does not,” Teyla said. “The reward of its queen’s or its commander’s approbation is so intense that it desires it even at the cost of great pain.” She flattened her hand against the floor of the platform. “Eternal would go into fire for me because it is well trained and it wishes to please me above all else.”

“Like a cavalry horse,” John said.

“What?”

“On Earth up until about a hundred years ago we used horses in war. They would charge straight into cannon fire sometimes, if they were trained to do it and their riders knew what they were doing. You could charge batteries that way, half a dozen guns firing grapeshot. And the horses would do it, if it was a good unit and they had that kind of rapport.” He looked around. “Is Eternal as bright as a horse?”

“About the same, I would guess?” Teyla replied. “I have never worked with horses. We did not use them on Athos, but I have seen them. Though I thought they were too small to carry a man on their back in a fight as you say.”

John nodded. “All the horses I’ve seen here are little. Thirteen, fourteen hands. I’m guessing here, but I think maybe when the Ancients brought people from Earth back to Pegasus ten thousand years ago and some of them brought their domestic animals, we didn’t have the bigger horses yet. I think they were bred later for height. In 8,000 BC it would have all been little horses. And maybe the Wraith here haven’t ever let a civilization reach the point where they could breed warhorses for size.” He put his head to the side thoughtfully. “That’s not true in the Milky Way. When I was at the SGC for six weeks a couple of years ago we visited this allied world that had been under the protection of the Asgard, and they had regular sized horses. But then presumably they were seeded from Earth in the Middle Ages, not ten thousand years ago.”