STARGATE ATLANTIS: The Furies (Book 4 in the Legacy series) (8 page)

“I know that too.” Keller shook her head. “Fortunately, her telepathy is real and natural. She’s going to have to rely on that.”

“That, and sheer balls,” Radek said. He smiled, looking at the expression on Teyla’s face, the slight sway of her body in time with the ship’s rumble, skirts whispering. “Fortunately, she has plenty of that.”

Steelflower drifted in shiptrance, the cruiser ready and eager beneath her hands. It was relieved, soothed. It had been frightened, alone in space, injured, its people dead. Now there was a queen, and her hands were on it. Her mind was strong and clear, and she spoke to it. There and here, she said. Now and again. It would serve her. Masterless, it had limped in a decaying orbit, hardly caring to repair itself. Now it must. She willed it, and it would please her.

She gave it coordinates, her hands steady on the controls, asked if it were capable. Its eagerness was like a quiver through its systems. It would do as its queen desired. It was born to do so.

“I am ready to go,” Teyla said, sliding her hands out of the grips and turning around.

“If you are certain,” Radek began.

“I am certain,” she said, “Go on. All will be well.”

He looked as though he had other things he wanted to say, but he did not, just gave her a quirky sideways smile as he followed Dr. Keller out. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” she said, and turned back to the command console. A deep breath. It was not done yet, not too late to stop this. But if she did…

No, Teyla thought. It was too late. She was Steelflower, and now she must dig deep, find the core within her, the fragile, tangled strands of her ancestry that held the power. A Wraith Queen stood among her foremothers. Steelflower was of the lineage of Night, or so Guide had named her when he had given her the name and likeness of a young queen lost long ago. But it was not her real lineage, that precious link to the past that the Wraith so valued, kinship and genetic variation in one. For the first time she wondered who she had been, that queen whose son had done unspeakable experiments on humans, the one whose son created her Gift, mingling his own DNA with that of his captives.

Once, long ago, when she had first learned of her Gift, she had dreamed of an Atlantis overrun by Wraith who saluted her as their queen, and now, half caught in shiptrance, she saw it again, blades bending before her, hair flowing down like water. ‘Osprey queens are always the most beautiful.’ She had dreamed true before when she had dreamed of her Gift. Osprey, she thought. The white bird, the white ghost, drifting insubstantial as mist through the shadowed woods… Wraith. Was that what they had meant, once? Once, when long ago they were hunted? Was there one who moved like fog, hiding her presence in clouds that sent shivers running up the spine?

Beneath her hands the ship quivered, ready and waiting. *Go*, she said, and saw the hyperspace window open before them, needing no viewscreens or monitors. Her hands in the control grips, she could see what the ship saw, her touch giving her access to all its data, quick as thought. *Go*, she said, and they went.

“There
is another ship.”

In the darkness, John Sheppard woke from a light doze, but he knew better than to move. One of the Wraith had paused outside his cell, the young one, speaking to another. Better to be still and have them assume he was still sleeping.

“What other ship?” The second Wraith was older, and John could hear the sound of irritation in his voice.

“It says it is the cruiser Eternal, bearing a queen aboard, and that she will speak to our queen immediately about the Consort of Atlantis.” The younger Wraith glanced toward John, and it took an act of will to be still. “You must come.”

“Of course,” the other said, and hurried off.

When they were gone John sat up cautiously. Not good. So very not good. He scrubbed his hands across his chin and looked around for the water pitcher. From his growth of beard he thought he’d been a prisoner of the Wraith for four or five days — certainly not more than that. They’d fed him. Well, raw fruit and nothing else, but he had the impression that they didn’t have much idea what humans ate, the way that a kid who’s just found an injured rabbit gives it three or four carrots. Not nutritious, exactly, but he wasn’t going to starve quickly that way.

Another queen. He could make his bets there. Queen Death had Rodney, and if she hadn’t been successful in getting everything she needed out of him, John would be the next best thing. He’d had a few days reprieve, but this was still going south as fast as it could.

In the last few days he’d had plenty of time to examine the cell and the door. Without tools or even a knife there were no opportunities there. But they’d have to transfer him. If Queen Death wanted to claim him, she’d have to have him moved to her ship. That would involve getting out of the cell and presumably being escorted to the dart bay or to a docking port.

John got up, stretching carefully. That was the moment. If he could stumble and seem sick, maybe he could get a weapon. One of the big stunners the masked Wraith had would be perfect. Let the guy get in close and shove him, then whip around. It might work.

He rinsed his mouth with water, took several small sips. Get ready. Be prepared.

It seemed like forever before he heard footsteps again. Too many. Not just the couple of guards he expected for a prisoner transfer, but six or eight. Maybe ten. Way too many.

Two masked ones. The young Wraith with his tattoos of vines, the one he’d called Frank. An old one with a sharp, bitter face. Another soldier in leathers, looking impatient. A girl, young as Ellia had been, small and slender, her steps quick and light between another two masked guards. Beside her another queen.

John felt his heart hesitate in his chest, and it was all he could do not to move.

The sharp one spoke. “Is that it? Is that the Consort of Atlantis?”

She raised her head as the door slid back, mottled patterns of light crossing her face, smooth and impassive, her long coat sursurrating with the whisper of leather on silk as she took a step forward, and his hands tightened at his sides. “It may be,” she said, her eyes sliding over him calculatingly. “I will take it from his mind if he is.”

Queens had touched his mind before, seized it, pushing and tearing and prodding, sending him burning in pain before them. And yet there was no touch. Nothing. She might as well not exist.

The young queen looked at her, her eyes filled with what John thought might be admiration. “Can you truly take it from him so easily?”

“Of course,” she replied coolly but not unkindly. “It is just a matter of exerting your will.”

Her eyes flicked to his for a fraction of a second, slitted pupils wide, and then she raised her hand, feeding mouth open, lips purple in the dim light. Her voice was like a lash. “Kneel before me, puny human!”

John swayed, shook as though struggling with every fiber of his being, teeth grinding.

“Kneel!” she commanded, and his chin snapped up as though she had slapped him.

His legs crumpled and he fell to the floor before her, his forehead against the toe of her boot.

“He is the Consort of Atlantis.” Steelflower’s voice cut coldly through the silence, broken only by the harsh breathing of the human who knelt at her feet. “I will take him.”

Thorn, who stood in the place of Consort to Waterlight, shook his head and stepped forward, though it was not his place to speak when Steelflower spoke queen to queen. “We cannot allow that. If Queen Death hears that we have given such a prize to you instead…”

Steelflower turned, the leather skirts of her coat brushing over the groveling human, her eyebrows rising ominously. “And why should she hear of this?”

Thorn’s eyes dropped. “We have already sent word to her twice, though she has not responded. If she does, and we say that we have already given him to you…” He let his voice trail off.

Steelflower turned about again, her eyes this time seeking Waterlight, and her tone was not imperious. “Are you afraid of her?”

Waterlight met her gaze, golden eyes to golden, and then she nodded a fraction. “Yes,” she said simply.

Steelflower shook her head, reaching out her hand to rest upon Waterlight’s arm. “Little sister,” she said, “why should we fear her? Are we not queens together?”

“Perhaps because she has forty ships and we one,” Thorn said dryly. “Or perhaps because thousands of blades answer her call, not a dozen.”

Steelflower shot him a look, quick and angry. “Does he speak for you?” she demanded of Waterlight.

The girl swallowed, her pale throat working in the shiplight. “He stands as consort until there is another,” she said softly.

Steelflower’s fingers touched her chin, lifting her face not unkindly. “We are queens together,” she said. “And it is true that Death has ships. She has many men at her call. But perhaps she has more than her fair share. That is not the way of things, that all queens should bow to one! To each her hive, to each her blades and clevermen, to each her drones and her children in the chrysalis. It is not right that we should all bow to one, that many should serve an absent mistress. It is not right that we should slay one another instead of respect one another as sisters should.”

“You call me sister but you are of Night and I of Osprey,” Waterlight said. “We are not kin in bone and blood. How should I know that you do not betray me?”

“If I intended you harm, should I come before you like this? Without even a single blade to defend me?” Steelflower asked, and her eyes lingered over Waterlight’s face. “Besides,” she said carefully, “My mother’s Consort was a blade of Osprey, and so I may count you kin if I choose.”

“By the old ways of counting, perhaps,” Thorn said.

“I hold to the old ways,” Steelflower said, but her eyes did not leave Waterlight. “In some things. And in others we must find new ways.” Her hand reached down and seized the human’s hair, twisting his neck up to her. “I have many uses for this one. If you give him to me, I will give you my word that Death will not revenge herself upon you for it.”

“You will stand with us against Death?” Thorn said, and his voice was tinged with skepticism.

“If it is necessary,” Steelflower said sharply. “But you have said yourself that she has not responded to your messages. Perhaps she does not believe you. If she does, we will stand as allies.”

“Allies.” It was the young blade, the one they called Bronze. “Our sensors show your ship is unmanned. What allies do you bring?”

“And need I blades to fly my own ship?” Steelflower’s voice was cool. “Will boys like you show me how to do it?” A note of amusement crept into her voice, and her eyes raked him from toes to hair, as though he were very pretty indeed. “You are beautiful, but not yet wise.”

Bronze gulped, his skin darkening with his reaction, while at her feet the human made a strangled sound.

Steelflower turned to Waterlight, her voice light. “He is very pretty, this one of yours. Will you make him pallax someday?”

Waterlight tossed her hair in a fair approximation of Steelflower. “Perhaps,” she said. “If he continues to please me.”

“Very pretty,” Steelflower said as he flushed beneath her gaze. “You have good taste, sister.”

“Thank you,” Waterlight said. She looked down at the human on the floor. His form was bestial as Bronze was graceful, and yet he too seemed affected, a fine layer of moisture standing on his skin. “I am minded to give him to you, if you stand as ally with me.”

Thorn hissed, but she turned to him. “We must have allies,” she said quietly. “And this is better than all else that is before us. I should rather an elder sister than an overlady.”

“You are like to have neither,” Thorn began, but he did not finish. He would not speak so before Steelflower. It would be more than unseemly. Open disrespect of his queen would make him despised.

“Then this one will accompany me to my ship,” Steelflower said.

Bronze blinked, putting himself forward. “But is that not dangerous, my queen? He is an animal, and not a tame one. What if he should harm you?”

“This one?” Steelflower said contemptuously. “He has not it in him. His mind is open to me, and he can no more raise his hand to me than you to Queen Waterlight.” She turned the human’s face up to the light, her dark green nails biting into the skin of his face, turning it this way and that. Her eyes were on his, and she smiled a thin, cruel smile. “You are mine, are you not, human?”

“Yes,” he whispered as though it were dragged from the core of his being, his body swaying forward as though the touch of her skirts were balm.

“Then make your abject obeisance,” she said, and released him.

He bent, graceful as a blade, his head to the floor, his lips to the toe of her boot. “I yield,” he said.

Steelflower smiled. “You see?” she said to Waterlight. “He is quite tame. I have no fear that he will harm me. I hold him entirely with my mind.”

“I have never seen a human who was not hand-reared behave thus,” Waterlight said, and her eyes were shining. “You are very strong.”

“Yes,” Steelflower said simply. “We will go to my ship.”

“Will you not stay and talk with me a little?” Waterlight asked. “Surely if you name me sister…”

Her head whipped around at the same moment as Steelflower’s, both their ships registering surprise at the same moment, Thorn’s a millisecond later.

“There is another hive ship coming out of hyperspace,” Thorn said. He turned to look at Steelflower, his voice as dry as ever. “Perhaps it is Queen Death, and you may show me your alliance.”

Waterlight gulped.

The third blade reported very correctly. “There is a transmission coming in. Shall I put it on the screen here?”

“Yes,” Waterlight said, her back straight as Steelflower’s beside her, the human crouching at her knees, almost touching her leg. “Sister,” she said.

“I do not fear her,” Steelflower whispered. “And neither must you.”

The image on the screen resolved. Not Queen Death as she had feared, but an older blade, his face seamed with age, a star tattoo about one eye. For a moment, a moment only, he hesitated, seeing the queens together. “My beloved queen,” he said, dropping his head in deep respect. “I have come to rendezvous with you as you directed. It is my honor to serve you, and my pleasure to see that you are well.”