STARGATE ATLANTIS: Secrets (Book 5 in the Legacy series)

by Scott, Melissa

  “So are you.”

  “Thank you,” Rodney said, then stopped. “Wait — no, never mind, it’s not worth pursuing.” He paused, his expression slowly sobering. “How bad is it?”

  John cocked his head. “How bad is what?”

  “My situation.” Rodney gave his old, wry smile. “I’m not exactly unaware of what I did, and I’m not expecting the IOA or the military to accept that I didn’t know who I was or why I shouldn’t help people I thought were kin —”

  “They do understand that,” John said. “It happens.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “Well, OK, not like this, I grant you,” John said. “Not very often. But everyone knows, everyone understands, that you weren’t yourself. Literally, in this case. It wasn’t you.”

  There was a little pause. “But it was me,” Rodney said, softly. “That’s the problem. It was me — and for once I say this with all humility — because I was the only person who could do this. Who could attack Atlantis like that. It’s my responsibility.”

  “I know,” John said. He remembered with sudden clarity standing in the door of the transporter chamber after Rodney’s experiment with the Ancient weapon had destroyed half a solar system, Rodney apologizing not just for being wrong, but for betraying his trust. That seemed so much simpler, and such a very long time ago.

  “I’ll make it right,” Rodney said. “I’ll — I have to. You know that.”

  “I know,” John said again. “Look, Rodney, you’re — as soon as you’re well enough, you’re back on the team. We need you.”

  He wasn’t sure he had the right to make that promise, but the sudden relief, the gratitude on Rodney’s face, made it worthwhile.

  “Yes, well,” Rodney said. “Of course you do.”

  “I’m not supposed to tire you out,” John said. “But I’m glad to see you’re — not so green.”

  “Very funny,” Rodney said. “John —”

  John paused, his hand on the door.

  “Thank you,” Rodney said, and John nodded.

  “Any time.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Passages and Pomegranate Seeds

  Ladon Radim climbed from the crawler that had brought him from the railhead, stood for a moment looking up at Dahlia’s spaceship while his entourage formed up around him. Here in the secluded valley, the ship seemed larger than ever, filling the narrow space. The mountains rose above it, placing it in near-constant shadow, the sun-kissed snow of the peaks even brighter by contrast. This was the safest place to hide it, away from attack or a random Culling. The Pride of the Genii would stay safe here until they were ready to launch, and then… He allowed himself a thin smile. Then they would see what kind of bargain they could make with the Lanteans.

  He schooled his face to neutrality as the first members of Dahlia’s team scrambled toward them, mostly young men in working uniforms. He had rescinded the rule that all government workers had to hold military rank, but he hadn’t expected it to have any practical effect just yet. Mostly it was the few women — he counted two, besides Dahlia — who wore civilian clothes, though Dahlia, of course, was in her usual severe uniform.

  They clasped hands in formal greeting, touched cheeks as was proper between siblings.

  “I’m glad you could come,” she said, and Ladon smiled.

  “I wanted to see the ship again. It’s been a few months. I take it you’ve made progress?”

  “We have,” she said, and there was a note in her voice that made Ladon look sidelong at her.

  “But?”

  “Let’s go up to the control room,” Dahlia said.

  Ladon followed her, past the scaffolding where a team was welding plates to the Ancient hull, the new metal stark against the smooth sheen of the Ancient alloy. Something else they couldn’t duplicate, that metal, but the alloys they mined themselves, and the ones they’d traded for on Sateda, would work well enough. They had calculated the stresses on the joins, worked out what was needed from the welders, and it was within their capabilities. The hull would hold against vacuum; Ancient technology would protect it in battle until they could learn to make their own.

  Inside, diffuse light gleamed from the ceiling, the glow broken here and there by missing panels, broken links. Mostly Dahlia hadn’t bothered to replace them, except where the light was absolutely necessary, and once again Ladon grimaced at the contrast between their own hard lights and the Ancients’ delicate devices. Someday, though, they would tease out all the secrets, find their own answers to the problems the Ancients had left for them, and then — then the Genii would assume their proper place as protector of humans in this galaxy.

  “We have full control of the power plant,” Dahlia said, “and it seems to be very close to fully charged. It is not the zero-point-module we have heard about, but it seems more than sufficient for our needs. It regenerates itself by a process I don’t yet understand, but our tests indicate that, even in battle conditions, it will rebuild its charge over time. If the mechanism itself is not damaged, of course.”

  “And how did you test that?” Ladon asked, with a smile, and Dahlia gave him an answering grin.

  “Very carefully, I promise you! I can’t be entirely sure, of course, but — I believe it’s reasonable. And it means we don’t have to worry about powering down, and risking having to reinitialize the systems.” She paused. “I take it you haven’t been able to find anyone with this ATA gene?”

  Ladon shook his head. “Not so far.” He was still tempted to try for a tissue sample from one of the Lanteans who had the gene, but that wasn’t something that could be obtained discreetly, not in the size his biologists told him was required.

  She led them down a broad corridor, the main axial access, past little groups of technicians busy with secondary systems, reciting their successes as she went. The sensor array was entirely repaired, along with life support; the ship could carry a strike force of two hundred over and above her regular crew. Ladon nodded approval at that: they would be using the Pride of the Genii as a transport rather than a warship for the foreseeable future, couldn’t afford to risk her in more than brief combat until they were sure they could create their own fleet. In fact, there was still a vocal group among the Sciences who wanted to disassemble the Pride rather than repair her, and he could appreciate their argument. But with both the Wraith and the Lanteans to worry about, it seemed more important to have a working starship.

  The control room gleamed, the soft Ancient light a little faded next to the brilliance of the new interfaces. Familiar computer screens and familiar displays sat beside the Ancient controls, translating their messages into readable form, and the controls had been relabeled in normal letters. A young man was using a Lantean tablet to check a console, but he came quickly to his feet at their entrance.

  “Chief Ladon.”

  “That’ll be all, Nastri,” Dahlia said. “Take your break now. And make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nastri said, and set his tablet aside. “Sir.”

  The door slid closed again behind him, and Ladon looked at his sister. “So. What’s the catch?”

  She didn’t bother to deny it, merely moved toward one of the consoles to the left of the commander’s chair. It was dark, and the computer beside it showed only the trace of a sensor, minimal power or none at all.

  “This,” Dahlia said. “This is the fire control station.”

  Ladon closed his eyes. “The weapons systems.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they work at all?”

  “No.”

  Ladon swallowed a curse. “Can you fix them?”

  “Not with anything we have here,” Dahlia said. She stooped, tugged open a concealed panel to reveal a cracked and darkened crystal. It sat in the middle of a field of smaller crystals like the center of a geode, and Ladon glared at it.

  “I suppose you’ve already searched for spares.”

  “Of course.” Dahlia straightened, pushin
g the compartment closed again. “There was one, but it is damaged — there’s a hairline crack in it that I wouldn’t like to trust.”

  “We may have to,” Ladon said.

  “There’s more,” Dahlia said. “The spare — it looks as though it, too, needs to be initialized before it will function.”

  Ladon sighed, but there was no way around it. One way or another, he would need to approach the Lanteans for help.

  The village was noted in their records, one where the humans tended to bear their young in pairs. The cleverman who had jotted down that fact had listed it in passing, one more curiosity resulting from a deep Culling in generations past, but Ember knew it would spare him the work of creating matched subjects. Assuming that the trend had continued, of course, and assuming that he could find sufficient material, but the kine had been cooperative in the past. It was worth the extra effort.

  He had the use of a scout and its three-man crew, plus a pod of drones under the control of a young blade whose mind was the blue flame of a coal fire. They came out of hyperspace and established orbit, the scout’s copilot watching for the flare of the Ring as the Darts burst through. At that signal, they broke orbit, and the pilot brought them gently down onto the headland overlooking the village.

  The plan was simple: surround the village to prevent escape, then offer its elders a way to buy off the worst of the Culling. Coalfire dispersed the drones, sending them fanning out through the scrub, and Ember walked ahead of him down the long slope. He could hear stunners firing in the woods — villagers who had seen the ship land trying to flee — but by the time he had reached the circle of houses, the humans had resigned themselves, were huddled in doorways while a bearded man stood staff in hand at the point where the beaten road met the first houses. A pair of younger men stood with him, faces identical even without their fear, and Ember’s heart rose. Clearly the trend had continued, and even one pair would make a difference. And where there was one such, there were likely to be more.

  “You are the leader?” he asked, and the bearded one took a reluctant step forward.

  “I am.”

  “I am here to offer you the old bargain,” Ember said. Someone in one of the huts gave a soft cry, instantly choked off. “I seek those born two or more at a birth. Give them to me, and you shall be spared further Culling.”

  “We have not forgotten,” one of the younger men said. “We accept.” His brother nodded.

  The bearded man’s mouth tightened in pain, but he said, “They are here and waiting.”

  “Two are not enough,” Ember said. “Six more.”

  “I don’t think we have so many,” the bearded man began, and Coalfire snarled.

  *Shall I set the drones to flush them out? We waste time.*

  *No,* Ember said. *This is only settling the price.* Aloud, he said, “I do not believe you. This village has always been rich in such.”

  “We have changed,” the bearded man said. There was pleading in his voice.

  “Shall I send my drones to search?” Ember asked.

  The bearded man bowed his head in defeat. “Let them come out,” he said, to the young man at his right, and his brother lifted his hand to beckon.

  Slowly, the humans began to emerge from their huts: a pair of females with hair nearly as pale as his own, a boy and girl not yet at maturity, another pair of males, a male and female, a trio of males with identical faces. Ember pointed, selecting the trio and the two pairs of males, waved away the two unmatched pairs. He hesitated over the females — they were of breeding age — but he needed a multitude of subjects.

  “These,” he said aloud. “These will do.”

  “And we will be spared Culling?” the bearded man asked.

  “You will.” Ember wished he could be more certain his promise would be kept by other hives, but it was the best he could do.

  The bearded man twisted his hands together, looked over his shoulder at the waiting villagers. “So be it,” he said, and one of the women sagged to her knees.

  At Ember’s nod, Coalfire collected the drones, formed them up around the group. One of them reached down to drag the woman to her feet, but one of the men shrugged him away and lifted her himself. They moved off reluctantly, the drones’ weapons lowered and ready, and Ember turned away.

  *It was made clear this village was to be left alone?* he asked, and Coalfire nodded.

  *All the Dart pilots have the coordinates. Their orders were clear.*

  *Good.*

  Ember turned back toward the path that led to the headland, letting Coalfire and the drones manage the captives. There was room aboard the scout to hold them all, and the Darts would have Culled well in the other villages: a good day’s work, considering.

  “Please.” That was one of the women, not the one who had fallen. “What do you want from us?”

  One of the men made a sound that was half snarl and half sob. “To feed, what else? Be silent, if you can’t die with dignity.”

  Ember looked over his shoulder. It was actually a perceptive question, more so than he had expected, and perhaps it would serve him to answer. “I have need of human subjects. If you cooperate —”

  He broke off, hearing the whine of Darts overhead. Coalfire looked up sharply, lifting his communicator to his lips.

  *Not ours,* he said, and Ember snarled.

  *Whose?*

  It was a largely pointless question. If it was not their own ships, it would be Death’s, and that was very bad indeed. Coalfire gave him a look that said as much, still speaking into the communicator.

  *It’s just Darts so far — no, wait, there’s a cruiser just exiting hyperspace.*

  *Get them back to the scout,* Ember said. *We’ll try to stay low —*

  *Dart!* Coalfire cried, and his drones swung in answer, lifting their weapons. They fired, but the Dart pitched sideways, presenting a narrow edge.

  *Go,* Ember said again, and Coalfire obeyed.

  “You promised!” the woman cried, and the man rounded on her.

  “They’re Wraith! What did you expect?”

  The Dart looped above them, and Ember shoved the nearest human toward the trees. “Run!”

  Coalfire turned his drones, sent them to their knees to track a second Dart. Ember drew his own hand weapon, snarling, braced himself to fire. His shots bloomed blue against the first Dart’s wing, but did no damage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other woman gather herself, grab the nearest man’s hand and dash for the forest. Coalfire swung to fire after them, but Ember raised his hand.

  *Let them go. We’ve got enough to worry about.*

  Coalfire bared teeth in answer, fired at another incoming Dart. That made three of them, and no shelter, no way to get back to the scout. The Darts were coming again, spitting fire; a drone fell, and then another, and Coalfire sent the others into cover. It was the right answer, Ember thought, the right solution, and turned to follow.

  *Ember!*

  He turned too late, and the blue of the Culling beam enveloped him.

  Jennifer frowned at the healing scar across Teyla’s palm, touching the pale scar tissue gently with the tip of her probe. Teyla didn’t react. She had no sensitivity yet in her right palm, nerves cut that had not regrown, a patch of skin left insensitive. It was a common enough problem. Often it took years for the skin around an incision to regain its former feeling. “Does that bother you?” she asked, touching it with the probe again.

  “No,” Teyla said.

  There was no sign of infection, but the scar was pale and raw against her palm, puckered just a little where sutures had pulled. This scar couldn’t be hidden. Teyla would carry the mark of the handmouth for the rest of her life.

  Teyla looked up at her and shrugged expressively. “It is not so bad, Doctor. It merely looks as though I cut myself badly. I am not vain about my hands.”

  Jennifer looked down at the scar to avoid meeting her eyes. “Still. I’m sorry we didn’t do a better job for you.”

&nbs
p; “You did exactly the job that needed to be done,” Teyla said. “Your work was very convincing, and it saved lives. Just as your retrovirus will.”

  “I hope so,” Jennifer said. Of course Teyla knew what had happened. Someone had told her. And having been there when Guide fed, when the first trial failed, she knew exactly what it had entailed.

  Teyla closed her hand around Jennifer’s fingers, causing her to look at her. “It was a very brave thing that you did,” Teyla said, and her eyes were steady. “A very great gift that you gave Rodney when you put your trust in him, not knowing if the retrovirus worked or not.”

  “I didn’t trust Rodney,” she said. “I trusted my own work.” Jennifer pulled her hand away. “I thought it would work this time.”

  “And you were right,” Teyla said.

  She looked as though she wanted to say more, so Jennifer took a step back. “Your hand seems to be healing well, and your blood pressure is normal. It’s still going to take you a few days of regular food to feel entirely like yourself again, but I can clear you to rest in your quarters. If you have no problems you can return to duty day after tomorrow. But I do want you to rest until then.”

  “I understand,” Teyla said. There was a regretful expression on her face and she looked like she was about to say one of the terrible things, something starting with ‘I’m so sorry that Rodney’ or ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine’ or ‘If you ever need to talk.’

  “Good,” Jennifer said briskly. “You can take ibuprofen for the stiffness and soreness if you feel that you need it.”

  And there was Colonel Sheppard right on cue, slouching in with his hands in his pockets. He could always be counted on not to want to start a conversation about her feelings. “How’s it going?” he asked the room at large.

  Teyla’s entire face lit up, though her voice was even as ever. “Dr. Keller says that I am free to leave the infirmary and may return to duty in a few days.” She gave Jennifer a warm smile. “Once again she has put me back the way I was before.”

  “Not entirely the way you were before,” Jennifer said, thinking of the scar she could not erase.