SGA-16 Homecoming - Book 1 of the Legacy Series

by Graham, Jo

  “It’s not a problem.” John’s smile was just a little wrong. “I like the little football.”

  Teyla hesitated, one of Charin’s proverbs echoing in her mind. Do not cut off your foot to cure a broken toenail. John’s help was welcome, and she must assume sincere. “Thank you, then. I appreciate it.”

  They moved down the hall together, a careful distance between them, the flicker of the aurora swelling beyond the long windows. Tribes of light, Teyla thought again. A story for another day.

  * * *

  The hunger was a fire in his blood, a cage of pain wrapping his bones. He had lived with it long enough that he could hold himself rigidly upright through the interminable ritual of greeting, closing his mind like a fist to keep from screaming his starvation. The new men, the blades and clevermen who had not known him before, would think him cold, presumptuous, aping their absent—their nonexistent—Queen. No matter, he told himself, meeting eyes, matching mind with mind. He would have time to teach them better.

  And then finally it was finished, the last new man welcomed, the last familiar face acknowledged, and he turned to Bonewhite, unable to control his eagerness. "We are well-supplied?"

  Bonewhite dipped his head. "Our holds are full. But—"

  "Good." Guide could not wait for anything beyond the confirmation, moved toward the feeding cells without looking back, trying not to let his stride lengthen to a run. Bonewhite trailed respectfully in his wake, saying something about plans, courses; Guide caught something about poaching, knew it was important, but could not stop to listen.

  He reached the hold at last, the fire of his hunger washing through him like a wave, and he reached blindly for the first cell. Human eyes looked back at him, gray eyes beneath dark unruly hair, cheeks coarse with stubble, and in spite of himself he snarled, withdrew his hand.

  The next cell’s occupant was mercifully fair, older, but still strong, glaring his last defiance even as Guide slammed his hand against the human’s chest and flexed his fingers to set his claws. He drank deep, saw the human writhe, shrivel, drained in an instant, and moved to the next cell without pause and fed again. And again, like a drone in battle, the life force flowing through him, quenching the fire that had burned so long he feared he would never be entirely free of it, would carry its embers forever in his bones.

  He stopped at last, sated, breathing deep, feeling his heart beating swift and steady, alive again and whole. And in the first cell a man who looked something like John Sheppard hung untouched, eyes wide and uncomprehending, spared for no reason… Guide snarled at him, at himself, at a weakness he most certainly could not afford. Bonewhite was still waiting, a respectful three steps to the rear, and when Guide turned on him, baring teeth in an expression that was not quite a snarl, the flavor of his mind denoted respect.

  And that made no sense—but, no, Guide realized, he thinks I chose for aesthetics, for pleasure, that I could make that distinction even in desperation. And, if it were true, it would be admirable control. I must be very sure he never finds out the truth—that I would not kill John Sheppard just to save my life.

  "Your quarters are as you left them," Bonewhite said, and his tone left it unclear whether they had been cleared or left unoccupied.

  "Good," Guide said again. He preferred ambitious officers, men who would take chances to advance themselves, but he was well aware of the risks it entailed. Bonewhite had had reason to think he would be master of the hive; it would do well to watch him closely. But for now—now he needed to resume his command.

  His quarters were indeed more or less as he had left them, though he could see signs that someone’s—Bonewhite’s—belongings had been hastily removed. The shape of the walls was subtly different, the sleeping nook arranged to another’s shape, but the nest of pillows was his own. He deliberately did not look at Bonewhite as he settled himself in the most comfortable of the chairs, letting it accomodate itself again to his body. A handful of dice lay to hand, black and purple and blue, each of the narrow crystals’ primary faces marked with a symbol, and he tossed two idly. They came up double-four, the human throw, and this time he did look at Bonewhite, feeling his own amusement at the apt result reflected in the other’s mind.

  "Sit."

  Bonewhite did as he was told, arranging the skirts of his coat neatly around him. "It is good to have you back."

  There was enough truth to it that Guide would let it pass, but he let his skepticism tinge his answer. "Tell me where the alliance stands."

  "There is no alliance," Bonewhite answered. "We are what is left, all that there is—this hive, and one cruiser who has not contacted us in a ten-day. Queen Death has taken the rest."

  "She is—" Guide hesitated deliberately over the word. "—confident, to choose such a name."

  "She has earned it," Bonewhite said.

  "Explain." Guide rolled a dark red die between his fingers, closing his mind on the sudden rush of dread. Manaria was stupid, an error no Wraith should make. If this was in truth the new queen’s policy—He let the die fall, grimaced as the blank face, null, landed uppermost.

  "When you were taken, the alliance shattered," Bonewhite said. "As you well know, there was always a divergence in policy among the commanders, and from the beginning Iron and Farseer went their separate ways. And then Queen Death appeared, no one knows from where. She already had three hives under her control, and she defeated the hives of Bloodrose and of Wind in open battle and bound their blades to her. She issued a proclamation then: all previous alliances were null and void. Join her, and she would bring us to new and greater feeding grounds. Oppose her, and die."

  Guide let a second pair of dice fall clattering, frowned to see another null. "And has she made good on this threat?"

  Bonewhite dipped his head. "She has. We had made agreements, divided up the human worlds so that none would starve, but she—she shattered all that. She takes from any world that pleases her, destroys anyone who’d stand in her way, spoils what she cannot use. Tempes is ruined, we will not be able to Cull there for four human generations, and we barely came away with our lives and hive intact."

  "Our holds are full," Guide said. It was not meant as a reproach, but Bonewhite lowered his head as though it was one.

  "Yes. We Culled on Irrin instead."

  "Poaching," Guide said. That planet had been given to another hive, a friend and ally: a poor choice of people to provoke.

  "The agreements are broken," Bonewhite said. "I had no choice."

  "No."

  "There is more."

  Guide waited.

  "We took damage over Irrin. The clevermen are working on it, but—there is still a structural weakness that we will need to address." Bonewhite paused. "Guide. We must join her. With the Lanteans back—there is no one else who can stand against them. And we most certainly cannot stand against her."

  "We will see," Guide said.

  "We are one hive, and queenless—"

  Guide rounded on him, snarling. "Have you allowed that to become public knowledge?"

  Bonewhite ducked his head. "I have not. The others—we are still believed to be the hive of Steelflower, wherever she may be." His tone betrayed his bitterness, a clever plan brought to nothing.

  "Good." Guide made himself pick up the dice again, toss them as idly as any blade passing time between watches.

  "It will be discovered," Bonewhite said softly. “We cannot keep up the pretense forever."

  "A little longer," Guide said. "That may be enough."

  "Guide," Bonewhite said again. "Commander. This is my advice as Hivemaster. Queen Death will destroy us if we do not join her now."

  Guide looked at him. "You called yourself my comrade once, as well. Is that your advice as friend?"

  “It is." Bonewhite met his stare squarely.

  Guide bowed his own head, acknowledging the other’s answer. "Very well. But we will not join her yet. That is my decision."

  There was a fractional pause before the other res
ponded. "As my commander pleases."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Old Friends, Old Enemies

  “Welcome to Atlantis,” Richard Woolsey said.

  “Nice weather you’re having.” Colonel Steven Caldwell looked up at the lowering sky full of dark clouds, at the snow hastily shoveled back from the landing pad on the main pier where the Daedalus had come to rest.

  “The climate is not what we would have asked for,” Woolsey admitted, “But any port in a storm, as they say.”

  “So they do say,” Caldwell said, falling into step beside Woolsey. “My people will be glad to get out and stretch their legs a bit, even if it was a thirteen day run out instead of the usual eighteen. You may not like this planet as much, but it’s a full six days less for us, when we aren’t making a course correction to meet you as we did this time.”

  Sheppard had come out to the pad as well, a heavy parka on instead of his usual jacket. “Colonel,” he said, giving him a sketchy salute, not quite sloppy enough to complain about, but not quite sharp enough to be properly respectful. He and Sheppard had had problems from day one. Not that he wouldn’t rather deal with Sheppard than Woolsey, who was a backbiting bureaucrat if he’d ever seen one. The way Woolsey had screwed Carter out of this job to get it himself still made his blood pressure rise.

  “Sheppard.” He returned the salute with precisely the same shade of respect, elbow not quite straight. “We’ve got some of your supplies, but I couldn’t fit in the MANPAD systems you wanted, not with the priority medical equipment. Your surface to air missiles are slated as cargo for Hammond at the end of the month, unless Carter runs out of space too.”

  “I hope she doesn’t,” Sheppard said, glancing back toward the towers of Atlantis over his shoulder.

  “You’ll have dinner with me, Colonel?” Woolsey asked. “I’ve been looking forward to it. And of course your people are our guests.”

  “Thanks very much,” Caldwell said. Of course his people had the liberty of the city. What was Woolsey trying to imply, that he could decide whether or not they had to stay on Daedalus?

  “We’ve got a lot of teams in the field right now,” Woolsey said. “I’d like to bring you up to speed on the intelligence we’ve gathered.”

  “I take it you’ll join us, Sheppard?” Caldwell asked. Sheppard was no friend, but he shouldn’t be cut out of the chain of command. He ought to be part of any intelligence briefing.

  “Yeah, sure,” Sheppard said, and he thought he looked surprised.

  Woolsey looked irritated. He’d like to be the only point of contact, but Caldwell wasn’t about to play that game. “I hope Ms. Emmagan can be there too, since she’s your expert on Pegasus,” he said.

  “I’m sure she’d be delighted to fill you in,” Woolsey said.

  Jennifer Keller stripped the last pair of latex gloves from her hands and dropped them in the bag for medical waste. The young mother opposite her clutched her baby more tightly to her breast, and Jennifer tried to find a smile. This was not a world where Atlantis had been well known, and it felt as though the locals grudged their presence in spite of the help they brought. The woman dipped her head, bent her knees—a gesture of respect, Jennifer remembered, tardily—and scurried away.

  “That’s the lot of them,” Carson said, and pulled off his own gloves. “Rymmal says we’ve seen everyone.”

  Jennifer nodded, and sat down on the edge of the folding exam table. The clinic was little more than a tent, a pavilion open on three sides: like a dozen clinics she’d run on Earth, and those clinics were also the last places she’d been this tired.

  “Are we sure?” That was also a question from the clinic days, when she’d gotten used to at least an hour’s worth of stragglers, as frightened people nerved themselves to approach strangers.

  From the twist of his mouth, Carson had experienced the same thing, but he said, “So Rymmal says. I’d say we have time for a cup of tea before we pack up.”

  One of Rymmal’s family had set a heavy brass kettle over a spirit stove, and as she stirred the pot, the beads and baubles in her hair clicking softly, Jennifer caught a whiff of Carson’s strong black tea. She smiled again and worked her tired shoulders. It had been a long day, but she thought they’d done some good.

  Her smile faded as she looked around the compound, the farmstead surrounded by a fence of new-cut wood that would be useless against the Darts and Culling beams. They had done some good, yes, but compared to what the Wraith had done… By the gate, the fields had been burned, the farmhouses blasted to rubble; the town, called Wland like the planet, the only thing like a city on this world, was an empty shell. Rymmal and his kin had already declared they would not return. They would melt into the hills, do their best to store food against the winter. Woolsey would not be pleased: they had hoped Wland would be able to trade.

  The woman—Aari, her name was—rose gracefully, carrying pottery bowls. Jennifer accepted hers gratefully, sipped at the stewed black liquid. It tasted of the cooker’s fuel, scalded a path to the pit of her stomach, and Jennifer gave a sigh of satisfaction. Even if there were stragglers, the worst of the day’s work was done.

  “Vati!”

  She looked up at the shout from the compound’s edge, saw a boy running for the gate. She set the bowl aside, heart racing, saw Carson look up sharply.

  Rymmal reached for the short crossbow that was Wland’s most advanced weapon. “Yrran?”

  “Vati, the Genii! They’ve come to help!”

  “Right,” Carson said, under his breath, and Rymmal frowned.

  “How many?”

  The boy stopped, breathing hard. From the look of him, dark and sharp-nosed, he was Rymmal’s son. “A dozen, maybe. Some of them stopped to look at the city, though.”

  “And the rest of them are coming here?”

  Yrran nodded. “The lady captain said she wanted to talk to you. She said they’re here to help us.”

  Rymmal hesitated, visibly unsure, and Carson straightened.

  “Right,” he said again. “Jennifer, head back to the gate. See if you can contact Atlantis.”

  “The Genii were our allies,” Jennifer began. She felt slow, stupid, as though the rush of adrenaline had drowned her thoughts.

  “Aye, but we’ve been gone a while,” Carson said. “I’d prefer not to take the chance.”

  “So come with me,” Jennifer said. “We’ll both go back to the gate.”

  Carson waved his hand at the examining table, the medical equipment still set up around the edges of the tent. “No good. They’ll know we’ve been here, we don’t want to act as though we’re either guilty or afraid of them. But I’d like to have backup if possible.”

  Jennifer nodded, remembering similar calculations from other clinics, and Aari tugged at her sleeve.

  “Quickly. This way.”

  Jennifer started to set the tea bowl aside, but Aari caught her hand.

  “No. Bring it.”

  Jennifer did as she was told, frowning, then realized what the other woman had meant. When the Genii came, they would find one doctor and one cup, and hopefully not search for anyone else.

  “We will tell them you left already,” Aari said, with a sudden fleeting grin. “Come.”

  Jennifer followed her, the tea slopping over her hand. She winced, transfered the cup to her other hand, and stuck her fingers in her mouth. It didn’t seem fair that she’d have to worry about scalded fingers on top of everything else…

  “This way,” Aari said again. She had led them to a break in the compound wall, a point where the fence was still unfinished, and now she snatched the cup from Jennifer’s hand, emptied it with a quick flick of her wrist, and tucked it into the front of her overblouse. “I will take you to the Ring.”

  Jennifer ducked through the opening, looked back in time to see a group in Genii uniforms striding through the compound gate. Their leader was a woman with bright red curls—unusual; she’d thought the Genii were pretty much male-dominated—and Rymm
al moved to meet her, crossbow carefully pointed at the ground. Carson leaned against the examining table, waiting, back stiff, and Aari touched her shoulder again.

  “We must go.”

  * * *

  Carson Beckett stuck his hands in his pockets and did his best to look neither threatened nor threatening. He couldn’t really see the group all that clearly, but he had an uneasy sense that there was something familiar about the leader. He’d met a fair number of Genii the last time around, some reasonable, some less so; he could only hope this was one of the rational ones. And then the woman turned fully toward him, pushing past Rymmal with a word thrown over her shoulder, and that hope died. The red-haired captain with her deceptively pretty face was indeed familiar, though he’d hoped she was someone he’d never have to see again.

  “Ah, crap,” he said under his breath, and the woman stopped in front of him, hooking her hands in the belt of her uniform jacket.

  “Dr. Beckett.”

  “Sora.”

  Two spots of color flared on her pale cheeks, but she seemed to have her temper under control. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

  “No team.” Carson spread his hands. “It’s just me.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Sora said. “You Lanteans travel in packs. And this is not the equipment of a single man.”

  “Rymmal and his family were helping me,” Carson said, and hoped he hadn’t caused more trouble for them.

  Sora gave him a frankly skeptical look, and beckoned to one of the Genii hovering at her shoulder. “Halgren. Take two men and search the village.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the man answered, and turned away.

  “It’s only me,” Carson said again.

  “Do you really expect me to believe that?” Sora asked. “And what is Atlantis doing here, anyway? These aren’t the sort of people that usually merit your concern.”

  Carson spread his hands again, including the medical supplies in the gesture. “Running a clinic—”

  “We asked for their help,” Rymmal said quickly. “You know how badly we were Culled. Sickness followed.”