by Graham, Jo
"I dislike waste. Particularly when so many of us are already going hungry."
"But not for long." Farseer smiled. "We have a new queen, Guide, a great queen, and she will lead us to new feeding grounds. She has sent me to bid you join her."
"I do my queen’s bidding," Guide said. "Not another’s."
"Death is the greatest queen living, the greatest in ten thousand years." The sincerity in Farseer’s mental voice was almost frightening. "Your queen would be wise to join her. Death has been most generous to her weaker sisters."
"You’re fortunate my queen is not present to hear you say that," Guide said.
"And you’re fortunate that I’m here to say it," Farseer answered. "But, come, let’s not quarrel. See for yourself."
"And if I do not wish to attend her?" Guide glanced around the control room, saw the blades tensed and ready, all of them knowing they could not win a fight. "We came here to Cull, and must do so soon."
He saw Bonewhite relax slightly, felt again the touch of contempt in Farseer’s mind. "You may Cull later. Or perhaps there will be food to spare. But Queen Death will see you now."
There was no need to ask what the alternative would be. Guide sighed almost soundlessly. "Give us the coordinates, then, and we will follow you."
"I will send the coordinates," Farseer answered. "And you will precede me."
Guide hesitated for an instant, but there was nothing to be gained by further protest. "Very well," he said. "We will meet your queen."
"You will not be sorry," Farseer said.
* * *
They came out of hyperspace under the guns of a dozen ships, four hives and their attendant cruisers. Guide had expected as much, but he still bared teeth at the screen as Farseer’s hive emerged from its window behind him, cutting off any escape. Not that they could have fled, not with so many ships waiting for them, but the betrayal still rankled. He had expected the rest as well, the summons, barely polite, from Death’s Hivemaster, an older blade whose mind ran in narrow channels, his own careful delay, so that there was a little more time to choose the company who would go to meet this queen. Bonewhite, of course, it was his right as Hivemaster; Precision, master of the Darts, who had been so in love with Queen Steelflower that it might be some protection; Ember as leader of the clevermen, and Ease to control the drone escort… Guide turned before the mirror in his quarters—it would not do to appear before Death in less than perfect order—and the hive’s lead engineer, Hasten, looked sidelong at him, twisting the end of his single braid between his fingers.
"I should go with you."
"Do you truly wish to?" Guide spread his own hands, confirming the perfection of claws and skin, and the young blade who had accompanied Hasten stepped forward quickly to smooth his hair a final time. Guide submitted to the ministrations—he had no aide of his own at the moment, and Smoke was deft enough.
"I do not," Hasten said. "By all accounts, she’s no one I wish to meet. But I am Engineer. I should be there."
"It’s no slight on you," Guide said. "You know that."
"I do." Hasten dipped his head, acknowledging the compliment.
"And what she thinks—" Guide shrugged, careful not to disarrange his well-combed hair or the fall of his coat. It was the best he owned, an antique style that became him and would also point up his age and experience. Tiny black gems caught the light like sparks of night, flickering at cuffs and hem, and the matching embroidery wove delicate texture into the perfect leather, like the touch of new velvet under the fingers. "I have said my hive is damaged, there’s no blame to attach to either of us if you stay behind to do your duty. And, Hasten. If this doesn’t work—if we can’t come to some agreement with this queen—do what you must to preserve the hive."
There was a pause—they both knew that there would be little choice beyond joining Death if it came to that—and then Hasten bowed, blade to commander. "I will. And I will find our queen and avenge you."
"Save the hive first," Guide said, and turned to the door.
The others were waiting at the shuttle, combed and groomed and dressed in their finest clothes. Guide studied them, considering: Bonewhite and Precision in their ankle-length leather, hair elaborately draped and pinned, Ease with his drones in polished harness, his nails burnished to perfection, Ember in a best silk coat that fell below his knees. There was no disguising what they were, refugees, men of different lineages, a hive clinging by its claws, but there was also no hiding their pride, their strength even in desperate times.
"I am pleased," he said, softly, and one by one they bent their heads to him and entered the shuttle.
Death’s blades were waiting in the Dart bay, ranged in rows that were as much threat as honor. Guide did not bother to bare teeth at them, though he allowed a touch of contempt to flavor his thoughts as he nodded to Death’s Hivemaster. The Hivemaster nodded back, matching exactly the inclination of the other’s head, and said, "Welcome. I am Edge, Master of the Primary Hive."
"And I am Guide, Commander and Consort under Queen Steelflower." It was a dangerous claim, he knew, but he was sure he’d gain nothing pledging lesser stakes.
"The Queen awaits you," Edge said, and motioned them forward.
He did not demand that the drones remain behind, or concern himself with their weapons, Guide thought. A bad sign. He glanced sideways, and saw the same concern in Bonewhite’s eyes. Ember looked frankly from side to side, assessing the ship, a slight frown creasing his forehead.
It had been many years since Guide had been within a hive that kept fully to the old ways—even the Primary had not had a true zenana, merely a consort and one or two acknowledged counsellors. That had been one reason it had been so easy to put Steelflower in her place. If she had bound her blades more closely to her, named the best of them pallax and elevated them to the zenana, there would have been a cohesive group of loyal officers, men used to working together, who could have withstood the shock of the assassination. When Snow had died, it had been the zenana that had preserved the hive, and as Consort, as Commander, he had spent those men’s lives one by one, friend and rival alike, in the same service. He had half forgotten what it was like to serve in such a way.
And that was the true danger here, the true seduction. He pulled himself up short, frowning now himself, and Edge brought them to a stop before the door of the queen’s chambers. A pair of drone guards drew themselves to attention, and Edge said, "The Queen’s Hivemaster. And her guests."
The doors slid back, and Guide made himself enter without hesitation, head up, face and mind schooled to his blandest courtesy. The Antechamber was lovely, as it should be, walls polished and shimmering like shell, the day’s mist coiling cool and gentle about his ankles. Death reclined in her coral throne, smiling faintly, and Ease’s drones fell to their knees at her glance. Young, she was young, and beautiful enough to stop the breath in his throat, so that he had to think to breathe, and heard himself gasp aloud. She heard, too, and her smile widened, genuinely amused. Ease ducked his head, unable to meet her gaze, and she rose to her feet, her full skirts swirling and dividing to reveal a glimpse of shapely leg. The long bodice caressed her like a second skin, small high breasts shaped by leather black as blood; her claws were tinted the same shade, and her jet-black hair fell to her waist, held by a simple fillet of silver.
Guide could feel the others’ response as she came slowly toward them: Ease was lost, Bonewhite and Precision were faltering, caught in her spell; Ember’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated in wonder. He felt it, too, the pull of the queen, the sheer power of her mind not even directed at them yet, but simply present. There was a part of him still that ached to kneel before her, but, as always, the memory of Snow rose in his mind, a grief and a shield. She had not been this beautiful—Snow had been tall and long-limbed, with scarlet hair and a laugh like a blade’s in the face of danger, but she had never been a beauty. But she had been his Queen, and there would be no other.
He lowered his head at
her approach, veiling his thoughts, and she smiled again. "So you are Guide. Consort of Steelflower. I have heard much about both of you."
"You honor me," Guide said.
"Yes."
Guide lifted his head, cautiously, saw her smiling still.
"I would give much to meet your queen,” Death said. "I believe we could make an alliance that would be fruitful to us both."
"I am certain that is so," Guide said. "But, as I’m sure you’ve heard, I have been a prisoner these last months, and I have lost contact with my queen. Our search was only interrupted to Cull. And then to meet with you."
"I have heard this," Death admitted. "And it is another reason I have wished to speak with you. I suspect there is much you can tell me of Earth, and of Atlantis now that it is returned. But—protocol first." She lifted her feeding hand, including the others in her gesture. "I would meet your men."
Guide bowed again. "I believe you have met my Hivemaster, Bonewhite. Precision, Master of the Darts. Ember, senior among the clevermen. And Ease, First-Watch Captain."
The others bowed with him, Ease twitching a little as though awakened from a dream. He must not be allowed to meet her again, Guide thought, and slanted a glance past her to the blades who waited in the shadows behind the throne. They looked as besotted as Ease—no, he couldn’t fool himself. One or two looked rapt, caught in worship, but the rest, and there were perhaps half a dozen, looked clear-headed enough.
"I am pleased to meet you all," Death said. "You see behind me my counsellors and companions, the lords of my zenana." Her eyes were full of mischief and promise. "I have no consort."
Guide swallowed, moved in spite of himself, thought he saw one or two of the counsellors frown.
"To business, then," Death said, and Guide’s attention sharpened. "I am told, Guide, that Steelflower left you in her place, to be obeyed as she would be obeyed."
"That is so, my queen," Guide said, cautiously.
"And so I may assume that you also have the authority to make decisions in her place."
Guide could see the trap, but no way to avoid it. "That is also true, my queen."
"Then I must ask that you make this decision for her, as I have no time to spare. The old alliances are dead, and we must find a new feeding ground—the new feeding ground that is Earth and its galaxy—or we Wraith will perish. But to do this, we must unite. There can no longer be a confusion of hives, some hunting here, others Culling there. It will take all of us, all our strength, our blades and clevermen, to find the way to Earth. Your presence—your counsel, Guide, and the skills of your men—would be most welcome. But I cannot, will not, allow anyone to stand aloof. So, Guide, speak for your queen. Will you join me?"
Guide straightened slowly, met her gaze fully for the first time. Her eyes were amber, deep and knowing. "I will join you, my queen."
"I am pleased," Death said. "Let us seal the bargain."
In spite of himself, Guide hissed softly. That was an old ritual, one that had gone out of fashion before Snow’s death—but clearly Death believed in tradition, in the restoration of the old ways. "My men are yours."
"Thank you, Guide." Death moved past him, her eyes flicking over the blades—Ease trembled visibly, as though it took all his strength not to go to his knees and beg her to choose him—but stopped in front of the cleverman. Ember met her stare for an instant, then bent his head. "This one," she said, and Guide bowed his head.
"As my queen pleases."
Ember knew his duty, though fear flared in his mind and was as quickly concealed. He loosened the collar of his coat, baring neck and chest. Guide caught a glimpse of pale skin, the spiral trace of a tattoo, and then Death raised her feeding hand, set it almost gently against the cleverman’s chest. She flexed her fingers, snarling, and Ember’s head snapped back as she fed. This was supposed to be ceremonial, Guide thought, a mere taste of the new subordinates, but Ember’s eyes had closed, his face thinning. Guide snarled, knowing he couldn’t protest, couldn’t afford to lose the man, and then Death released him. Ember staggered a little, ducking his head to hide the fear and relief, and Precision steadied him discreetly.
"And now," Death said, and smiled at Guide. "You will have guessed that I am a traditionalist at heart." She lifted her voice to include everyone in the chamber. "There are many things that we have lost since in destroying the Ancients we very nearly destroyed ourselves, and first among them are the rituals of our peoples. Too long have our hives gone in disparate directions, followed rules and methods that come from nowhere, or that have lost all meaning. We have seen bargains made with humans, cattle treated like men; we have seen the Gift given capriciously, and we have seen our worship perverted. We have seen kings in command of hives, and children too young to feed expected to act like men. But no longer."
She beckoned to a waiting pallax—an old blade, Guide saw, thin white hair scraped into a single braid, so old that his sensor pits were barely more than shallow grooves on his sunken cheeks. He bowed deeply, and Death rested her off hand gently on his arm.
"My Old One has been a valuable source in these matters, as I hope you will be, Guide. I believe we must return to our traditions, and recover our strength from them. This is the way that the hives fed in the days before the Ancient war."
She nodded to another blade, who ran his hand over the chamber wall, opening a door Guide had not seen until now. A drone emerged, and then another, and with them staggered a string of human prisoners. There were at least a dozen of them, perhaps more, and for a moment Guide wondered if they would be turned loose for them to hunt down. But no, their hands were bound. The drones prodded them forward, and Death beckoned to one after another of her blades as the humans were herded into line in front of her, shoved to their knees.
"You must join us, Guide. And your men."
Guide hid a grimace. This was not the way one fed, in public, in ritual—he’d never heard of such a thing, on any hive—but he could not refuse. Ember needed it, he told himself, looking down at the human female presented to him. He put his hand to her chest, set his claws and drank deep, but her life tasted of ashes as he fed.
Chapter Twenty-three
Adapting to the Cold
Kanaan came to Atlantis on a day of snow, when the white winds howled against the high windows, flurries of fine powdery flakes swirling and pouncing against the glass. He came to see his son on the day Teyla had said, and his arrival was not unexpected.
And still she was not there.
Instead it was Dr. McKay who came down the steps to meet him, looking somewhat annoyed. “Look, Kanaan,” he said. “Teyla’s still offworld dealing with this return visit to the Tricti. She was supposed to be back by now, but they called a while ago and said they’d be late. I’d be there myself, except this isn’t a technical issue, and we’re having trouble with the sensors because of the weather. They keep giving us bogeys every time we get a heavy mass of snow, and it’s giving everybody fits. We’ve got Torren down in the lab, if you want to come on down. He’s keeping us company while we recalibrate the sensors.”
One word in three of that made sense to Kanaan, but the gist was plain: Teyla was offworld again, and Torren was in responsible hands, learning a man’s work from the men of Atlantis. He could not quite imagine what recalibrating the sensors entailed, but it was reasonable that a boy his age begin to see what work looked like, even if he was far too young to take a part. Perhaps Teyla hoped that Torren would be like these men one day, a scientist like McKay or Zelenka, whose work she seemed to respect so much. It was not a life he would choose for the boy, but by the time it was to be determined Torren would have the choosing himself. He would not gainsay any respectable path, if it was where Torren’s heart led. And best to know all the possibilities there were in the world, so as not to make a choice from ignorance and regret later.
“Thank you,” Kanaan said. “I will come.”
The lab was warm and tight, with only two small windows from which one cou
ld see the snow swirling over the dark sea. Torren was settled on the floor amid a pile of brightly colored toys with wheels, merrily banging on a colored board with a toy hammer and shouting.
Dr. Zelenka and a dark haired woman he didn’t know seemed to be cheering him on. “Louder!” Zelenka said. “You can scream louder than that! Very loud! Let us see if you can disrupt everyone’s work!” He looked up when McKay entered. “Reverse psychology,” Zelenka said.
The dark haired woman retreated to the back, obviously embarrassed to have been caught playing rather than working.
“Teyla’s still off world,” McKay said to Zelenka as Kanaan greeted everyone politely and scooped Torren up in a hug. “No idea when she’ll be back. Are you and Kusanagi done with the diagnostic yet?”
“Do I look as though we are done with the diagnostic?” Zelenka asked sharply. “Do you not think we have a small distraction?”
“I am sorry Torren has interrupted your work,” Kanaan said. A toy hammer and nails was a good thing to play with, if rather loud. It did teach a useful skill, though perhaps it was not recommended to scream at the top of one’s lungs every time one hammered.
Torren looked at him curiously, consenting to be held, but no more affectionately than he looked at McKay. He had been away too long. To him, Kanaan was one more friendly stranger.
Still, there was time. He was a baby yet, and trust might be built between them. His dancing dark eyes were just like his brother’s, just like Ayahdu so long lost to the Wraith, and it went through Kanaan like a knife to the heart. So fragile. If he dropped him this moment on the hard floor of the lab it might hurt his head forever, or break those small, sturdy limbs. Life was always fragile, but no more so than when one held one’s child in one’s arms, that fast-thudding heartbeat so easily stilled. It was terrifying.
“Why don’t you take Kanaan and Torren to go get coffee while we finish this diagnostic?” Zelenka said. “Rodney, we will…”
