Guide smiled reluctantly. *Besides that. What do they think of Queen Death?*
*Ah.* Bonewhite shrugged. *The clevermen are loyal to Steelflower, to a man. Ember’s influence is strong there, and he — doesn’t love her. Not after their first meeting.*
Guide nodded, remembering the ritual submission, Ember’s face thinning as the queen fed, claiming his hive as her own. He had thought they were beyond such things, did not need to revert to the ways of their ancestors…
*The blades, however…* Bonewhite showed teeth. *There have been quarrels in commons and in the game rooms, though for now the majority holds for Steelflower.* He paused, gauging his moment. *We can’t keep up the pretense much longer.*
*I know,* Guide said. *But the alternative is no better.*
*We could agree that she was missing long enough that we could assume her dead,* Bonewhite said, but his tone was less confident than the words. *Accept Death provisionally.*
*She’d never permit that,* Guide answered. *And it gains us nothing, anyway.*
*And then there is McKay,* Bonewhite said, after a moment, and Guide snarled.
*McKay — *
*Is a danger to us all,* Bonewhite said. *Frankly, I don’t know why Death hasn’t turned her fleet on us, or declared us outlawed and fair game. I can’t understand how he could have resisted her this long.*
*The Lanteans are stronger than we think,* Guide said, but Bonewhite had given voice to his nightmare. McKay might be strong, despite his erratic nature, but Death was stronger by far. She was the strongest queen Guide had seen in generations; he didn’t know himself if he could stand against her for very long. More likely he would be on his knees in an instant, as he had knelt to her mother-in-lineage Coldamber, when the Ancients still ruled in Atlantis… He shook his head, shook away the memory. *She has requested aid, clevermen and help with the repairs. I intend to send her Ember.*
Bonewhite looked up at that, and Guide glared at him.
*Well? He was your man first, your choice.*
*He is,” Bonewhite agreed. *And a good one. I trust him.*
*Good.* Guide intended his tone to end the conversation, but Bonewhite didn’t move.
*You haven’t always fared well with ambitious clevermen,* he said.
*I want him to find out what is happening with McKay,* Guide said. *Nothing more.*
Guide had not expected Ember to return so quickly from the Bright Venture, felt his back tighten with fear as the drone announced him. The door spiraled open, and Ember spoke even before it closed behind him.
*I have news.*
He was trembling, Guide saw, and felt the tang of fear beneath the words. It was contagious, a spark to tinder, and he controlled himself with an effort.
*Within.* This was not the place for this discussion, not the public room, but the inner chamber, the most private place on this queenless hive. He pointed to the shadowed door, and Ember obeyed. It was warm inside, the lights soft and pleasing, the walls curved to hold the sleeping niche and a comfortable seat, where he could curl into the hive’s embrace, and he saw Ember relax and draw a shuddering breath, soothed by the surroundings.
*What are you doing here?* Guide asked, and the cleverman dipped his head.
*I told them I needed diagnostics — that we had some to spare, and it would make the work go faster. They won’t miss me for an hour yet.*
*Good.* Guide nodded. *And your news?*
*McKay — he’s told them nothing.*
There was a note in Ember’s voice that made Guide lift his own head sharply. *And how can that be?* Humans were not that strong, to stand against a queen —
*The queen’s chief cleverman, Dust,* Ember said. *It was his plan to take McKay. He’s done much work on human DNA, and on the retrovirus that the Lanteans used on the blade who became Michael. He’s used something like that on McKay. He’s made him Wraith.*
Guide stood frozen. Impossible, he wanted to say, but clearly it was not. Disastrous? Yes, very possibly. If McKay were Wraith, were a cleverman loyal to his queen — he knew too much of Guide’s dealings with the humans, with Sheppard and Teyla Emmagan. Guide closed his eyes to block out the images, the hive shredded, his own death assured. It had not happened, so clearly McKay had not volunteered everything he knew. *Why, then — *
*Because in transforming him, they’ve made him believe he’s one of us — he believes he’s Dust’s brother, a lord among the clevermen.* Ember paused. *Or believes he was Dust’s brother. Dust was killed when the Lanteans tried to rescue McKay.*
*And they did not try to kill McKay,* Guide said.
*They would not,* Ember said, practically. The trembling had stopped, soothed by the warmth and the pale shiplight. *They knew him, even if he didn’t know them.*
Guide growled at that, but he could hardly blame them. They had been taken by surprise — he had not known to warn them — and he would not have killed a man of his own under the circumstances. But he wished it had been otherwise. *Why didn’t he know them?*
*Because — I think because of the nature of the virus.* Ember’s fear was fading fast, replaced by a cleverman’s interest. *I believe that Dust wished to make him a willing party to this, to make him believe he was Wraith in truth. I spoke to one of the assistants, and he said McKay could be Dust’s brother, at least in looks. His hair is cropped and he bears no tattoos, but he is a man and whole.* He held up his feeding hand. *He feeds.*
It was possible. Michael had become human, or close to it, had lost the ability, the need to feed on the humans’ lifeforce. Guide himself had once accepted a similar transformation, the gift of another retrovirus, felt his body change and alter, becoming a child again — though that had ended badly. He had still not entirely decided if that had been deliberate betrayal, though if it had been, he did not think Sheppard had known. Or Keller, and if they had not, he could not think who to blame. His thoughts had chased themselves around that circle a hundred times before: old business, long past. He looked instead at Ember, young and eager in the gentle light.
*And he does not remember.*
*No more than we are told Michael did,* Ember answered. *Which is logical if one wishes him to cooperate. They have told him that he was captured and tortured by the Lanteans — and it worked well enough, Commander, that he fought back when the Consort would have rescued him.*
So, Guide thought. That explained much. And it gave him a little breathing room. *What do they plan now that Dust is dead?* With any luck, they would kill McKay as unmanageable, and that would keep him safe a little longer —
*The queen wants to destroy Atlantis,* Ember said.
*I knew that.*
Ember allowed himself a demure smile, acknowledging the joke. *She believes McKay — Quicksilver — holds the key, if he can be made to remember so much without also remembering who he is.*
Guide nodded. *Who now commands the project?*
*No one, as yet.* Ember lifted his head. *Propose me, lord, and I will assure that McKay does not betray you.*
Guide looked at him for a long moment: a young man, a cleverman, handsome and quick and ambitious. The last time he’d trusted such a one, he’d lost a cruiser and the man himself — but there was little choice.
*Very well,* he said. *I’ll put you forward. But, Ember. If McKay remembers too much — kill him.*
Ember bowed. *That was my intent, Commander.*
The lords of Queen Death’s zenana were well fed. That was clear in the instant Guide stepped past the waiting drones, clear in the lazy smiles and the full-fleshed faces. He felt instantly at a disadvantage, sharp and dusty in his plain leathers, while the zenana’s lords gleamed with dark jewels and silver glittered in hair and beards. Death reclined in her throne, sitting casually askew, her head resting against one of the great bone wings that curved above the center.
*Guide,* she said, and her voice was a caress. *Good. There is a matter for discussion.*
*As my queen wishes,* he answered, bowing, and glanced q
uickly at the others. Farseer was there, looking sleek, his braid bound with silver and the dark blossom of a new tattoo on his scalp. Sky, the youngest of the blades, leaned against Death’s throne, his hair and coat in artful disarray, while the Old One rested his back against the chamber wall, watching with an air of sardonic detachment. It had been a long time since Guide had moved in such company, and then he had stood in Sky’s place, Consort and companion, but he felt himself respond anyway, his body shifting to meet the rhythm of the once-familiar dance. He swept the others with a look, respect balanced against his own worth, and saw heads tip in grudging answer.
*My queen.* That was the cleverman who stood at the foot of Death’s throne, head bowed. He was not a man Guide knew, his mind pale and thin as sunlight in winter. *Forgive me if I press you, but I believe we must make a decision soon.*
*And so we shall,* Death said. She looked at Guide. *We speak of the one called Quicksilver.*
*Rodney McKay,* Guide said, and Farseer bared teeth.
*You know this?*
*Clearly.* Guide did not look at him, his attention focused instead on Death, watching carefully for signs of anger. *And I have heard, too, that you are considering abandoning the — project.*
*I am not Dust,* Wintersun said. *I cannot pretend that this — this creature, this creation — that it is a man and my brother, as Dust did. Better to end this farce, and take what information we can from him.*
*Dust said he could acquire McKay’s cooperation.* That was the Old One, his tone as stiff as unoiled metal. *That was the purpose of this charade. Not mere information.*
*But he cannot remember,* Death said. *No matter how willing he is to aid us, if he cannot remember Atlantis’s systems, he’s of little use to us.*
*Dust did say the drug could be changed.* That was another blade, voice sharp as a hook. *Wintersun could do more.*
*I am not Dust,* Wintersun said again. *And I can promise nothing.*
*If I may, my queen.* Guide bowed. It was a risk, he knew, but less of one than letting Death’s blades carve information indiscriminately from the human’s mind.
Death lifted a hand. *Say on.* She looked more amused than anything, as though she enjoyed the clash of words as much as any other combat.
*I have a cleverman of my own, the chief of my hive,* Guide said. *He is a master of sciences biological, wise beyond his years. And he is not so squeamish as some. Let him take over the project.*
*A stranger,* Wintersun said.
*An ally’s man,* Farseer corrected, but without emphasis.
Death tipped her head to one side, her hair gleaming in the shiplight. *And your cleverman is — clever?* She smiled.
*He is the best I have.* Guide bowed again, hiding the hope that rose in him. If he could get away with this, if he could place Ember in command, then he would have achieved at least some temporary safety.
*To take Atlantis from within,* the Old One said thoughtfully. *That would be a feat, indeed.*
*Dust’s work was promising,* Death said. *Very well. Let your man take his place, and you, Wintersun, will not need to work with the changeling. Let it be done.*
Guide lowered his head still further, aware of the envy at the edges of the chamber. *It shall be as you command, my queen.*
Chapter Three
Back Doors
It was a quiet afternoon, a steady snow falling beyond the gateroom windows, the kind of snow that made the younger airmen grin at each other and talk of Christmas, for all it was August by their calendar. It made Radek think of pastries in coffee houses and regrettable student love affairs, snow dotting his glasses on the walk back to his apartment, lamplight golden under the heavy sky, not hurrying because the anticipation was part of the pleasure. He sighed, remembering coffee rich with real cream, napoleons and little neapolitan biscuits. The cream was the thing he missed most, if he were honest with himself, and it was also the thing least likely to be supplied. Pegasus didn’t seem to run to dairy cattle.
He glanced at the boards below him, lovely monotonous rows of green lights and nominal readings. He had spent most of the morning closing one of Rodney’s back doors — a nice piece of code, designed to restore itself after deletion, but only after he had run certain checks — and he thought he’d earned a quiet afternoon. On the board below, Salawi had her laptop open and was looking at one of the tutorials, frowning over a set of diagrams. Taggert and another former SGC tech — Mcmillan, Radek remembered — were talking quietly, Taggert leaning over Mcmillan’s shoulder to look at something on his screen.
Radek’s attention sharpened abruptly. Something had changed, some miniscule shift in posture that meant they were no longer talking about baseball or football or whatever, and he had started down the steps even before Taggert looked over her shoulder.
“We’ve got — something — doc.”
“Something?” Radek repeated. He stopped behind Mcmillan, and Taggert edged away, giving him room. “Let me see.”
“It’s gone,” Mcmillan said. He was older, another sergeant, with graying hair cut close to his scalp and a constant wary look that seemed to have developed at Cheyenne Mountain and hadn’t improved since he’d joined Atlantis.
“What is gone?” Radek asked. The readings all looked normal, even perfect — Mcmillan was monitoring the external sensors, and they rarely showed small anomalies. Except for the pigeons, of course, and a minor issue with falling ice…
“There,” Taggert said, and Mcmillan hit keys to freeze the image. He dragged the result to a secondary screen, revealing readings once again reset to nominal.
“OK,” Radek said. He slid into the seat next to Mcmillan’s console. “What does it say that was?”
“It doesn’t even say it happened,” Mcmillan said.
“That is not a good sign,” Radek murmured. He tipped his head to one side, studying the screen. It claimed to have picked up an anomaly on the sensors below the old North Pier, something small and dense and close. Like a bomb, he thought, with a jolt of adrenaline, and then common sense reasserted itself. A bomb was not on the face of it impossible, but it was impossible for one to simply appear beneath the city, not without triggering sensors designed to watch for those very things. “Salawi, run a diagnostic on the North Pier underwater array, please — the old North Pier, I mean. Sergeant Taggert, is there anything on your arrays?”
Taggert was already back at her workstation, paging rapidly through screens. “No, nothing. I show everything nominal.”
“North Pier array is nominal, too,” Salawi said. “Sir, could it be one of those squids?”
They seemed to have caught everyone’s attention, Radek thought, along with the pigeons. “Too dense,” he said, absently. Not a real reading, not something actually out there, but not a normal malfunction, either. A power issue? Some kind of fluctuation that triggered a ghost signal when the current hit a crucial point? He looked at Mcmillan’s screens, and nodded as he saw the other man already typing in the query.
“Power’s steady, doc,” Mcmillan said, and Radek sighed.
“OK.” He looked at the other boards again, the reassuring green lights, the steady pulse of data. At least it was not an immediate crisis — and perhaps not even a crisis at all, but he knew better than to make that assumption. “OK,” he said again. “We are going to decouple the outgoing comm array from the main city system. Salawi, you’ll handle communications manually until I say otherwise. And when it’s done, get me Mr. Woolsey, please.”
“OK, Dr. Zelenka,” Salawi said, and shifted to the new position.
Taggert’s hands were already busy on her keys, and Mcmillan came around the front of the consoles to flip the last switches.
“Done,” he said, and Taggert nodded.
“Confirmed.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Are we in trouble?”
“I have no idea,” Radek answered. “Better to be safe.”
“Amen,” Taggert said, and Salawi cleared her throat.
“Mr. Wo
olsey’s on his way, Doctor.”
“Thank you.” Radek saw the door open, Woolsey bustling out with a wary look on his face, and made himself focus on the consoles. There was no real reason to think that someone — say it, he told himself, that Rodney had been forced to write a program that would make the city broadcast its location, no reason except that it had been done before, and it was better to be safe…
“Is there a problem?” Woolsey asked.
“I don’t know,” Radek answered. “We picked up an errant sensor reading, which I am not sure is actually a sensor issue, but more likely to be a code issue.”
“One of Dr. McKay’s back doors?” Woolsey sounded pained.
“Possibly. Possibly someone using one of them. And quite possibly nothing.” Radek took a breath. “I’ve disconnected our communications from the city’s main systems as a precaution.”
“That’s quite a precaution,” Woolsey said. “Can we manage this way?”
“Oh, yes, yes, that’s not a problem,” Radek said. “It’s just — I need to look at this code more carefully — ”
“Please,” Woolsey said. “Go right ahead.”
Radek settled himself in front of his screen, shoving his glasses to a more comfortable position, frowned as the code for the sensor array began to scroll slowly past. There wasn’t much an intruder could do from here, he thought — well, Rodney could do something, and he himself could probably find a way to promote himself into more critical systems, but it wasn’t the place he would have chosen to start. Something in the Ancient code caught his eye, a break in the hypnotic pattern, and he touched keys to stop the scrolling. Yes, there it was, a line, ten lines, that shouldn’t be there, that weren’t Ancient but definitely their own. Except that they had not recorded a modification to this section of the system. Perhaps in the early days, when they’d been struggling just to stay alive? But the underwater sensors had hardly been a priority then. He stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the neat, elliptical code. It was Rodney’s style, for sure — it was amazing how terse his code was, for such a talkative man — and a voice spoke behind him.
STARGATE ATLANTIS: Allegiance(Book three in the Legacy series) Page 3
