STARGATE ATLANTIS: Allegiance(Book three in the Legacy series)

by Scott, Melissa

  He pulled harder, rocked his right foot from side to side the way he’d been taught, but the connection was too strong. A second symbol lit and locked, and a third.

  “Hey! Stop!”

  The people in the control room ignored him utterly, as though he didn’t exist for them at all. He bent down, fumbling for the catch that closed the boots — the fourth symbol was locked now — and found nothing but smooth plastic. The gate turned, lighting the fifth symbol, moved smoothly toward the sixth. He flung himself forward with all his strength, trying to break the seal, but he remained locked in place. The sixth symbol lit.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “No, no, no — ”

  The seventh symbol locked. He closed his eyes tightly, but the light engulfed him anyway, scalding cold, consuming him —

  He woke, mouth open, suspecting that he had screamed. Sure enough, Ember was bending over him, half dressed, hair in wild disarray. His pupils were huge in the dim light, and he looked almost afraid himself.

  *Quicksilver,* he said. *Are you all right?*

  *No, I — * Quicksilver stopped, the dream memories slotting into place, driving back the terror. *Yes. Oh, yes! We have to go to the labs.* He swung himself out of the nest, reaching for the tunic he had left on the floor. *I remember — I remember many things, Ember.*

  *Do you indeed?* There was an odd note in Ember’s mind, gone before Quicksilver could define it. *It’s the middle-night watch, Quicksilver. Only the most junior clevermen will be there.*

  Quicksilver waved his hand in dismissal. *I don’t need them. I just need a computer.* He glared at the other cleverman, for the first time in many days feeling almost himself. *Will you hurry? No one’s going to care about your hair.*

  Ember blinked, showed teeth, but then controlled himself. *I will come,* he said.

  Chapter Six

  Meetings

  The sun was actually out, sending long shadows through the mess hall. If the day followed the usual pattern, the clouds would build back in by noon, and it would probably snow again toward evening, but John was unreasonably heartened by the slanting light. With Woolsey already on his way to Earth, it was nice to have something cheerful to look at. He added another of the orange egg-things to his tray — he’d pretty much decided he liked them, especially with a side of the spicy chopped vegetables that Pollard optimistically labeled “salsa” and turned away from the line, looking for a table in the sun. It looked as though half of Atlantis and most of Daedalus’s crew had had the same idea, and it took him a minute to find an empty spot. It was tucked in a corner, half in shadow, but that would change, and he lengthened his stride to get there before anyone else could claim it.

  “John!”

  That was a voice he hadn’t heard in years, but it was still unmistakable. “Mel?”

  He set his tray down, turned to see Mel Hocken coming toward him, the Daedalus flight suit explaining her presence. He swallowed his first question, said instead, “Wow. It’s great to see you.”

  “You, too.” The sun was gleaming in her red hair, her shadow falling long and straight away from the window, and her smile was as dazzling as ever. His eyes slid across the patches, and his eyebrows rose.

  “302s? Nice.”

  “I’m in command of Daedalus’s wing,” she answered, and the pride in her voice was almost thick enough to touch.

  “Congratulations,” John said, and meant it.

  “To you, too,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Be my guest,” John said, and they settled together at the table. It was, of course, one of the ones that wobbled badly. He swore, and Mel put her foot firmly on one of its feet, pinning it in place.

  “Hell of a place this is,” she said.

  “That’s not Ancient technology,” John answered.

  “I wasn’t talking about the table.” She took a careful sip of her coffee, decided it was real, and took a longer drink. “I mean all of this. What a sight!”

  “Yeah,” John said. He remembered his own first days on Atlantis, the shock of coming around corners, down stairs, to find another gorgeous vista, the towers gleaming against the sky, metal curved and cut to frame yet another perfect view. “It’s — something else.”

  He wished he’d thought of something better as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but she nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It really is. A girl could get used to a place like this.”

  There was a faintly smug note in her voice that made John look up sharply. “You’ve got the gene.”

  “Yep.” Her smile was definitely smug, and John couldn’t stop his own delighted grin.

  “Damn! That’s excellent!”

  “It’s recessive, not naturally expressed,” she said. “I took the treatment a while back, right after I got assigned to the SGC. But I’ve never been much of anywhere that it mattered.”

  “It matters here, all right,” John said. “We should get you checked out in the puddlejumpers, and try you in the chair — ” He stopped abruptly, remembering that she was with Daedalus, had her own responsibilities, and she nodded more seriously.

  “I’d like that.”

  “There have been some times when we’ve needed everyone with the gene to lend a hand,” John said. “The first time we flew the city, we ended up in the edge of an asteroid field, and we literally got everybody here who had the gene to take up a jumper and blast a path for us. It was a little hairy, especially for the folks who hadn’t ever flown one and used the weapons at the same time, but it worked.”

  Mel shook her head. “Man, playing Star Wars never gets old.”

  John laughed. “I’m serious, and I’m serious about the chair. We’ve only got two people who can fly the city, and if there’s any chance that you’re a third…”

  “I’ve only got the recessive,” Mel said, but her face was eager.

  “It’s not a 302,” John said, “but it’s — ” He shook his head. “It’s like nothing else.”

  “I’d like it,” Mel said again.

  She looked past him, her eyes fixing for a moment, and John glanced sideways, curious to see what had caught her eye. Teyla had just left the breakfast line, was coming toward them with a smile of greeting, and this time John knew his smile was the smug one. “Yes. She is.”

  “Hmm?” Mel’s innocence was a little forced, and John’s smile widened.

  “Hot. Very.”

  Mel’s eyebrows flicked up. “Good to see your taste has improved.”

  “While yours — ” Teyla was in earshot now, and John finished, “Remains exactly the same. Teyla, I’d like you to meet a very old friend of mine, Mel Hocken. She’s in command of Daedalus’s 302 wing.”

  “A pleasure,” Mel said, and John could see the laughter in her eyes.

  “Any friend of Colonel Sheppard’s is a friend of mine,” Teyla answered, and they shifted their trays to make room for her.

  Lorne looked up as someone leaned in the door of his office. “Hi, Major.”

  “Cadman,” Lorne said, pleased to see her still in one piece after spending the last couple of years back at the SGC. She looked both unscathed and cheerful, wearing the jumpsuit of the Hammond’s crew rather than the Atlantis uniform he remembered her in. “And I hear it’s Captain now,” he said. “Congrats. How’s Earth?”

  “Still there, but not as interesting as space,” she said, coming in, a tablet computer tucked under her arm. “And thanks. How’s Atlantis?”

  “Never a dull moment,” Lorne said. “The Hammond’s a pretty ship.”

  “Isn’t she? Colonel Carter’s pretty unhappy about having scratched the finish already. You know, you can repair it but it never gets that new-car smell back, I guess.”

  “I think the new-car smell wore off in Atlantis a few thousand years ago, so at least we don’t have to worry about that.”

  Cadman grinned. “I remember now. This was a weird place to work.”

  Lorne raised an eyebrow at her. “You mean compared to a spaceship?”


  “Definitely weirder,” Cadman said. “I ran into Carson Beckett on my way up here. That was awkward.”

  “You mean the whole working with your ex thing, or…”

  “The whole working with my ex’s clone thing, actually. At least we split up before he was cloned.” She shook her head. “And I can’t believe that sentence just came out of my mouth.”

  “I get that a lot,” Lorne said.

  “It was kind of freaky, though,” Cadman said. “I mean, more than usual Atlantis levels of freaky. Because… we did split up, but we had this whole thing, and when I heard he died I was pretty upset. And this is kind of like finding out that, no, he was a prisoner of war for a year while we thought he was dead, only it’s not actually him, right? He remembers when we were going out, but we never actually…” She turned up her hands unhappily.

  “We’ve all gotten used to treating him like he’s Dr. Beckett, only with about six months he can’t remember,” Lorne said. “It’s just easier than worrying all the time about what the whole clone thing really means.”

  “That being the six months between when he was cloned and when he died.” Cadman shook her head. “I mean, General O’Neill was cloned once, and now there’s him and his clone, so his clone can’t really be him, right?”

  “Maybe it would be easier to just think of it as if this were Dr. Beckett from an alternate universe.”

  Cadman looked at him, her head to one side. “I am going to pretend you didn’t just say that like that would be more normal.”

  “Okay, maybe not,” Lorne said. “But you get used to it. He doesn’t talk much about the year he wasn’t here.”

  “Yeah. I think if I’d been the prisoner of a crazy Wraith for a year, I wouldn’t talk about it much either.” She shrugged. “I guess… well, I hope he’s okay, whoever he is.”

  “He’s okay, I think,” Lorne said. “Probably a little stressed out right now about what’s happened to Dr. McKay, given that ‘captured by the Wraith’ is probably an issue for him.”

  “I was sorry to hear about McKay,” Cadman said. “He wasn’t so bad, really.”

  “Don’t write him off yet,” Lorne said. “He’s surprisingly hard to kill, and I wouldn’t bet against Colonel Sheppard when it comes to rescuing a member of his team. Knowing Dr. McKay, he could be working on a way to escape right now.”

  Quicksilver had been in the Queen’s audience room before, but still her nearness struck fear in his heart. And this was at his own request, not at her summons, an importunity even for a cleverman of his status. Ember seemed nervous as well, his mind closed like a fist even as he gave them both a last assessing glance.

  *You’ll do,* he said, and Quicksilver bared teeth as the drones came to attention.

  *Enter.*

  Ember straightened his back, lifting his head to show his profile to best advantage, and the doors opened before them.

  Death sat straight in her throne, its bone wings rising above her shoulders, off hand and feeding hand resting lightly on its arms. The lords of her zenana accompanied her, blades in leather and silver, and a coterie of masked drones lined the long walls. Ember dipped his head, his long hair falling forward, and Quicksilver copied him, aware again of his own shorn head. Of the many things the Lanteans had done to him, it was among the smallest, but it galled him unreasonably.

  *So, clevermen,* Death said. *Quicksilver, I rejoice to see you so recovered. And, you, Ember. I commend you for your care of him.*

  *Thank you, my queen,* Ember answered, his tone tightly controlled, but Quicksilver smiled in spite of himself. She was radiant, his queen, young and beautiful and strong, and he rejoiced at the gift he was bringing her.

  Her smile widened, and she lifted her off hand, beckoning them forward. *And what is it that is so important, then?*

  *I have two things for you, my queen,* Quicksilver said. He did not quite dare look at her directly, glanced up under his lashes to see her smiling.

  *Say on.*

  *My queen, the Lanteans have defeated us more than once because they have energy shields that can take far more damage than a hive ship’s hull.* Quicksilver glanced up again, aware that she and all the zenana were listening intently. *I have worked out a way to install such a shield on our own ships, so that we can stand as much damage, perhaps more, than the Lanteans’ ships can. And it will never be possible for the Lanteans to invade our hives as they have done in the past.*

  *This has been proposed before,* the oldest blade said. *And always the power required was too great to make it practical.*

  *I have solved that problem,* Quicksilver said. *It’s just a matter of adjusting some minor parameters — *

  Death lifted her hand. *Skilldark. Is such a thing possible?*

  The cleverman who stood to the back of the chamber bowed his head. *It has never been before. But Quicksilver may have found something.*

  *Of course I have,* Quicksilver began, and Ember touched his hand in warning.

  *My queen,* he said. * I also believe it will work.*

  Death stared at them for a long moment, then, slowly, nodded. *See to it, then. Two things, you said, Quicksilver. What is the second?*

  *I have found a way into Atlantis,* Quicksilver said.

  Several of the lords lifted their heads at that, and Quicksilver felt their attention sharpen, thoughts focusing on him. He did not know them, and Ember offered him no clue, his mind closed tight, so he pushed them to the periphery of his thoughts, concentrating on his queen.

  *Have you, now,* she murmured. *Tell me more, cleverman.*

  *Their gate address is known,* Quicksilver said.

  *Which avails us nothing.* That was the very young blade who stood to the queen’s left, the touch of his mind the vivid blue of a cloudless sky. *The gate is well shielded.*

  *Of course it is,* Quicksilver said. *And I know how to lower that shield.*

  A ripple of emotion crossed the chamber, shock, pleased surprise, and Death said, *How?*

  *While I was a prisoner, I managed to find a code that will give me entrance to their computers,* Quicksilver said. *We dial the gate, and I will transmit the code — the shield won’t stop it.*

  *How did you get this code?* That was the oldest of the blades, and Quicksilver shot him an annoyed look.

  *I don’t actually remember, but it doesn’t matter. The point is, I can get in, and I can leverage that access to lower Atlantis’s shield.*

  *I think it does matter,* Sky said. Death reached up without looking, laid her hand on his where it touched her throne, and he was silent.

  *If it can be done,* another blade began, and shook his head. His mind was a planet’s surface seen from a great height. *It is a risk, my queen.*

  *It’s hardly a risk,* Quicksilver said. *The worst that could happen is that we fail to breach the computers.* At his side, Ember hissed softly, a warning, and Quicksilver suppressed the rest of what he would have said.

  *Farseer’s right,* another blade said. He hesitated, as though he were choosing his words with great care. *The risk…*

  Ember lifted his head. *I believe that can be mitigated. There are precautions we can take that I believe will be sufficient.*

  *Very well,* Death said. She looked again at Quicksilver, her head tipped to one side. *And you will lower Atlantis’s shield for me.*

  *Yes,* Quicksilver said. *I will.* For you, he wanted to add, but that was a blade’s boldness, to court a queen, and he had just enough sense not to speak so before the lords of the zenana.

  *Then we should attack,* Sky said, with a shrug of his shoulders. *My queen, we’ll never have a better chance.*

  *It will need more men than we can spare — maybe more than we have — to take the city,* Farseer said. *The Lanteans will resist, and they are well armed.*

  *It would be worth it if Atlantis is destroyed,* the Old One said.

  *My queen.* Quicksilver spoke without thinking, blinked at the scowls turned in his direction. *I don’t think we have to captur
e the city. I know a way to cripple it, and at the same time gain an advantage that will make us unstoppable.*

  Death looked at him, a long, level stare from golden eyes that made him want to duck his head in submission. Instead, he met her gaze, offering wordless service, and, slowly, she smiled.

  *If this is true,* she said, and looked at the blades surrounding her. *If this is true, we will most certainly act. Speak, cleverman.*

  Quicksilver took a breath. *My queen. There is a thing the Lanteans call a ZPM.*

  Chapter Seven

  Invasion

  The food line had closed a couple of hours ago, and the mess hall was quiet, just a few of the cooks tidying away the last leftovers and refilling the giant coffee urns. Someone would be on duty all night to keep them filled, William knew, and to make more sandwiches if there was a rush, but otherwise the huge room was almost empty. A young airman was filling a cardboard carrier — six coffees and six of the giant cookies that had appeared with Daedalus — and a couple of scientists were playing chess at a corner table. He was finding it hard to settle into a routine when no one was quite sure what to do with their new archeologist yet, and he’d hoped for conversation as well as coffee, so it was with relief that he spotted Eva Robinson making her way toward the tray of cookies. He had known her at the SGC, at least slightly, and besides, it was her job to provide support for Atlantis’s crew.

  “Dr. Robinson.”

  Her broad face lightened, and she set her cookie onto a small plate. She was drinking herbal tea, he saw, and thought again that he probably should have poured himself decaf.

  “Dr. Lynn. Nice to see you.”

  “And you,” William said. “I wondered where you’d gone after Colorado Springs.”

  “Someplace even more interesting,” she answered with a smile. “Care to join me?”

  “Thanks.”

  They found a table toward the window, where they could see the pale aurora, but far enough back that the cold didn’t radiate. It was surprising that the sound didn’t echo more in such a large and empty space, and William found himself scanning the ceiling to see if he could spot the sound baffles.