“I don't know what that was,” he said quietly. “But I'm grateful that you told me.”
Blackiron bowed, accepting the acknowledgement of debt between them.
“Keep this evidence safe for the Commander,” Ember said. “And I –” Will what? If this wasn't Bonewhite, wasn't the Commander, it was evidence of a possible spy on board. And if there was one spy, how was he to know who could be trusted? “I will deal with it,” he said, firmly, and hoped he could make it true.
Richard Woolsey let the door of his office close behind him, cutting off the murmur and hurry of the gateroom. He'd been meeting with Ladon Radim off and on since that morning, and he was beginning to feel the need for a moment's quiet thought. Radim was still politely adamant that he would not send for the Pride of the Genii without a sample of the ATA gene therapy, and now Hyperion's weapon was missing. The Wraith weren't happy about that, and Woolsey couldn't really blame them. If he were in Guide's place, he wouldn't believe them either.
But that was O'Neill's problem for the moment. Right now, he needed to get Radim off Atlantis and headed home to collect the Pride of the Genii before he heard anything about a missing weapon and figured out what that weapon did. In fact – Woolsey stopped abruptly. Surely it was impossible for the Genii to have had anything to do with the missing weapon. Radim himself had been in the conference room since he came through the Stargate, and the Marines had been watching his guards and the spy. Or at least they were supposed to have been. He glanced quickly at his watch, and touched his radio.
"Major Lorne."
"Sir?" Lorne's voice was wary, as well it might be.
"I need you to confirm for me that the rest of the Genii – Mr. Radim's escort and the messenger – have been under observation since they came through the gate."
"Yes, sir," Lorne said. "I'm still trying to coordinate the search of the city –"
"This needs to take priority," Woolsey said firmly, and could almost hear the snick of teeth as Lorne closed his mouth over further protest.
"Yes, sir," he said again. "I'll let you know as soon as possible."
"Thank you," Woolsey said. Unfortunately, it didn't entirely solve the problem. If the Genii had an agent in the city – it was admittedly unlikely, but couldn't entirely be ruled out – then someone could have gotten them the weapon, or be waiting to give it to them before they left. And that had to be prevented. He glanced again at the shelf of books he'd brought with him from Earth, the books that he had carried with him through hundreds of postings, stories of heroes to remind him that, while he himself was not a hero and never would be, nonetheless actions mattered. As did decisions. He needed Radim's cooperation, and he couldn't afford to let him get access to any Ancient technology, never mind Hyperion's weapon: how to arrange both?
The radio clicked, and he touched his earpiece. "Woolsey."
"Lorne here, sir. My men confirm that the Genii escort has been under direct observation the entire time they've been in the city. No one has seen anything out of the ordinary."
"Thank you, Major," Woolsey said, and Lorne cut the connection without further comment. Heading back to the search, Woolsey knew, but he would not feel guilty for distracting him. There was more to deal with here than just finding Hyperion's weapon.
He looked out into the control room again. If Radim and the Genii were somehow involved in the weapon's disappearance, they hadn't gotten it in hand yet. And that meant they probably weren't involved and had no idea the thing existed, and his job should be to get them out of Atlantis before they found out anything more. But he needed to be sure before they left that they weren't carrying the thing....
Naquadah. The weapon's casing was naquadah, and there was such a thing as a naquadah detector. The Genii party could be scanned in the gateroom before they went through – for that matter, they could be scanned now, in the conference room, and no one would be the wiser. He waved his hand at the door and walked back into into the control room.
"Dr. Zelenka."
Zelenka looked up sharply, and came out from behind his console. "More troubles?"
"Not exactly." Woolsey tipped his head toward the redundant stations at the end of the row of consoles, empty now while the scientists concentrated on the sensor suite, and Zelenka followed, his frown deepening. "I need a word with you."
"And I am here."
"I need you to scan the Genii party for traces of naquadah," Woolsey said. "I understand the limitations on the process, but surely that room doesn't contain undue amounts? And I need to be certain that – however unlikely it seems – Ladon Radim has not gotten his hands on the missing item."
Zelenka pursed his lips. "Yes. Yes, I think I can do that. There is always naquadah, of course, that's been our problem, but I believe I can discount that, at least in that volume." He paused. "And before you ask, that is why we cannot find this object by scanning the city. If we knew where to look, that would be different, but not knowing –"
"I understand," Woolsey said, and Zelenka adjusted his glasses.
"Yes, sorry. Give me moment." He turned back to the bank of screens, said something quiet to one of the airmen, who promptly gave up his seat. Woolsey moved quietly to look over his shoulder, though the images that flashed across the screen were mostly unfamiliar. He recognized a tower schematic, and then something that seemed to be the plan of the conference rooms, but most of the code was in Ancient. The schematic reappeared, a green dot swelling until it seemed to fill an entire section or corridor. A chime sounded, and the light vanished.
"Well," Zelenka said, swinging away from the console. "That is your answer. There is no more than a normal trace of naquadah in those rooms."
"Thank you, Dr. Zelenka," Woolsey said, and took a deep breath. This was the hard part, the judgment call, and regardless of advice, the decision was his alone. "General O'Neill, it's Woolsey. I need a quick word with you. In person."
There was a moment of silence, and then O'Neill said, "We were just about to take a break – not for snacks. I'll meet you."
Woolsey straightened his jacket, not for the first time wishing for the armor of a proper suit and tie, and made his way toward the main conference room. O'Neill was there ahead of him, of course, leaning one shoulder against the wall, head cocked to one side as he listened to Major Lorne. He looked up alertly at Woolsey's approach, and Lorne broke off.
"Any news?" Woolsey asked.
Lorne shook his head. "Sorry, sir." He looked back to O'Neill. "If you'll excuse me, sir?"
"Actually," Woolsey said, "this is something that concerns you, Major. If you don't mind."
"That doesn't sound good," O'Neill said. Lorne looked as though he wanted to agree, but regulations kept him silent.
"We are very nearly at an impasse with Mr. Radim," Woolsey said, "as well as with the Wraith. And I believe we need to remove the Genii from Atlantis as quickly as possible for – well, reasons that I know you both understand. Mr. Radim is demanding a sample of the gene therapy that activates a recessive copy of the ATA gene before he will order the Pride of the Genii to join our fight. And, although the ATA gene seems to be vanishingly rare in the Pegasus Galaxy, it does exist. Also — Mr. Radim has obtained a sample of the ATA gene in the past, though we don’t know if his technicians have been able to isolate it well enough to use in the gene therapy."
"He's bluffing," O'Neill said.
"Maybe," Woolsey said. "But we don't have the time to find out."
O'Neill grimaced. "You're not seriously proposing that we give them the therapy –"
"Neither Dr. Keller nor Dr. Beckett think the Genii will be able to rework our technique to allow them to insert an artificial ATA gene," Woolsey said. "Nor do they think the recessive is significantly more common than the expressed gene. I think it's more important to get them out of here and bringing a warship to our aid than to stonewall on this. I would like to offer them access to the therapy and a volunteer who could pilot the ship for them."
"That's a lot to
ask," O'Neill said.
"I know." Woolsey met his gimlet stare squarely. "I don't believe we have another choice."
The silence stretched between them, and at last Lorne's cane scraped on the floor as he straightened further.
"General O'Neill. I volunteer, sir."
"That's not required, Major," O'Neill said. "I'm aware you have a history with the Genii –"
"Yes, sir." Lorne stood very straight. "But that's not going to matter at all if we can't get their ship to join us. And – I have flown an Ancient warship before. The Orion."
"All right," O'Neill said. "But you're not going alone. Pick a team, technicians, Marines in support, and I'll agree."
"Yes, sir," Lorne said again.
O'Neill glared at Woolsey. "And you can explain the situation to Mr. Radim."
"Yes," Woolsey said, his voice dry. "That would be my job."
Chapter Seven
Homeward Bound
They came through the gate into a cool and sunny afternoon, the sort of chill that Lorne associated with mid-spring or the middle of the autumn. The trees around the Stargate were tall and deep green, probably coniferous, unfamiliar and of no use in guessing the season. Not that it mattered, Lorne thought, but it would have been nice to know.
Radim had a heavy transport waiting, and they all climbed aboard, Cadman and her Marine contingent unobtrusively taking the controlling positions. Not that he really expected trouble, since he was fairly sure that the Genii weren't going to sacrifice the few scientists and military personnel who had trained to fly their warship, but it made him feel a little more secure. From the rigid lack of expression on Cadman's face, it made her feel better, too.
It took them just over an hour to reach the valley where the Ancient warship was waiting. It looked as though Radim's people had done a good job with the repairs, Lorne thought, surveying the solid mass of the hull. Yes, you could see where patches had been made, and probably the actual control elements were more jury-rigged than not, but at least it looked as though it would stand up to vacuum. He glanced at Dr. Campbell, and Campbell met his eyes with a smile and a tiny shrug. You didn't have to be a mind reader to know what that meant – we'll see once we get aboard – and Lorne concentrated on getting himself up the steep gangway to the ship's control room. His leg was better than it had been, but steep angles still caused the healing muscles to twinge painfully.
Radim's sister Dahlia was waiting in the control room, supervising a team of scientists who seemed to be activating the last of the ship's systems. She turned at their entrance, and Radim nodded a greeting.
"Dahlia. May I present Major Lorne, Captain Cadman, and Dr. Campbell? Mr. Woolsey has sent them to assist us with the Pride of the Genii."
"A pleasure, Major," Dahlia said. She was taller than her brother, and fair-haired, with deep shadows under her eyes. "I do not believe we met before –"
She stopped then, color flooding her face, and Lorne fought to keep his face impassive. No, they most certainly hadn't met, because she'd been sent to Atlantis as a hostage when her brother had kidnapped Lorne and the rest of his team – but there was no point in mentioning that. "I don't think so, ma'am," he said, in his most neutral voice, and Dr. Campbell cleared her throat.
"With all respect, ma'am, gentlemen, we don't have much time here."
"No," Dahlia said, and sounded faintly relieved. "We do not."
"Major Lorne is the one with the Ancient gene," Radim said, and she nodded.
"Then I will leave you here to accustom yourself to the controls, and I will take Dr. Campbell to the engine room so she can see what we have had to do to make the repairs."
"Excellent," Campbell answered.
"Sergeant Garces," Cadman said. "Go with Dr. Campbell."
Lorne nodded. "Sergeant Garces is a technical specialist," he said, to Radim.
The Genii leader nodded in turn, though Lorne doubted he was believed. "And in the meantime – I believe Dahlia is right, it would be well if you were to familiarize yourself with the controls."
"Yes, sir," Lorne said, wooden-faced, and settled himself in the control chair. Someone had already initialized the systems – Sheppard, presumably, when he retrieved the ship for them in the first place – and only a couple of boards remained dark. Lorne frowned, and a Genii technician looked over his shoulder.
"Those systems were damaged beyond our ability to repair them," he said. "If we had more time, or more of the proper equipment –"
"But we don't," Radim said. His voice was brisk, but not hostile, and the technician spread his hands in silent acceptance.
"What do those systems do?" Lorne asked.
"One is the monitoring system for the cargo space," the technician answered. "It seems to be redundant – we can get the same information on the general interior scan. That one is the manual override for the environmental system."
That didn't sound good. Only long service with the SGC kept Lorne from saying that aloud. Besides, as Radim had already pointed out, there wasn't much they could do about it anyway. He nodded instead, and turned his attention to the controls.
He had had basic training on several different types of Ancient ship, and the Avenger – Pride of the Genii, he reminded himself, though the ship itself was slow to answer to its new name – fell into familiar categories. By the time Campbell returned, talking a mile a minute while Dahlia nodded, Lorne was confident he could handle her under battle conditions. He said as much to Radim, who nodded.
"I'm glad to hear it, Major. How soon can you be ready to launch?"
Lorne glanced at the boards. All the essential systems were either green or dead, and he shrugged slightly. "Whenever you're ready, Mr. Radim."
Radim looked at his sister. "If you'd clear the noncombatants off the ship –"
"Yes." Dahlia moved to a device hanging from the nearest bulkhead and began speaking into it, ordering the technical staff to finish any last minute work and clear the ship.
Lorne tuned her out, concentrating on the controls. Avenger was coming to life under his hands, systems waking, power beginning to flow. Everything seemed normal, and he was aware suddenly of the two Radims standing close behind his chair.
"You'll go with them," Radim said quietly.
"And will you?" Dahlia asked.
"I'm staying with the ship."
"That's folly."
"I have no choice," Radim said. "But there's no need for you to be here. I had in mind to leave you in charge if anything happens."
"If we lose this fight," Dahlia said, "it's unlikely the Genii state will survive. And if it did, they will not follow a woman. I'm more use to you here. But you don't have to be here. Chief Cowan –"
"I'm not Cowan," Radim said. "Or Kolya. Or any of the other leaders we've seen in our lifetimes. But none of them were afraid to fight. I have to be here. You know that."
"Yes," Dahlia said, after a moment. "Well, it's simpler that way."
"That, too," Radim said, and turned away.
Well, Lorne thought, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the controls. That – wasn't entirely encouraging, really. But he'd known the score when he volunteered. "Mr. Radim?"
"Yes, Major?" The Genii leader stood ramrod straight, fighting for every inch of height.
"We're ready to lift."
"Ground reports all nonessential personnel are off the ship and accounted for," another technician reported, one hand to his heavy earpiece.
"Very well." Radim drew a deep breath. "Raise ship, Major Lorne."
"Yes, sir." Lorne rested his hands on the controls, feeling the ship respond to the touch, sensing the genetic makeup of the Ancients. He could feel the ship's presence at the back of his mind, as though a sleeper woke, and he urged it on, rewarding each new evidence of awareness with as much attention as he could give. The engines rumbled, a sound too deep to be heard, felt through the floorplates and deep in the marrow of his bones; he felt the inertial dampeners establish their fields before the boards lit, press
ed both hands gently into the yielding control surface. The Pride of the Genii groaned deep in her core, and rose.
"We have launch," a technician reported, somewhere in the distance, and the screens with the live feed from the hull-mounted cameras darkened rapidly from blue to black.
Lorne felt the moment they reached orbit, velocity and mass settling into a pressure he could feel tingling in the palms of his hands, and he made himself focus enough to look at Radim. "We're in orbit, Mr. Radim."
"Thank you, Major," Radim said. "Take us to Atlantis."
Atlantis. The ship knew that name, secondary and tertiary systems coming to singing life. Atlantis, Lorne agreed, watching the grid form and reform around him, hyperspace calculations streaming past as though blown by wind. He could feel the ship's memory banks calling up images of the towers, matched them with his own memories, tropical sky and snow, but always the towers shining against the sea: Atlantis. Home. They leaped into the dark.
Guide paced the length of the conference room, careful still to keep more than an arm's length from any of the humans. There was nothing to be gained by baiting them, though he was beginning to think that there was also nothing to be gained by remaining here. He couldn't blame Carter's consort for trying to keep Hyperion's weapon – Guide could make the calculations himself, and could see just how O'Neill would think it was worth the risk, because none of them could stand alone against Queen Death. But neither could he leave his people still facing the risk of the weapon, no matter how reluctant the Lanteans might be to use it now. They were short-lived, and their children and grandchildren might well see the problem in a different light.
He glanced at Alabaster, now curiously examining one of the small cakes with pink tops that the Lanteans had brought several hours ago. She sniffed it, then took a wary taste, her nose wrinkling as though she were trying to decide if she actually liked it. He remembered that expression from her childhood, when she had been fond of the sweetest fruits, and for a moment the memory threatened to overwhelm him, the favorites of the zenana at ease in the chamber behind the formal gathering place, leaning against Snow's chair while she and the Hivemaster played at tables, while her two favorite clevermen vied to offer treats to Alabaster. She'd just been walking then, so small that she ricocheted from chair to knee and back, giggling and tugging at sleeves and skirts of coats until blade or cleverman lifted her. Spark had brought a stalk of melos from the world where they had last Culled, and Alabaster crowed with delight as she sucked on them, her thoughts filled with the honey-sweet taste of the fruit. Seeker had brought snap-rose, and she stuck the blossoms solemnly in his beard, where they nipped at his chin and drove Snow to snorting undignified laughter.... Dead, all dead, except for himself and Alabaster, and Darling was older now than she had been then.
SGA-21 - Inheritors - Book VI of the Legacy Series Page 8
