SGA-21 - Inheritors - Book VI of the Legacy Series

by Melissa Scott

  Ember dipped his head, aware that she had not denied his suggestion. “I am sorry, Lady.”

  “Leave this to me.” She rose, her movements graceful, not martial as Steelflower's had been. “And if you find out more –”

  Ember rose in turn. “I will inform you at once, Lady,” he said, bowing, and retreated to the corridor. He should not feel lightened – but she was Guide's daughter, he reminded himself. That would count for something.

  Teyla heard the door slide shut behind Ember, but did not move from the queen's inner chamber until Alabaster appeared in the doorway.

  “You followed that,” she said. It was not a question, and Teyla nodded.

  “Yes.”

  Alabaster paced the length of the chamber and back, her pale gown hissing at her ankles. “You had no suspicions, I take it.”

  “None.” Teyla perched on the padded stool that Ember had vacated, drawing her knees up under her. She was desperately tired, but there was no time to sleep. “I knew that not everyone approved of Steelflower's policy, but I didn't think there was anyone who was bold enough to take action against her.”

  “Or against my father,” Alabaster said thoughtfully. “A man might find it easier to justify thus.”

  “Possibly.” Teyla watched her move. It reminded her of Rodney's cat, stalking back and forth between its humans, though at least Alabaster did not wail her discontents aloud as Newton did. “It changes things.”

  “It does.” Alabaster bared teeth. “It forces my hand, and his.”

  “It should not need saying, but this is not – cannot be – our doing.” Teyla spoke with a calm she did not entirely feel.

  There was a flash of surprise and then wry amusement. “That is so. Though it is undeniably to your advantage.” Alabaster collapsed abruptly into the queen's chair of bone, sprawling at her long-limbed ease where Steelflower had always been determinedly erect. “Tell me, what do you know of this cleverman?”

  “Ember.” Teyla pictured the banked strength of his mind. “Not as much as I might wish. As he said, he was not born to this hive, but came here after his own was destroyed. Guide recognized talent and promoted him.”

  “Is he reliable, I wonder?” Alabaster asked. “Or is he so clever that he finds shadows to worry him?”

  “That transmission is real enough,” Teyla answered. “And Guide trusts him.”

  “True.” Alabaster wound a strand of scarlet hair around her fingers, released it frowning. “If he is right, I believe we must move the fleet now – we should be underway before Death can send an attack against us here, and before her man can sabotage the hive and prevent us from reaching Atlantis in time. Yet my father has forbidden it, and for good reason.”

  She was careful not to let more than the ghost of a whisper of Hyperion's weapon to color her thoughts, and Teyla did the same. “That reason may be gone already, though I agree Guide would surely have contacted us were it so.”

  “I believe you do not wish to use it,” Alabaster answered. “Nor those who love you and wish you to live. But can you say as much for all the Lanteans?”

  Teyla sighed. “No. I cannot. But I can say that all of them will abide by our word once given.”

  “Or so they have always done in the past,” Alabaster murmured. “But. We will wait for that moment. And the fleet must move, and yet I do not have the authority to move it.”

  “You are queen,” Teyla said.

  “I am a queen,” Alabaster corrected. “This is Steelflower's hive, and Guide is her consort.”

  “Does not the judgment of a queen prevail?”

  “Do not teach me my duty,” Alabaster said, but without heat. “I know better than you who and where I may push. But the fact remains, Steelflower rules here, not I.”

  “And if Steelflower had greeted you with honor,” Teyla said slowly. A plan was taking shape in her mind, though it would depend on Alabaster's ability to sustain an imagined memory–

  “I am a daughter of Osprey, too,” Alabaster said, catching the edge of the thought. “I can do that much. Yes, if Steelflower had acknowledged me as sister, as she has done other younger queens – we could do something with that. Bonewhite knew me when I was a child, knows I am who I say I am, and if I say Steelflower has named me sister and ally – yes, I believe he will move the fleet, even against Guide's order.”

  Teyla held out her hand. “You have seen me in others' minds, but take what you need from me.”

  Alabaster took it in her off hand. “Thank you.” She gave a wry smile. “We may make this work after all, in spite of my father's scheming.”

  “Guide has done his best by his people,” Teyla said, and was surprised to find she meant it. “And that best has been very good indeed.”

  Radek stepped carefully through the hatch that led to the Hammond's port weapons control system, three large cups of coffee in his hands. The front panel of the main console had been removed, and rested against the far bulkhead; cables snaked across the floor, the thick ones that carried temporary power and the multi-colored cables that connected laptops and Asgard devices to the internal systems. Miko Kusanagi backed out of the console, holding her finger to her lips. Radek stopped, tipping his head to one side, and she nodded to her right. Radek looked where she was pointing, and saw the young German plasma beam expert asleep on the floorplates, tucked into the corner between the larger display panel and the console itself. Miko had covered him with her jacket – a bit ridiculous, considering that Sommer had to be 185 centimeters, and the outspread jacket barely reached from his shoulder to his waist, but that was Miko for you. Radek set Sommer's coffee carefully on the console, and Miko stood to take hers.

  "He was falling asleep on his feet," she said softly. "So I told him to lie down for a bit, until we finish this diagnostic. We don't need him for that."

  "No," Radek agreed, and took a sip of his own coffee. He'd put in extra sugar and cream, as much for the energy as to cut the taste of the Hammond's very American brew, and tried to tell himself he could feel new energy coursing through him. What he really felt was exhausted, but he wouldn't let himself acknowledge that. "How are we coming?"

  "I had to reconnect the secondary cable," Miko said. "Unfortunately, the original port was damaged, and has not yet been replaced, and I don't believe we have time to do that now."

  "Indeed not," Radek said, and she nodded, smiling.

  "So unfortunately I haven't yet started the diagnostic. But now that you are here, perhaps you –?"

  "No, go ahead," Radek said. He glanced at the young man asleep in the corner. He looked like a teenaged boy, with his too-long brown hair straggling over his collar, too young to have much stubble even now. "And we can let Dr. Sommer sleep a little longer."

  "Yes," Miko said, approvingly. She leaned over her laptop, calling up the program. "And the diagnostic is running."

  It would take at least twenty minutes, and more likely half an hour, and Radek leaned against the bulkhead on the opposite side of the room. After a moment, Miko came to perch on the edge of the console opposite him.

  "Perhaps you should also take some sleep?"

  "I'll sleep later," Radek said. "The Wraith can wake me up if they need to kill me."

  Miko blinked, and then put her hand over her mouth to hide a silent laugh. "Of course we who are older need less sleep."

  "That may be true," Radek said. "Though I never thought I would get used to the idea of sleeping through an impending invasion."

  "Nor did I," Miko said. She smiled again, but her eyes were sad. "Do you remember the first time, when they said we could send a message to our families?"

  "Yes." Radek gave her a careful look. "Do you wish Mr. Woolsey had done it this time?"

  "No." She shook her head. "The situation is different, those who wish to can send emails and the like – there will be databursts going out until the last possible moment, I'm sure. It's not necessary, not the way it was then."

  "No." Radek wrapped both hands around h
is cup of coffee, and let himself slide down until he was sitting on the floorplates. He hadn't realized until he was down just how much his legs had been hurting, and he put his cup aside to massage the muscles of his calves.

  Miko made a small sound, almost of disapproval. "You should let me do that, Dr. Zelenka."

  Radek looked up at her, small and pale with exhaustion, her hair finally fraying from its tight bun, her glasses smudged. "I think I can take care of myself, Dr. Kusanagi." He smiled to take any hint of rejection from the words. "And anyway, I suspect you are in no better shape."

  She hesitated, and then sighed. "I am very tired."

  "It's very late."

  Miko nodded. "I only – I hope we can finish. There is still so much to be done."

  "We'll do everything we can," Radek said. "That's all we can do."

  "Yes."

  She was silent then, staring at her coffee, and Radek tipped his head back against the wall. His eyes ached, but he knew that if he closed them he would fall asleep where he sat, and unlike Sommer he wasn't young enough to wake fast and refreshed.

  "I have been thinking," Miko said, and Radek looked up gratefully. "If I were to send such a message again, I think I would speak more of what I had seen, and not so much about my work."

  Radek nodded. He had tried that, though he suspected that young Lieutenant Ford had erased the message as soon as it was made – even knowing better, he had had to try, to say something about the miracle that was this city, Atlantis rising from the waves to save them all. "We have seen marvels," he said, and Miko nodded.

  "I do not regret this."

  "No more do I." And it was true, Radek thought, whatever happens.

  The laptop chimed softly, and Miko looked over alertly. "Ah. The program is finished."

  Radek hauled himself to his feet, seeing half a dozen flashing notices – worse than he'd hoped, better than he'd feared – and crossed the compartment to shake Sommer's shoulder. "Wake up, please, Dr. Sommer."

  "Ja, ja." The boy sat up, shaking himself like a large damp dog, and came to join them.

  "So," Radek said. "Let us get to work."

  There were doughnuts in the conference room, four enormous trays tented in plastic wrap and obviously brought straight through from the SGC mess hall. And not just plain doughnuts, but the full assortment, frosted ones with sprinkles, chocolate, coconut-covered, and even jelly-filled. John grabbed two of the ones that oozed dark red jelly, then succumbed to temptation and took a third. If he was going to suffer through another meeting, he was at least going to have his share of the treats. Further down the table, Carter was already halfway through her first doughnut, one hand cupped to catch falling sprinkles, and the new Marine major from SG-5 was polishing off the first of four chocolate. Only Woolsey seemed not to be taking advantage of the unexpected bounty. John slid into a seat next to Zelenka – who had just finished something cream-filled, by the marks on his plate – and tried to deal with the jelly discreetly.

  Zelenka gave him a wry look. "I hope this is not a bad sign, this breakfast."

  "I try not to think too much about it," John answered, and wiped a blob of jelly off his chin. Zelenka looked like hell, red-eyed and disheveled, but he seemed more cheerful than John would have expected. The engineer smiled.

  "I have left Dr. Lee's team to get on with the Hammond. I think we will be in good shape there –"

  He broke off as Woolsey cleared his throat, and John stuffed the last of the second donut in his mouth and tried to look attentive.

  "As most of you know," Woolsey began, "we started evacuating the infirmary last night, and are on schedule to begin the evacuation of non-essential personnel. Thanks to Dr. Gupta and Dr. Miller, we have completed the first download of key data to the SGC, and will be following that with three more transmissions timed to make use of the Stargate when it is already open for personnel transfers. We have also received further support from the SGC, and I would like to acknowledge both Dr. Lee and his team, and Major Holmes and SG-5 and SG-18."

  He nodded to the Marine major, who managed to respond with dignity despite the mouthful of donut.

  "Dr. Keller, if you could provide an update on the status of the infirmary transfers, please?"

  John glanced down the table. Keller was looking better than he expected, in her Atlantis jacket instead of scrubs, her hair damp from the shower, and her voice was firm when she answered.

  "The most serious cases were transferred to the SGC last night, and the last of the minor cases as well as personnel with conditions that would endanger them should they remain on the city will be going through the Stargate with the 7 AM group. Dr. Beckett and I are still looking at seven cases where we believe the individuals should be evacuated, but the person in question doesn't agree, and we'll have final decisions before the 9 AM transfer."

  Zelenka leaned forward. "I know we have spoken about this, Dr. Keller, but there are key personnel on that list."

  "Yes, Dr. Zelenka, but I can't let them stay if they are likely to do themselves harm." Keller looked down the table at General O'Neill. "Or if they're not going to be able to fight."

  "It's your call, Doctor," O'Neill said, mildly enough, and Zelenka shrugged agreement.

  "Very good," Woolsey said, but Keller kept talking, folding her hands tightly on the tabletop.

  "There's one other thing I wanted to bring up, and that's the retrovirus. The one that we've been working on that keeps the Wraith from killing people when they feed. Dr. Beckett and I have an experimental version which has worked, in the one trial we've made of it." She took a deep breath. "It's not hard to make, now that we know how, and Dr. Beckett and I – we thought it might be worth offering people the option of taking it."

  There was a confused murmur of response around the table, and John sat up straighter. He'd known about the retrovirus, of course – Rodney had only survived his transformation back to a human being because he'd been able to feed on Keller without killing her, and he knew that Alabaster had brought some of the humans from her planet to test the serum – but he'd thought the side effects were too severe to risk in any kind of larger trial. "I thought –"

  He stopped, realizing that everyone was looking at him, and O'Neill said, "Go on, Colonel."

  John chose his words with care. "It was my understanding that the side effects were – at best – pretty serious."

  Keller nodded. "That's possible. Dr. Beckett and I think we've modified the retrovirus in such a way that it won't cause as severe a reaction as it did when I took it – and that included convulsions and a ten-hour coma – but it hasn't been tested as anything except a computer simulation."

  "But it works?" That was the Marine Major, Holmes, his eyes narrowed.

  "It worked on me," Keller said. "And the simulations say it should work on everyone. But that's the problem, Major. It hasn't been tested on a wider sample, and right now there isn't time."

  "What do you think the side effects are likely to be?" Carter asked.

  "We think –" Keller emphasized the second word. "We think that it's likely to be headache and nausea and maybe dizziness, plus pain at the injection site. Possibly fever."

  "Which sounds debilitating enough," Carter said.

  "And that's why I'm bringing it up now," Keller said. "The Wraith are still some eighteen hours away – there's just barely time to take the retrovirus and let it take hold before they get here."

  "If you're right about the symptoms and their duration," O'Neill said. He shook his head. "Carter?"

  The colonel looked at her hands. "I don't know, sir. Yes, it's protection, but – I don't like the risks."

  "Holmes?"

  The Marine didn't answer for a long moment, rubbing his impeccably shaved chin. "If we had more time – I'm with the Colonel, General. I don't think it's worth it."

  "I agree," O'Neill said. "Sorry, Dr. Keller. It's too late to try it now."

  "At least let me make it available to civilian personnel," Keller said. "
The side effects don't matter so much there."

  "Except for critical personnel," O'Neill answered. "But that's Mr. Woolsey's call."

  Woolsey shot him a look that should have melted steel. "I'm afraid I have to agree with General O'Neill. I don't think we can risk losing key personnel to side effects at this point. I am certainly willing to let you make the shot available to others, but I will personally recommend against taking it."

  "All right, then," Keller said. She pressed her lips together, but said nothing more. A year ago, she would have argued, John thought. Two years ago, she wouldn't have tried to push it through at all.

  Woolsey glanced at his notes. "Next – Dr. Zelenka, if you'd give us an update on Queen Death's fleet."

  "Yes, of course," Zelenka answered.

  John tuned him out and reached for his last donut. He'd looked at the scanners before he'd come to the briefing, and he didn't need to hear the details again. Queen Death was on her way, the fleet getting closer every hour. They'd be within range in a little more than eighteen hours, with half a dozen hives and an equal number of cruisers and support craft: no matter how you sliced it, it wasn't good.

  Maybe they did need the retrovirus to give them the advantage – except that if it went wrong, they'd have put their own side out of action, worse than shooting yourself in the foot. Once this was all over, well, with a bit of luck there'd be a chance to test it properly, and then.... Would he want to take it? He didn't know. On the one hand, to know that he wasn't going to die like so many of his men – that he was never going to end up like Sumner, withered to a skeleton. He remembered all too clearly what it had felt like when Todd stole his life, left him gasping like a stranded fish. The shock of life returned was almost as bad, a tangle of fear and anger and gratitude, and a rush of strength and vitality that left him almost weeping with relief. Yeah, maybe he'd do it, so he never had to feel that again. Though if the Wraith could never kill you.... He suppressed a shudder, the picture all too clear. You could hang in a feeding cell forever, death an unattainable mercy.

  Zelenka had stopped speaking, and John looked up quickly, hoping he hadn't missed anything important.