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

by Melissa Scott

  The battle was a tangled mess, the Hammond and the Pride of the Genii tangled with Queen Death's hive ships, while vertical to the elliptic Todd's fleet waited, stationary and uncommitted. Darts and 302s dove and fought, now and then one winking out, a life extinguished.

  We are in range of the Darts, the city said. Trajectories and speeds slid past, each piece of data rendering a possibility.

  But that wasn't what was happening. Two of the hives were accelerating, leaving the others to mix it up with the Hammond and the Pride, bearing for the city with all thrusters. One cruiser followed them, a half dozen 302s breaking off to stay on the cruiser's tail. Blue leader, the display provided. Mel. They were seriously burning fuel out there.

  The city showed him drones ready to launch, targeting enabled.

  Wait, John said. There were so few drones left. Every one had to count. None of them could be wasted on the Darts. They had to be for the hives, and the hives were not in optimal range. Wait.

  Somewhere, a headset spoke in his ear, General O'Neill in the control room. "Hammond, you need to break off and get back here."

  "Negative, we can't do that." Sam's voice, distant and tinny.

  "Repeat, disengage," O'Neill said. "Carter, it's time to get out of there."

  "Our 302s are not aboard."

  "We're hanging in there, sir." Lorne's voice.

  Come on, Lorne, John thought. Don't be a hero. Not today. But he wouldn't leave Carter, and she wasn't about to leave her 302s. Some of them must be getting close to the end of their fuel from so much close combat, and if they couldn't set down they'd be sitting ducks for the hives to pick off.

  "Crap, Carter," O'Neill said quietly, as though he didn't realize the channel was still open.

  John urged the city forward, massive thrusters firing. It was time to get in the action.

  "Atlantis is engaging," Franklin said. Unnecessarily, as Sam could see the city moving.

  "Stay with the cruiser," Sam said. "Keep us close and keep hitting it." The cruiser was trying to run, but it was too late. She could almost hear her father say, "Ride your kill, baby. Ride it right to the ground. You don't know it's out until you see it hit." He'd been talking about the F-102 Delta Dagger, not anything like the Hammond, but the principle was the same. Keep hitting it until it blows or you see a chute.

  Forward rail guns spoke again, driving heated metal across the vacuum, and the cruiser twisted. For a moment it seemed that it would fire again, but then thrusters flamed irregularly, twisting to get away, accelerating sideways to starboard, surely not a move the crew intended. It collided with the next cruiser, side crumpling as the other cruiser veered away.

  "That's it," Sam said. "Distance now."

  Chandler hit the retro thrusters as fast as possible, but the shock wave still tossed the Hammond as the cruiser blew, a cable blowing overhead as Sam held on to her chair. The other cruiser's skin held, but it was pelted with a shockwave of debris, pitting the surface and sending it spinning out of control.

  "One down, one damaged," Sam said. "Good work, people." She really wished Jacob had seen that.

  The cruiser blew in a silent fireball, the Hammond streaking past unscathed while the second cruiser fell off to the side, hull bleeding air and volatiles. Lorne saw it out of the corner of his eye even as he locked onto the tail of the remaining cruiser. That commander must have seen it too, and was distracted for a fatal second. Lorne bore in on it, lining up perfectly on the port side, all guns ready.

  "Now," Radim said, and the guns spoke, tearing through the cruiser's hull to release a burst of flame. A single gun spoke in answer, a kick beneath the Pride's belly, but the cruiser's pilot was diving away, trailing a plume of vapor. The cruiser heeled over further, too far, spinning toward the planet; lights flared irregularly along its sides, and the Pride assessed damage to the maneuver drives. It would spiral down to the planet unless its commander was very lucky or very good, and there were plenty of other things to do.

  "Bogey four is down," Lorne said, on the all-ships channel, and brought the Pride back to the fight.

  The city's sensors showed heavy damage to the second cruiser, external thrusters on one side crushed, adrift for all practical purposes. Okay, John thought. That evens it up a bit. The first hive was in range, the city eager to fire. Hang on, John thought. Wait for the shot. No need to hurry. Just take the best angle.

  The drones would do that, the city replied. The drones will correct.

  Which was true. All on that one hive, he said, and felt the drones stir in their cradles. Eight. Eight was optimal, all at once from four platforms, four and four 0.97 seconds behind.

  Fire.

  The drones streaked up, passing through Atlantis's shield and out, bright against the darkness, through the 302s without touching, their internal guidance systems golden.

  Eight solid hits.

  John felt the flare in the dark, the city's sensors registering up and down the electromagnetic spectrum. Critical hits, a plume of atmosphere, a plume of vapor. The hive dived vertical to the elliptic, falling out of the fight. Aboard, crew would be rushing to stabilize life support, the commander in ship trance overcome by a flood of pain.

  "Bogey number four is down," someone said in a distant place. Lorne. That was Lorne's voice on the comm, he realized. He was so deep in the city that it seemed strange to even remember that someone named John Sheppard sat in the chair, a headset against his ear.

  Jack paced from console to console, dividing his attention between the main tactical display and the individual systems, glaring at the screen as though he could move the numbers by sheer will. Light flared against the shield, a flash like a camera's across the control room, but the city barely shuddered: the Darts couldn't do a lot of damage on their own, but enough of them would eventually weaken even Atlantis's shields. One hive was falling back, still venting atmosphere and the occasional spurt of flame as something gave way inside the hull. The other hive was still coming, though, nosing left to curve around the base of the city, and the largest of the cruisers followed the Darts up and over the city. Sheppard launched drones, two for the cruiser, three for the hive; Jack counted three hits, but the others were decoyed away, confused by the swarming Darts. We need 302s, Jack thought, but they were back with Hammond and the Pride of the Genii, locked in close combat with Death's own hive. Carter was holding her own, but they needed to get out of there.

  And she would if she could, but if she couldn't recover the 302s, it wouldn't do Atlantis any good anyway. Jack glanced at the shield readings again, reassuringly steady around ninety percent. It would take time and numbers for the Darts to make a difference, but the Wraith definitely had the numbers. In the screen, the hive rolled into a turn, surprisingly nimble for something of its bulk, evading a drone that crashed instead into a Dart. More Darts formed up ahead of the hive, diving under the city's base, weapons blazing. The hive followed, its bigger guns targeting the same points, and he heard Zelenka swear under his breath.

  Atlantis shuddered, a heavy sustained rumble like an earthquake beneath his feet, and something exploded in the distance. Lights flared red on half a dozen consoles, and there was a sudden burst of chatter.

  "Crap," Jack said, but he knew better than to interrupt.

  "East Pier maneuver engine is off-line," someone said.

  "Yes, yes, I see that," Zelenka said. "Cross-circuit, please, see if you can route around –"

  "Not working, Doc."

  "Shields?" someone else called, and it was Airman Salawi who answered, her voice high but steady.

  "No breach. We were down to sixty percent, but the number's back up, eighty-nine and rising."

  "Copy that."

  "Patch into the secondaries," Zelenka said. "Yes, I know it won't take the full load, but it's better than nothing."

  There was a voice missing, Jack realized, and his heart skipped a beat. He touched his radio. "Sheppard?"

  "I'm here." Sheppard's answer was a hair slow, but other
wise he sounded all right. "Looks like we've lost a thruster."

  "I am working on that," Zelenka said. "We will get it back on line."

  "Sooner would be better," Sheppard said, his voice fading again.

  Jack glanced back at the tac display. "Looks like they're trying again, Sheppard."

  "I see it."

  In the weapons display, half a dozen drones rotated toward their silos, flaring to life at Sheppard's order. He launched them in pairs, not at the Darts but directly at the hive, two pairs slamming home against its nose before its pilot wheeled away, running for room as the third pair pursued, to hit at last harmlessly on the left flank. Jack nodded.

  "That ought to discourage them."

  "One would hope so." That was Woolsey, standing bolt upright behind the environmental station. He'd been paler when he faced the IOA, Jack thought, and had to admit the man had more guts than he'd expected. "Dr. Zelenka, what's our status?"

  Zelenka didn't answer for a moment, his head cocked to one side as he listened to something in his earpiece, but then he nodded. "Okay, keep trying. See if you can find a clear path from here." He swung in his chair so that he was facing Woolsey. "That last run overrode the shield or caused a superheated patch to form, we're not entirely sure which, but the result was an explosion in the East Pier maneuver drive. It's offline right now, and we are trying to reroute power to the system to see if we can restart it."

  "And if you can't?" Woolsey asked.

  Zelenka shrugged. "It's not good, but it's not terrible? We can compensate to some extent with the other engines, but we will not be making any fast course changes now. Not that we were that fast to begin with."

  "What about the hyperdrive?"

  "That is fine," Zelenka said. "We can still open a window, the city can still stand the stress, it's just – we're pretty much stuck on our current course." He put his hand to his ear again. "Ah. Okay, don't waste any more time, just get me the best diagnostic you can manage." He looked back at Woolsey. "It looks as though there is actual damage to the engine controller, not just to power conduits. It can be fixed, but we'll need to send a team down there to do it. Dr. Sommer has volunteered."

  Jack pursed his lips. That was risky as hell, even with the transport chambers to get them there and back in a hurry – always assuming the transport chambers kept working, which he wouldn't like to bet on. The East Pier was well outside the area that would be covered if Sheppard had to collapse the shield to save power: Dr. Sommer, whoever he was, had to be thinking about that, too. From the look on his face, Woolsey was making the same calculations.

  "All right," he said. "But –" He reached for his own radio. "Dr. Sommer, this is Woolsey. You have permission to attempt the East Pier repair, but if there is any problem here, we are going to pull you out. Is that clear?"

  Jack couldn't hear the answer, but Woolsey nodded. "Good luck, Dr. Sommer."

  Chapter Twenty

  Fire Ship

  The cruisers were beaten back, at least for now, but the hives were still coming, their fleet splitting to divide the city from its covering ships. Lorne spun the Pride through 360 degrees, twisting as he went, but the hive's fire still clipped the weakened port shields. He rolled left, presenting the ventral shield instead, and winced as another shot slammed home. This was not the flagship, the Pride whispered; Hammond was engaged with Death's ship, the two orbiting each other, struggling for position. Hammond was faster, but her guns were doing little damage so far, and her own shields were suffering. Maybe two of us, Lorne thought. If I can break Pride loose, hit Death's hive, it'll give Carter a break, and maybe two of us can do some real damage.

  The other hive swept in again, and he turned to meet it, presenting the strongest shields while Radim called the fire points. Blue light flamed across the hive's mottled skin, leaving scorch marks, but the damage was minimal. Lorne heeled away, and the Pride clamored alarm: too close to the damaged cruiser. Lorne winced as the shots struck home against his shields.

  That was enough to give the hive another shot, and Lorne arrowed under it, presenting dorsal shields. Radim called for massed fire as they passed, but to no avail. The hive heeled up and over, fighting for advantage, and the Pride shuddered again as more shots struck home. Sorry, Colonel, Lorne thought. He wasn't going to be able to help – he had his hands full with this hive already.

  The loss of the East Pier was like a stutter, the loss of a cylinder, a missed beat in the steady rhythm of the city's systems. John shifted in the chair, searching for a workaround, and felt the city interpret his movements, adjusting the other engines to compensate. Distantly, he could hear Zelenka explaining that the actual engine was damaged, and felt its absence like a missing tooth. They could maneuver, but it was clumsy, on the verge of overbalancing one way or another; better to stay on the present line, he thought, and try to get rid of the current attackers.

  The city agreed, offering trajectories, fire points; he dismissed the ones that targeted the Darts, lobbed another pair of drones at the hive. It, at least, was standing further off, apparently chastened, but the cruiser was still closing, following the Darts down. The city offered firing solutions, the changing vectors flicking through his fingers. Not yet, not yet, he thought. Three drones, ready in their silos.... They clicked into place, stones ready to throw, fireballs to launch like some comic book hero –

  Now, he thought, and the silos opened, the equations elegant on his skin, flicking the drones out into the night to meet the cruiser. Its pilot saw, swerved wildly, scattering Darts as they wheeled out of its path, but the drones kept coming, homing in on the weakness the city saw in the cruiser's frame. They hit, three strikes in quick succession, and the cruiser's hull gave way, fire eclipsing the stars. The shock wave rolled across the shield, shaking the city, but leaving no damage in its wake. John grinned, and felt the city's satisfaction echo his own.

  Atlantis was fully engaged now, maneuver engines glowing beneath the curve of the lower hull, shields protecting the fragile towers, sealing in the air. A swarm of Darts surrounded it, one of Death's hives following in their wake, and trails of light rose lazily from the central spire, swooped out to dot the hive with blooms of fire. Guide watched, outwardly impassive, but cold fear crawled along his spine. That was what he remembered from his youth, the Darts swarming even though they knew all but the luckiest would die: it was never skill that overwhelmed the Ancients' defenses, merely weight of numbers. Guide had been lucky then, and it was a lesson he would not forget.

  Hasten turned away from his console, and came to stand beside him, off hand brushing Guide's shoulder in private communication. He was almost as old as Guide, old enough to remember at least the blades' stories, cautionary tales whispered in the crèche, and he kept his eyes resolutely from the battle on the screen.

  “All our systems are at full readiness. If we were to attack now, we could overwhelm the Ancient city.”

  “And then what?” Guide glanced sideways, one corner of his mouth curling up in something like a smile, but he could tell Hasten was not deceived. "We cannot defeat Queen Death, not with what we have.”

  Hasten dipped his head. “No. But – it goes against my grain to see that city destroying our kin.”

  “She is not our kin,” Guide said, but the words lacked force. He shook his head, denying his own fears. The Lanteans were not the Ancients – John Sheppard was no Ancient, though he might carry their genetic marker. And why had he not acted by now? Surely he knew how desperate his situation was.

  “So she has said.” Hasten's tone was muted. “We should act, Commander.”

  “We wait,” Guide answered, and turned away from his touch.

  “Commander.” That was Precision, the other conversation unsensed, perhaps unnoticed. “Commander, if we were to send Darts in support of the Lanteans – surely that would not be too much.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Guide saw Alabaster cock her head, and answered before she could respond. “No. We had a bargain, which t
hey have not fulfilled. They are counting on us to be desperate, but we must play a longer game.”

  “If we don't back one side or the other,” Bonewhite said, “there will no longer be a game.”

  “And why should we back the Lanteans?” Ease demanded.

  “There can be no truce with Queen Death!” That was Ember, sharp and out of turn, and Alabaster bared teeth in a smile.

  “The cleverman speaks truth,” she said. “The bridge is burnt.”

  One of them was a traitor, Guide thought. Ember had warned him of the sabotage, shared his certainty that it was one of the council, and he believed Ember. Trusted Ember, though he had been betrayed by clevermen before. Bonewhite and Alabaster were waiting for him to speak, to make all right again, but he said nothing. Let the traitor act now, and Guide could deal with him – assuming always he did not have too many allies.

  Hasten hissed softly. “To join with the Lanteans –”

  “Is our only choice,” Alabaster said sharply. “And your queen's will!”

  “But only the queen's will,” Ease said.

  “And mine,” Guide said. He was almost sure now, Ease or Hasten or both together, and he shifted his weight, balancing on the balls of his feet.

  “You are not queen here,” Ease said. “Nor is your daughter.”

  Guide almost moved then, but he held his hand, knowing he would need full proof to keep the council on his side in Steelflower's absence. “Steelflower is queen,” he said, and saw Bonewhite shift uneasily. The Hivemaster knew the truth, of course – would he betray the fiction?

  “This is a fool's game,” Ease said. “I put it to you all, lords of the council. Guide has overreached – again! – and we are trussed to pay the price for his folly. Our queen is vanished, who knows where, and whatever plan was made with the Lanteans has fallen to pieces. We must join Queen Death – we have no choice but to join her – and if we join her now, while the outcome of this battle is in doubt, we may win her favor.”