STARGATE ATLANTIS: Lost Queen (SGX-04)

by Melissa Scott

  He felt reluctant agreement from Blaze and Everlasting, and something like approval from Salt. The Young Queen nodded. “Unmistakably so.”

  “And there is no sign that our queen has been there,” Forge said “or you would have said so already.”

  “That is also true,” the Young Queen said, serenely.

  “At least no one left alive knows about any Wraith attack,” Sheppard said. “Now, it seems to me that your queen might have sneaked up and grabbed a snack, and no one who knew about it has survived…”

  “If that were so, you would have found the body,” Forge said. “And I do not believe you didn’t look.”

  Sheppard grinned. “As it happens, we did. And, no, we didn’t find anyone who’d been sucked dry. Now whether that’s good news or bad news — you tell me.”

  Forge tipped his head to one side, considering. “I would call it good news. And also evidence that we did not cause this plague. If illness had caused the crash, our queen and any other survivors would have come here to feed and restore themselves, and, yes, transmission between Wraith and human is always possible, though to be avoided for obvious reasons. But if they did not come here — either they are dead in the wreck, which is still possible, or they went elsewhere, and we must find them.”

  The brief amusement drained from Sheppard’s face. “Yeah. Back to the ship.”

  It was a long walk back to the site of the wreck, through a scrubby forest that smelled sharply of resin. They were higher than Forge had realized at first, and he felt his lungs labor from the altitude as they climbed the first slope, until his body adjusted to the new conditions. He glanced at the others, and Blaze gave him a wry smile.

  *We will adapt.*

  *Have adapted,* Everlasting corrected, without heat, and Forge felt Blaze’s pulse of amusement. He had forgotten how much he had once liked Moonwhite’s consort, when they had all been young together on Edge’s hive. Salt smiled as though he’d caught the thought, and Forge glanced at him.

  *And you? Are you well?*

  *I am old, not decayed,* Salt answered, and Forge felt the blood rise in his cheeks.

  *No offense was meant.*

  *And none taken,* Salt said, with just enough surprise that Forge thought he was sincere. He paused, lifting his head to test the air. *We are close, I think.*

  Forge took a deep breath, and grimaced at the taste of shell and metal and dead flesh. *Yes —*

  “There,” Everlasting said aloud, and pointed.

  Ahead, several of the trees had been snapped in half, the jagged ends of the broken trunks still weeping beads of sap, and a tangle of tree tops lay across their path. They climbed cautiously around the mess, and emerged into another, smaller clearing that ended abruptly in a barren slope so steep as to be very nearly a cliff. The scout was crumpled against it, the right forward quadrant crushed into the rising ground. The hull was torn open on that side, and along the belly, and trails of fluid ran from the broken skin to puddle unpleasantly in the mud.

  *The hatch is open,* Blaze said, incandescent relief in his tone, and started forward.

  “Hang on,” Sheppard said, and the Marines cocked their weapons, the sound loud in the still air.

  “The hatch,” Blaze repeated aloud. “Someone survived.”

  “Yeah, but are they friendly?” Sheppard gave his uneasy smile.

  “Quite possibly not,” Forge said, and put himself between Blaze and the ship. “But if there is anyone alive aboard, they will be more friendly to us than to you. And if one of our kin is wounded, they are likely to feed first and ask questions later.”

  “That is true,” the Young Queen said, with a glance at Sheppard, and Ronon shook his head.

  “One of us should go with them.”

  Sheppard bit his lip. “You —” He pointed to Salt. “You stay here. Ronon, Casey, go with the rest of them.”

  “That is fair,” Forge said, fixing his eyes on Blaze, and the consort nodded reluctantly.

  *Very well.*

  Blaze led the way into the broken hull, Everlasting on his heels, and Forge followed more slowly. The humans came behind them, muttering at the darkness, and there was a flash as they switched on lights. Everlasting gave them an annoyed glance, but Blaze caught his sleeve.

  *Forward first.*

  *Yes,* Everlasting agreed, and they made their way deeper into the broken hull.

  The scout was small, designed for speed over short distances, and the living quarters were merely adequate, narrow chambers not distinguished by any special markings. Even the one that must have been intended for the queen was bare and plain, only the larger nest and the broken coils of what had been a fountain to mark it as special.

  *There are no goods here,* Everlasting said. *No belongings.*

  *She would not have brought much,* Blaze answered, his tone bleak. *It means nothing.*

  Forge opened the single storage unit nonetheless, and found it empty, with no sign that it had ever contained anything.

  *It means nothing,* Blaze said again, and led them further along the central corridor.

  The damage was worse as they approached the control room, and the air smelled of smoke and death. Forge bared his teeth unhappily, and behind him he heard the Marine break out in a fit of coughing.

  “What died?” Ronon demanded, and Forge glanced over his shoulder.

  “The ship is dead.” He grimaced as another scent struck him. “But also —”

  “The pilot is dead,” Blaze said, from the entrance to the control room. The touch of his mind was bleak as he continued. *Flame — my brother that I brought with me to my queen’s hive.*

  Everlasting hissed softly, and pulled the other blade gently aside. Forge slipped past them both to enter the control room, stepping carefully over broken floor plates and exposed conduit, shattered screens and consoles that bore the marks of fire. The pilot, Flame, had fallen forward at his post, lay draped over the controls, his hair clotted with blood. The smell of death was strong, but Forge mastered himself enough to touch the corpse, feeling for the life-points. Flame had been dead for some days — killed in the crash, from the wound that caved in his high forehead. Forge winced, and wiped his hands on the skirts of his long coat. There was no sign of Moonwhite or any other of her men.

  *What can you find?* Everlasting asked from the door.

  Forge turned slowly, looking for an undamaged console. The navigation station was least touched, its screen merely cracked rather than destroyed, and he ran his hands along the edge of the console, feeling for any residual power. There was none: if any part of Nimble had survived the crash, it hadn’t lasted long. He reached into the pockets of his coat and found an emergency power cell, fitted it into the clips beneath the console. The screen flickered weakly, displayed a cascade of symbols, and froze.

  *The main computer is dead,* he said, scanning the symbols that were already beginning to fade. *This is the crash data — there was some emergency, they were looking for a landing site, and this was the first they found.*

  *What caused the emergency, can you tell?* Blaze pushed past Everlasting, and came to join him, wincing as he saw the extent of his brother’s injuries. *Was there a problem with the ship?*

  *I can’t tell,* Forge answered, and looked around again. There were no other undamaged consoles, and he reached into his coat for a cleverman’s handheld scanner, found a cord and patched it into the console that had once controlled Nimble’s internal systems. It beeped a warning, and displayed a confused hash of symbols: if anything was wrong, it had been in the environmental systems, but the readings were inconclusive. Or… He frowned, and moved to the commander’s station. It was unmarked, though the small screens were dead, unmarred by either damage or blood. If Moonwhite had been sitting there, it was good odds she had survived the crash. He tried the scanner again, but there was no power in this section, and there was no way to provide any, at least not with the tools he had at hand. *I’m not seeing any signs of major damage. There was po
ssibly a problem with the environmentals, but even that is unclear.*

  *Contagion?* Blaze’s tone was sharp with fear.

  Forge drew a slow breath. *It is possible. I can’t say for sure.*

  “Hey.” Ronon leaned down to peer through the hatch. “If you haven’t found anything, let’s get out of here.”

  “I am not yet finished,” Forge said. He looked around again. Every scout was subtly different, each ship grown from its own seed to take unique form; they all contained the same systems, but the points of access were always different. There, he thought, that was the port for the secondary computer, and for a mercy it wasn’t as badly damaged as some of the other consoles. No power, though, and he removed the emergency cell from the navigation console and clipped it into place. The screen sparked, and he hastily plugged in his scanner, diverting the data to its screen. The symbols scrolled past, and he hissed in spite of himself.

  *Well?* Blaze demanded.

  *This indicates that they had sickness aboard, though not what kind.* Forge scrolled back through the data. *If it were blood fever, I would expect them to say so.*

  *They cannot have infected the humans here,* Everlasting said. *There’s no indication that they had any contact with that village, or with any other.*

  *But she is alive,* Blaze said. *Or she was when they landed. Otherwise we would have found her body.*

  *I believe so,* Forge said. Though whether she had been injured, or if she were sick enough — there was no guarantee that she still survived.

  “Are you finished?” Ronon demanded again, and this time Forge nodded.

  “We are done. The queen is not here.”

  “So where is she?” Ronon gestured for them to precede him down the corridor, and Forge obeyed, the others trailing behind him.

  “I don’t know.”

  “She survived the crash,” Blaze said. “We must find her.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  SALT LIFTED his head as the rest of his party emerged from the wreck, the humans still behind them with weapons ready. The Young Queen turned, her expression one of curiosity, and Sheppard lifted his head.

  “Anything?” he called, and the big Satedan shook his head.

  “One dead Wraith. Killed in the crash.”

  “We believe that our queen survived,” Blaze said. His voice was steady, but Salt could feel the banked worry beneath it. “And possibly some of her men. But they could not stay here.”

  “Why not?” McKay asked. He waved vaguely at the wreck. “There’s shelter, ok, it smells bad, but it’s better than being out in the open.”

  “Our ships are living things,” Forge said, with what Salt felt was commendable patience. “Certain parts will decompose.”

  “I’ve been on downed Wraith ships that were intact,” Sheppard said.

  “I said certain parts,” Forge answered. “Once they have rotted — or once they are destroyed, that is also always possible — then the wreck will serve. But not until then.”

  “Why do you think your queen survived?” the Young Queen asked, and Salt felt another flare of fear from Blaze, but his answer was calm enough.

  “As your man said, we found a single body, that of the pilot. We did not find our queen, nor any of the other blades who accompanied her. I believe she left the wreck.”

  “Why?” McKay asked. “I mean, yes, ok, to get away from the ship while it decomposed, but presumably she was looking for something, right?”

  “I’m more interested in why the ship crashed,” Sheppard said. “And why it crashed here.”

  “We don’t know,” Forge said. For an instant, he looked drained and ill, then composed himself with an effort. “It seems possible that there was illness on board, and that they sought to feed and heal themselves, but I can’t be sure. The ship’s records are destroyed, and I was only able to salvage a very little.”

  “Which makes you responsible for the epidemic,” Ronon said.

  “It does not,” Forge said, his voice sharp. “There is still no sign that the queen or any of her blades went into that village, no sign that she, they, fed there. Her consort is right, we need to search for her immediately.”

  “If it wasn’t you, how did the fever spread?” Sheppard demanded.

  “There is no proof that it has,” Forge said. “The crash and the sickness could be entirely unrelated — even if there was illness aboard our scout, I cannot say what it was, or whether it affected more than the ship itself. And I repeat what I have said before: there is no sign that our queen or her men ever entered the village.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. “If I were pressed — the scout must have been seen entering the atmosphere, and the crash would have been heard. Perhaps one of the villagers came to investigate, and brought the fever back with them. If it is the same illness.”

  “Nobody said anything about a crash,” Sheppard said. “Or about finding any dead Wraith.”

  “They were pretty sick,” McKay said. “I hate to say it, Sheppard, but if one of them did bring back the virus, there might not be anyone there who’d remember, never mind being well enough to tell us.”

  “This is all speculation,” the Young Queen said. “Where would your queen go, if not to the village to feed?”

  Forge showed his off hand, palm out and open. “I can’t say.”

  “She might have sought shelter elsewhere,” Blaze said. “Shelter and a way to contact the hive. If she was not injured, she would not need to feed —”

  “What if she was sick?” Ronon asked.

  “We are strong.” Blaze glared at him. “She might well choose to fight the infection rather than risk contaminating our food supply.”

  “They’re not your food supply,” Ronon snapped.

  “Ronon’s got a point,” Sheppard said, his hands loose on the weapon strapped to his chest. “This planet is on our side of the line.”

  “A line to which we have not yet agreed,” Everlasting snarled.

  “So why should we believe you about anything?” Ronon’s smile was ugly.

  “Colonel,” the Young Queen said. “The best way to answer all these questions is to find their queen.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then, slowly, the Lanteans relaxed. Sheppard nodded sharply, and Ronon took his thumb off the controls of his weapon. McKay said, “So, if she didn’t stay here, and she didn’t go into the village — up into the hills?”

  Salt eyed the slope unhappily. “Not here, I don’t think.”

  “Sir, there’s a break further along,” one of the Marines — Hernandez, the others had called him — said. “Looks like somebody could get up there pretty easily.”

  Sheppard looked at Blaze. “Well?”

  The Consort sighed. “Let us begin there.” He turned in the direction that Hernandez had indicated, and the others fell into step beside him. The Lanteans followed as well, their weapons ready.

  Salt made no great effort to keep up, content to let the younger and more skilled take the lead. As Hernandez had said, the cliff ended only a little way beyond the edge of the clearing where Nimble had crashed, becoming a slope of tumbled rocks and then a shallower incline studded with stunted trees, their limbs twisted by winter winds. Blaze paused to scan the area, and Everlasting stooped with an exclamation.

  *Here!*

  Blaze bent to see, and Salt lengthened his stride to join them. *What have you found?*

  *Footprints,* Everlasting said. He looked from the scuffed earth to the top of the slope as though measuring distance. *I think they went that way.*

  Salt looked at the mark, unable to tell it from any other, and Sheppard said, “Ok, what have you got?”

  “I believe they went over the ridge,” Everlasting said, and turned without waiting for an answer.

  Salt concealed a grimace and followed dutifully. He was getting old for this sort of chase, and had never been good at it even when he was young. The Lanteans followed, too, careful to stay out of reach and to keep their weapons ready. At the top
of the ridge, Everlasting gave another cry.

  “Here. They have left us a trail.”

  *So she was alive and well,* Blaze said. Everlasting and Forge exchanged wary glances, but neither of them had the heart to say what they were clearly thinking. And no more do I, Salt thought, because I’m sure Blaze knows it well enough. Moonwhite was alive and well then, but that promised nothing for the future.

  The ridge dropped to a narrow valley, the ground rising more steeply on its far side. The blades cast about, and found a second mark halfway up the shorter slope. It ended in a spreading meadow, short wiry grass starred with thousands of tiny yellow flowers that ran gently uphill to another upthrust slab of rock. The air was chill here, and growing scant of oxygen. Salt paused, letting his lungs adjust, and heard the other Marine, Casey, break out in a coughing fit, his hands on his knees.

  “You ok?” Sheppard asked, and the man nodded.

  “Fine, sir.”

  Blaze and Everlasting conferred briefly and then turned in opposite directions, scanning the ground for another mark. Forge stood open-mouthed, breathing hard to force his lungs to change again, and at Salt’s side the Young Queen said, “You are not like the others.”

  Salt started. She moved as quietly as the children of Osprey; he had not felt her approach, and he had to take a quick breath to let his heart slow before he could answer. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You are not a warrior — a blade? — or a scientist like Forge.”

  “That is so,” he said, cautiously.

  “Then what is your function?”

  He hesitated, but could see no harm in answering. “I am — I make stories. I weave memories for the hives.”

  “A historian?” The Young Queen tilted her head to one side, her expression, he thought, genuinely curious.

  Salt considered in turn. “In part? But not all my stories are true, many are pure invention.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Ah. I did not know there were such among the Wraith.”

  “We — it is not a common talent,” Salt said, and wondered why he boasted to this human. “I have practiced my craft for many years, and am well thought of among the hives where I am known.”