Allegiance

Chapter Fourteen Michael

Quicksilver had not slept well since they returned from Atlantis, woke with head and hand aching as though he needed to feed, though that faded almost as soon as he came completely awake. He thought he dreamed, perhaps of the dark-haired queen who guarded his mind’s gates, but he could no longer remember. Instead, he remembered human faces, fragments of places and voices. Some he recognized from the attack: the gate room in the city, the shabby little man who had tried to trick him, the warrior who had killed Dust, who had called him by a human name. Other things he could not have seen this time — the fierce and beautiful woman with the bearing of a queen, who had attacked him on the hive; the hall where the humans had their meeting; another woman with golden hair, and a smaller room with red walls where the humans’ zenana gathered — and he guessed those were memories of his captivity.

He shifted on his pillows, awake again, and unsettled enough that sleep had lost its appeal. Twice they had called him by a human name, promised to help him: a terrible deception, all the worse because he could almost put a face to that name. Rodney, they had said, and in the long nights, lying silent and still so as not to disturb Ember, he had remember a second name attached to that one, in human fashion: Rodney McKay. But he knew McKay, or knew of him — no, he was sure he had known him in his captivity: a human scientist, a clever man even by his own high standards, the man he was sure had been his greatest enemy among the Lanteans. Handsome and strong, at least by human measure, and certainly brilliant — a worthy adversary, Quicksilver was sure of that. But why the other humans would call him by the same name, except in mockery…

And that they would pay for. He rolled out of his sleeping niche, saw to his surprise that Ember’s door was drawn back, the narrow compartment empty. Frowning, he found clothes, dressed — that, at least, had come back to him — and slipped the communicator onto his wrist.

*Ember.*

There was no answer, and Quicksilver frowned. *Ember!*

*I am with my commander,* Ember said at last. *What is it? Is there a problem?*

*I want you in the labs.*

*It is the middle of the late-night watch,* Ember said. *Can it not wait —?* He broke off then, as though someone else had spoken to him, and when he spoke again, his tone was resigned. *Come, then. I am in Guide’s quarters, Steelflower’s Consort. It is on your way.*

Quicksilver snarled, but there was really no point in objecting. He made his way through the corridors, brushed past the drones that guarded the rooms assigned to the visiting lords, and laid his hand on the door control. It opened, though not to his touch, the door sliding back to reveal Ember, his hair pulled back into a single loose tail.

*Must we begin the day so early?* he asked, but Quicksilver’s gaze was fixed on the man behind him.

*I know you,* he said, startled. *We have worked together — where?*

He heard Ember draw breath sharply, but the older blade shook his head. *We have not,* he said. *And from what my chief cleverman tells me, it would have been a memorable experience.*

*That’s not right,* Quicksilver said. He had just enough presence of mind not to call the man a liar outright, that was too great an insult from cleverman to blade — worse from cleverman to commander, he thought, realizing abruptly that this must be Guide himself, but he could not bring himself to let it go. *We worked on — replicators? A weapon against them?*

He heard the door slide shut behind him, felt a flash of something like fear from Ember. That was instantly controlled, and Guide shook his head again.

*You and I have never met before now.*

There was force behind the words, pressure to believe, and Quicksilver shook his head. *No. I’m sure of it. Something to do with Atlantis — *

*I was a prisoner there,* Guide said. *As were you.*

*At the same time?* That didn’t seem right, and Quicksilver frowned.

*I don’t think so,* Guide answered.

*You know what was done to me,* Quicksilver said. He couldn’t have said how he knew it, but once the words were formed, he felt the confirmation, quickly shielded. *Tell me!*

*Commander,* Ember said, his tone a warning, and Guide shook his head.

*No. Not now.* He looked at Quicksilver, frowning slightly, the star tattoo around his eye very dark in the gentle shiplight. *I may not tell you.* He held up his hand, forestalling Quicksilver’s instinctive outburst. *There are good reasons why you must find that out for yourself, it is not something you can come to by way of another’s mind. But there is one thing I may share with you — *

*Commander,* Ember said again, and this time there was definitely fear in his tone. *You run too great a risk.*

Guide spared him a quick glance. *I know the risks I run, cleverman.* He looked back at Quicksilver. *Give me your hand.*

Quicksilver extended his off hand, wary, and Guide caught it in his own, circling the wrist with his long fingers, so that they spoke in intimate privacy. *I give you a name to conjure with. Michael.*

*What?*

Guide released him, turning away. *Go with him to the labs, Ember. We must not keep him from our queen’s work.*

*Yes, commander,* Ember said, and opened the door again. *Let us go.*

*But — * Quicksilver found himself in the corridor again, the door sealed behind them. *How am I supposed to work after something like that?*

*Perhaps we could sleep, then,* Ember said, with some bitterness.

*Oh, no. If I’m awake, we’re going to work. In the labs. Both of us.* Quicksilver took a breath. *And I will figure this out, with or without your commander’s help. Wait and see.*

*I most certainly shall,* Ember answered, and they started together toward the labs.

Mel made her way through Daedalus’s main corridor, tablet computer tucked under her arm. She’d heard the gossip along with everyone else in the city; the Genii were on Sateda, and getting the titanium there might be impossible after all. They’d retrieved some, but rumor said it wasn’t quite enough, and that had gotten her thinking. She’d spent the morning in the 302 bay, going over specs and supplies, and the idea that had come to her in the middle of the night had started to look like something solid. It might not work — she was the first person to admit she was no technician — and it was a risk, but she’d talked it over with Dwayne Grant, her second-in-command, and he’d thought it was a pretty good idea, too. Except, of course, for the one glaring problem, but they’d agreed that getting the Stargate usable again had to be the top priority.

She paused in the engine room hatch, glancing around the spotless compartment. It still felt weird not to see an Asgard on board, to know that they were gone, that the Tau’ri were on their own with a technology they only barely understood — but, then, Dr. Novak had been working with it from the very beginning. If anyone knew what she was doing with this stuff, Novak did. At the moment, though, there was no one in sight, and Mel frowned. Surely somebody ought to be on duty, even with Daedalus parked on Atlantis?

“Colonel Hocken?” Novak popped up from behind one of the consoles like a skinny, disheveled jack-in-the-box.

“Got a minute?” Mel asked, with her most disarming smile, but Novak’s wary expression didn’t change.

“Sure…”

“I’m hearing that they’re still short of titanium,” Mel said. “Since the Genii turned out to be on Sateda. Our — the 302s — armor is titanium alloy, right?”

“Yes,” Novak said. “But we don’t have enough spares to do any good. Dr. Zelenka and I already went over the numbers.”

“What if you took if off one of the 302s?” Mel asked. “The shields are our main defense, anyway, and the armor is a double layer by the tail. There’s one piece that overlaps both of the under plates. Suppose you took off that redundant part?”

Novak tipped her head to one side. “I don’t think I’d call that armor redundant.”

“Just suppose,” Mel said.

“Well…” Novak paused. “I don’t know exactly how much is still missing, so I don’t know…”

“Here’s what I was thinking,” Mel said, and held out the tablet.

Novak took it, frowned at the schematic of a 302, the plate Mel figured they could spare outlined in green. “Well,” she said again. “Colonel, I see what you’re saying, but I’m not comfortable removing armor. If you lose shields — and that always seems to happen — then you’re depending on a single layer of armor at a very vulnerable point.”

“A very small point,” Mel said. “And not that vulnerable. Hard to hit even if you knew to try for it. Look, Dr. Novak, we’re willing to take the risk if it means we can use the Stargate normally again.”

“Let me run some numbers,” Novak said, reluctantly, and set the tablet beside her laptop. She typed for a while, frowning to herself, then looked up. “It’s possible,” she said. “Which means that we’d harvest enough workable alloy to make it worthwhile — though I’d have to talk to Dr. Zelenka to find out what he still needs. But — Colonel, I can’t recommend this. The 302s will be too vulnerable.”

“That’s my call, Doctor,” Mel said, and softened it with a smile. “And Colonel Caldwell’s.”

Novak returned the smile. “I know how much trouble we’d be in if we lost Atlantis,” she said. “But relying on shields alone — I think it’s too big a risk.”

“Without Atlantis, we don’t have a base,” Mel said. Novak handed her the tablet with an unhappy nod, and Mel turned away.

She caught up with Caldwell in Atlantis, on his way back from the mess hall. He was looking relatively relaxed — at least as much as Caldwell ever looked relaxed — and she cleared her throat.

“I wonder if I might have a word, sir?”

He gave her an appraising glance, and Mel tried to remember the last time a good conversation had started with those words.

“OK,” he said. “What’s on your mind, Hocken?”

“It’s about the titanium for the iris, sir,” she said, and could have sworn he looked faintly relieved. “I’m hearing that they’re still a little short.”

“That was the last I’d heard, too,” Caldwell said. “What about it?”

“I’ve figured out a place we can get it,” Mel said. She took a breath. “Off the 302s.”

She could see him start to protest, hurried on before he could interrupt, holding out the tablet with the calculations. “And Dr. Novak says we could probably harvest enough plate to complete the job,” she finished.

Caldwell looked at her for a long moment. “Did Dr. Novak sign off on this?”

“No, sir.”

“Glad to hear it,” Caldwell said.

“Grant and I discussed it pretty thoroughly,” Mel said, stung. “We agreed that it barely makes a difference — I don’t think I could hit a target like that under battle conditions.”

“Shields alone aren’t enough,” Caldwell said. “And without 302s in top condition, Daedalus is at even more of a disadvantage against a hive ship. No way, Hocken.”

“With respect,” Mel said. “If we lose Atlantis — “

“I know,” Caldwell said. “Don’t think I don’t, I was one of the people General O’Neill had talking to the IOA until I was blue in the face, telling them how badly we needed a base in Pegasus if we were going to keep the Wraith out here and away from Earth. But taking armor off the 302s is too big a risk. We’re not doing it.”

“Yes, sir,” Mel said, and in spite of her best effort, she knew she sounded mulish.

Caldwell looked past her, at the long windows in their intricate frames, his face so stern that she looked with him, half expecting to see someone who had eavesdropped. But there was only the light midday snow, and the towers of the city against the pale sky, their edges softened by the swirling flakes. Lights glimmered here and there, points of gold, and the cornices of snow were sculpted into fantastic shapes. On the far pier, the Hammond sat parked, crewmen running pusher brooms along the path between her and the nearest tower. It was still enough to make the breath catch in her throat, and as she turned back, she caught a rueful smile on Caldwell’s face.

“Be careful, Hocken,” he said. “You don’t want Atlantis to seduce you, too.”

“Sir,” she said, and he turned his back on the towers, heading determinedly for Daedalus.

The discussion had gone about as well as Guide had expected — which merely meant, he thought, with a wry and inward smile, that he had survived to think about it. A rift was developing among the lords of the zenana, he could feel it, a breach between those who would follow the Old One, and those who would urge the Queen to a more moderate policy. There was no agreement yet among the latter, no plan or consensus beyond the fear that finding Earth and its feeding ground would not prove a permanent solution to their problems. The time was not yet ripe, Guide judged, to make suggestions.

Today it had been Noontide’s day to protest, to plead to keep the agreements he had made for his former queen that had kept a human world fat and fertile in exchange for tribute. Ripe for the harvest, the Old One had said, and so Death had decided in the end. She had a fleet to feed, blade and clevermen in the thousands: Guide could not entirely blame her.

He leaned against one of the ship’s pillars, feeling its life warm and strong against his shoulder; a good ship, Bright Venture, and nearly healed of all its damage. At the center table, Sky and another young blade were playing the stone-game, pieces clattering through their fingers. Farseer watched them, frowning slightly, and after a moment Guide caught the other commander’s eye. He straightened then, moved toward the door, and knew without looking back that Farseer would follow. He reached the center of the empty reception chamber before he was overtaken.

*I am — uneasy,* Farseer said, bluntly.

This was as safe a space as any, open enough that they could see anyone approaching, and by tradition, at least, there were no recording devices here. Guide allowed himself a small smile, not untouched with malice. *Ah, for the days of our alliance…*

Farseer snarled. *Foolish — dangerous! — to say such a thing.*

*But there is truth to it nonetheless,* Guide answered, sweetly.

*Of a sort.* Farseer kept his tone low and even, did not look over his shoulder toward the drones guarding the door, and Guide silently approved his control. *This is ill-done, Guide.*

*I agree. And yet we must feed.*

*But we need not Cull there.* Farseer shook his head. *What are we if we do not keep our word?*

*They are only human,* Guide said.

*And do we not prosper when the humans bring their tribute willingly? When we risk neither men nor Darts in the Culling?* Farseer retorted. *They are intelligent enough, why not use it?*

*I don’t disagree,* Guide said. *But that is not what our Queen decrees.*

*No,* Farseer said. *Nor what the Old One wishes.*

*Gently,* Guide said. He could hear someone coming, the shift of metal as the drones came to attention in the corridor outside, timed his words so that Farseer could not reply. *Still, a queen’s favor doesn’t last forever. And accidents do happen.*

Farseer gave a tight smile, and turned away as Ember entered the long room. A seed well sown, Guide thought, and waited.

*Your pardon, Commanders,* Ember said, bowing, and Farseer brushed past him without a word.

*Well?* Guide waited.

*Your pardon,* Ember said again.

*I presume it is important,* Guide said, *since you’re here alone.*

*Quicksilver is with Salt and Whiskey,* Ember said. *It’s of him I would speak.*

Guide laid his off hand on the cleverman’s shoulder, a gesture exquisitely casual, easily broken, even as it allowed them to whisper skin to skin. *Well?*

*Was it wise, lord, to tell him even so much as Michael’s name?*

Ember’s face was thin and worn, and Guide wondered when he had last fed. More likely it was the effort of keeping up with McKay — a man incapable of moderation, Guide thought, and allowed his sympathy to show.

*He works at the puzzle to the exclusion of all else,* Ember said. *Oh, he does the queen’s work, I see to that — and the energy shields are nearly complete, they’ll function even without this ZPM — but he is a man obsessed. And heedless in the obsession.*

*McKay is like that,” Guide said. *I did not expect otherwise.*

So closely linked, he could feel the surge of interest, the stirring train of thought, but Ember shook his head, smiling ruefully. *That is not my point.*

*Let him be distracted,* Guide said. *It will keep him from more clever ideas like this last attack on Atlantis.*

*But if he remembers,* Ember began, and stopped. *Then he dies, but not at your hands? I do not believe that will please the Lanteans any better.*

*I don’t want him dead,* Guide answered. *As you say, that would make — other alliances — impossible. But if he remembers, even a little, he will have cause to keep quiet, and to seek allies among people he knows he has worked with before.*

Ember closed his eyes. *We are playing with fire.*

*Of course. Where else are the treasures found?*

Ember smiled at the old proverb, as Guide had meant, muscles easing a fraction, and Guide released him.

*Watch him well,* he said, and Ember reached for him, a breach of etiquette that stopped Guide in his tracks.

*It is dangerous,* Ember said, skin to skin, his off hand on Guide’s wrist. *So dangerous, Guide. And you run too many risks already. Let me arrange an accident.*

*No,* Guide said, and gently freed himself. *It would do no good, and you know it.*

*I do,* Ember said, and bowed his head. *I will do as you command.*