Allegiance

Chapter twenty-seven Over Atlantis

John stretched out in the control chair, feeling it come alive under him as he leaned back, lighting up and warming up under his hands. As always, it felt easy to sink into its enhanced perceptions, the world lighting up around him, showing him the airspace around Atlantis, the bright spots of jumpers launching and then dimming as they cloaked. There was more information there when he thought about it, wind speed and direction as much a feeling as a visual display, the wider sweep of the solar system sharpening as he reached for a broader view.

Some part of him was restless, though, thinking of too many other places he needed to be. He itched to be up in the control room, to know where all the security teams were and what they were doing. The chair responded, obligingly building him a map of the city with life signs readings included, and John willed it firmly out of existence. It wouldn’t tell him anything he wanted to know.

Lorne was up in the control room, coordinating the security teams, checking in with Teyla to make sure she was ready to alert them if she sensed Wraith in the city. Lorne wasn’t up in a jumper because he had to be in the control room. John wasn’t either place because he had to be in the chair. He took a deep breath and let it out, willing himself to let it go.

He relaxed deeper into the interface, the view from the long-range sensors coming up for him as he thought about it, easy and clear. The Wraith cruiser was drifting, clearly disabled. Hammond was engaged with the hive ship, and while they were too far out for the sensors to pick up individual Darts or 302s, the energy signature surrounding the two ships suggested a melee in progress.

Daedalus wasn’t coming up to support Hammond, clearly damaged. Still, they were holding the hive ship off. There was no way it was in close enough to be able to tell that Atlantis’s shields were down. Two battlecruisers on one hive ship wasn’t bad odds, even with one of them stationary. He wished he could see what the Darts and 302s were doing, and met the soft resistance of the interface when he asked for something beyond its capabilities, which he always imagined as apologetic.

That’s okay, he told it. We’ll just sit tight.

Something was changing, though, something subtly shifting in the pattern of the fight, and then the display lit up with the first warning of incoming Darts, still well out from the planet but heading for it fast. He heard the crackle of his radio activating as if it came from a long way away, the words seeming painfully slow.

“Sir, Daedalus reports Darts breaking off and heading for the city,” Lorne said. “302s are in pursuit.”

“I see them,” John said. “Tell the jumper pilots to stay out of the way. Fire drones if necessary, but do not engage at close quarters.”

“Yes, sir,” Lorne said. The jumpers were well-matched with Darts in the hands of an experienced combat pilot, but they had too few of those right now. Pilots unused to tactical speeds flying invisible ships sounded like a recipe for somebody crashing into one of their own 302s.

John could have done it. He’d played tag with Darts in a jumper plenty of times before, keeping them off Atlantis while dodging between towers at top speed. He’d never tried it in a 302, but there was some part of him that wished he was out there in one, tearing toward the city fast enough that even with the inertial dampeners the acceleration pressed him into his seat, thinking about nothing but finding his targets and sticking to them until he could blow them out of the sky —

He could feel the weapons system responding, readying drones. Not yet, he told it, or told himself, whichever was the best way of thinking about it. He couldn’t afford to waste power until he was sure he needed it. He had to let this play out a little while longer. They were approaching the atmosphere, the 302s not quite matching the Darts’ speed but harassing them whenever they came into range, trying to force them into evasive maneuvers that would cut their speed.

One of the city’s built-in subroutines informed him in a flicker of images and Ancient, in which John had by now developed a useful vocabulary of phrases like ‘WARNING: CRITICAL FAILURE’, that the city’s shields should now be raised in response to incoming enemy craft, but that current power levels were insufficient to sustain shields for more than twelve seconds at maximum strength.

So let’s not. They might need those twelve seconds, but they didn’t need them yet.

The 302s were still harrying the Darts as they hit the atmosphere and began pulling up, leveling off to make a run on the city. One of them wasn’t slowing its descent, though, on course for the city at suicidal speeds.

If it pulled out of the dive and shed speed at the last minute before it hit, it might only take out the central tower. If it hit them like a missile from orbit —

The 302s weren’t going to be fast enough either way. John launched a single drone, sailing it up along the projected path of the Dart, guiding it until the drone acquired the target on its own. It slammed itself into the Dart like a magnet, the Dart blossoming into fire as it hit. Some of the debris could still strike the city, and he thought about raising the shield, but — Twelve seconds.

He forced himself to wait as the rest of the Darts dove on Atlantis, with the 302s streaking in behind them.

Mel swore as the HUD flashed red and orange, jammed her throttle all the way open. They were too slow, only three of them anyway, Blue Four still tangled with the Darts around the Daedalus, but they were what Atlantis had. She cursed again, seeing one dive toward the city, flung her 302 into a turn to pursue, but another Dart’s energy beam flashed past her wing, slammed against her aft shields. She dove away, spinning, saw Blue Two slide past her, weapons blazing, pressed her own firing stud as another Dart slid through the crosshairs. It wasn’t a clean hit, but the Dart went spinning, pilot or systems unable to compensate. She flipped the 302 up and over, turning back toward Atlantis, but a drone flickered on her HUD, and the diving Dart vanished in a cloud of flame.

Another one was trying the same attack — maybe not a suicide run, it was slower, and she pitched the 302 into a steeper dive to intercept it. Warnings chattered on her console, the shields hazed with the fires of re-entry, and then she leveled out, lining up on the Dart. Fire control refused to operate, the 302’s skin too hot still, and she shoved the throttle forward again, ready to ram if the Dart kept its course for Atlantis. The Dart’s pilot peeled away, and she followed, trying to stay on his tail until the computer would let her shoot again. Energy beams flashed past her cockpit, and the 302 rocked to impacts on the right wing. Shields were at seventy-five percent and holding — and at last the weapons light went green. She pressed the firing stud, and the Dart erupted in a cloud of smoke.

The HUD was showing another one behind her. She corkscrewed up and around, clawing for altitude, and the Dart broke away, making another run for the city. He’d caught her wrong-footed, but Blue Five was on him; she let him go, rolling over to circle the city. They probably had jumpers out, cloaked, and she hoped they had the sense to stay out of the way.

Another Dart was coming in, lower this time, leveling out as though it planned to strafe the towers. She pitched the 302 over, but it was faster than she’d thought, slipped past the intercept point before she could fire. She swore, followed it between two towers, not daring to fire for fear of hitting one of the buildings. But she was on its tail, tight in its slipstream, and the pilot was too busy trying to shake her to complete his attack. He curved around the main tower, and she followed. Just a little more, just a fraction — but he banked hard again, keeping himself close to the buildings. If he got time to signal, the hive would know the city was undefended —

And then the moment came, the clear shot she’d been waiting for, and she took it, energy beams sizzling across the gap between the ships. The Dart blew in an instant, the sound barely audible over the roar of her own engines, and she pulled up into a tight spiral, scanning the HUD. Two Darts left, she thought, and in the same instant saw twin explosions.

“Blue Flight, Blue Leader,” she said. “Nice shooting.”

“Blue Leader, this is Atlantis.” She didn’t know the voice, only that it wasn’t Sheppard’s. “We show all Darts destroyed. No further waves incoming.”

“Thanks, Atlantis,” she said. “You need us to stick around?”

“Negative, Blue Leader. It looks like Hammond could use some help.”

Mel glanced at her HUD again, pressed the toggle to select the larger picture. Daedalus was still dead in the water, no more than a few thousand meters from where they’d left her. Hammond had come closer to the planet, the hive in pursuit. From the numbers on the screen, she was taking a pounding.

“Colonel Carter would appreciate any distraction you can provide,” Atlantis continued.

Crap. “Roger that,” Mel said. “Blue Flight, Blue Leader. We’re going after the hive.”

Lorne switched over to long-range sensors for a moment as the 302s peeled away, just to see that Hammond was apparently still holding her own, but he didn’t have the luxury of sitting and watching. It hadn’t sounded good up there, Colonel Carter’s voice too deadly calm as she requested assistance, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment.

“Teyla, what have we got?”

“I do not sense the Wraith,” Teyla said over the radio. “We are continuing our security sweep, but I do not think any Wraith are within the city.”

“There are no signs that any Wraith beamed off of the Darts,” Radek said from his station behind Lorne. “At least we may not have that problem to worry about at the moment.”

“That’s one,” Lorne said. They had plenty of other problems. He wrestled with his chair for a moment, trying to find some way to sit close enough to the console that didn’t involve running his bad leg into it every time he turned to look at somebody, and decided there wasn’t one.

“I have damage reports coming in,” Salawi said. “Some windows broken by debris, some minor structural damage. No reports of casualties yet.”

“We need to get everybody clear of any damaged areas,” Lorne said. “We don’t want a building falling on anybody.”

“No, that would be bad,” Radek agreed absently. He shook his head. “The hive has sustained damage, but it is still perfectly capable of attacking the city.”

“It hasn’t got a lot of other choice, unless it can get its hyperdrive engines back online,” Lorne said. “Where else are they going to go?”

“What’s going on up there?” Ronon said over the radio.

“Security teams, please stay in position,” Lorne said as a city-wide announcement rather than answering Ronon directly. “The incoming Darts have been destroyed, but there are probably going to be more. If you’re not on a security team, and you’re not evacuating an area of the city that’s taken structural damage, please stay where you are and keep the radio chatter to a minimum.”

Beside him, Banks was giving a quick account of the space battle so far over her radio. Probably to Ronon, who didn’t have any reason to need to know at the moment other than being frustrated by not knowing, but Lorne didn’t know that for sure, so he let it go.

“This is Sheppard,” Colonel Sheppard said over the radio. “Get some of the security teams up to the gateroom. I don’t know if Hammond can hold off that hive ship forever, and if they get here, they’re going to want to bring in reinforcements.”

“Yes, sir,” Lorne said. “Ronon’s team, Captain Cadman’s team, fall back to the gateroom to protect the Stargate. Dr. Zelenka — ”

“Yes, I am locking down the dialing computer,” Radek said without looking up from his console. “There is no telling how long that will hold them if they gain access to the main computer system, but since it is not likely that they have Rodney with them, maybe at least a little while.”

“Let’s hope a little while is all we need,” Lorne said.

“Personally I am still hoping that the Wraith do not invade the city,” Radek said. “Call me an optimist.”

“Me, too,” Lorne said, and not just because he suspected that getting into a firefight with the Wraith when he couldn’t walk without crutches was going to end badly. If the Wraith made it to the city, it was probably going to be because they’d lost Hammond. Colonel Carter would do everything in her power to stop them, and if that wasn’t enough…

He pulled up long-range sensors again, hoping Hocken and her 302s were enough to turn the tide. If they could get in a few solid hits on the hive, take out its power generation or its sublight engines, that would do it.

Below in the gateroom, Ronon had arrived and was directing the security already stationed there into a different formation as his own team took up their positions. Lorne didn’t argue with that; Ronon was the one who was going to be down there in a position to see what was happening if the Wraith beamed troops in.

“We’re in position,” Ronon said over the radio.

“I have nothing incoming yet,” Radek said.

“Come on,” Lorne said under his breath, watching the Hammond trying to evade the hive ship as it rolled out from behind the cover of the cruiser, firing as it came.

Sam scowled at the engineering console, wishing she could will it into better readings. The ventral shield was fluctuating wildly, an emitter on the verge of blowing out; the other shields were all below thirty percent and falling. Hyperdrive was still good, not that it would be much help at the moment, and she touched keys, transferring its power to the maneuver engines and the weapons array. The duty engineer gave her a wild look — she was the junior, red flecks of burns on her face and neck from the same explosion that had sent Harting to the infirmary — but her voice was steady enough.

“Should I re-route power to the shields, too, ma’am?”

“No,” Sam answered. “You’ll blow the ventral emitter. When it goes — yes, do it then. But not before.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the sergeant answered and Sam pushed past a repair team to take her place behind the chair. The air was hazed with smoke, life support starved for power and running at about forty percent, but that would hold them a little longer.

“Anything from Daedalus?” she asked quietly, and Franklin shook his head.

“No, ma’am. Atlantis reports the 302s are on the way — ”

Another explosion rocked the bridge, and lights flared red on the pilot’s console. Chandler winced, hands racing, and the lights faded. “Colonel, we’ve lost main controls. I’ve switched to auxiliary.”

“Understood,” Sam said. She did, that was the problem. They had to stop the hive, destroy it somehow, or it would come down on Atlantis like a ton of bricks, and that would be the end of everything. They had McKay, and were making use of his knowledge, and the next stop would be the Milky Way —

She shoved that thought back down into the box where she kept those things, focused on the immediate tactical problem. Daedalus was out of the picture; the 302s could harass, but they’d have to be beyond lucky to do the hive any serious damage. And the cruiser was no longer any real protection.

“Get me Atlantis,” she said, and Jarrett touched keys.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Atlantis, this is Hammond,” Sam said. “We’ll be in beaming range of the city in about four minutes. I’ll be sending off injured and non-essential personnel as soon as we’re in range.”

Franklin looked over his shoulder at that, but she ignored him. Lorne’s voice was perfectly calm, even though he must have understood the implications as well as Franklin had.

“Copy that, Hammond. The infirmary will be standing by.”

“Thank you, Atlantis,” Sam said. “Hammond out.” The ship rocked again, and another panel shorted out. Sam flinched as a spray of sparks hit her shoulder, slapped at her coveralls to be sure nothing caught. An airman came running, extinguisher in hand, and the air was thick with the hiss and stink of foam.

“Ma’am?” Franklin said, warily, and Sam forced a tired smile.

“You heard me, Major. As soon as we’re in range, start evacuating the wounded and any non-essentials.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franklin said, and bent over his console. They’d had the procedure in place for a long time, though she’d hoped never to use it. A moment later, the three-toned klaxon began to sound, and she knew that the beam-out protocol was underway.

And that was all she could do for them, for now. She turned her attention back to the tactical display, where the hive was just rolling free of the cruiser. Chandler pitched Hammond up and away, and the hive’s beams went wide. A 302 zoomed past, and then another, diving toward the hive — heading for the damaged stern — but the hive’s gunners were good, and the 302s broke off, looking for another angle.

“We’re in range of the city, ma’am,” Franklin said.

Sam nodded. “Commence the beam-out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lights flickered on her console as the Asgard beams activated. At least there was still plenty of power for that, diverted from the unneeded hyperdrive. At the top of the screen, numbers flickered and changed — Daedalus, underway at last? She caught her breath, and then hope died. No, not yet; she could expect no help there.

“Damn it,” Chandler said, and she braced herself. In the screen, the hive had turned head on, forward guns flaring; an instant later, the forward screens flashed blue, and alarms sounded across her boards.

“Hull breach in A12,” Jarrett reported. “Bulkheads are holding.”

“We’ve lost the ventral emitter,” the engineer said.

“Reroute power to the rest of the shields,” Sam said, and ducked as an overhead cable blew in a shower of sparks. She ran her hands quickly over her head, not feeling any flame, and Chandler looked up from his console, fear naked in his face.

“We’ve lost main maneuvering.”

“Go to auxiliary,” Sam said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said. “Ma’am, they’re — OK, I’ve got auxiliary, but only sixty percent.”

“Forward shields are at twenty percent and falling,” Franklin said.

Sam took a deep breath. “Get our people off the ship,” she said. There was a protocol for that, too, though it was another one she’d hoped never to use. “Beam them to Atlantis.”

“Everyone?” Franklin asked warily, his hands poised above the controls.

“It’s time for Plan Z,” Sam said, and somehow achieved a smile. Franklin swallowed hard, but matched her.

“Yes, ma’am. Plan Z it is.”

Sam slid back into her seat, shutting out the noise of the alarms and the voices on the intercom. Plan Z was the act of last resort, the hail Mary pass, the absolute last chance — the sort of thing only the SGC would think of, she’d heard an engineer grumble, and at the time, she’d taken it as a compliment. Now it didn’t look so good, but it was all she had. Beam the crew away, that was step one, then aim the Hammond for the hive and set the engines to overload. As long as someone stayed with her to the last possible moment, matching the hive’s evasive maneuvers, the explosion should take out the hive.

Air shimmered in the control room, half the crew beamed away, and Franklin looked up from his console. “All but priority crew are safe in Atlantis, ma’am. Permission to stay aboard — ”

“Denied,” Sam said briskly. The ship rocked again.

“Forward shields at ten percent,” Chandler said.

“Go,” Sam said. “That’s an order, people.”

Franklin’s face tightened, and for a crazy instant she wanted to ruffle his hair and tell him that he was a good guy even if he was a gossip. Instead, she reached for the controls. “I’ll be right behind you, Major,” she said, and beamed them away.

The bridge stank of smoke and foam as she moved to Chandler’s console, typing in the commands that swung the Hammond stern-on to the hive, putting the best shield and the bulk of the ship between her and the hive. Autopilot was still working, more or less, and she engaged the docking system, overriding safeties to convince the system to home in on the hive. Satisfied it would hold for a little longer, she turned to the engineering console, and stopped short. The panels were blown, smoking; there was no way she could create an overload from there. She blinked once, then reached for an overhead panel, pulling down a tray of crystals. Maybe if she rearranged them here —

The first crystal exploded, showering her with sparks. It set off a chain reaction, a line of popping flames that ended at the beam controls. No way to set the overload — and no way to get off the ship now, either, but that wasn’t important. Sam took a deep breath, moved to check the tactical display. Hammond was still closing on the hive, sluggish but inexorable, and that would have to be enough. Sorry, Jack, she thought, and turned her attention to the pilot’s console. They were still closing, three minutes to impact. The hive was firing steadily, Hammond’s shields faltering, failing, alarms sounding as aft sections vented to space.

And then the hive rolled, thrusters flaring. The tac screen brightened, showing Daedalus closing, all guns firing. Hammond’s autopilot fired thrusters, too, trying to match the hive’s maneuver, and Sam ran to the weapons console. There was still power to the railguns, and more in life support. She moved with frantic speed, diverting every scrap of power to the guns, glancing over her shoulder at the main tac screen. The hive was turning, showing its already-damaged stern.

Come on, she thought, working the railguns’ controls. Come on, turn… And then the hive was in her sights, and she slammed her fists down on the firing controls. The railguns fired, and she counted five heavy pulses before the power gave out entirely. Life support was gone, too; the depressurization alarm had been sounding for a while, and now the inertial dampeners were off-line. In the screen, the hive ship exploded, glorious as fireworks. Without inertial dampening, she was as good as dead, but at least she’d seen it go —

The air shimmered, and she was suddenly on the bridge of the Daedalus, blinking in the sudden normal air. She took a breath, hoping she didn’t look as shaken as she felt, and Caldwell swung to face her.

“Nice shooting, Colonel.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. She realized with pleasure that her voice was steady. “Very nice timing, too.”