Allegiance

Chapter Nine Aftermath

John carried his cup of coffee to the head of the table, taking a certain morbid pleasure in seeing how many people looked just as bad as he felt. Radek looked worse, but that didn’t really count. He doubted the engineer had slept more than a few hours since the attack, and he’d been pretty heavily stunned into the bargain. Keller looked like death warmed over, too, though these days that metaphor didn’t work the way it used to. Ronon didn’t look as though he’d gotten any rest, either, sprawled sideways in his chair with a stare that suggested he was actually sleeping with his eyes open. Caldwell and Carter both looked better — as though they’d had a chance to get some sleep and a decent shower — and Teyla was as sharp as ever, but Beckett clearly hadn’t shaved since the attack. John ran his own hand over his chin, hoping that Woolsey was right and cleanliness was next to leadership, and took a last long swallow of the coffee.

“OK,” he said, and was still a little startled when everyone looked at him expectantly. “So where are we? Keller?”

“Anders died last night,” the doctor answered.

John bit his lip. That wasn’t unexpected, the guy had been fed on pretty badly before his buddies managed to kill the drone, but he’d still hoped maybe they could do something.

“But I think everyone else is going to pull through,” Keller went on. “That makes ten dead, and twenty-four injured. Most of those are fairly minor — people who were stunned and fell down stairs, a couple of sprains and some bad bruises from the hand-to-hand fighting.” She glanced at her notes. “Also Dr. Meyers got trapped in a room with something that he’s allergic to, and had a bad asthma attack, but he’s pulling out of that nicely. We have three people more seriously hurt, enough to keep them out of action for a while, but I expect all of them to make a full recovery.”

John nodded. That was about what you’d expect with the Wraith: if they didn’t get close enough to feed on you, their main weapons weren’t lethal. “How’s Lorne?”

“Still unconscious. He has a concussion on top of the broken leg. We set the leg last night, put in pins, and I’m waiting to see how it holds before I consider more surgery.”

That wasn’t all that surprising either, considering the way the jumper had looked. He was mostly just glad Lorne hadn’t been hurt worse. What was surprising was how confident Keller sounded. Usually she was stopping and starting, as though she was double-thinking every word. “What about Rizkala and Jovell?”

“Rizkala is doing much better than expected,” Keller answered. “To the point where I’m not planning to do surgery just yet. If he continues the way he’s been going, it’s not going to be needed. Jovell — ” She hesitated then, shook her head. “His wrist was pretty well shattered. He’ll need at least one more surgery here, and then — ” She stopped abruptly, as though she’d just remembered that they wouldn’t be able to evacuate him through the gate. “But none of these are life-threatening.”

Just career-threatening, John thought, if they couldn’t get the gate open.

Keller folded her own hands on the table’s gleaming surface, fingers carefully interlaced. “I’d like — If Colonel Caldwell’s medical officer has the room, I’d like to discuss transferring Jovell over to Daedalus. Even if Daedalus isn’t leaving this minute, it’s still the fastest way we have right now to evacuate anyone who needs treatment on Earth.”

“Whatever you need, Doctor,” Caldwell said, and John nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“Then that’s everything,” Keller said. “As far as casualties go.”

She was handling it well, John thought. It had to have hit her harder than anyone, knowing that Rodney had returned, a Wraith and an enemy. “Thanks, Doctor,” he said aloud, and took a careful breath. “Dr. Zelenka?”

Radek gave a mirthless smile. “Rodney took the ZPM. Which has some fairly bad implications for what he can do with it, but I am concentrating for now on what it does to us. Which is also fairly bad. We cannot run the shield or power the weapons chair, and we cannot dial the Milky Way. With naquadah generators, we can dial destinations in Pegasus, but we are effectively cut off from home. Without a shield.”

“What’s the good news?” Caldwell said, under his breath, and Radek looked at him.

“That was the good news. The bad news is that we still have no way to stop Rodney from accessing the city systems. Mrs. Miller has helped us find a number of his back doors, but I doubt we have found them all. We are successfully maintaining an open wormhole, currently dialed through to our alpha site, but we do not have enough power to do this forever. Not to mention that we may want to communicate with the rest of the galaxy at some point.”

That was laying it out with a vengeance, John thought. “How long can we hold the wormhole open?”

“Dialing every thirty-eight minutes — ” Radek shrugged. “Days, certainly. Perhaps weeks.”

“If I might interject here?” Carter said, and both John and Radek nodded. “We should probably cut the wormhole a little before the actual thirty-eight-minute limit — some random and varying number of seconds before, so Rodney can’t predict when the wormhole might go down.”

“That is a good thought,” Radek said, and reached for his radio. “Excuse me.” He turned away from the table, speaking quietly into his headset, and John looked around the table again.

“There’s one other thing that we need to consider,” Beckett said. He had been very quiet until now. “Rodney flew the jumper.”

There was a little silence, and John frowned. “So? We know Rodney has the ATA gene — ” He stopped abruptly, and Beckett nodded.

“Aye. Whatever they’ve done to him hasn’t changed that. He can still use the Ancient technology.”

“This just gets better and better,” Caldwell muttered.

“Hold on,” Keller said. “This — I mean, it’s not good news, but it’s also — we can maybe tell something about how the Wraith transformed him. We’ve got some actual data to work with, here.”

Beckett nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

“OK,” John said. “Let’s hold that for later. Right now, our main concern has to be keeping the city safe. Ideas?”

There was a discouraging silence, and then at last Radek shrugged one shoulder. “Well, there is the obvious solution. Build a mechanical iris, like the one on Earth.”

“Out of what?” Caldwell asked. He looked at Carter. “That thing’s made of what, titanium alloy? It’s not like we’ve got a whole lot of it just lying around.”

Radek shrugged again. “We have no shield. Even if we had another ZPM, we cannot trust that Rodney would not be able to access the city systems again. A mechanical iris is the safest thing I can think of.”

“Radek’s right,” Carter said. “It’s a logical solution. So the next question is, do we have — or can we get — the amount of titanium we’re going to need?”

“There is none in the city,” Radek said. “Not that we brought with us, anyway. Perhaps there are a few pieces of plate left over from the last time Daedalus was repaired here.”

“I’ve used most of my spares already,” Carter said. “And frankly I’m not keen to give up all my repair options.”

“Me, neither,” Caldwell said.

“Are you sure there’s nothing in the city?” Ronon asked. “You said you haven’t really looked at most of it.”

“It’s possible there is something in the parts we have not explored thoroughly,” Radek said. “We can certainly set teams looking.”

“Do that,” John said, and looked from Ronon to Teyla. “What about our allies? Is there anyone out there we could get it from?”

Teyla shook her head. “There are not so many peoples who can make such a metal. And Death has attacked most of them already.”

“The Genii,” Ronon said.

“Perhaps,” Teyla said. She sounded doubtful, and John couldn’t help agreeing. After they’d nearly had a serious misunderstanding over the Ancient warship, he wasn’t eager to go asking them for more help. “The Manarians dealt in metal ores, but…”

Manaria had been devastated only a few weeks before, in one of Queen Death’s aggressive Cullings. John winced, and pulled himself upright in his chair. “First things first,” he said. “Radek. Can we build and install a mechanical iris? Assuming we have the materials, I mean.”

Radek nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think we can. We know the design, and how it works. It’s only a matter of fitting it to our own gate.”

“Our people can help with that,” Carter said, and Caldwell nodded, face grim.

“OK,” John said. “So what we need is the material.” That, at least, he understood, and he looked around the table. “Radek, get your people searching the city, see what we have that we can use. Ronon, Teyla, I’d like you to compile a list of our allies and anybody else who might have suitable alloys we can trade for. Colonel Carter, Colonel Caldwell, if there is anything on either of your ships that you can spare, we’d be grateful for it.” He looked around the table a final time. “Let’s go with Plan B.”

John caught Carter’s eye before she left the conference room. “Have you got a minute?”

“Sure,” she said, sitting back down. “What’s up?”

“Now we’re even more understaffed than we were to start with. You know we couldn’t get back all the personnel who were transferred. There wasn’t even time to get everybody back from the SGC, let alone people who got sent to Iraq or Afghanistan.”

“I’m happy to lend you personnel if I can, but we still have repairs ongoing,” Carter said, sounding like she was sympathetic but being careful not to commit herself before she heard what he wanted.

“I was actually wondering if I could borrow Captain Cadman for a while.”

Carter’s eyebrows went up. “Seriously?”

“Lorne’s down for the count,” John said. “Even if he pulls through this okay — which he will — he’s going to be out of the action for weeks. I have a bunch of kids who’ve never even been through a Stargate yet and some lieutenants who think they know everything. I need somebody with a brain to take charge of Lorne’s team.”

“You have Marine lieutenants,” Carter said.

“You’re right, I do.” He couldn’t exactly say I need a Marine with a brain, but he could see from Carter’s amused expression that he didn’t have to. “But Cadman did a whole tour here as a lieutenant and didn’t get shot, fed on by the Wraith, injured in some even weirder way, or sent home for being a pain in the ass. I can’t say that about a lot of people, unfortunately. And you know perfectly well that when we need the backup team, we really need it.”

“All right,” Carter said. “I’ll temporarily detach her. But you can’t keep her.”

John smiled. “Would I try to poach your crew?”

“You would if you’re as smart as I think you are,” Carter said.

The Queen had been pleased. Quicksilver could still feel the caress of her mind as he presented her with the ZPM, her delight, unguarded and unfeigned, as she unlatched the case and lifted the glowing cylinder from its padding.

*Cleverest of clevermen,* she had said, and behind her the lords of the zenana had bared teeth and bowed heads in varying acknowledgement of her praise.

*We’re not there yet,* he had said. *There’s a lot of work to do before we can use it — modifications to the hyperdrive, to all our systems — but it will help us with the new energy shields — *

*I have every confidence in you,* Death had said, and rested her off hand on his arm. He could still feel the touch of her fingers, cool and soft and yet burning like a brand. Perhaps he should have their shape tattooed on him, etched into his skin while he could still remember each fractional point of contact —

*Are you well?* Ember’s thought broke the pleasant memory, and Quicksilver bared teeth in automatic reproof.

*Yes, of course,* he began, and realized abruptly that he was not. He felt odd, hollow, his legs at once weak and distant, as though they were no longer connected to his body. His feeding hand hurt, a slow pulse of pain in the palm of his hand. He stumbled, and Ember caught his arm.

*When did you last feed?*

For some reason, the question sent a jolt of pure terror racing through him, snapping him upright. He controlled himself with an effort, scowling at the other cleverman. *I have no idea.*

*Then it is past time,* Ember said. *Come.*

Another pang shot through him, and his hand throbbed sharply. He shook his head, unable to explain his reluctance. *I’m — I don’t have time.*

*If you don’t feed, you won’t be able to work,* Ember said.

*Later,* Quicksilver said. The idea of feeding made him feel weak and ill, and at the same time, his hand, his heart throbbed with sudden need. A strange and nameless fear filled him: he could not remember having fed, could not remember how, what to do.

*There is plenty of time,* Ember said. His patience was fading palpably. *If you do not waste it. Come.*

*I have better things to do — *

Ember bared teeth in a full snarl. *For a cleverman, you compound folly!*

*I — *

*No more!* Ember controlled himself with a visible effort *This is foolish, Quicksilver. You must feed now.*

I must not. The words trembled in the forefront of his mind, but he did not press them forward, aware of how ridiculous they were. Of course he must feed. Of course he needed to revive himself, he could feel it now that Ember had given this weakness a name. This reluctance, this fear, had no logic behind it. He would not give in to folly.

He followed Ember along the main corridor, forward out of the clevermen’s lairs toward the domains of blades and drones. They took the left hand fork where the corridor split, and Quicksilver was sure that was propriety, the proper way for clevermen, but even so, he was aware of odd looks and bared teeth, and Ember’s mind was tightly held, giving him no sense of the cause.

Then they had reached the holding pens, and he checked in the entrance, fear sweeping over him like a wave. He had stood in such a place before, he was sure of that as he had been sure of nothing since his rescue, stood with weapon in hand and terror like copper in his throat, darkness folding in on him like a great cloak… Perhaps it had been a raid? An attack on some other hive, when they were desperate to Cull? All that he was sure of was the dark and the fear.

*Quicksilver?* Ember looked over his shoulder, frowning, and Quicksilver made himself take a step forward, and then another, advancing slowly through the haze of memory.

The pen was low-ceilinged, each cell sealed with a thick corded webbing that held the contents upright, only their faces visible. Most hung with eyes closed; here and there, one watched with fear or anger, or wept silently. Quicksilver shivered, hot and cold as though with fever. They were aware, watching, waiting his choice… Of course they were, he told himself. They were human, not completely animal. They would provide no nourishment otherwise. That knowledge was hollow, set against the living eyes.

Ember moved along the row of cells, eyes flicking over the faces. He stopped at least perhaps a third of the way down, and tugged the webbing away from the human’s chest. It was a male, middle-aged, pale with fear. He made a soft sound, a whimper of a plea, and Ember sank claws into his chest, draining him in a heartbeat. Someone, somewhere in the row of cells, cried out, a single note of fear and sorrow. Ember flexed his fingers in satisfaction.

*Have you chosen?*

*I — * Quicksilver froze, made himself point at random. *There.*

He found himself pointing at a young woman who sagged half conscious in her webbing. He swallowed hard, lifted his hand, feeling the mouth stretch and open. It burned, he burned, but he could not bring himself to tear the webbing away from her. He stood shaking, unable to understand what was wrong with him, what was happening to him. The woman opened blue eyes, wide and uncomprehending, and Ember looked from one to the other, irritation fading to something like understanding. He caught Quicksilver’s arm in his own off hand and bore it gently down.

*I’m sorry,* he said. *I ask too much of you. I knew Dust had fed you himself, when you were first returned, but I did not realize — *

*I don’t — * Quicksilver stopped, not sure what he would have said. I don’t understand, I don’t want this, I don’t know what’s wrong with me: all true, but he had enough shreds of self-preservation left that he would not say them.

*It has happened before,* Ember said. *Men so badly hurt they could not feed themselves, not for months and sometimes years. This is not unknown, Quicksilver.*

*I was not hurt,* Quicksilver said, bitterly.

*Injuries of the mind are no less real.* Ember reached out, ripped the webbing free, and sank his claws into the woman’s chest. She withered silently, with only the murmur of the hive to mark her death. Quicksilver shuddered again, knowing that something was terribly wrong, and Ember glanced quickly over his shoulder.

*We must keep this secret. But you must feed, and if you cannot — Permit me to help you.*

He extended his feeding hand. The mouth was open still, swollen at the edges, the feeding membrane dark within. Quicksilver stared, caught like a human in the cleverman’s stare, and Ember bent his head.

*Your brother did this for you,* he said. *Allow me to act as he would.*

Quicksilver could not move, and Ember took his silence for assent. He stepped closer, close enough to slide his feeding hand under Quicksilver’s shirt, claws cold against bare skin. Quicksilver caught his breath, the terror returning, and Ember flexed his hands, setting his claws. The feeding mouth touched him, sharp as fire, hot as fear, and pain seared through him, radiating from Ember’s hand to the tips of his fingers, the soles of his feet. As abruptly as it had begun, the pain eased, was replaced by warmth, tingling, a strange pleasure and a new strength. He straightened in spite of himself, and Ember drew his hand away.

*Better?*

Quicksilver shook himself, but could not deny that he was restored. He snarled, groping for the right words, for anger to cover emotions he did not dare name, and Ember gave a rueful smile.

*I see you are.*