Homecoming

Chapter Eighteen Homecomings

Mr. Woolsey was not pleased. Teyla could not think of him as “Dick” in this current mood, his mouth closed so tight that all the blood was gone from his lips, the lines on his high forehead deepening with every breath. Now and again he noted something on the pad of paper that lay before him and frowned more deeply. John was making heavy weather of his explanations, too. She glanced sideways to see him with his hand clasped on the tabletop, head slightly lowered, as though he were one of the Stamarins’ prize bulls, ready to charge.

“We were pinned down by the Darts,” John said, “and Todd confirmed they had come for him, in response to his signal. He also offered to act as a buffer between us and Queen Death, to be a counterpoise to her alliance. So I let him go.”

“You let him go,” Woolsey said.

John glared at him. “Yes. I did.”

“It didn’t occur to you that we might be able to get better terms for his release?” Woolsey’s voice was mild, but no one at the table was deceived. “That we might want something more — substantial — than his promise?”

“We were under attack,” John said, doggedly. “And keeping him was already a problem. I didn’t see another alternative at the time.”

Teyla took a careful breath, offered her trader’s smile. “It is to our advantage to have him in our debt.”

“If he considers it a debt,” Woolsey said. He eyed John a moment longer, then looked at his notes. “Do we know how he managed to contact the other Wraith?”

Rodney cleared his throat. “Um. Yes. Or at least we’re reasonably sure. He, uh, grew a replacement transmitter.”

Teyla tilted her head to one side. This was a part of the story she had not yet heard.

“Really,” Woolsey said, his voice flat.

“Yes, really,” Rodney snapped. “As you know, the Wraith use synthetic biology — biological in preference to electronic or mechanical devices. While Dr. Beckett and I removed all the visible, complete transmitters and components, we missed the ones that didn’t actually exist because they were still in a dormant or seedling stage.” His voice trailed off. “So while he was in stasis he… grew a new one.”

“Is there any chance he was able to broadcast our location?” Woolsey sat up straighter still.

“No.” Rodney shook his head for emphasis. “No, we were scanning, and we would have detected that. And the transmitter is fairly crude, only for use in an emergency. Dr. Beckett thinks it was probably activated by passage through the gate.”

“If the Wraith knew we were here,” John said, “they’d be on our doorstep already.”

“Very likely,” Woolsey agreed. “But it’s not something we want to rely on.” He tapped his papers together, still frowning. “All right. I believe that’s all?”

It would have been a brave person who suggested further matters. Teyla rose with relief, all too aware of John at her back as they moved toward the door.

“Colonel Sheppard,” Woolsey said. “If I might have a word with you?”

Teyla hoped she was the only one who heard the groan as John turned back into the briefing room. But no: Ronon chuckled under his breath

“Doesn’t seem fair that Sheppard’s going to get another lecture.”

For a second, Teyla thought of denying it, pretending not to understand, but such a choice was pointless. “He will survive.”

“Yeah.” Ronon grinned again, his pleasure almost indecent. Even though she knew it was only because he was not the one being reprimanded, she caught herself frowning, and hastily smoothed her expression.

“Hey,” Ronon went on, “it’s a good two hours before dinner opens. Want to spar?”

Would I like to hit you? Just now, perhaps too much… She smiled and shook her head. “I must retrieve Torren soon. Another day.”

“OK.” Ronon turned away, apparently oblivious to her mood.

Teyla watched him out of sight before looking over her shoulder toward the briefing room. Behind the glass, John was gesturing as though he and Woolsey continued their argument, and she hoped he would not say anything too rash. She should not be lurking here, but she did not want to seek her quarters yet. Instead, she moved toward the doors that gave onto the more sheltered of the balconies, ran her hand over the sensor to open them. They slid back slowly, leaving an opening only a little wider than her body: an adjustment to the weather, Rodney had said. She slipped out into the cold before she could change her mind.

She had experienced both cold and snow before, though her people had always left the high country of Athos before the snows set in, spent their winters in the temperate plains. But this was different, the cold more biting — it was the wind, Radek said, and the dampness in the air that made it seem so much colder. She hugged herself, holding in the last scraps of warmth not immediately snatched away by the wind, and moved to place herself in the lee of one of the support pillars. The supply officer had found long-sleeved shirts and heavier jackets for all of them, and there had been parkas for Radek’s repair teams, but they were still not as well supplied as they would like. There were worlds that made fine woolens, tunics and vests and warm undershirts. They would not do for uniform, but perhaps they could be worn on time off… If those worlds had not been Culled, like so many. She shivered, not from cold. They could not have predicted either the attack on Earth or the rise of Queen Death, but it was hard not to look back at what she had done and say, if only…

Such thoughts were fruitless. She looked out to the horizon, empty of every sign of life. There were no birds here, and even if there had been, she could not imagine any of them flying so far out to sea. Radek had spoken of birds on Earth that spent their lives on the ocean, but there were none on this world. A barren world, the landmasses small and scoured by storms… Not a place they would willingly have chosen, but perhaps that would work in their favor. Surely the Wraith would not look for them here.

The sky was darkening toward twilight, the swift-rising night that seemed to swell out of the waves. This was the planet’s winter, Radek had said; the days would grow no shorter, and the weather would be little worse. She tipped her head back, and saw toward the zenith the first shimmer of the aurora coloring the sky.

This was a new thing, to her and to nearly everyone else on Atlantis, and she craned her neck to see. Against the twilight purple, the first blue flicker was barely visible, like slow-burning flame, or the flash of mica in a sunwashed stone. Already a strand coiled toward the horizon and vanished; a brighter arc rose and fell, half obscured by a jutting pier. Later in the night there would be sheets of color, blue and green and rose, purple and icy white and the red of embers, rippling across the sky like sheets of silk, as though some people unimaginably wealthy had pitched their tents in the high reaches of the air. Perhaps that was a story she would tell Torren when he was a little older, that the sky was full of tribes of light. He would learn of the monsters soon enough…

“Teyla?”

She turned at John’s voice, unable to suppress the smile that greeted him. He, too, had his arms wrapped tight around his chest, shoulders hunched against the cold.

“The aurora is beginning early,” she said, and felt foolish for stating something so obvious.

“Yeah.” He came to stand with her in the tower’s shelter, peering up at the sky. “There’s a lot of things I don’t love about this planet, but that—” He waved a hand toward the brightening color. “That’s something else.”

“You did not see such things when you were on Earth?” Teyla could almost feel the warmth coming off his body, faint but definite in the deepening cold.

“A couple of times. When I was in Antarctica.” John shook his head. “It wasn’t anything like this.”

“Radek says that Lane Meyers, the funny little man who studies suns, is going mad with this,” Teyla said. “He says it will overturn half of what they thought they knew.”

“That seems to happen a lot,” John said. “And then they can’t publish it, which makes them even crazier.”

Teyla glanced sidelong at him. “Did you and Mr. Woolsey — resolve matters?”

John’s mouth twitched. “Mostly. I suppose he’s right, we should have gotten more out of Todd if we were going to let him go.”

“Yes,” Teyla said. “But you’re not wrong either.”

“Thanks for that.”

“What else could we have done?” Teyla asked, and shrugged. “I hope good will come of it.”

“So do I,” John said. He shivered then, and she looked toward the door.

“I must go in. I should fetch Torren and ready him for his dinner.”

“I’ll give you hand, if you want,” John said. “Who’ve you got watching him?”

“Dr. Robinson had him this afternoon,” Teyla answered, and couldn’t repress a smile at John’s reflexive twitch. “She is good with children.”

John started toward the door, which opened at his approach. Teyla slipped through, gasping in the sudden warmth, glanced back to catch a faintly worried look on John’s face. Because he had made an offer he regretted? “I would be glad of your help, John, but it’s not required.”

“It’s not a problem.” John’s smile was just a little wrong. “I like the little football.”

Teyla hesitated, one of Charin’s proverbs echoing in her mind. Do not cut off your foot to cure a broken toenail. John’s help was welcome, and she must assume sincere. “Thank you, then. I appreciate it.”

They moved down the hall together, a careful distance between them, the flicker of the aurora swelling beyond the long windows. Tribes of light, Teyla thought again. A story for another day.

The hunger was a fire in his blood, a cage of pain wrapping his bones. He had lived with it long enough that he could hold himself rigidly upright through the interminable ritual of greeting, closing his mind like a fist to keep from screaming his starvation. The new men, the blades and clevermen who had not known him before, would think him cold, presumptuous, aping their absent — their nonexistent — Queen. No matter, he told himself, meeting eyes, matching mind with mind. He would have time to teach them better.

And then finally it was finished, the last new man welcomed, the last familiar face acknowledged, and he turned to Bonewhite, unable to control his eagerness. "We are well-supplied?"

Bonewhite dipped his head. "Our holds are full. But—"

"Good." Guide could not wait for anything beyond the confirmation, moved toward the feeding cells without looking back, trying not to let his stride lengthen to a run. Bonewhite trailed respectfully in his wake, saying something about plans, courses; Guide caught something about poaching, knew it was important, but could not stop to listen.

He reached the hold at last, the fire of his hunger washing through him like a wave, and he reached blindly for the first cell. Human eyes looked back at him, gray eyes beneath dark unruly hair, cheeks coarse with stubble, and in spite of himself he snarled, withdrew his hand.

The next cell’s occupant was mercifully fair, older, but still strong, glaring his last defiance even as Guide slammed his hand against the human’s chest and flexed his fingers to set his claws. He drank deep, saw the human writhe, shrivel, drained in an instant, and moved to the next cell without pause and fed again. And again, like a drone in battle, the life force flowing through him, quenching the fire that had burned so long he feared he would never be entirely free of it, would carry its embers forever in his bones.

He stopped at last, sated, breathing deep, feeling his heart beating swift and steady, alive again and whole. And in the first cell a man who looked something like John Sheppard hung untouched, eyes wide and uncomprehending, spared for no reason… Guide snarled at him, at himself, at a weakness he most certainly could not afford. Bonewhite was still waiting, a respectful three steps to the rear, and when Guide turned on him, baring teeth in an expression that was not quite a snarl, the flavor of his mind denoted respect.

And that made no sense — but, no, Guide realized, he thinks I chose for aesthetics, for pleasure, that I could make that distinction even in desperation. And, if it were true, it would be admirable control. I must be very sure he never finds out the truth — that I would not kill John Sheppard just to save my life.

"Your quarters are as you left them," Bonewhite said, and his tone left it unclear whether they had been cleared or left unoccupied.

"Good," Guide said again. He preferred ambitious officers, men who would take chances to advance themselves, but he was well aware of the risks it entailed. Bonewhite had had reason to think he would be master of the hive; it would do well to watch him closely. But for now — now he needed to resume his command.

His quarters were indeed more or less as he had left them, though he could see signs that someone’s — Bonewhite’s — belongings had been hastily removed. The shape of the walls was subtly different, the sleeping nook arranged to another’s shape, but the nest of pillows was his own. He deliberately did not look at Bonewhite as he settled himself in the most comfortable of the chairs, letting it accomodate itself again to his body. A handful of dice lay to hand, black and purple and blue, each of the narrow crystals’ primary faces marked with a symbol, and he tossed two idly. They came up double-four, the human throw, and this time he did look at Bonewhite, feeling his own amusement at the apt result reflected in the other’s mind.

"Sit."

Bonewhite did as he was told, arranging the skirts of his coat neatly around him. "It is good to have you back."

There was enough truth to it that Guide would let it pass, but he let his skepticism tinge his answer. "Tell me where the alliance stands."

"There is no alliance," Bonewhite answered. "We are what is left, all that there is — this hive, and one cruiser who has not contacted us in a ten-day. Queen Death has taken the rest."

"She is—" Guide hesitated deliberately over the word. " — confident, to choose such a name.

"She has earned it," Bonewhite said.

"Explain." Guide rolled a dark red die between his fingers, closing his mind on the sudden rush of dread. Manaria was stupid, an error no Wraith should make. If this was in truth the new queen’s policy — He let the die fall, grimaced as the blank face, null, landed uppermost.

"When you were taken, the alliance shattered," Bonewhite said. "As you well know, there was always a divergence in policy among the commanders, and from the beginning Iron and Farseer went their separate ways. And then Queen Death appeared, no one knows from where. She already had three hives under her control, and she defeated the hives of Bloodrose and of Wind in open battle and bound their blades to her. She issued a proclamation then: all previous alliances were null and void. Join her, and she would bring us to new and greater feeding grounds. Oppose her, and die."

Guide let a second pair of dice fall clattering, frowned to see another null. "And has she made good on this threat?"

Bonewhite dipped his head. "She has. We had made agreements, divided up the human worlds so that none would starve, but she — she shattered all that. She takes from any world that pleases her, destroys anyone who’d stand in her way, spoils what she cannot use. Tempes is ruined, we will not be able to Cull there for four human generations, and we barely came away with our lives and hive intact."

"Our holds are full," Guide said. It was not meant as a reproach, but Bonewhite lowered his head as though it was one.

"Yes. We Culled on Irrin instead."

"Poaching," Guide said. That planet had been given to another hive, a friend and ally: a poor choice of people to provoke.

"The agreements are broken," Bonewhite said. "I had no choice."

"No."

"There is more."

Guide waited.

"We took damage over Irrin. The clevermen are working on it, but — there is still a structural weakness that we will need to address." Bonewhite paused. "Guide. We must join her. With the Lanteans back — there is no one else who can stand against them. And we most certainly cannot stand against her."

"We will see," Guide said.

"We are one hive, and queenless—"

Guide rounded on him, snarling. "Have you allowed that to become public knowledge?"

Bonewhite ducked his head. "I have not. The others — we are still believed to be the hive of Steelflower, wherever she may be." His tone betrayed his bitterness, a clever plan brought to nothing.

"Good." Guide made himself pick up the dice again, toss them as idly as any blade passing time between watches.

"It will be discovered," Bonewhite said softly. “We cannot keep up the pretense forever."

"A little longer," Guide said. "That may be enough."

"Guide," Bonewhite said again. "Commander. This is my advice as Hivemaster. Queen Death will destroy us if we do not join her now."

Guide looked at him. "You called yourself my comrade once, as well. Is that your advice as friend?"

“It is." Bonewhite met his stare squarely.

Guide bowed his own head, acknowledging the other’s answer. "Very well. But we will not join her yet. That is my decision."

There was a fractional pause before the other responded. "As my commander pleases."