Secrets

Chapter Twenty-nine In From the Cold

The night was clear but freezing cold, and Jack O’Neill was glad he’d been forewarned to bring a heavy jacket. Carter was standing on the balcony, her elbows on the rail, her face tilted up to the sky where the aurora played in great sheets of light, red and blue and green chasing each other across the sky, laser bright and almost unreal looking. He’d seen the northern lights many times on Earth, but never anything like this. It was bright enough that the colors shifted slightly across her face like a light show at a concert, her mouth open slightly as though she could drink down light.

Jack came and stood at the rail beside her, shoulders not quite touching. “Penny for your thoughts, Carter?”

“I was thinking that the core composition of this planet must be fascinating for the world’s magnetic field to interact this way with the solar radiation,” she said, that same rapt expression on her face. “I’m wondering if there are exotic compounds in the core mix…” She broke off and glanced at him sideways. “Never mind,” she said apologetically. “What were you thinking?”

“That it’s pretty,” Jack said. He leaned on the rail, cold enough to feel even through his jacket sleeves. “Is this the designated brooding balcony?”

She snorted. “Yep. One of them. This is the senior officers’ brooding balcony, no one below Lorne allowed. The enlisted balcony is off the gateroom and the scientists prefer the one next to the mess.”

Jack grinned. “And the junior officers?”

“Out on the south pier.” Carter lifted her eyes to the lights again, pushing her bangs back from her forehead. “They get to fend for themselves.”

“Builds character,” Jack said.

She rested her elbows on the railing, looking out over the sea. “So.”

“So?”

“The weapon?”

“Oh, that thing.” Jack looked at her sideways. “A thorny Ancient conundrum for our pleasure.”

“Jack.”

He shook his head. “We don’t know what it does.”

“It kills Wraith,” she said seriously.

“Carter, have we ever once, just once, encountered an Ancient device that did exactly what it was intended to do without bizarre and horrible side effects?” He frowned. “It probably kills Wraith and every other sentient creature in range, or else it doesn’t kill Wraith and instead it kills sea turtles. Or it blows up every Stargate. Or it destroys all life in the galaxy, like that brilliant weapon on Dakara. There is absolutely no way that we’re turning the damn thing on. Especially since it seems like it’s an untested prototype built by a crazy guy who did genetic experiments on unwilling human subjects. No. Just no.”

“When you put it that way…”

“You and McKay are going to get rid of it,” he said. He looked at her sideways again, and she was smiling. “Which was what you wanted in the first place, right? Only you had to get me out here to put some authority behind it.”

Carter shrugged. “I figured Woolsey might be reluctant to take the chance, especially since the IOA just roasted him.”

“I think you underestimate him,” Jack said seriously.

“I thought you hated him.”

“Eh. He’s ok.” Jack shifted. The rail was cold under his forearms, even through a heavy jacket. “He’s changed a lot. I expect he’d make the call the right way, but now if it ever comes up he can say that I pushed him.”

“It may never come up if McKay and I can do it discreetly,” Carter said thoughtfully.

He looked at her keenly. “Can you?”

“Of course we can.” She tilted her head up, the playing lights making her look younger than forty one. “I haven’t had a look at it yet, but Sheppard said it was a seamless naquadah casing, like a Stargate. Destroying it’s a lot easier than taking it apart. We can always just drop it into a sun. That will destroy a gate.”

“And you think that will satisfy our allies?” Jack made air quotes around allies.

“If Todd watches it go and monitors it with us, yes.” Carter shrugged. “I can handle Todd. He’s perfectly reasonable to work with. McKay and I can make it happen.”

Jack nodded. “Ok. And what’s the situation with McKay?”

“What you see. He still looks a little off, and he’s got the residual telepathy. Beckett says that may never go, as that seems to be one of the most persistent things given its prevalence among the Athosians. But if it doesn’t, then he’s in the same boat as Teyla,” Carter said. “We can all live with that, right?”

“The IOA won’t have him on Earth, but besides that,” Jack said. “You don’t think he’s compromised?”

She looked away, out over the wind-scoured ocean. “I can’t answer that. There isn’t anything to suggest he’s not his old self. But I know Woolsey is reluctant to give him access to everything yet, and if it were my call I’d say the same. We don’t know what happened in McKay’s head. We can’t be sure there’s not something…” Her voice trailed off.

“You think there is,” he said flatly. “Or you’d never bring it up.”

Carter shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s something not quite right. It could just be the telepathy. Hell, it could just be trauma. I’d walk the same line Woolsey’s doing — give him the benefit of the doubt, but not let him back in to every piece of code until it’s been longer and I had more of a sense of it.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Ok. That’s fair. Time to make sure he’s not a sleeper, running Death’s hidden agenda.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him on this project,” Carter promised. “Unless he double crosses and shoots me or something, we’ll be fine.”

And that was about as good as it got. “Anything else on your mind?”

“I’ve got a personnel situation,” she said. She looked at him sideways. “Off the record?”

“Of course,” he said.

“It’s pretty thorny.” Carter took a deep breath. “Franklin’s a good guy, or at least I thought so. But apparently he has some kind of grudge against Sheppard from back in Afghanistan seven years ago, and he dug up all that old dirt on Sheppard’s record and spit it around the weekly poker game. Which, you know, I’m not worried about from Sheppard’s point of view, because his nose is clean and if Woolsey’s not making waves then who cares about some charges he was cleared of seven years ago? I gave Franklin hell and he swore it would never happen again.”

“So?” Jack said. “I think that’s got it, right? If Sheppard’s nose is clean, it’s dead and buried.”

“If that were the only thing.” Carter shook her head. “Right now I’ve got Daedalus’ 302 wing attached until Caldwell gets back, which means I’ve got Hocken. She’s ok, no problems with her. But the way Franklin put it, it came out like he was the type to go making trouble for her. And the last thing I need is for my second in command to get Caldwell’s 302 commander brought up on charges.”

Jack was silent a moment, working through the chain of consequences. Caldwell was senior to Carter, and he’d hand picked Hocken for this command. He’d be pissed as hell, mostly at Carter that she hadn’t managed her own guy enough to keep him from making trouble for Caldwell. He’d back Hocken up, and Carter ought to back Franklin up because he was hers, even if she’d privately like to swat him. If she did, Caldwell would flip, and if she didn’t it would look bad for her, like maybe Franklin had a point and there was something behind it. Not that anybody would say that officially, but it was not what Carter needed. Competition for command of the battlecruisers was insane, and there had been some grumbles when Carter got the Hammond. He’d heard them. Boy, had he. But there was one critical question. “Anything to it?”

“I don’t know and I don’t want to,” Carter said, her eyes evading his.

Which meant yes, but Carter had managed to avoid being directly told by anyone officially in the chain of command. She wouldn’t perjure herself. She was serious about her word of honor. Carter would twist and tie herself in knots to avoid being asked, but if she was asked under oath, she’d tell the truth. Jack sighed.

“I thought Franklin was an ok guy,” she said. “Kind of a motor mouth, but a good guy. And I really need this team to come together. I need my second in command on the same page.”

“You’ve got to talk to him,” Jack said.

“How do I do that without telling him things that I don’t know and that he sure as hell shouldn’t know?”

“About the team,” Jack said. “No, you can’t say anything about Hocken. But that’s a temporary problem, right? Caldwell will be back in a week and then she’s his again. If Franklin’s got an issue it’s not going to come up when she’s on another ship.” He shoulder bumped her. “The problem here is whether or not you can trust Franklin, because yes, you’ve got to be able to trust him. The real damage here isn’t about Sheppard or Hocken. It’s about whether his CO can trust him not to run a personal agenda that’s counter to morale and good judgment. Franklin’s screwed himself, and he may not even know it.”

Carter sighed. “I hate all these feelings,” she said. “All these people feeling feelings that I’m supposed to do something about.”

“It’s part of the job, Carter.”

“I know.” She shoulder bumped him back. “It just sucks. I’ll have to talk to him. With no nouns.”

“Carter would like to buy a noun for $100,” Jack said. “But she’ll make do with an adjective.”

“If it’s a nice one,” she said.

Jack looked up at the sheets of light across the sky. It was pretty. And also freezing. “Cold out here,” he said.

“I’ve got to get back to the Hammond.” She pursed her lips regretfully.

“In the next thirty minutes?”

“Well, no.”

“Your papa will be pacing the floor?” Jack grinned.

Carter burst out laughing. “Should we sing Baby It’s Cold Outside? Cause it sure is!”

“I can’t remember all the words. Something about ‘Baby you’ll freeze out there’?”

She hummed along experimentally. “Maybe just half a drink more?”

“Only I don’t have anything to drink.”

“Neither do I,” Carter said. “Sheppard has some beer, but somehow the Hammond doesn’t have the captain’s liquor cabinet.”

“I don’t suppose Woolsey stocked those VIP quarters,” Jack said thoughtfully.

“He might have at that,” she said. “It’s the kind of thing he’d do.”

“Baby, it’s cold outside.”

Inert, it still looked like something lethal. It gleamed dully with the cold sheen of naquadah, faintly mottled as though it were oily to the touch. There was no seam, no projector, nothing he could identify as a weapon.

Rodney turned Hyperion’s weapon over and over in his hands. It had been easy to find. Sheppard had been thinking about it so hard trying not to think about it that he was practically shouting. Teyla’s Gift might not work on humans, but Rodney’s had been the real deal. He didn’t have every nuance of course, not anymore, but with Sheppard standing next to him loudly not thinking about where he’d hidden the damned thing… It was like the old joke about not thinking about a hippo. The more you tried not to think about a hippo the more the only thing you could imagine was a great big purple one standing right in front of you. And that was dangerous with both Todd and Alabaster in the room. Like Sheppard would last ten seconds if Alabaster wanted to know where the weapon was!

Rodney tucked it into his jacket and strode off down the hall. There were a lot better hiding places in Atlantis than the one Sheppard had picked, ones that were a lot less obvious. Of course it was at the top of one of his favorite towers! But if Sheppard didn’t know where it was, it wouldn’t matter if things went sour.

He had no illusions he’d be able to hide it from Alabaster, but she wouldn’t ask him. He was just a cleverman, not the Consort of Atlantis. For a moment he imagined how the touch of her mind on his would feel, not angry and prying, but alive with pleasure and admiration at his foresight and genius…

Rodney pushed the buttons for the transport chamber. He’d stow this somewhere safe, somewhere no one would ever find besides him. Yes, McKay would save the day again. That’s what it would all come down to as usual. The door slid shut, and Rodney smiled.

The Old One woke from a dream of Athos, of the city of Emege and its proud towers, its streets strewn with petals in the wake of a spring dance, laughter and song ringing in his ears. He had last seen it beneath the Ancients’ failing shield, had left with the fleet before the Culling began, and he sat for a moment, breathing hard, until his thoughts steadied again. This was what it meant to be old, to be eldest of an immortal people: the memories became endless, too, and there was no escaping them. Especially not in dream. Osprey had been of Athos, too, and her face was in his mind as he rose from his nest, summoned a young blade to comb and dress his hair. Highflight was neat-handed, effaced himself even as he worked, and the Old One nodded his approval.

*You may go.*

*Your pardon,” Highflight said. *But — a message has just arrived.*

The Old One glanced toward the nearest screen, waved his hand to light it. Sure enough, a strand of data glimmered in the depths, and he nodded. *Very well.*

Highflight bowed again, and backed away, letting the chamber door close behind him, and the Old One frowned at the glowing characters. The message had come by roundabout methods, though he thought he could guess the source. He touched keys, entering codes to unlock the first layer of encryption, then entered the next combinations one after the other. At last the message blossomed, gold text on a dark screen, and he caught his breath as he read.

Hyperion’s weapon. He closed his eyes, seeing again the ocean cliffs, the stone tower, the watery sheen of the naqadah as he turned it over and over in his hands. They had tried to destroy it, he had tried to destroy it, with increasing desperation, but nothing he had imagined had proved enough even to damage it. He had known when they sealed it away that it was not enough, that someday it would reappear to menace them. The Lanteans had it now, and eventually they would use it. Oh, they might hesitate for the moment, for the sake of those among them who shared some part of the Wraith DNA, but in the end, they were the Ancients’ children. They could not help but use it, not just to save themselves, that was Guide’s mistake, but because they were bound by their heritage as surely as were the Wraith themselves.

But at least that hesitation might save his people. He had not wanted to move so quickly, needed time to bring the wavering hives under Death’s sway, but if the Lanteans had the weapon… They must attack now, before the humans decided to betray their alliance with Guide.

He glanced at his reflection in the sliver of mirror the ship obligingly provided. He had never been a beauty, but he had his pride, and Highflight had done well by him, brought his thin hair into decent order. The cut of his coat was good, gave an illusion of height and strength that he no longer fully possessed. It was possible, he supposed, that he would eventually age further — but none of them would live that long, if he did not act. He snarled at his reflection, and turned back to the console to summon the master of Death’s household.

*Tell the queen that I request an audience, on a matter of great urgency. With her alone.*

Death admitted him at once, Mist shooing out a bevy of clevermen, and following them out without complaint when he was not invited to remain. The zenana was otherwise empty, just Death standing beside her throne, her back to the door, one hand resting on the high wing of bone that flanked her seat. In the moment, she looked as young as she was, barely out of her girlhood, bold and strong and desperately inexperienced. An older, wiser queen might have dissembled with her enemies, the Old One thought, might have drawn them in first, made sure she had them all, wrapped them up for the kill, but such a one could never have united so many disparate hives under her banner. Death was what she was, and there was no going back.

*My queen,* he said, and made his deepest bow.

Death turned, her head lifting, but he had seen the moment of exhaustion in her golden eyes. Still, her tone was light, almost caressing, and she relaxed gracefully into her throne. *My Old One. What is it that requires a private audience?*

*No good news, I fear.*

She was still for a moment, and then shook her head with a smile. *And when was it ever? Say on.*

And that was what he had loved in her from the moment he had met her, that willingness to face all dangers head on. *My queen,* he said again. *I asked to meet with you alone because this involves the history I have shared with you and no other, how we who are Wraith were made.*

*It is well, then, to discuss this privately,* Death said.

*Before we escaped, the First Mothers and their men, the Ancients had already begun to fear us,* the Old One said. *They had begun work on a weapon that would act against us and us alone, targeting those of us who carried the genetic markers they had used to change us. They had built a prototype, and that prototype — we stole it when we escaped.*

*And did not destroy it, or you would not be here now,* Death said. “Fool —*

*We could not,* the Old One said. *Believe me, I tried. I and all our clevermen, and nothing we did even scratched its surface. Nor could we open it, to destroy its works, and we did not dare abandon it, for fear the Ancients would find it again and turn it on us.*

*They could not rebuild it?* Death asked. Her anger had faded, he saw; she was listening with care.

*We killed Hyperion who built it,* the Old One answered. *And destroyed his records. There was no other who could duplicate his work.*

Death nodded. *Go on.*

The Old One took a breath. *My queen, the weapon has been found. It is in the hands of the Lanteans.*

Death snarled, showing all her teeth, her hands closing on the arms of her throne. *How has this been allowed to happen? Why did you not tell me of this, so we might recover it, protect it from the humans?*

*I believed we were safest with it lost and unknown,* the Old One answered. *What only one man knew to exist could not, I thought, be searched for.*

*You were wrong,* Death snapped. *And do you suggest we simply sit and await our destruction?*

*No, my queen,* the Old One said. *The Lanteans do not yet know how to use it, and I do not believe they will use it immediately. Thanks to — certain experiments in the past — there are humans who carry our DNA, and the Lanteans are tender of such. If nothing else, there is McKay to consider. They will wish to spare him if they can. It is my belief that if we act now, attack in strength and in concert, we can take them unaware, and destroy them before they have a chance to learn to use the weapon.*

Death leaned back in her throne again, her face like a mask of stone. *You said before we did not have the ships or the men for such a venture.*

*I don’t know if we do,* the Old One said. *But, my queen, we cannot wait. Our hand is forced.*

She nodded slowly. *I cannot say I am entirely sorry. Better to put it to the trial than wait and maneuver. Very well. Summon my commanders and my hivemasters. We will attack Atlantis immediately and take them unaware.*