The Inheritors

Chapter Sixteen Atlantis Rising

There was a moment of quiet as they came up into the control room, a heartbeat's silence like an intake of breath. John knew exactly where it came from, the moment of panic they all still felt when an unfettered Wraith walked into range, even when that Wraith was technically an ally. The talk resumed, determinedly, technicians and airmen alike trying to pretend Guide wasn't there, half a hand's-breadth taller than either of the escorting Marines, and Guide bared teeth in something that might have been amusement.

"Well, John Sheppard," he said. "We come round the circle again."

"We've been here before, all right," John said, and Woolsey drew himself up to his full height.

"Er — Guide."

You could see it almost killed him not to have an honorific to tack onto the name, John thought.

"Your fleet has arrived, and their commander wishes to speak to you."

"I'm sure he does." Guide looked at him and then at O'Neill. "I ask you again, are you prepared to meet my terms?"

"Yes," Woolsey said. "It's to our advantage to do so. We just can't do it right now."

Guide shook his head, the long strands of his hair hissing against the leather of his coat. "Then there is no bargain. I would like to speak to my commander now."

"Be my guest," O'Neill said. The frustration in his voice was very clear.

"Banks," Woolsey said, and the dark-haired woman nodded.

"I have them on the screen, sir."

She nodded toward the larger of the communications displays, and John turned toward it as it lit, revealing Kenny's straggling hair and high forehead. The tattoo on his right cheek seemed very dark against his marbled skin.

"Commander. What are your orders?"

"To do nothing, for now." Guide looked back at O'Neill as if waiting for him to change his mind. "We will not engage just now."

"Very good, Commander."

Did Kenny look a little confused? John wondered. He hoped so — anything that would disrupt Guide's plans had to be good for them. Maybe.

"And now…." Guide looked down at Woolsey, clearly relishing the difference in their heights. "If we can come to no agreement, Mr. Woolsey, then I must return to my ship."

To his credit, Woolsey didn't step back, just lifted his chin a little to meet the Wraith's slit-eyed stare. "If you wish, of course —"

"But we're a little busy to be running a taxi service," O'Neill said.

"Now that," Guide said, "begins to sound like a threat. And that, surely, would be unwise."

"No threats," Woolsey said, with a minatory look at O'Neill. "And I'm sure we can arrange transport, as Ms. Emmagan will surely want to return to Atlantis. Her presence with your fleet is no longer required."

"Of course," Guide said. He looked back at the screen. "I will be returning to the hive, and Teyla Emmagan will be coming back to Atlantis. Inform the Young Queen."

"At once, Commander." Kenny bowed, and the picture disappeared.

John glanced at the sensor display, calculating times and distances. Half an hour out and back, a quick switch-over on the hive — yeah, the city could spare him that long. "With your permission, General, I'll take Guide across to the hive in a jumper, and bring Teyla back."

O'Neill lifted an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Woolsey nodded. "Thank you, Colonel."

John touched his radio. "Lieutenant Clark. I'd like a Marine escort in the jumper bay immediately."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant answered, and John looked at Guide.

"I just don't want you getting any ideas."

Guide showed teeth. "It is not I who needs help, John Sheppard."

It was not a long flight to the hive. Kenny had the Dart bay open for them, and John brought the puddlejumper neatly into the open space. In the viewscreen, he could see Teyla waiting, flanked by Alabaster and a handful of drones, and he pushed himself up out of the pilot's chair as the Marines lowered the tailgate.

"Guide."

The Wraith looked over his shoulder.

"You know neither one of us can beat Death alone."

Guide paused. "I know. And you know my price, John Sheppard."

He turned, coat swirling at his heels, and stalked down the ramp to join his daughter. Teyla moved at the same moment, and they passed without speaking. Teyla climbed into the jumper, and the nearest Marine hit the switch that closed the tail.

"We're clear, sir."

John was already back in the pilot's chair, the board lighting blue at his touch, and a moment later Teyla settled into the co-pilot's place. "Good to have you back," he said, without looking up, but he could almost feel her smile.

"It is good to be back," she said. "Though I think it would be well if we did not linger."

The Dart bay door was still open, and John brought the puddlejumper up and around in a single smooth curve. He braced himself for collision alarms, for closing doors and the crash of energy weapons, but nothing happened. They slid smoothly out into the night, and nothing pursued.

He set a course for Atlantis, sliding from day into night, the towers' lights a tiny point in the distance, and finally glanced at Teyla. She looked completely composed, as usual, her hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair, but there was a faint line between her brows. "Any luck with Alabaster?"

She gave a rueful smile. "Indeed, I do not know. She has a solid claim to have spoken with Steelflower, and to be doing her bidding, but — I do not know if the men will follow her in preference to Guide." She shook her head. "I've done what I can, John."

If only we could find the damn weapon — if only McKay hadn't screwed around with it in the first place. If only they'd never found the thing. If only. John swallowed those thoughts as pointless, letting the puddlejumper slide deeper into the atmosphere. "Yeah. So have we all."

"What can I do for you?" Jennifer said as Daniel Jackson stuck his head diffidently into her office.

"Actually, I just figured I might not be in the way down here," Daniel said. "Everyone's pretty busy, and I always find it hard to nap when we're about to have a space battle."

"Me, too," Jennifer said. "I probably ought to get some sleep, because I expect we'll have casualties coming in later, but…" She shook her head. "Want some coffee?"

"Please," Daniel said. He took the cup she handed him and hovered politely behind the visitors' chair.

"You're welcome to have a seat," Jennifer said. "There's nothing else for me to do until the shooting starts. When it does, I'll have to kick you out."

"Of course," Daniel said. He shook his head. "I always used to wonder how Jack could sleep when we were waiting for a battle. I used to think it was a trick I'd pick up eventually. Apparently not."

"If you were going to, I think you would have by now."

"Yep. I've been doing this for… too long." Daniel shook his head. "I'm hoping to have the chance to see more of Atlantis when this is over, but this doesn't seem like the moment for sight-seeing."

"It's not the best circumstances."

"It never seems to be."

"At least you haven't been nearly electrocuted this time."

"Not yet. Don't jinx it."

"Sorry."

"I'm sorry to have missed the Wraith," Daniel said.

Jennifer looked at him in bemusement. "You know, most people don't say that."

"We still know so little about them," he said. "I mean, looking at the recent reports, this is the first confirmation we have that the Wraith even have personal names. And we've learned something about the status of Wraith queens within the hive, and about division of labor, and a tiny bit about family relationships. But that's pretty close to the sum total of what we know about the Wraith after six years, aside from the obvious and admittedly distracting fact that they eat people."

"We've studied their written language."

"We've started studying their written language, but, again, we've mostly been focused on basic translation, so we haven't gotten much farther than establishing that it's based on Ancient, which of course follows. But I'd like to actually look at how the two languages diverged, given that now we have some idea of when the Wraith were created. And get some idea of how the language works in practice in a telepathic society — we know that Wraith names have a telepathic component, and that what they're giving us are rough equivalents, so I think looking at their non-verbal communication would be fascinating." He trailed off, with a wry expression. "That may just be me."

"No, it is interesting," Jennifer said. "It's been really hard to find out anything about Wraith culture. Basically most of our interactions have been with prisoners, and they haven't wanted to talk to us very much. Like you said, this is the first time they've even been willing to tell us their names."

"And I see that the part where they eat people makes ethnographic study tricky."

"We haven't really been in a position to send somebody to observe them, no. They think of us basically as livestock."

"That was always fun with the Goa'uld," Daniel said. "Except they thought of us as slaves and potential hosts, which was a little better, but… not really that much. But at least when we were dealing with the Goa'uld we had the Jaffa to explain them to us."

"I suppose we could talk to the Wraith worshippers," Jennifer said. "But I think a lot of them don't ever see the Wraith at close quarters. It would have to be someone who'd lived on a Wraith hive ship, and we've never heard of anyone who did that and then left the ship alive."

"Believe me, I see your problem."

"At least the Wraith — Guide's Wraith — are talking to us right now. I don't know how long that's going to last after we defeat Queen Death. Assuming we defeat Queen Death. And then there's the question of the retrovirus."

"The one that makes humans able to survive being fed on by the Wraith?"

Jennifer nodded. "We don't really have any idea what that's going to mean for Wraith society, assuming it's even used on a wide scale. Whether they can ever start thinking about humans as people."

"What do you think?" Daniel asked.

She sipped her cooling coffee and considered that. "I think it's possible, once they don't have to eat us," she said. "I think some of them — Guide, for instance — are aware on some level that we're people, but they have to be able to feed to live, so they tell themselves that most humans are no better than cattle at the same time that they're willing to work with us."

"Do you think they'll accept the retrovirus?"

"It's not entirely up to them," Jennifer said. "Humans in Pegasus are going to use it whether the Wraith want them to or not. I think it's a strategic advantage in some ways — they have a population problem, and being able to feed on humans more than once would help them avoid having to go into hibernation because there's not enough for them to eat. Guide was certainly interested in our previous retrovirus, which would have made it unnecessary for them to feed at all, although I'm getting the impression that would have been harder for them to accept."

"A bigger cultural change," Daniel said. "If humans didn't have to eat or drink, that would be great, right? Only think how disruptive it would be to have all of our cultural rituals around eating and drinking suddenly become unnecessary, and maybe impossible."

"And people do like eating and drinking," Jennifer said, raising her coffee cup. Beyond its effect as a stimulant, she had to admit that the coffee was comforting to have in her hand.

"They do. It's pleasurable and psychologically rewarding, and it's a major part of social rituals. A dietary shift is easier to accept."

The intense light of interest on his face was hard to resist. "If we win the battle, I'll see if I can introduce you to the Wraith, all right?"

"I'd like that," Daniel said.

Sam scrolled to the last page of the reports, her eyes skimming past the details to the final summary: ninety-eight percent ready. Ninety-eight percent of optimum, and forty-eight hours ago she'd have laughed if you'd said she could get the Hammond ready for battle in that amount of time. But her crew had worked miracles, her people and Zelenka's team from Atlantis and Bill Lee and his crew from the SGC. She hoped they got the respect they deserved for it, especially Bill. He'd been in her shadow, and Daniel's, and even McKay's, and if he'd been anywhere else he'd have been the top man, not the guy who was always second best. She'd said as much in the report she'd just finished, and now she touched the keys to add it to the queue for the next databurst, but she wasn't under too many illusions about the likelihood of it reaching Earth any time soon. Yes, they'd been in impossible situations before and somehow survived, but there were four hiveships bearing down on the planet, and still no sign that Todd was going to help them.

She touched keys, bringing the current tactical plot to the foreground. Not that Todd's fleet was all that impressive. He had three hives, yes, but one of them was smaller than the others, its mass and power signature both less, and he certainly lacked the support vessels. Queen Death had eight cruisers of varying sizes and who knew how many Darts; Todd had only a pair of cruisers and a smaller ship that she suspected was supposed to be some kind of support vessel. Sensors said it was armed, but not heavily enough for the coming battle.

Of course, they also had the Hammond, and the Pride of the Genii — with Lorne flying the Ancient warship, she felt reasonably sure it would stay on their side and not vanish into hyperspace as soon as things got difficult — and Atlantis itself, which was still kind of amazing to contemplate. But all in all, she suspected that their best result was going to be to do significant damage to Queen Death's fleet and get Atlantis into hyperspace before her Wraith could press the attack. And that wasn't going to be as easy as she'd like.

She glanced at the time display and straightened her shoulders. T minus twenty, and it was time she took her place on the bridge. Her eyes strayed to the pictures above her bunk, held to the bulkheads with plain black magnets. They were all here, all her old team, Jack and Teal'c and Daniel and Cam and Vala, and though she knew she should wish them safe on Earth, she couldn't help being glad of their presence. God knew she needed 302 pilots, and Cam and Teal'c were two of the best.

The bridge crew was ready, even though wires hung untidily from a few of the consoles. Sam took her seat, and nodded to Major Franklin. "Status, Major?"

"We're ready to go, Colonel," he answered.

Sam nodded. She'd never yet managed to have that conversation with him, though she thought she knew what she was going to say when she had a minute, but at least there was no question about his abilities as a tactical officer. "Get me Atlantis," she said, and the pony-tailed airman on the communications board jumped to obey.

"Atlantis here, Hammond." That was Jack's voice, faintly ironic as always.

"We're at ninety-eight percent of optimum, General," Sam said. "We're ready to lift."

"Good job," Jack said. His voice chanced slightly, became more formal. "Colonel, the city will launch after you. Proceed to a low parking orbit and wait for us to join you. Then you and Pride of the Genii can go hunt Wraith."

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "Permission to lift?"

"Lift when ready." Jack paused. "Give 'em hell, Carter."

Sam grinned. "Will do, sir. Captain Chandler. Take us into orbit."

"Yes, ma'am." Chandler's hands moved on the controls, and Sam felt the Hammond shudder as the inertial dampeners took hold. Engines rumbled, steadied, and the Hammond rose from the pad. Chandler spun her horizontally, facing away from the towers, and pointed her at the sky. Sam couldn't suppress her grin as the sky went from blue to black, the Hammond sliding from atmosphere to vacuum, stars filling the screens. Steering engines fired, and she caught a glimpse of the Genii ship hanging further out, a graceful shape bright against the black. A secondary screen showed the night side of the planet, haloed in white, the pinpoint of light that was Atlantis the only mark on the perfect circle.

"We've achieved stable orbit, ma'am," Chandler said.

"Nice job, Captain." Sam looked at the technician. "Comm, let Atlantis know we're here."

"Yes, ma'am." The airman's hands flew across her board, and she looked over her shoulder. "Atlantis acknowledges — and the Genii ship is signaling."

"Put them through," Sam said.

"Colonel Carter." It was Ladon Radim in the screen, polite and unreadable as ever. "It's good to see you again."

"And you, Chief Ladon." Sam repressed the urge to cross her fingers.

"Major Lorne has suggested that after Atlantis is established in orbit we make a microjump to just within range of Queen Death's fleet, strike, and jump back out of range."

"Hit and run," Sam said. She could see how it would work, a quick strike to damage the cruisers, and then jump away again. "Major Franklin?"

"We can do it, ma'am."

Sam nodded. "I concur, Chief Ladon. Assuming Atlantis agrees."

"We'll await their approval," Ladon answered, and cut the connection.

"Colonel," the airman at the communications board said. "Atlantis is ready to lift."

Sam looked at the side screen, the black disk of the planet with the tiny glint of light. So tiny, to carry so many lives — but it was the Ancients' Lost City, Teyla's City of the Ancestors, unimaginably old and unimaginably powerful. She might be rising now to her last battle, but she had Sheppard in the chair and Jack in command and that had to mean something. "Confirmed," she said, and turned her attention to the tactical displays.

John settled into the chair, stretching his hands along the arms. It felt cool, waiting. He took a deep breath.

In his headset, Radek spoke from the control room, "Colonel Sheppard, we are all systems green."

"Okay," John said. "Let's do this." He closed his eyes and leaned back, the pads of his fingers sinking in the soft silicone gel that allowed the chair to connect to his own nervous system. There was the usual momentary disorientation as connections formed, the universe broadening until his own body was only a tiny part. John Sheppard sat in the chair in Atlantis.

And John Sheppard was Atlantis. He was the city, thousands of years old, home of millions of people throughout time, lost beneath the waves and found again, a wandering relic, a caravan, an ark, a place of safety that traveled through the stars as surely as a Wraith hive ship.

It's the same, John thought. It's the same idea, the same heart of it — a place that can be anyplace, a ship to sail the wide seas of night and carry people in it safe from the hazards of any shore. My home.

Yours, the city whispered, each circuit reaching for each synapse like a child reaching for its mother, like lover speaking to lover. For a moment he knew them all as the city had known them, pilot upon pilot who sat in this chair through the long centuries, chosen by luck or by skill, in honor and in hardship, a boy barely into his teens sinking into the city's systems to speak through it, its voice now his, an old woman who had died in the chair's embrace, gratefully breathing her last as a hyperspace window opened. They were the ones who had come before him, guardians all.

For a moment he saw himself, black uniform and graying hair. The chair tilted back to welcome him. This was where he belonged. This was what it needed. His mind, his touch, his strength to yield. And long after John Sheppard was dead, Atlantis would remember.

We need to go, he said.

Lines of force appeared, the city calculating the best trajectory. Far beneath, there was a rumble, mighty engines coming online, ports closing beneath the water.

That was Radek's voice on the headset, distant and near at once. "We are showing optimal power from the ZPM."

He knew that. The city knew it. It was ready.

Then go, John said.

The city trembled, engines firing, sliding upward almost impossibly slowly at first and then gaining speed, water streaming away, steaming in vast clouds superheated in the cold air, billowing out over the surface of the sea. Atlantis rose.

"God, that's beautiful." Carter's voice on the line, hushed, as though she hadn't realized she was transmitting.

The sky above darkened, a hemisphere of stars. The Hammond was below, a small bright shape against flowing clouds.

"We have achieved a stable orbit," Radek said.

Yes, the city said. All is well. Lines of force flowed about the world, easy to direct, easy to choose a path that looped the city around the world in a high equatorial orbit. There.

John opened his eyes. "Okay," he said into the headset. "I think we're good."