The Inheritors

Chapter Two Broken Trust

"Here's where we need to concentrate our search," John said. It was a small briefing, with only Carter, Cadman, Ronon, and Lorne in attendance. "You all have assigned areas to search, and we need to move fast."

"While being discreet," Carter added. "We need to find the… object… without drawing attention to the fact that we're looking for it."

Cadman's eyebrows went up, but she didn't ask questions. Carter and Lorne didn't look like they had questions. Ronon figured he'd wait until everyone else left before getting the real story out of John.

"All right, move out," John said. The others headed out, Lorne still leaning on a cane but managing a brisk pace despite it.

"So what's this thing we're looking for?" Ronon said.

John's face went suddenly closed. "Just find it, okay? It's about so big, made of naquadah, looks like some kind of scepter or club."

"I heard that the first time," Ronon said. He waited a moment. "So what aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing you need to know."

"You sure?"

John's gaze slid sideways. "I'm sure. Let's just find this thing."

"Whatever you say," Ronon said, and went out into the hall. He waited until he was out of earshot, and then called Teyla on the radio.

"Yes, Ronon?"

"Are you up there with the Wraith?"

"Not at the moment."

"Sheppard knows something he doesn't want to tell me," Ronon said. "I thought you might know what that is."

There was a pause, and then Teyla said, "We should talk. But not over the radio."

He met her in the gym, their usual place to talk in private. Teyla was there when he arrived, standing with her hands folded as if in meditation, although he thought her calm didn't reach below the surface.

"The device that is missing is the Ancient weapon we found on Alabaster's world," she said.

"It's not her world." Alabaster might think of the place as hers, and of the humans there as her pets, but it had been the humans' world first.

"The world where she has lived for many years. She is not the first Wraith to make a home there, Ronon. Thousands of years ago, the first Wraith visited the same world."

"So?" His voice was harsh in his own ears, but Teyla went on undaunted.

"They had been human beings themselves, once. They were the product of a very unwise experiment by one of the Ancestors, a man named Hyperion. He may have been trying to find a way for the Ancients to live forever without Ascending."

"Becoming a Wraith? Not a good trade."

"That was not his intention. But the experiment went badly wrong. Instead of creating humans with the powers of Ascended Ancients, it created the Wraith. Hyperion imprisoned them to study them, trying to find out what had gone wrong. They were here on this planet. The island base we found beneath the ice was Hyperion's laboratory."

Ronon felt a chill run down his spine. He'd wondered who the prisoners were who'd been imprisoned in those cells on the island. He'd been glad to think that they escaped. But they'd been Wraith. The first Wraith, setting off to prey on the rest of the galaxy.

"They killed Hyperion, and escaped his laboratory," Teyla went on. "They could not return to their homes, so they scattered to many worlds. Eventually they created the hive ships, and made their homes in space."

"And made more Wraith."

"They had children."

"Same thing."

Teyla's mouth tightened, but she carried on. ''Hyperion also created a failsafe, a weapon created to kill the Wraith. The first mothers of the Wraith took it with them when they escaped. They could not destroy it, so they hid it on Alabaster's world."

He let the question of whose world it was go that time. "A weapon that kills Wraith. Okay. What's the big secret?"

"It is not just a weapon to kill Wraith," Teyla said. "It is a weapon with the power to destroy every Wraith in the galaxy."

It took Ronon a moment to find words to reply. "That's impossible."

"Colonel Carter tells me that the Ancients once created a weapon that could destroy all life in an entire galaxy," Teyla said. "Such things were within their power. And Hyperion was a brilliant man."

"He made the Wraith."

"Brilliant and very arrogant. He believed his experiment would be a success. And he never imagined that the humans he thought of as laboratory animals could truly overpower the Ancients who created them."

"So why aren't we using the weapon?"

"Even if we wanted to, we could not," Teyla said. "It would kill all those with the genetic markers of the Wraith as well. Myself, Rodney, Torren, Kanaan, and every other human being with the Gift. Hundreds or thousands of innocent humans would die."

"How do we know this?"

"Alabaster warned us when we found the device."

"Oh, Alabaster says so."

"She does," Teyla said firmly. "I do not trust her unduly, but she is skilled in the sciences, and she knows more of the history of Hyperion's weapon than we do. And Rodney agrees with her. If you cannot trust Alabaster, surely you can trust Rodney."

"Unless he's working for the Wraith himself."

"He is not."

"It's happened before. And don't say they couldn't break McKay. They can break anybody. Who knows what it did to him, turning him into a Wraith, messing with his head—"

"Guide and Alabaster have no idea where Hyperion's weapon is," Teyla said. "Their anger that it is missing is real. And if Rodney had been compromised by the Wraith, that would be all the more reason for him to want the weapon destroyed."

"I'm not going to argue with that." Ronon shook his head. "Sheppard should have told me himself."

"I believe John felt you should not have to share the responsibility for destroying a weapon that could kill all the Wraith. He wanted to spare you that."

"I'd still be responsible even if I didn't know," Ronon said.

"I thought you would see it that way."

"I guess I'd better go look for the weapon. So that we can do the right thing."

He started to shoulder past her, but she caught his arm. "Please tell me that I have done the right thing by telling you about the weapon."

"Don't you trust me?" Ronon said, and shrugged her arm away as he went by.

The news reached Ladon Radim in the still hours before dawn: one of their most valuable agents, a man so well-placed that only the innermost circle of the government even knew of his existence, had stumbled through the Stargate on Taadin, and was demanding to see the Chief. Ladon dressed quickly, listening to the report, the sky outside the high window still glazed with stars, and gave his aide Ambros a thoughtful glance. This could not be good news, unless Varelon had lost his nerve, and that seemed unlikely. It was more likely that the Wraith had turned him, sent him back to wreak what havoc he could before he died. Ladon did not need to say that, however, and tugged on gloves against the cold.

"Who's with him?"

"Arrasid Bak and Colonel Hanan."

Ladon nodded. They were both good men, loyal and reliable; if this were a Wraith trick, he could trust them to defend him. Even so, he slipped a knife into the sheath hidden beneath the sleeve of his uniform jacket, and made sure his pistol was loose and ready in its holster. There was no need to take unreasonable chances.

They had brought Valeran to a secure site not too far from the Stargate, a low stone house distinguished from its neighbors only by the government truck pulled up inside the courtyard gate. There were soldiers as well, Hanan's men on discreet watch. Ladon returned their salute, and was ushered into what had been the informal receiving room. The curtains were drawn tight, and a fire blazed on the hearth; all the lamps were lit, and Varelon sat huddled in the central armchair, his arms folded tight as though he were cold. He shot to his feet as the door opened, and Ladon saw the movement of his shoulders as he stopped himself from bowing as though to a Wraith Queen.

"Varelon," Ladon said, keeping his voice scrupulously neutral, and the spy ducked his head in awkward acknowledgement.

"Chief. You know I would not have left my post for anything but dire emergency —"

"I know," Ladon said. He eyed the other man, tall and whip-thin, his hair long and loose in the style affected by most Wraith worshippers, saw the tremors in his muscles that spoke of having been too long without the Wraith enzyme. "Sit, man, and speak plainly. I expect there's no time to waste."

"No." Varelon sank gratefully into his chair. "Chief, you know I have been placed in the household of a Wraith commander and that he has joined the alliance of Queen Death."

"Yes," Ladon said, when it seemed that some response was required.

"Death has summoned her commanders and their fleets," Varelon said. "She intends to attack and destroy Atlantis."

Ladon saw shock and fear on the others' faces, and let his breath out in a soundless sigh. "You're certain." It was not a question, but Varelon nodded anyway.

"Sure enough that I abandoned my post and came to warn you directly. Chief, their fleet will be underway even now."

And that was the next question answered: not merely a planned attack, but one already begun. That forced his hand. He could not allow Death to destroy Atlantis. "Ambros. Summon the inner council — tell them it's urgent, but don't give them any details. And make sure my sister attends, and the commander of the Pride of the Genii. Then contact Atlantis. Talk to them yourself, and get me a meeting with Mr. Woolsey as soon as possible." He looked back at Varelon. "I know you're in need, but can you accompany me to Atlantis? The Lanteans will want to hear the details from you directly."

Varelon shivered, but nodded. "Yes, Chief. I'll be fine."

I doubt it, Ladon thought, but clapped him on the shoulder as though he believed him. "Good man."

Ronon finished searching the third location on his list and pulled out his tablet to look at the city map. It could easily take them all day to search every inch of every location where the security footage had been tampered with. There had to be a better way.

Think like your prey, his grandfather had said, years ago on childhood hunting trips. That would be easier if he knew who the thief had been. It had to be a scientist or a specialist, someone who could alter the security footage. Someone who knew about Hyperion's weapon and knew or guessed where Sheppard had hidden it. Someone either reckless or driven enough to steal it. Or else someone compromised by the Wraith.

If it were the Wraith themselves, they'd keep it on their persons, figuring it would create a diplomatic incident to search them. So assume it's not the Wraith. Who else fit the picture? Teyla was sure that it wasn't Rodney.

Ronon wasn't so sure. Rodney knew about the weapon because he'd been there when they found it. And he'd been compromised by the Wraith. Ronon knew better than anyone how good they were at breaking people. Rodney might still be working for them, carrying out some plan for Queen Death while he smiled and promised all his friends that he was fine. He'd been acting strangely since he came back, a new twist in his smile and something slightly off-key about his conversation, especially when the Wraith were around.

If it were Rodney… Ronon glanced at the map. Suspicion hardened into certainty. Only one place on it mattered, a rarely-used tower room with skylights that let in the sun, some Ancient scientist's laboratory too far out of the way of the central tower and mess hall to be attractive as work space. He'd followed Rodney up there years ago, watched him stash things there and leave without ever noticing he'd been followed.

A lot of the longtime Atlantis personnel, veterans of too many invasions and alarms, kept emergency caches of food and equipment somewhere in the city. Ronon had made something of a game of looking for them, never disturbing what he found, but remembering where he'd found it.

He headed for Rodney's cache of supplies, despite the fact that it wasn't on his list of places to search. The transport chamber opened only three floors below the lab, and he took the stairs at a fast jog.

Of course the door was locked, and its control panel demanded a password. He started trying passwords he knew Rodney used, both ones he'd watched Rodney enter and the ones Jeannie Miller and Radek Zelenka had painstakingly worked out during Rodney's absence. Finally one of them worked, and the door slid open.

Most of the room was empty. A computer was set up in one corner, on a table cluttered with bags of snack food and bottles of soda, most unopened. Pieces of Ancient laboratory equipment sat in the opposite corner of the room, none looking like they'd been in frequent use. Overhead, thin gray light filtered in through the skylight, now glazed with ice.

Several crates were stacked under the table, and Ronon pulled them out cautiously. The first two crates he searched were full of various electronic parts, most of which Ronon couldn't identify, but none of which could possibly be Hyperion's weapon.

He was starting to think he was wrong when he opened the next crate. Resting on a tangle of circuit boards and wires was a simple rod with a sphere at one end, looking as if it had been carved from a single block of naquadah.

Hyperion's weapon.

It was warm in his hand when he picked it up, which Teyla hadn't mentioned. Ronon frowned. They'd all learned to treat Ancient devices that grew warm or glowed with caution. That was usually a sign that they'd been activated by someone who had the ATA gene, the Ancestors' legacy that let a lucky few of their descendants use their technology.

Ronon didn't have the ATA gene, and the gene therapy that sometimes activated it hadn't worked on him. But John and Rodney both had it, and they'd both handled the weapon. John might have left it in the box Teyla said they'd found it in, but Rodney obviously hadn't, because the box was gone.

And of course Rodney hadn't left it in the box. He would have taken it out and handled it, at least for a few minutes, trying to find some clue to how it worked. That might well have been enough to activate it, priming it so that anyone could use it.

Some devices didn't work that way, like the puddlejumpers; even after they were turned on, it took someone with the gene sitting in the pilot's seat to make them fly. But some did. It was entirely possible that he could use the weapon. It was entirely possible that he was holding in his hand a weapon that he could use to kill all the Wraith in the galaxy.

The weapon moved in his hand, shifting, and Ronon stiffened, wondering what he'd done, his heart racing. The globe was peeling apart, its pieces shifting, some sliding down the rod to form the familiar shape of a trigger, others now strongly resembling the muzzle of a gun. What he held in his hand now, its oddly slick material still unmarked, was unmistakably a weapon.

If it could do this, why didn't it do it for McKay? That was a question for the scientists to answer, but he thought he might have a guess. Most of the Ancient devices responded to thought — no, that wasn't right. To the will. The force shield they'd once found had been like that; Rodney hadn't been able to turn it off until he'd truly wanted it to turn off.

Rodney had been altered by his ordeal more than the others wanted to admit. Even if he wasn't compromised, he was still acting like he thought the Wraith were people. And maybe he was compromised. Either way, he wouldn't have held Hyperion's weapon in his hand and thought about how much he wanted to wipe out every last Wraith in the galaxy.

Ronon's hand opened convulsively, the weapon dropping with a clatter back into the open crate. Every last Wraith, and all the humans who were victims of Wraith experiments, or descended from their victims. That's what Teyla had said would happen. That using the weapon would kill Teyla and Rodney and everyone else with the Gift along with all the Wraith.

And could he say it wouldn't be worth the price?

Of course it wouldn't be worth it, he told himself firmly. Teyla and Rodney were his friends, his family, and he would have willingly died to protect them. But there had been a time when they would have just as gladly laid down their own lives to save humans from the Wraith. At least, Teyla would have done it gladly; Rodney would have done it in frightened, furious resentment, his racing complaints about the unfairness of their imminent deaths somehow adding up to his own kind of courage.

But they weren't going to do that now. They were going to find a way to destroy the weapon, despite the fact that destroying it meant letting the Wraith go on killing and killing and killing. Letting it go on when he could stop it right now by pulling a trigger.

He picked up the weapon again and let it lie in the palm of his hand. It was heavy for its size, a warm weight that invited his hand to curl around it. He held it for a long moment, and then put it away in his coat.

No one knew he'd found it. The Wraith might be kicking up a fuss about the weapon being missing, but they'd probably get over it. It wouldn't hurt to hold onto the weapon just for a little while, until they had a better idea how their forces stacked up to Queen Death's. What if they destroyed the weapon and then realized it had been the last hope of ever freeing humans from the Wraith?

He could always hand it over to Carter to destroy. But once it was destroyed, they couldn't get it back. John might be willing to hand over their last card that way, but Ronon wasn't. At least not yet.

He closed the storage crate and stacked them the way he'd found them, heading back out of the room toward the stairs. Hyperion's weapon nestled in his pocket, warm and heavy; his fingers caressed it, just for a moment, before he forced himself to let it go.