The Inheritors

Chapter Twenty-one Boarding Party

Ember stared at the image. If he had not been shaking already in the aftermath of Ease's death, he would have shuddered: those were the Ancient weapons, the ones legend said had nearly broken the Wraith in the first war, before the queens had overcome them by sheer weight of numbers. For the first time, he thought he understood what it might have been like to have been born in those days.

He glanced back at his boards, the data trickling monotonously down the screens, repeating that Just Fortune was as ready for battle as it would ever be. And still they waited. He risked a glance over his shoulder, but Guide's face was impassive, impossible to read. Alabaster was easier, frowning in more than mere concentration as she watched the cruisers twist in the central screen. She wanted to join the battle, Ember thought, but deferred to her father's judgment. Though surely Steelflower would want to see Death defeated first, and whatever agreements must be made with the Lanteans could be resolved later….

Precision hissed softly, and Guide said, “Not yet.”

“We cannot wait forever,” Alabaster said.

“We must,” Guide answered, and there was that in his tone that silenced any protest.

Ember looked back at his boards as a sudden knot in the data caught his eye, and touched his controls to disentangle the problem. It was the status transmission from Farseer's hive, power spiking suddenly in the secondary systems, and he snarled in spite of himself. The readouts wavered, warnings blooming and dropping, only to vanish as Farseer's clevermen fought the problems. The hive had been badly damaged when Farseer fled Queen Death's fleet, and the repairs had been hastily made.

"Commander!" The voice came from the communications console, Farseer's face and shaved head snarling from the screen. "Commander, we have a problem with our maneuver engines —"

"Sabotage?" Guide's tone was controlled, but Ember saw his feeding hand open and flex.

"No, damage from our last fight — some of the repairs have come adrift."

Ember looked back at his console. The stream of warnings had slowed, but now the off-line indicators pulsed ominously, an all-too-familiar pattern. He had warned Whirlwind that the patches would not hold.

"We've lost lateral thrusters," Farseer went on. "My men are working on it, but — your cleverman, Ember, he did the first repairs. It would speed our work if we could borrow him again."

Guide glanced toward him, and Ember met his gaze. “I will go, Commander.”

“Very well,” Guide answered. “Take a shuttle, and be quick about it.”

Ember glanced back the screen as he left the control room, seeing the Lanteans still locked in battle with Death's fleet. Surely Guide would act, and soon.

John watched the puddlejumper go, trying not to change course too much until Eva cleared the shield. Cloaked, it was invisible to the Wraith, but he still held his breath until it was out of the fire zone, zipping for the crippled cruiser.

The city took another strong barrage from the hive ships, the shield holding firm. How much power was there?

The answer was there immediately, the city answering his thought — the ZPM is at 83 % and dropping slowly. Well, it would have to be, considering the power required to maintain the shield. Which was getting increasingly harder. The city showed him, information flowing in.

John surfaced, his eyes opening though he remained in the chair. "We're going to have to withdraw the shields from the edges of the city," he said.

"Why?" Woolsey replied on the headset. "We have power."

"We've got plenty of power. That's not the problem," John said. "But the repairs we made to the city's systems while we were on Earth are way not up to spec. Our stuff isn't nearly as good as the Ancient stuff, and it's not handling the load right when we're taking this kind of fire and holding the shield against hard vacuum. It's using too much at one time. We've got to cut power to something. And I'd rather it wasn't the hyperdrive, or we won't be able to bug out if we need to."

There was a long silence.

"Okay," Woolsey said at last. "We'll give the warning and then pull the shield back from up here."

"Sounds good." John closed his eyes again, tilting back into the chair's embrace.

One of the hives had gotten free of the Hammond and the Pride, coming on strong.

Drones, John thought. There were still more than twenty left. Another flight of eight, two and two and two and two, all set for the same coordinates, firing in pairs so that the power required for launch and for the shield breach would be spread out. Two and two, launching and passing through, as, in some separate world, John heard the evacuation order for the outer areas of the city ringing through human ears.

Three on target, a fourth decoyed away…

Four more launches, straight and true through the dark.

The hive reeled, alarms flaring, the main engines offline and systems shutting down, falling away from the plane of engagement. Darts scrambled to get away from it, fleeing the expected shockwave.

Another one down, John thought. Nineteen drones left.

The infirmary was quiet, the calm before the storm. So far the most serious injury was one of the computer technicians who had been caught under a falling rack of equipment as the city rocked under fire. She had a concussion, and Marie was monitoring her closely, although Jennifer thought she'd pull through without too much permanent harm done.

Their only other patient so far was Patterson, who had missed his footing on the stairs and twisted his ankle as he landed. It wasn't broken, only a bad sprain, but it was already swelling as she wrapped a compression bandage around it.

"I should get back to my post," Patterson said, swinging his legs down from the bed, although he winced as his toes touched the ground.

"You should elevate your foot," Jennifer said. "And I'll get you an icepack."

The infirmary shuddered, and she could hear the rattle of boxes shifting in the drug cabinets.

"We're under attack by the Wraith," Patterson said. "I've got to get back out there."

"You are not putting weight on your torn ligaments right now, I'm sorry."

"Look at it this way, son," Carson said, patting the Marine on the shoulder. "If the Wraith make it into the city, we'll all be glad you're in here protecting us."

"I guess so," Patterson said, looking mollified.

It wasn't exactly a lie, but Jennifer and Carson both knew there was little chance of a fight in the city. If the shield held, the Wraith couldn't penetrate it with their transport beams, and if the shield failed, they'd all be dead in the vacuum of space. The Wraith would only come then to salvage what was left.

Still, it seemed to make Patterson feel better to think about what he could do for them.

"I'll go ahead and put a walking cast on it," Jennifer said. "That way if you absolutely have to put your weight on it, you can. But promise me you won't unless you have to."

"Okay, deal," Patterson said.

She opened one of the cabinets carefully in search of the plastic boot, rearranging the boxes so that they wouldn't spill out the next time the city shuddered under fire.

"Attention all personnel," Woolsey said. "We are withdrawing shields from outlying areas of the city. If you are in the areas currently marked red on all city maps, move now. You have ninety seconds to reach the city core."

"Ninety seconds," Jennifer said, shaking her head. That was how they'd lost an entire team the first time they'd flown the city, dead in vacuum as the shield collapsed inward without warning. This time everyone knew not to leave the city core.

Everyone but one small, insatiably curious Siamese kitten. She told herself firmly that Newton had never been outside the central tower, and that he wouldn't choose this moment to start exploring. He was probably hiding under a couch or curled up in a crawl space, as safe as any of the rest of them.

"I'm sure nobody's out there," Patterson said.

"I'm sure everybody's fine," Jennifer said, and started strapping on his plastic cast.

The puddlejumper crept through the battle, cloak and shields at full power, Eva Robinson at the controls. She looked less nervous than Radek felt, but then, he thought, she was a psychiatrist. She'd had a lot of practice hiding unacceptable feelings from her patients. It was reassuring anyway to see her there, frowning slightly in concentration, her hands spread on the controls. Teyla sat beside her, her head moving steadily as she looked from console to windscreen and back again. Radek could see the cruiser in the distance, drifting and apparently dead, and checked his gear again. He had the tools he'd improvised to work on the cruiser they'd salvaged, and his P90 and as much extra ammunition as he could cram into his pockets — when had he become that man, as prepared to fight as he was to do his real job? It didn't matter; what mattered was getting on board the cruiser and either defusing the explosives, or directing it away from the city.

"Hey, Doc." That was Sheffield, the young lieutenant in charge of the Marine detail, scalp and chin shaved bare. "Let me see that schematic again, will you?"

"Yes," Radek said, and turned his tablet so that the other could see the plans on the screen. "We will be coming aboard here, in the shuttle bay, and then these are the corridors that lead to the control room."

Sergeant Ramirez was looking over the lieutenant's shoulder, studying the map for the dozenth time, and Teyla turned in her seat, hearing their voices.

"I think we will take the central corridor if we can. It is the most direct route."

"Yeah," Sheffield said, still swiping at the tablet to get a better view, and Ramirez looked up.

"Any idea yet how many hostiles on board, Ms. Emmagan?"

"Not yet," Teyla answered, her tone utterly tranquil. "Not many, I do not believe."

That would be good, Radek thought. 'Not many' was a number he could live with.

"Teyla," Dr. Robinson said. "We're coming up on the shuttle bay."

The mottled hull loomed in the windscreen, the bay left gaping when the ship was abandoned. A few telltales flickered within, weak power in the conduits, and Teyla closed her eyes for a moment. "There are no Wraith in the bay," she said at last. "And their forcefield is still holding atmosphere. Go ahead and bring her in, Eva."

"All right."

"Sergeant," Sheffield said, and Ramirez nodded.

"Sir!" He waved his hand, forming the Marines up on either side of the tailgate, weapons ready, and Radek stuffed the tablet into his pack. He pulled out the jamming device he'd hastily cobbled together, set it to cover the full spectrum of Wraith transmissions. Eva brought the jumper carefully into the bay, rotating it as she landed so that it was facing out again, ready for a quick getaway.

"Grazyk, Hatton, Ling, stay with the jumper," Sheffield said, and looked at Teyla, who looked at Radek in turn.

"Is the device ready?"

Radek nodded. "Ready to go."

"Go ahead."

Radek flipped the switch and twisted the dial all the way to maximum. That should kill internal transmissions as well as any signal from the hive intended to detonate the bombs, and he watched as the power built. "Ok. We are at maximum power. They should not be able to set off the bombs remotely."

"Excellent," Teyla said. "Lower the tailgate, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am."

Radek braced himself, clutching his P90, but the bay was empty, the lights dimmer even than usual on a Wraith ship. Teyla paused for a moment, considering — communing with the ship? — and then waved them toward the open hatch. "I can sense no Wraith nearby. There are four in the control room, I sense no others."

Sheffield nodded, gesturing to his men, and Radek followed Teyla across the bay. "If no one is watching the explosives, perhaps I should try to defuse them now," he said, breaking into a trot to stay at her heels. "It may still be possible to override the jamming."

"Let us take the control room first," Teyla answered. "If we can first secure the ship, then everything else will be much easier."

Well, yes, Radek thought, but that presupposed they could take the control room without too much trouble. He hurried after Teyla and the Marines, hoping she was right.

The cruiser looked old and dirty, even taking battle damage into account, but that made sense, Radek thought. Of course the Wraith wouldn't use a new, strong ship for this mission. The colors of the bulkheads were faded, the decks faintly uneven underfoot, as though worn by many years of use, and he wondered just how long one of these ships could last. How long it could live. Teyla said they were indeed somewhat alive –

"Lieutenant!" Teyla's voice was precisely pitched to carry to all their party and no farther. "Wraith — three of them, coming to us along this corridor."

Sheffield waved his men back against the bulkheads, and Radek copied them, flattening himself against the rough skin. Ahead, the corridor curved slightly, turning toward the bow, and a shadow moved, black coat and flowing white hair. The Marines opened fire, kept firing; the first Wraith fell, but the others dodged back into the limited protection of the curve. A moment later, a Wraith grenade bounced around the corner, flashing blue. Radek froze, but the boy next to him moved without thought, grabbed it and threw it away behind them. It exploded in a flat crack of light, the shock wave knocking Radek's glasses askew, and the remaining Wraith whirled roaring from cover, energy weapons blazing. A Marine fell, and another, but the rest concentrated their fire on the Wraith, knocked them back, staggering, until finally they fell.

"Thank you," Radek said, to the Marine, and the boy held up his hand with a rueful smile to show it trembling.

"They are dead," Teyla said. "But the other — he has locked himself in the control room. We must take it, quickly. I do not know what he can do from there."

"Yes, ma'am," Sheffield said. "Ramirez! Let's go!"

Radek hurried after them, fetching up at the closed hatch that led to the control room.

"Locked," Ramirez said. "C4!"

"Wait," Teyla said. She rested her hand on the bulkhead beside the locking mechanism, and closed her eyes for a moment. "I can open this."

"How many hostiles inside?" Sheffield asked.

"Just one. But he believes himself well armed."

"Right. Can we risk a grenade?"

"A stun grenade, perhaps," Teyla said. "But we must damage as little as possible."

"Right," Sheffield said again. "Ok, Stone, Jenks, Alavarez, when the door opens, throw a flashbang and go in after it. Take out the pilot — and you heard Ms. Emmagan, don't shoot up the consoles if you can help it."

There was a ragged chorus of affirmation, and Teyla laid her hand on the lock again. Radek saw her draw a deep breath, and then another, and then she opened her eyes. "Now."

The hatch slid open as she spoke, and a bolt of blue light blasted through after it. One of the Marines threw a stun grenade, and then the team barreled in after it, P90s firing. The Wraith fired again, and then there was silence. Teyla shed her weapon as the nearest Marines dragged the Wraith's body away from the commander's station, and settled herself at the controls. Radek turned in a circle, finally found the main environmental controls and began setting up his tablet.

He swore as the readings began to come through. The Wraith had used every kind of explosive they could find, their own and bombs taken from human settlements, so that things like dynamite lay wired to iron spheres filled with raw gunpowder and blocks of an unfamiliar compound that had to be the Wraith equivalent of C4. It ran in a long chain along the cruiser's spine, more than a ton of it, enough to vaporize most of the cruiser and overload Atlantis's shields. The wiring was complex and redundant, and there were pressure sensors on the outer hull.

"I am attempting to take control of the ship," Teyla said. "Radek, can you disconnect the pressure sensors?"

He looked at the schematics, spinning the images to find the access points. "Yes. Yes, I think so —"

"Ramirez, Kelly, go with Dr. Zelenka," Sheffield ordered. "Everybody else, we're with Ms. Emmagan."

Radek nodded, grabbing his pack. "This way," he said, and started down the long corridor.

"Atlantis is dropping her shield!" Franklin's voice was incredulous, and Sam quickly came around to look over his shoulder at his screen.

Not dropping, no, not quite. "They're reconfiguring," Sam said. "They're pulling the shield back to just the central area." She'd seen that before, two years ago and more, when they had been adrift and badly damaged. It conserved power. But now, with a cruiser on a collision course…. Well, maybe it was the best option, all things considered, to save the power for the critical moment.

"Hammond and Pride of the Genii, pull back to cover Atlantis." That was Jack's voice on the comm, Woolsey behind him saying something else into another microphone. Definitely a problem of some kind.

Another problem.

"Chandler, see if you can get us in to cover for the Pride," Sam said. "They're in tight and won't be able to disengage."

A swarm of Darts rotated around the Pride, twenty or so taking potshots. Each one did minimal damage, but the constant pinpricks to the Pride's shields cost power, and while surrounded by this screaming whirl of Darts it was impossible to disengage.

"Yes, ma'am."

The Hammond waded in like a whale through a school of fish, and was about equally as effective. The rail guns couldn't target the Darts — too fast, and too maneuverable, but her size at least screened the Pride somewhat.

And then the Darts were on them instead. It was like being surrounded by a cloud of biting flies, each one firing at a different spot, each prick drawing a drop of blood.

"Forward shield at 25 %," Davies said. "Ventral at 40 %. Ma'am?"

"Give it a minute," Sam said, watching the Pride twist trying to get free, the cruiser sticking to it, dogging it with shots, still tight on its course.

"Ventral at 35 %."

Crap, Sam thought. They were overloading the Hammond's shields with sheer volume. "Where are my 302s? Hocken?"

There was no reply.

Mel spun her 302, diving beneath Pride of the Genii on the tail of a Dart. The fuel warning light flashed yellow on her screen, three quarters of her fuel gone — 302s carried a light load, and they weren't meant for sustained combat. Fast and maneuverable, yes, but the cost of that was operational range. Her flight was fast coming to the end of it. They'd have to land and refuel before long, or simply become expensive paperweights with guns, continuing along their last course until they hit something or more optimistically were dragged in by the Pride of the Genii's tractor beam.

Two Darts dashed over the horizon of the Pride's stern, head on at incredible speed, like the fastest game of chicken ever invented. She fired, fingers tightening convulsively, and then pulled up.

So did one of the Darts. They hit wingtip to wingtip, a touch barely a few inches long, but with enough speed and force to send her 302 spinning out of control, rotating madly over and over.

Mel had half a second to swear, and then the other wingtip hit the Pride's shields at full force and the world went black.