Allegiance

Chapter Twenty-five Out of Time

The sky outside the gate room windows was almost clear, just a few high clouds streaking the morning sky. For once, John thought, it wasn’t a tease. The meteorologists swore the weather would continue to clear and the temperatures would be comfortably above freezing. Not only that, they hadn’t had an unscheduled gate activation in over seventy-two hours, not since the Wraith tried their bigger bomb, and, while he didn’t really think that the Wraith had given up, it was nice to catch a break now and then.

He looked around the control room, savoring the quiet. Lynn was doing something at the console they reserved for research, one of the botanists leaning over his shoulder and frowning at the screen. Working the Ancient database, John guessed — that was one place Lynn had made himself pretty much indispensable now that Rodney was gone… He flinched at the thought. They would get him back, he told himself, though the words were starting to feel a little hollow. They had to get him back, or the IOA would send a team out hunting, and John didn’t think he could be part of that. And even if they did find him, figure out a way to rescue him, then what? Keller wasn’t confident she could get him back, return him physically to his old self. Maybe not even mentally, and then all they could do was kill him, because a Wraith with Rodney’s knowledge, Rodney’s skill… It would be far too dangerous to let him live, even if there wasn’t the problem of feeding him. And that was maybe not the worst-case scenario. If he’d been too transformed to be changed back, then Rodney was, to all intents and purposes, dead already. John could kill him then, if he had to, one more Wraith who happened to look strangely like a lost friend. He could live with that if he had to.

No, worst-case would be getting him part way back, to where he knew himself, knew what he’d done, to where he was really Rodney again, and then not to be able to complete the physical transformation. Then you’d have Rodney, but Rodney unable to eat, Rodney who was going to starve if he didn’t feed, didn’t steal his life from his friends. He couldn’t see Rodney being willing to live like that — wouldn’t want to live like that himself, terrified that the hunger would take over, drive him to something worse than simple murder. But if it were Rodney who had to feed or die —

He shied away from the thought, refused to let it form. It wouldn’t come to that. Keller was smart as hell and so was Carson, not to mention that Carson knew more about Wraith-human hybrids than anyone else in two galaxies. And if for some reason they needed more help, John was prepared to go straight to Todd on this one. Todd owed him, owed him big time, and he was prepared to see that the debt was paid.

And it wouldn’t come to that, he repeated. Get Rodney’s brain back to normal, and he’d be the one solving his own problem, bitching all the while. A pigeon swooped past the window, a fat shape against the bright sky. It was obviously enjoying the good weather, too, John thought. It was the first one he’d seen in a while, though the maintenance crews’ reports made it clear the colony wasn’t exactly diminishing. Maybe they could put Rodney on the whole ‘alien life-forms’ problem, not that there seemed to be much of a local ecosystem to interfere with. It would be worth it just for the look on his face.

He glanced down into the gate room again, automatically noting the Marines beside the Stargate, the sergeant less than an arm’s length from the control lever even while he looked at something one of the kids was showing him on his phone. In the control room, Banks was frankly reading what looked like an old copy of Cosmo, and Airman Salawi looked to be studying something distinctly non-regulation on her laptop. Even Zelenka seemed to be checking the schedule for movie night rather than running another diagnostic. It was almost — peaceful, John thought, and winced as his mind formed the word. That was the worst thing you could say, guaranteed to bring trouble. He could hear Rodney’s voice in his head — oh, come on, Sheppard, you don’t really believe that superstitious crap, do you? — and Salawi straightened at her console.

“Dr. Zelenka?”

Zelenka closed his file, slid down the bank of consoles to look over her shoulder. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, John thought, as though they were underwater again, waiting for the windows to collapse on them…

“Yes,” Zelenka said, softly, sadly. “I see it. Can you increase — yes, good.”

Salawi gave him a quick, scared look, and turned back to her controls. Zelenka turned to face the upper row of consoles where John was standing, and John knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

“Colonel Sheppard. Our long range sensors have picked up a Wraith cruiser just exiting hyperspace.”

See? John said, to Rodney’s memory, and braced himself against the rail. “What’s it doing?”

“Nothing, at the moment,” Zelenka said. All along the row of consoles, the signs of leisure had vanished. Lynn and the botanist were closing windows, clearing the console for the defense team; on the gate room floor, the phone had disappeared, and somehow all the Marines were back in full body armor.

Zelenka touched keys, frowning through his glasses. “I think — I believe it is scanning, though at very low power.”

“It doesn’t know we’re here?” John said, dubiously.

“Or it is merely here to test our defenses,” Zelenka said. “It is at the very edge of our sensors’ capability. Salawi did well to pick out the anomaly.”

“Dr. Zelenka,” Salawi said. “A second window just opened. It’s a hive ship.”

Zelenka said something pithy in Czech. “It is moving to join the cruiser. They are both scanning now, I think.”

That made ‘testing the defenses’ seem unpleasantly likely, and John bit his lip, considering his options. “Put the city on standby,” he said, to Banks, “and get me colonels Carter and Caldwell.”

“Yes, sir,” Banks said.

It didn’t take long for the colonels to reach the control room, but even so, most of the key personnel had found their way in ahead of them. Teyla had appeared, silent and competent, shaking her head when John asked if she could sense the Wraith. Ronon was skulking in the background, not as quiet as Teyla, but with enough discretion that John could pretend he hadn’t noticed him, and Lorne was leaning on his crutches at the end of the consoles. That, at least, John could do something about, and as he crossed to meet the approaching colonels, he said, “Sit down before you fall down, Major.”

Lorne gave him a look at that, but did as he was told.

“Colonel,” John said, to both of them. “We’ve got a situation.”

“So I heard,” Caldwell said.

Carter nodded. “How far out?” She was already heading for the sensor station, and the others fell in behind her.

“They are just inside the orbit of the last planet,” Zelenka said. “So, perhaps — five hours out, maybe four at their best speed? But right now they are just lurking.”

“Lurking?” John said.

“And probably scanning.” Zelenka shook his head at the screens. “I cannot be sure about that. They are using very low power. But neither ship is approaching the city as yet.”

“What the hell do they want?” Caldwell murmured. John assumed the question was rhetorical, but Carter looked over her shoulder.

“My guess is they’re scouting. Unless they’re Todd’s, but I’d expect him to have contacted us by now.”

“We can’t let them get close enough to tell that we don’t have a shield,” John said. It might be obvious, but he figured somebody had to say it. “Otherwise — ”

“Otherwise Death sends her fleet and we’re well and truly screwed,” Caldwell said. “On the other hand, I’m not eager to take on a hive ship and a cruiser with just Daedalus and Hammond unless we have to.”

“It is one of the smaller ones,” Zelenka put in, sounding almost apologetic. “And the cruiser is of the kind that does not carry Darts.”

“They’re still just sitting there,” Carter said. She straightened. “Colonel, I’m inclined to ignore them unless they decide to make a closer pass. From their current position, there’s no way they can determine that we don’t have shields, and it’s far enough out that we might not have picked them up.”

John nodded, though every instinct was screaming to get to the chair, to be ready to defend the city. “Dr. Zelenka. You said we had a little power in that ZPM. How much is a little?”

“Not enough.” Zelenka spun his chair away from the console and looked up at them. The light glinted from his glasses, hiding his eyes. “You could probably fire drones, one, maybe two. Perhaps — in one simulation, perhaps as many as five. But the shield… it would only hold for a minute or so, which would hardly do us any good.”

Not even as a bluff, John thought. He said, “OK, shield’s out, but we might have drones. That’s something.”

“I’d rather it didn’t come to that,” Caldwell said.

Carter nodded. “If we have to fight, I think we’re better off intercepting them well before they get to the planet. Outside of Dart range, if we can manage.”

“But then the 302s don’t have a fallback option,” Caldwell said. “I’d rather take them at the next orbit.”

Carter reached for a secondary console, brought up a schematic of the solar system. The Wraith ships glowed malevolent orange just inside the orbit of the outermost planet, the cruiser a little ahead of the hive. “There’s a lot of debris,” she said. “That’s harder on us than it is on the Darts. We’d be better off meeting them closer in.”

Caldwell’s lips tightened, the expression that John had learned meant that he agreed and didn’t want to admit it. “Well, if we go after them, we won’t have any options anyway. We’ll have to kill them both. We can’t risk either of them sending word back to Death that we’re vulnerable.”

“Colonel Sheppard.” Zelenka’s voice was suddenly tense. “The ships are moving.”

Of course they are, John thought. “Course?”

New lines appeared on the screen as he spoke, tracing a pair of gentle curves that ended at the planet.

“They are heading right for us,” Zelenka said.

“Right,” Caldwell said. He looked at Carter. “That settles that.”

Carter nodded again. “Yes.” She touched the screen. “If they continue on the present course, and we intercept here — ”

“We’ve got a pretty good chance of stopping them well before their Darts can reach the city,” Caldwell said. He looked at John. “Sheppard, you’re going to need to be in the chair.”

“I’m needed right here,” John said. It was his city, his command. “Sir.”

“You’re the one with the gene,” Caldwell said.

“Beckett — ” John stopped, shook his head. Caldwell was right, he was needed in the chair — there was no way Beckett could handle the drones delicately enough to conserve their power. “Yes, sir.” He looked at Zelenka. “How long do we have?”

“At their current speed — ” Zelenka touched keys, frowned at the results. “Ha, they have increased power just a little, but they are still not at anything approaching their full speed. Seven hours, maybe a little less? I believe they may only be scanning.”

“We can’t take the chance,” Caldwell said again. “Colonel Carter, I suggest you get the Hammond ready for launch. I’ll do the same with Daedalus. Colonel Sheppard — do what you can to protect the city.”

Which wasn’t much, John thought. But they’d do what they could. “Yes, sir,” he said, and his salute was almost accurate.

Sam lay flat on her back in her narrow bunk in the Hammond’s cabin, lights dimmed, the soft sound of the ventilators filling the air. They were about as ready as they were going to be, last minute repairs and work-arounds finished an hour ago. Now there was nothing left but the waiting, to see if the Wraith ships were going to come any further into the system. The hive had slowed again three hours ago, and the cruiser had come a little further, matching its trajectory to one of the larger pieces of debris that filled the middle orbit, remains of a planet that had failed to form. Right now, its course would keep it far enough out that they could afford not to react. And that would be very much the best option, but she somehow doubted it would happen. The Wraith would keep scanning, would make a very thorough scan, but eventually they would move to attack.

She wanted to be in the control room, watching the ships’ slow progress, listening as Atlantis reported the faint brush of scanner beams, but she knew there was nothing she could do that Franklin and Alvarez wouldn’t. She’d sent all but the duty crew to eat and sleep, to get what rest they could before the fighting started, and it behooved her to set the example — not to mention that the younger members of Hammond’s crew were more likely actually to get some rest if they knew she was sleeping, too. Or trying to.

Jack would have slept. She’d seen him do it in the most unlikely conditions, switch off brain and body and fall instantly asleep. Special Forces training, maybe, or maybe it was just Jack. She’d never had the gift, any more than Daniel had, though at least she wasn’t pacing up and down pretending to study some random object or translate some obscure Ancient stele. He probably wasn’t pretending, either, any more than Jack was, though she did wonder sometimes how he’d managed to unearth quite so much erotic poetry. She smiled at the ceiling. Actually, considering all the things she was careful not to notice on the Hammond’s computers, she didn’t wonder at all. Porn seemed to be a universal human habit. Of course, for the first years, Teal’c hadn’t needed to sleep at all, so he’d been the one to watch while the rest of them flaked out. She could hear the soothing rumble of his voice. I will take the watch, O’Neill, he’d say, and they’d all feel better, even at the worst of times. Probably Teal’c had felt better, too, knowing he was in control of at least that much.

She turned her head. She couldn’t make out the details of the pictures stuck to the metal walls, but she knew the images by heart anyway. She’d done what she had to, updated her emails, done what she could to make things better. Not that there was any guarantee that they’d be sent, not if the Hammond was destroyed, but she turned her thoughts from that with the ease of long practice. There were letters at the SGC as well, just in case, and Mitchell would take care of them. She’d done everything she could, and now it was just waiting. And sleep, if she could manage it.

“Colonel Carter.” Franklin’s voice snapped her upright, reaching for the intercom. “The Wraith are moving, ma’am.”

“On my way.”

The bridge was purposeful chaos, engineers muttering over the shield generators, Lieutenant Chandler, her best helmsman, in conversation with Atlantis and his counterpart on the Daedalus. Carter ignored them — she’d be told if her input was required — and focused instead on the display on the main screen.

“What have we got?” she asked.

“The cruiser’s picked up speed,” Franklin said. “And the hive with it. They’ve stopped scanning, and their projected course brings them into the system over the city. It looks like they’re planning a hit and run.”

Damn. Sam studied the projected course lines, the relative velocities, but she couldn’t see anything else it could mean. “Put me through to Atlantis.”

“Yes, ma’am.” An airman in a short braid that made her look twelve touched keys on her console. “You’re through.”

“Colonel Sheppard,” Sam said.

“Yeah, we see it,” Sheppard answered. “I’m recommending you and Daedalus launch now.”

It didn’t take them long to get to the intercept point, enough time to get shields ready, enough time to have a brief conversation with Caldwell about tactics — not that they needed it, exactly, except to choose their targets; it was pretty clear what they’d have to do, and the best way to do it — enough time to be at the peak of readiness without tipping over into nerves and repetition. The Wraith changed course to meet them, the cruiser picking up speed, the hive turning to avoid their pincer movement. Pawn moves, Sam thought, gambit offered, and as briskly refused. Pretty much what they’d expected.

“Railguns are ready,” Franklin said. “Shields at 100 %.”

“Thank you,” Sam answered. On the screen, Daedalus rolled left, swooping down and away in a curve that should split the hive’s fire. Lieutenant Chandler pitched the Hammond into a mirroring turn, up and over the cruiser as she rolled to meet them. “Pick your targets and fire at will.”

There was a heartbeat’s pause, the cruiser swinging away, Hammond turning to match, railguns firing. Blue fire sparked from the cruiser, impact dissipated by what looked like an energy shield; the Hammond shuddered as the first shots struck her own shields, but a quick glance showed them steady.

“What the hell was that?” Franklin demanded. His hands were already busy on his controls. “It looked like — ”

“Ma’am,” Jarrett said, from comm, “Daedalus reports the hive is shielded.”

“It looks like it’s similar to Asgard shielding,” the duty engineer said. “I’m trying — OK, yes, I’ve got a read on the shield frequency — ”

McKay, Sam thought. This had to be McKay’s work. The cruiser rolled, Chandler turning to present a narrow target. Both ships fired, shields flaring. “What kind of power is it drawing?”

“A lot,” the engineer answered. “They’re slower than I’d expect.”

Sam nodded. That made sense. The problem with Wraith technology was that it lacked a power source sufficient to run both energy shields and hyperdrives; until now, they’d always preferred to rely on the living hull regenerating itself. But if McKay had figured out a way to do both — and that was probably why he’d stolen the ZPM in the first place — No, there were still limits to what the Wraith power plants could do.

“Forward shields at ninety-two percent,” Franklin said.

“Their shields won’t hold,” Sam said, with more confidence than she felt. “Keep hitting them hard.”

The Hammond rolled up and over, swooping down on the cruiser as it passed Daedalus, trying for a shot to support the hive. Fire bloomed on Daedalus’s shields, and then Hammond struck, railguns hitting the cruiser’s shields just beyond the curve of the bow. The cruiser staggered slightly, recovered, and rolled away. Chandler kept the Hammond on their tail, and the forward shields recorded more impacts.

“Their aft shields are down,” the engineer said.

“Missiles,” Sam said, and Ellefson answered from the weapons console.

“Missiles away.”

“Direct hit!” someone said, and in the screen the cruiser shuddered and pitched, starting to roll as atmosphere vented from a massive breach. “They’ve lost power, losing life support — it looks like they’re beaming survivors out.”

That evened things up a little, Sam thought. And it proved these new shields weren’t as good as the Asgard-based design. “Leave the cruiser,” she said. “Go for the hive.”

“Ma’am!” That was Jarrett, her voice high but under control. “Daedalus reports they’ve taken a hit to their maneuver engines. They’re launching 302s to cover.”

Sam’s mouth tightened. Two against one had been good odds, meant they could tag team the hive, save their shields while running down its defenses, but this… Was what it was, she told herself, and frowned at the tac display.

“Ma’am, the hive’s launching Darts,” Jarrett said.

“Hive’s coming around for another try at Daedalus,” Franklin said.

Chandler was already altering course to compensate, interposing Hammond between the hive and the drifting Daedalus, forcing the Wraith ship to bank away. Sam saw the railguns fire, a steady pulse of blue, saw a couple of secondary explosions near the hive’s stern before they flashed away. A stream of Darts flickered past, fire too light to do damage yet, but every hit depleting their own shields. She could hear the 302 chatter in the background, forced herself not to pay attention until she had to.

“Take her on the left flank,” Sam said. That would force the hive further away from the Daedalus as she turned to answer, even if it would mean Hammond would take a few more solid hits on the forward shields. They would hold through this pass, she was sure, and then they should show her their tail, try to get her to chase.

“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and Hammond rotated around her own center, diving in for the attack. The hive rolled away, maybe a little sluggish this time, maybe the power shortages kicking in, and the railguns stitched fire along her back, lighting up her shields. The hive’s guns answered, and even with the inertial dampeners, Sam felt the Hammond shudder under her.

“Forward shields at sixty percent,” Franklin said. “Ventral shields at seventy-five.”

“Let’s see if she’ll chase us,” Sam said, and leaned forward in her chair.