Secrets

Chapter Fifteen Hidden Things

Teyla stood by the window, her hair still wet from the shower, watching the dawn come over the sea. She had thought the warm falling water would soothe her, but it had not. In the next room Torren slept on peacefully.

The skies were streaked with thin, high clouds, turning pinkish in herald of the sun. Her body felt strange to her, and not only because she was lately out of the infirmary. The dream had been so vivid that she had expected to wake as Osprey. It was strange indeed to see these skies instead of the ones of Athos, these skies that had held Osprey imprisoned.

There was a step behind her, John’s hands on her shoulders. “You ok?” He sounded muzzy with sleep, though his hands were warm enough, and she leaned back against him.

“I dreamed,” Teyla said. “I dreamed I was a Wraith queen.”

“Well.” His arms went around her waist, her hands tightening over his. “That’s probably because of all this stuff with Todd, right?”

“I do not think so,” she said slowly. “I believe what I dreamed was real.” She turned around, seeing his stubbled face and worried hazel eyes. There was more gray at his temples than there had been even six months ago, a few strands threading through on top as well. Harsh morning light was unkind. Almost his face seemed that of a stranger. Of a god, the part of her that was Osprey whispered, and Teyla shuddered.

“Hey.” John frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Son of the Ancients, heir of their power, heir of their crimes and their arrogance…

I am not you, she thought, pushing the thought away. I am not Osprey. I am Teyla Emmagan of Athos, Teyla Who Walks Through Gates, and I choose for myself.

“I dreamed of the First Mothers,” she said. “And I think I dreamed true. Guide told me…” She paused, knowing how it would sound, but John had always believed her, always from the beginning. “He told me that Wraith queens may retain some of the genetic memories of their mothers, of the lineage that they come from back to the First Mothers. I dreamed of Osprey.”

John swallowed but his eyes didn’t leave her face. “Ok,” he said evenly. “That’s disturbing.”

“I am disturbed,” she said, turning once again toward the cold sea. It was hundreds of miles across icy ocean to the island where Osprey had been imprisoned, but the view was the same. “The Wraith were created here, John. Here on this world. I do not know why. But the Ancients made them. I do not know what they intended to do, taking humans from the worlds of this galaxy and twisting them so, but they made them. I remember.” Osprey’s sadness closed her throat, feelings both new minted and eleven thousand years old.

He did not disbelieve her. “The installation on the island,” he said. “Dr. Lynn’s prison break.”

“She was a teenage girl,” Teyla said, and her voice did not shake. “A girl of seventeen, one of nine women who survived the experiments. I do not know why Osprey survived. But she did.”

“Somebody always does,” John said, and he stepped forward to put his arms about her again.

She would not flinch. This was John, not some prison guard dead nearly a thousand years before the Ancestors walked through the Stargate to Earth, before the ATA gene found its way into John’s lineage. I am not you, she said to Osprey within her, and I will not avenge you.

“Elizabeth told me the secret was in my blood,” Teyla said softly. “I think perhaps she meant it literally. I carry Osprey’s memories, every wrong done to her and every cruelty, everything she did to survive.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” John asked quietly.

“I think that I do,” Teyla said. “Yes, I do.” She closed her eyes, seeing again the flight through the Ring of the Ancestors, the others running through the snow ahead of her, Wind at her back, while against her Osprey cradled… “John,” she said. “They had a ZPM. And it was almost new.”

Ladon Radim flipped through the latest batch of telegraphed reports, not really seeing the faded print. Most of it was either old news or long expected: a disturbance at the northern nuclear facility after a rumor of a containment breach; shifting alliances within the Council of Twelve, marked by two marriages and a divorce; crop failure in the west, hailstorms flattening a summer’s growth of grain. That, at least, could be offset by better harvests elsewhere, maybe even without tapping the emergency surplus. He made a note, even though he suspected Ambrus had already dealt with the matter. He could hear the hum of the cameras in the antechamber, warming for the scheduled contact with the Lanteans, and he allowed himself a sigh. Someday — someday they would synthesize the Ancient gene, but until then, they were desperately dependent on the Lanteans. Though if he could just get his hands on a few more tissue samples…

“Commander.”

He straightened, putting aside that thought. “Yes.”

“Mr. Woolsey is available.”

“Excellent.” Ladon straightened his jacket, cast a quick glance to the mirror above the sideboard to be sure that he looked both businesslike and calm. Then he slid back the door and stepped into the lights and warmth of the improvised transmission chamber.

“Chief Ladon.” As always, there was the faintest hint of irony in Woolsey’s voice.

Ladon nodded to the image on the monitor, knowing the cameras were positioned to make it seem as though they met face to face. Behind the monitor, he could see the young operator frowning at his screen, face uplit by the reflection as he worked to keep the transmission steady. “Mr. Woolsey.”

“I understand from our Satedan contacts that the trade agreement is going well,” Woolsey said.

“For all our peoples,” Ladon said. As if Woolsey wasn’t perfectly aware of everything the Genii were doing publicly on Sateda, and probably most of their theoretically secret dealings. He had no illusions about where the so-called governor’s loyalties lay. “Governor Cai has been very cooperative.”

“We’ve found him to be an excellent trade partner,” Woolsey said. “And we’ve been impressed by the progress they’ve made with rebuilding.”

In other words, don’t expect to walk in and take over, Ladon thought. Woolsey would be wise to heed his own advice. He said, “Yes, it’s most impressive. And we are glad to have been of help in that regard.” He saw Woolsey’s gaze flicker at that, and knew the shot had gone home. The Genii had food and raw materials to spare, both from their homeworld and from the worlds of their many allies; the Lanteans’ new home was barren and, in the end, they had so much less to give. “However, we’ve reached a point where we could use help from our older ally.”

“Of course we’d be glad to offer any possible assistance.”

“As you know, our people do not possess the ATA gene,” Ladon said. “When he helped us recover the Pride of the Genii, Colonel Sheppard was able to initialize most of the ship’s systems. However, as we’ve continued to make repairs, we discovered that one of the key control crystals in the navigation systems needed to be replaced. We were able to locate what seems to be the required device in Sateda’s museum basement — along with a number of other interesting artifacts — but the crystal needs to be initialized before it can be installed. We were hoping that you could spare a technician to handle that for us.” He paused, giving Woolsey a chance to offer out of pure charity. The other man remained silent, and Ladon went on. “We would of course also be more than happy for your scientists to examine the other items in the collection, and to take some for further study.”

Woolsey did smile at that, the faintest movement of his thin lips. “We’re always happy to help out an ally,” he said. “Let me consult my chief of sciences, and I’m sure we can settle on a suitable date and time. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I have some options for you.”

“Thank you,” Ladon said, and motioned for the technician to cut the transmission. He hated having to grovel to the Lanteans, but the Pride was worthless without her weapons systems. One way or another, they had to have the initialized crystal.

“Need a hand, Major?” Lorne looked around in the mess line to see Lt. Colonel Hocken coming up behind him, her red hair just growing out enough to curl over the tops of her ears. She shifted her tray to one hand and reached for his with the other.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Lorne said. It was hard to manage the tray and a cane, though he’d done it. But he wasn’t too proud to accept help; a little backup was just good teamwork.

She snagged his tray and put it on one of the tables under the skylights, then pulled out his chair for him.

“Thanks again,” he said, sinking into it. “Join me?”

“Sure.” Hocken put her tray down opposite, breaded chicken tenders with fries and today’s mystery vegetable.

“I didn’t see you at the poker game last night,” Lorne said, settling his cane against the edge of the table.

Hocken didn’t look up from her lunch. “I got busy.”

“A lot of that going around,” Lorne said, reaching for the salt shaker casually. “Carter must be driving you guys hard. Franklin didn’t come either.”

Hocken glanced at him, startled. “Really?”

“Yep,” Lorne said. “In fact, nobody showed but me and Cadman and Grant. Not much of a game with three hands, so we called it off and Cadman and I watched Rear Window instead.”

“Ok,” Hocken said. She frowned. “What was that about?”

Lorne shrugged. How to put this without making it clear he’d gone to the top of the food chain? “You know, Colonel Sheppard’s a good guy. Maybe some of that stuff Franklin said about Afghanistan made some people uncomfortable. That’s kind of how it works sometimes. Ricochet. You get hit with your own bullet.”

“You think?” There was an unexpectedly bitter note in Hocken’s voice. “I thought that had more to do with the Hammond’s 302s than with Sheppard.”

Click. Ok, that made everything make sense to Lorne, Hocken’s absence and Carter’s fury. Yes, it was a serious breach of protocol to dig up stuff about the base commander and gossip to his subordinates, but Carter had also read that as an internal problem on the Hammond, her first officer gunning for the commander of the 302 flight. Oh yeah. Big problem. And he’d better make it clear where he stood.

“I told Carter,” Lorne said.

Hocken blinked. “Yeah?”

“Sheppard’s a good guy,” Lorne said again. “I wouldn’t want any misunderstanding, you know?” He shifted his leg around under the table, trying to get comfortable. “Carter said she’d handle it.”

Whatever Hocken would have said was forestalled by Sheppard, Ronon and Zelenka approaching with their trays, Zelenka holding forth about something or other while Ronon listened attentively, more attentively than Sheppard.

“Hey,” Sheppard said, staking out the seat next to Hocken. “Got room for us?”

“Of course.”

The protocol gets into your bones, Lorne thought. She was the ranking officer, so of course he asked her. Radek took the seat beside him with Ronon on the other side. “…and so I said, of course we can get it, but it won’t be easy. Is it ever?”

“No,” Ronon replied.

Sheppard looked at Lorne. “How’s the leg? Did Keller clear you for off world duty yet?”

“No,” Lorne said regretfully. Another thing he couldn’t do yet, another duty of his being dumped on someone else…

“It’s ok,” Sheppard said. “I can get somebody else to be the human light switch. Ronon’s taking a team back to Sateda and I need somebody who can turn on the Ancient doohickey Radek’s looking for. It’s not a big thing.” He glanced sideways at Hocken. “You up for an off world trip, Mel? If you’re just hanging around with nothing to do, maybe Carter could spare you for the afternoon?”

“I could be up for that.” Hocken grinned at him. “Not a problem.”

“Hey, you wanted to be an astronaut,” Sheppard said. “Look how that worked out.”