Secrets

Chapter Twenty-five A Winter’s Night

Rodney made his way purposefully through the halls of Atlantis. It was late at night, and there were few people to see him, but still he moved like a man with purpose. Not like a man who had no idea where he was going. He finally stopped outside a familiar looking door and shrugged. Why not? He touched the chimes.

The door slid open almost immediately. Teyla was wearing a tank top and sweat pants, but she didn’t look as if she had already gone to bed. “Hi,” Rodney said.

Teyla looked perplexed. “If you are looking for John,” she said, “I believe he is meeting with Major Lorne and Colonel Carter. I think they are in the lounge by the puddle jumper bay.”

The one that was sometimes used as an auxiliary conference room for meetings smaller than the main conference room, or that you didn’t want people wandering in to, as there was no reason for anyone to be on that floor except to go to the jumper bay. “Actually, I was looking for you,” Rodney said. If he’d wanted Sheppard he would have gone to Sheppard’s room.

“Oh,” Teyla said, and stepped back. Her voice was low. “Come in. Only do not wake Torren.”

There was one lamp turned very low in the main room. Torren was sound asleep in a little pile of blankets and stuffed things in his corral in the middle of the room. The sound of soft snores emerged from it.

“Come in the bedroom,” Teyla said, beckoning him in and closing the door behind him. Once the bedroom door was closed she spoke normally. “We can talk in here and it won’t wake him.”

Her room was a nest of light, clothes and electronics and toys scattered here and there, a TV in the corner with a stack of kids’ dvds on top of it, while on the floor an overflowing laundry basked shared space with a ride-on fire truck and tangle of boots and slippers. A few pine scented candles were lit on a table by the window. That and the whirling snow outside made Rodney suddenly think of Christmas, of some bizarre way Christmas ought to be, though by the calendar on Earth it was only the end of October.

The room wasn’t large, and most of it was taken up by her big bed. Teyla plopped down on one end of it, straightening out the dark red flannel comforter cover and a bright handwoven throw. She crossed her legs. “What did you want to talk with me about?” she asked.

“Um,” Rodney said, sitting down on the other side of the bed. Teyla just sat there looking at him quizzically. “I was wondering if I could sleep with you tonight. I mean stay with you tonight. To sleep on your couch.”

*Rodney.* She spoke mind to mind, and her mental voice was concerned. *What is the matter?*

He looked wildly around suddenly registering that about five of those boots were way too big for Teyla. And that was Sheppard’s laptop on the table by the TV. And unless Teyla had started wearing a classic Johnson t shirt, that was Sheppard’s shirt on the floor. “Wait, are you and Sheppard…”

Teyla’s usually composed face looked a little embarrassed. “We are together, yes.”

“Oh.” Rodney blinked. “That’s weird. I mean, that’s great. That’s really good for both of you. That’s super.”

*Rodney.* She took his hand, her mental voice strong and warm. *What is wrong?*

*I asked Jennifer to marry me.* The images tumbled out faster than words, faster than he could say and more completely, a babbling flood of words and thoughts. *She said no.*

*Oh Rodney,* she said. *I am so sorry.*

Rodney closed his eyes. One thing about speaking like this was that he could see her still, see the sense of her even more clearly. But it was easier than looking at her face. Less like Rodney and more like Quicksilver, who was always Rodney to begin with, only not remembering all the things that made it hard to do this, that made it hard to say things that should be obvious but weren’t. *I’m really sad,* he said.

*I know.* Her mental voice encompassed him like warm arms. *I am so sorry, my friend.*

*I thought she wanted to marry me, but now she says she doesn’t. That maybe she’ll decide she does in five years but I can’t just go on for five years like I think this is going to happen if it’s not.*

*Of course not,* Teyla said. *You are not someone who can wait. You must know that your family loves you.*

Her hand shifted on his, wrist to wrist, her right hand stretched against his arm and his against the back of hers, the palm tingling slightly. There was no handmouth there, not anymore, but he knew where it should be. Which was confusing.

*You should not have asked her now,* Teyla said ruefully.

*I thought she’d say yes and then I’d be really happy.*

The door opened. “Has Torren been asleep long?” Sheppard asked in a quiet voice.

Rodney’s eyes sprang open as Sheppard closed the door behind him, his black jacket over his arm. He was sitting on Teyla’s bed holding hands. No, not just holding hands but sitting with his hand against her elbow. With their eyes closed. “It’s not what you think!” Rodney said quickly.

“What’s not what I think?” Sheppard looked perplexed.

“It’s not that I… I wouldn’t do that. And I didn’t. I mean, especially if I’d known, which I didn’t, because you didn’t say and you really should have.” Ok, now Sheppard looked utterly baffled. “Where’s Carter?”

“On her way back to the Hammond,” Sheppard said with a look at Teyla that pretty clearly conveyed what in the hell is wrong with Rodney. “You could call her on the radio.”

Rodney had grabbed his hand back from Teyla and now stared at her as she looked at Sheppard. “And you’re ok with that?”

“With Colonel Carter going to the Hammond?” Teyla asked. “Rodney?”

*With Carter…with Sheppard…hanging out with her late at night…* His mental voice cheated, showing all the things he couldn’t say.

*Why should I not be?* Teyla sounded perplexed. *He has friends. Some of them are women. Some of them are men. Why would that disturb me in the least?*

“Rodney, are you ok?” Sheppard asked. He put his jacket on top of the pile in the laundry basket, where it promptly fell off and draped over the fire truck.

Teyla apparently decided that waiting for him to explain was a lost cause. “Rodney asked Jennifer to marry him and she said no.”

“Aw, crap,” Sheppard said. “That sucks, Rodney.”

“He asked if he could sleep on my couch tonight,” Teyla added.

“Of course you can,” Sheppard said. “Hang on. Let me get some blankets. I think there’s a clean comforter around here too.” He went into the bathroom and started rummaging, presumably in the storage unit. “It’s in there with Torren,” he called out. “Torren gets up pretty early. Sorry about that.”

“It’s ok,” Rodney said.

Sheppard came out of the bathroom with a pile of blankets. “Here you go. I’ve got one more thing I need to check on before I turn in, so if you and Teyla want to hang out, I’ll be back in a little while.”

Rodney wondered what he needed to check on at eleven at night without his jacket that he hadn’t checked on when he was out before, but that was Sheppard for you. “Ok,” Rodney said.

Sheppard opened the door and looked out into the dark main room, no doubt checking whether or not Torren stirred.

“Thanks,” Rodney said.

Richard Woolsey looked out the window through the thickening snow toward the light limned form of the Hammond resting on the pier. He didn’t need to use one of the security cameras to identify the person striding toward it, moving at a quick walk but not running despite the cold. Hatless, the Hammond’s running lights gleamed off its commander’s blond hair.

So Sheppard had told Carter and Lorne about Hyperion’s weapon. Very discreetly, of course, in the lounge upstairs where everyone on duty in the gateroom wouldn’t wonder what required all the senior military officers at ten at night. And not out on the Hammond, of course. That would have looked like he was going behind Woolsey’s back. Not that he would have given himself a three percent chance that Sheppard wouldn’t tell them. The Air Force was circling the wagons, and ordering Sheppard not to tell Carter would have forced a confrontation Woolsey dreaded.

Which meant there was a zero percent chance that Jack O’Neill wouldn’t find out about it. Woolsey let the curtain drop over his full length window, shutting out snow and Carter and starship. O’Neill would know. The question was what he would do with that knowledge. Not share it widely. O’Neill never did. Woolsey should tell Banks to make sure to have a second VIP suite ready. Now that they had a ZPM and one could come and go without a twenty four day round trip, O’Neill would be in here locked and loaded himself in a couple of days. He wasn’t going to have a conversation about a genocidal weapon in front of the whole gateroom and the whole SGC.

Well, it would be what it was. He had a day or two to prepare. And that was best spent contacting Todd, who hopefully would respond to the message they’d already sent. Yes, the key to all this was Todd. And the sooner he could talk to him, the better…

The hive was damaged, holes in its hull that were beyond even the massive ship’s ability to heal. He could see that even from a distance. Clevermen in environmental bubbles worked at its edges, their lights like sparks of stars against the green-black hide of the ship. A scaffold was almost complete, not quite bridging the gap, and Guide knew the air in the sealed-off compartments would be hot and stale. The damage was forward, sparing the guns, but it had taken out at least one of the holding pens, and the hive would be hungry soon.

*A powerful ally,* Bonewhite said, bitterly, and Guide could not reprove him for mirroring his own thoughts. *I’m fond of Ember myself, but this is not fair trade.*

*If that were all, it would not be,* Guide agreed. *But Farseer has always been a valuable friend.*

*He’s a liability,* Bonewhite said. *And you know it. Death will hunt him down because her pride is hurt — he was her man, as you never were, and he’s deserted. Proud Journey won’t be able to stand another fight for months to come, maybe not for years, and we don’t have the ships to protect him. Take Ember back, yes, and send Farseer on his way.*

Guide studied the image in his screen, the schematic that showed the disposition of their ships. Just Fortune hung in the center of the rough sphere, Waterlight’s elderly hive below and to the right in the place of honor, and the small tough hive commanded by the consort Stonefire in the name of his dead queen took point. There were half a dozen good-sized cruisers, and another handful of smaller, lighter ships, but it was not, on the whole, an encouraging sight. Death’s fleet was larger, and even if some of her allies found ways to avoid the conflict — Arrow, certainly, would do his best to take no side, and probably Swiftsure — this was not a fleet to take her on directly. Bonewhite was right, Proud Journey was more of a liability than an asset, and Farseer had brought only a single cruiser with him.

*We can’t afford to turn anyone away,* he said, and touched his control board, hailing Farseer’s ship.

The screen lit with more haste than was entirely seemly, and Farseer looked out from the screen. Data fell beside him, tracking the hive’s health in the strength of the transmission, and Bonewhite’s mouth tightened in disapproval. Guide read the same tale of damage and destruction, but gave no sign of his disappointment.

“Well met, my friend.”

“Gladly so,” Farseer said. “I have come to place myself and mine under the rule of Queen Steelflower. And in earnest of my intentions, I’ve brought with me your chief cleverman, who was abandoned on Tenassa.”

Tenassa was one of their few shipyard worlds, where Wraith worshippers protected hidden installations, and Guide’s brows lifted. If Farseer had been there, why had he not remained there long enough to put Proud Journey into better order, sent Ember on ahead to plead their cause? “Our Queen is not with us at the moment,” he temporized. “She was attacked by Death while under bonds of truce, and so she has taken herself out of range of further treachery, at least for now.”

“I am not surprised,” Farseer said. He paused. “Tenassa has been destroyed.”

“What?” Guide could not stop the question, and Farseer gave a thin smile.

“Destroyed. Death sent her ships to Cull in despite of our agreements — she has undone the work of centuries, to tame the humans there, and teach them how to guard our workplaces. I have filled my ships to bursting with supplies, and with the few humans who survived.” Farseer paused. “All of which I also, of course, place into Queen Steelflower’s hands.”

Guide could feel Bonewhite’s approval, had to agree with it himself. Proud Journey itself might not be in shape to fight, but as a storeship, it was just as valuable. “You and yours are welcome, as always. Can we send assistance?”

“Our repairs are well begun,” Farseer said. “And proceed apace. But I thank you for the offer.”

Guide bowed in answer, and Farseer continued. “I will send across your chief cleverman. He has been of great help to us, and we are also in your debt for that. But he is yours.”

The opening was there, to offer Ember’s continued assistance, but Guide ignored it. “Very well. Welcome to our alliance, Farseer.”

Ember arrived in the shuttle lock looking pinched and hungry, and Guide sent him to feed before they spoke. For a moment, he thought the cleverman might protest, but then hunger got the better of him, and he disappeared toward the holding pens. Guide returned to his own quarters, Bonewhite and the engineer Hasten at his heels, busied himself arranging for Farseer’s supplies to be counted and shared out among the ships of the fleet. When Ember returned at last, looking sleek and full-fleshed again, the others withdrew, though Guide signaled Bonewhite to remain.

*So, cleverman,* he said, and Ember made a deep and graceful bow. *I feared you lost on Lymours. Coalfire reported you taken in a Culling beam.*

*That is so,* Ember answered. His eyes slid nervously to Bonewhite, who bared teeth in annoyance.

*He is in my confidence,* Guide said, mildly, and Ember bowed again.

*I did not doubt it, Commander.*

Bonewhite did not quite roll his eyes, but his disbelief was almost palpable.

*Did you escape?* Guide went on. *Or were you released?*

*I was released, Commander,* Ember said. *I was taken by men under the command of Death’s pallax, the Old One, and he released me to bear you a message, queen’s man to consort — as, he says, it was done in the oldest days.*

Bonewhite did roll his eyes at that, hissing softly, and Guide smiled. *In my day, men who plotted behind their queens’ backs — but, no matter. What is this message?*

*Commander, he urges us to abandon Queen Steelflower’s alliance with the Lanteans as utterly untenable.* Ember let the images spill out with the words, the Old One’s story, his transformation, the implacable hatred that the Ancients had truly earned. *He believes we can never make peace with the children of the Ancients, and urges you to reconsider.*

Guide allowed himself an almost soundless sigh. Three daughters, Teyla Emmagan had said to him once in the darkness of Steelflower’s chamber. Once before we slept, there were three daughters of one mother, and how shall their story end? We are indeed the bastard, the child of shameful congress, and we ground our mother and our favored sister both beneath our heels. So far the story goes, and I cannot see the ending.

*There is one other thing,* Ember said. *If this is true, and I believe it is, still — this retrovirus, this changeling drug that the Lanteans have worked on. That I have worked on. It changes things.*

*Does the Old One know of this?* Bonewhite demanded.

*No,* Ember said. *Not from me, and I don’t believe from any other.*

*But does it change anything enough?* Guide shook his head. *I do not doubt this either. But—* He reached for a game piece, turned it over in his hand, claws clicking on the stone. *It does not resolve our war with Death. Let us settle that first, and then deal with the other.*

*As the commander wishes,* Bonewhite began, and a chime sounded.

“Your pardon, Commander,” a voice said from the bridge. “We have received a signal in your private code. Will you accept the packet?”

It could only be the Lanteans, or, barely possibly, Death herself, and neither was likely to be good news. “Yes,” Guide said, and moved to his console. The data poured gold across the screen, pooled to form familiar symbols. The Lanteans, then, asking for contact. He entered the key, and waited while the algorithm unspooled itself, deciphered the message. After a moment, the screen lit, and Woolsey’s face looked out at him. He hadn’t really expected to see him again, and couldn’t help smiling at the familiar worried frown. A clever man, Hairy, even if an entirely unsuitable consort for either of his queens.

“I am contacting you on our own account and on behalf of your daughter,” Woolsey said, and Guide snarled aloud.

*I have no daughter.*

He wished instantly that he had not spoken, had not betrayed himself. But in the screen she was there, at Woolsey’s shoulder, moving among the Lanteans, speaking now to Sheppard and to Teyla, tall and straight-backed and scarlet-haired, the image of her mother. The breath caught in his chest, a painful hitch of heart and lungs. He had been sure she had not survived — there had been no wreckage, no sensor trail to follow, only a scattering of debris and an enemy commander who swore he had seen the ship explode as it entered the hyperspace window. He had searched anyway, and had spent seventeen years starving in a human prison to teach him the futility of hope. And yet there she stood, Snow’s daughter, his daughter, and his heart turned slowly in his chest.

*Guide?* That was Bonewhite, his tone worried, and Guide took a careful breath, tamping down the joy that threatened to overwhelm him. Alabaster lived: it was impossible, inarguable, and it changed everything.

*A change of plan,* he said, and both Bonewhite and Ember looked up sharply, catching the echo of his wondering delight. *We will contact the Lanteans.*

*Very well,* Bonewhite said, slowly.

Guide fixed him with an emerald stare. Bonewhite had been friend and ally then, would know as well as anyone what this could mean. *Alabaster lives.*

“And so that is that,” Radek said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose with one finger. “We have a ZPM at 97 %, and full capability to the command chair, to the shield and to the cloak. And the hyperdrive, though I do warn you that using the hyperdrive depletes the ZPM very quickly.”

Woolsey nodded. “I don’t think we need to move the city right now, but it’s good to know we could.” He looked as though he wished he had papers to shuffle, but of course he didn’t. “Dr. Zelenka, there is one more thing I want to discuss with you.”

“Of course,” Radek said. Of course there was one more thing in the middle of the night. Wasn’t there always?

“Dr. McKay will not be returning to his position as Chief of Sciences,” Woolsey said, not looking up. “He’s back on the gate team at Colonel Sheppard’s discretion, but in terms of the other position, I believe it’s wiser to retain you.”

“Ah,” Radek said. He could not think what else to say. “Rodney…”

Woolsey did look up then, his eyes meeting Radek’s. “Can you seriously, in good conscience, give him access to every bit of rewritten code, every password? One hundred percent of the most sensitive material?”

Radek swallowed. “I do not think that Rodney would betray us,” he said.

“Dr. McKay was in enemy hands for two months,” Woolsey said gravely. “And while Dr. Beckett and Dr. Keller are certain that he is recovered enough to rejoin the gate team, I would like a little more certainty before we give him his previous job back.” He folded his hands over his laptop. “Besides, you’ve done an exemplary job. I can’t recall when the sciences have run so smoothly with so little interpersonal strife. Dr. Zelenka, you are Chief of Sciences permanently, not just in the interim. That is how it is.”

“I see,” Radek said.

“If there’s nothing else?” Woolsey asked. He looked tired. As of course he would be. It was two in the morning.

“No, nothing,” Radek said, and walked out into the control room, his laptop under his arm. He should rest as well. Tomorrow there would be Todd, and that was always exciting. And yet.

William was still there, bent over the end console in an unconvincing display of interest in whatever was on the screen, as though he had not been rubbernecking at the conference in Woolsey’s glass paneled office. “Walk with me,” Radek said.

William looked up. That did indeed surprise him. Yes. “To where?”

“To wherever.” Radek shrugged.

“I was just wondering if I’d need my jacket,” William said.

“I doubt it.” Radek gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but William didn’t seem reassured. “Come on.” He headed for the transport chamber without waiting to see if William followed.

Which of course he did, stepping in after him, all long, lanky grace which should have been fading at his age. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see.” Radek touched the destination, and it was only a moment before the doors opened. On a dim stretch of semi darkened corridor, plain and windowless.

“Where are we?”

“Section 11, A56,” Radek said, knowing that would mean nothing. “Deep in the city’s substructure. These are the main corridors that access the repair corridors for the sublight engines.”

William’s mouth twitched. “This is where you keep your etchings?”

“Actually it’s more of a secret lair.” Radek waggled his eyebrows at him. “But if you are too frightened to continue… It is rather dark and atmospheric.”

“By atmospheric you mean…”

“Spooky.” Radek switched on his flashlight and turned to the left. “There is the transport chamber. Return or come.” He hurried off down the corridor as though he could care little which William did.

And of course with a challenge like that, he was a step behind. “Aren’t these lights supposed to work?”

“They did,” Radek said, taking a right turn into a stairwell and starting down. “But the lower levels of the city flooded several years ago and every one of them shorted out. Somehow repairing the lights in little used corridors has never been a top priority.”

Down three flights, boots noisy on the metal stair treads.

“How far down are we going?” William asked.

The bottom stair, then a swift left turn into the first chamber. “All the way,” Radek said quietly.

The room was not large, and whatever its original use, now it contained nothing but a dozen or so military packing crates. The metal walls were bare, three sides of the room, while the fourth looked like a darkened mirror, like opaque glass.

“What is this stuff?” William said, almost running into Radek as he caught up, letting the beam of his own flashlight play over the crates.

“Emergency supplies of various sorts,” Radek shrugged. “It is always wise to have a cache here and there in case of emergencies.” He turned off his light and sat down on the nearest packing crate as William walked over to examine the fourth wall. “Turn your light off.”

“It’s a window,” William said, his hand to the glass. “But it’s night and…”

“Turn it off,” Radek said quietly. “You will see.”

“…we’re underwater,” William finished, wonder creeping into his tone. He turned his flashlight off. “Now what?” The window was completely dark. Nothing whatsoever could be seen beyond the glass.

“We wait,” Radek said. He got up and went to stand by William at the window. “Wait.”

It was a long moment before he saw anything, even with his eyes adjusting to the dark. One could believe one imagined it at first, a momentary pinkish glow. No, there it was more strongly. It was there. And then a tiny white light, a pinprick. Something very small, or something unimaginably large and very far away. It moved. It crossed the field of vision slowly.

And then another. Two lights, three. Four. Red and gold and white, moving separately and in unison. A train of pink lights evenly spaced, as though they were along a backbone, shifting together into one as whatever it was came toward the window.

“Bioluminescence,” William breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Nor will you, except in Earth’s deepest seas,” Radek said. “And they are just beginning.”

A chain of blue lights, and then the darker pink, close and bright enough to cast a reflection through the glass, to illuminate the faint darker hooded shape tall as a man, long nimble tentacles. One brushed the outside of the window as though reaching for Radek’s hand through the glass.

“It’s some kind of…” William’s voice was full of wonder.

“Squid, I believe,” Radek said. “We have seen a number of them. This one — I almost feel that I am beginning to recognize him, and he me.” He switched his flashlight back on, holding it low so that it would not glare off the glass. “Watch.”

The long tentacle wavered, reaching toward the light and brushing against the window, tentacle tips uncoiling as though it thought to gently take it from Radek’s hand. A moment, and then the tip lit itself, the same white light as the flashlight, passing against the window in three long passes.

Radek smiled. He raised the light in mirror, three long passes on the inside of the glass.

“It’s trying to communicate,” William said.

“Or perhaps I am,” Radek replied. “Which of us is brainier, I do not know. But we can at least salute in passing.” It coiled its tentacles again out in the frigid water, glowing softly, a pattern that must mean something complex, something beyond his wits. “If I am going to stay here forever, it is time to get to know the neighbors.”

William turned his head. “Aren’t you going home?”

“I am home,” Radek said.