The Inheritors

Chapter Twelve Saboteur

The hyperdrive window opened and Just Fortune passed through. Ember felt the shiver as he bent over the failsafe dissected on his workbench, and Salt glanced quickly at the displays on the far wall.

“We should still be in time to the rendezvous.”

“Good.” Ember lifted a slender probe, touched the damaged fibers that served as nerves to carry signals to the cut-off mechanism. A spark flared, brighter and bluer than it should have been, and he frowned. “Here, take a look at this.”

“All right.” Salt stooped over the bench, shoving the heavy cords of his hair impatiently over his shoulder. He glanced at the tool Ember held, and chose a more sensitive instrument before touching the damaged ends. The same spark showed, and he looked up sharply.

“Just so,” Ember said.

“It couldn't have have been damaged when it was removed from the hull,” Salt began, and shook his head.

“I wouldn't expect heightened sensitivity,” Ember answered.

“No.” Salt glanced sidelong at him, the thought hovering in the back of his mind, and Ember articulated it for him.

“Yes, sabotage.”

“But why —?” Salt shook his head again. “I suppose there are men who do not wish to ally with the Lanteans.”

Ember paused, wondering if he cared trust the other cleverman. But Salt had been a stranger to the hive, too, and had come with him to Death's hive to work with Quicksilver. He knew what Salt thought of Queen Death's ways. “Or those who would prefer to see Queen Death our overlady.”

Salt hissed softly. “That is madness.”

“Can you say for certain that there are none who'd follow her?”

“I cannot.”

“Then.” Ember swept up the pieces of the mechanism, slid them into a storage cell. “Let them stay there until they're needed.”

“You're an optimist,” Salt said.

Ember bared teeth at him. “I wish to see whoever's done this punished.”

“You are the chief cleverman,” Salt said, “but you are still a cleverman. Do not bare your chest for feeding before you must.”

Sadly, he was right. Ember took a deep breath. “There will be proof.”

“But must you be the one to find it?” Salt touched his shoulder cautiously, off hand carefully brushing leather rather than hair or bared skin. “Whoever has done this — he will have status in the hive, you know that.”

“Yes,” Ember said. Certainly it had to have been a man of status, to penetrate the depths of the hive unquestioned. Or perhaps a cleverman of middling rank, but certainly any blade would have been noticed: the failsafes were deep in clevermen's territory, and, while the devices were of necessity accessible, still it would take time to damage the triggering fibers.

“Anyone could have done this,” Salt said, his thoughts running on the same lines. “In terms of technical skill, I mean.”

“Yes,” Ember said again, “but why would they? Queen Death might promise favor, but most clevermen, I think, favor Queen Steelflower.”

“She has treated us with honor equal to her blades,” Salt agreed. “Which might provoke a blade to favor Queen Death — but such a one would be noticed, wandering about in our territory, and I've heard of none such.”

“Nor I.” Ember stifled the thought that crept to the front of his mind. The only blades — the only people — who could move freely throughout the hive were the lords of the commander's council. The Hivemaster himself, the Chief Engineer, the master of the Darts, the First-Watch Captain: they were the most likely suspects, and he dared question none of them. At least not directly, he amended. He was certainly within his rights to seek answers among the blades, and if in the process he very carefully made inquiries about the council…. He would have to be very careful indeed, and there was very little time. “We'll do what we can,” he said, and hoped it would be enough.

Rodney's head snapped up as the door to the corridor outside opened. "What, are we interrogating me again?"

"Probably should," Ronon said, coming in with Radek at his side. "But they're letting you out."

"We need your help to prepare the city for launch," Radek said.

Rodney stared at him for a moment. "Launch? What are we doing, retreating? I mean, not that it might not be a good idea under the circumstances, but… really?"

"We're not running away," Ronon said.

"Colonel Sheppard believes it will give us more tactical options to be in orbit when we engage the Wraith fleet," Radek said. "He is the military commander, so who am I to argue? But it means we have a lot to do and very little time." He glanced at Ronon, who reached out with obvious reluctance to lower the force field on the cell.

Rodney forced himself to step out casually, as if he were merely deciding that now would be a good time for a stroll. "Does this mean you've decided I'm not secretly working for the Wraith?"

"No," Ronon said flatly. "Sheppard sent me to guard you."

"Guard me, right, like you're going to know exactly what I'm doing. If I were in league with the Wraith, there are a thousand ways I could sabotage our systems without you knowing it. Not that I am in league with the Wraith," Rodney added hurriedly. "I'm just saying."

Radek shrugged. "I know," he said. "For what it is worth, I recommended against your being released."

Rodney frowned, unreasonably stung. "Really loyal friend you are."

Radek threw up his hands in frustration. "Rodney, you were held captive by the Wraith!" He added a fervent oath in Czech. "You broke into our computers, let the Wraith into the city, and have caused as much trouble as it is humanly possible for one man to cause. We lost the ZPM. Good people died."

"It wasn't my fault."

"That is not really the point."

"I'm much better now," Rodney said, but he was aware of how weak the words sounded.

Radek rubbed his forehead. "Yes, well, I hope so. Because we will need your skills to prepare the city for launch in the time we have left, and Colonel Carter believes that at this point it is worth taking the risk."

Rodney brightened a bit. "She said that?"

"She does not believe you will sabotage the city," Radek said. "Please do not take it as a sign of romantic interest. No one has time for that."

"I'm just pleased that she has faith in me."

"Yes, well. I want you to go over the checklist for launch preparation with me, make sure we are leaving nothing out. Then you can help me try to optimize power for this. That way I will see what you are doing."

Rodney looked up at Ronon. "In that case, do you have to loom that way?"

Ronon shrugged. "I'm not leaving Zelenka alone with you."

Rodney huffed in frustration. "What do you think I'm going to do, stun him and…" He trailed off, remembering abruptly that he'd stunned John, and probably would have killed him if he could, in his fury that this strange human had killed Quicksilver's brother.

He shook off the flush of anger that came with the memory. He remembered who he was, now, and that he'd never really been Quicksilver. Dust had been his captor, not his brother. The twist of uncomfortable feelings lingered, along with the memory of what it had felt like to desperately want to please Queen Death, to make himself worthy in her eyes…

"Something like that," Ronon said.

"Let us not go there," Radek said. "No one is going to stun anyone. We will just optimize the power, and then you can supervise our preparations and leave me free to fix any problems we find that might kill us." He hesitated. "You know I cannot give you unsupervised access to the computer system."

"Yes, that's what I told you," Rodney said. "At least you're listening now."

Radek looked at him searchingly. "Are you working for the Wraith?"

"I already told Sheppard no."

"Humor me and tell me as well."

"No, I'm not working for the Wraith."

Radek shook his head. "Which of course tells me nothing."

"You asked," Rodney said. "I'll meet you in the control room." He began striding down the corridor, but Ronon stepped out to block his path.

"That's not the way to the control room," Ronon said.

"It's the way to my quarters," Rodney said. "I'd like a shower and to put on clean clothes. If we're going to have an epic battle with the Wraith, I'll think better if I don't smell. All right?'

"I'm coming with you."

"I figured that, yes." They walked down the corridor, unspeaking, Rodney having to race to keep up with Ronon's strides. "You know, it's not my fault."

"I never said it was," Ronon said.

"No, but you're acting like it."

Ronon turned on him, backing him up against the corridor wall. "I think you're still working for the Wraith," he said flatly. "I was there when you fed on Jennifer, remember?"

"I was dying. And she wanted me to.”

"You're lucky she's alive."

"What do you want me to say? What do you think would have happened if they'd used the same process on you? You'd have been the one who wanted to suck the life out of people."

Ronon stood and looked at him, his jaw set hard. "I know that," he said after a while. "I know they can break me. They've done it. I can't blame you for whatever they've done to you. Not the real you."

"But you still think I'm working for the Wraith."

A flicker of dark humor passed across Ronon's face. "Yep."

"Fine, come keep me under guard while I take a shower." He strove to make his voice light. "I warn you, Newton's loose in my quarters."

Ronon shrugged. "I've got a stunner."

"You are not stunning my cat," Rodney said indignantly.

"Whatever it takes," Ronon said, and his voice was grim.

John was finishing briefing the two Marine teams that the SGC had sent through — good guys, all of them, but new to Atlantis — when Ronon came in with Rodney. They'd obviously taken time for Rodney to go back to his quarters and shower and shave because he was wearing fresh clothes and his hair was still wet. Ronon took the steps two at a time, going up to the control level like he was relieved to be away from Rodney for a minute. "We have a problem," Rodney said. "A big problem."

John acknowledged him with a nod. "Hang on a second. Think you've got it, Captain?"

"Yes, sir," Captain Ryan said. "We'll cover the infirmary level, stairs and transport area both."

"We won't lock down that transport unless we've gone to code red on an infiltration," John said. "It's the main way we're getting the wounded to the infirmary. So keep a close eye on it."

"Yes, sir." He gave John a sharp nod and peeled off with his team.

John turned around. "What's the problem, McKay?"

"He's gone."

"Who's gone?"

"Newton," Rodney said. "I went back to my quarters, and ok, they’re not the quarters Newton is used to because Jennifer…. But anyway, Newton's not there. And I radioed Jennifer and he's not in her quarters either. Which means he got out. He could be anywhere. Someone could shoot him. Someone could steal him…."

"Maybe he's wherever the weapon is," John said.

"Very funny. Just because you don't care what happens to pets doesn't mean I don't take my responsibility as a pet owner very seriously. A little kitten, lost and alone in the middle of a battle…."

"If we have a battle in the city we have a lot worse problems than a lost cat," John said. He was having trouble taking this one seriously. "Look, he's a cat. He's probably hiding in an air vent somewhere or under a sofa, and he'll come out in a couple of hours when he gets hungry. Why don't you just chill out about it and do the thing you're supposed to do, which is get the city ready for lift off?"

"Incredibly callous…."

"Rodney!"

"What?"

"Get the city ready to fly," John said very distinctly. "We'll find your cat later. I'm sure he's fine. Now go up there and get on a console.

He followed Rodney up the steps to the control center. Sam and Radek were at the station at the far end, looking over the shoulder of one of the other scientists, a geologist John thought was named Greensmith. "I don't think that's got it," Sam said.

"We need a finer setting," Radek said.

"I think this is the finest setting there is," Greensmith said. She shook her head, her long braid swaying, and tried a different sensor setting. "That's a little better, but — I'm afraid it's just not going to work."

"What's not going to work?" John kept his voice low so that the rest of the watch wouldn't hear, still keeping an eye on Rodney out of the corner of his eye. Ronon was casually standing just a few feet away from Rodney's usual terminal.

"We're still trying to scan for naquadah," Sam said.

"We can detect naquadah just fine," Greensmith said. She looked up over her glasses, as if wondering if she'd spoken out of turn, but Radek motioned for her to go on. "But below a certain point, the city's internal sensors won't give us a precise mass, just that they're detecting 'trace amounts.' And we're finding trace amounts of naquadah in almost every room of the city."

"The item is very small," Radek added, "and this city is full of things that are made of naquadah. We have not been able to distinguish finely enough — what is the thing we are looking for and what is a power relay, for example? It is just too small and the scanners will not do such fine work. They are not meant for this."

John scrubbed his chin with his hand. "So what does that mean?"

Radek looked down at Greensmith, and she shook her head regretfully.

"It means we're out of technical solutions to find it," Sam said, straightening up. "I think we need to consider what happens if we don't find it in time."

"We've got to figure out who took it," John said.

Radek looked exasperated. "And how do we do that? I am an engineer, not a detective!"

"Jim," Sam added.

It took a second before John got it. Greensmith looked like she was trying not to smile. "Yeah, and I'm a pilot not a doctor, Bones, but we've still got to find this thing."

"We may not," Sam said. "I don't think we're any closer than we were yesterday. Whoever has it is keeping mum. We're sure it's not the Wraith and it's not the Genii and we don't think it's Rodney." She glanced down the boards at Rodney, complaining full tilt as his fingers flew over the symbols on the control panel. "Where does that leave us?"

"Screwed," John said. But at least Torren was on New Athos. At least he'd taken care of that. Which was a lot more important than Rodney's cat.

"There's nothing more I can do until we find it," Sam said. "My time is better spent on the Hammond's repairs."

"I know." John took a deep breath. "Thanks, Sam."

"Call me as soon as you find it," she said, and strode off toward the transport chamber.

"I will," John said.

"I really thought we could find it this way," Greensmith said.

"We do our best," Radek said, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder for a moment. "But now we must use logic. It must be one of two things. Either someone took it because they do not want it destroyed, in which case they may use it, or someone took it who does not know what it is."

"If they use it…." John's heart sank.

"Most likely they do not know what it is," Radek said. "Perhaps it is time to announce that something is missing. I can say it is some vital part of the city's systems. That way if it is someone who has simply picked up an interesting device that they do not know what it does, perhaps they will return it."

"It's worth a try," John said. "I'll ask Woolsey."

John paused in the mess hall to draw himself yet another mug of coffee. He was still in pretty good shape, despite the early morning and the rush of preparations. With any luck, he'd be able to grab a few hours sleep sometime early in the evening, and be ready to lift the city once O'Neill and Woolsey made the final decision. Not that he had any real doubts about what that would be. If Atlantis was going to have any chance at all, she had to be in orbit, with the choice to fight or flee. That didn't mean that the IOA wouldn't try to make them destroy the city, but he was pretty sure neither O'Neill nor Woolsey would go along with it, if only because they both believed Zelenka when he said he couldn't truly destroy the City of the Ancients. And O'Neill, at least, was in a position to make it stick.

He moved to a sunny corner where he could look out over the city, the sea glinting under the sun, the ice melted to damp patches on the terrace below. Zelenka said the city was fit for hyperspace, and that they had enough power to make the jump; they could run if they had to. They might even end up on a more pleasant world, maybe another tropical ocean like their first two homes. But running wouldn't work forever. They'd have to face Queen Death someday. Better to do it now, if they could.

Of course, the problem with that was Todd. No weapon, to be ceremoniously destroyed in front of him, no Wraith fleet to fight against Queen Death. John couldn't entirely blame him: if the Wraith had something like that, he'd want to have it in hand, see it smashed into little pieces, before he lifted one finger to help. But they were running out of time.

He moved a little closer to the window, out of earshot of any of the tables, and touched his radio. "Dr. Zelenka."

"Yes, Colonel?" The little engineer sounded almost cheerful, and John couldn't help raising his eyebrows.

"Any luck with our hide-and-seek project?"

"That. No, no luck. Nor has anyone reported finding anything that might be it."

"Damn."

"On the other hand, we are making good progress with Rodney's help." There was a pause, as though Zelenka was consulting a screen. "And the Hammond is within four hours of readiness, with only minor work left to do."

Which is great, John thought, except that the Hammond and the Pride of the Genii aren't going to be enough to hold off Queen Death, not even with the city to back them up. And we can't risk losing the city. "Good work," he said aloud. "And thanks. Sheppard out."

He glanced at his watch, a vague idea taking shape in his brain. He had almost two hours before his next scheduled meeting; in that time, maybe it was worth having another word with Todd. Todd had to know that he didn't stand a chance if Queen Death won — she'd feed on him and take his withered carcass up on a wall somewhere to remind people that opposing her was a bad idea. And he also had to know that there was no percentage for Atlantis in using a weapon that would kill some of their best people, never mind every random human who happened to have Wraith DNA. It was worth a try.

Todd — Guide, John reminded himself — had been taken to a suite of rooms several levels below the gateroom. There were Marines on guard who came to attention at John's approach, and one of them reached across to open the door. Guide spun to face him as the door opened, and John nodded a greeting.

"You can close up," he said, to the nearest Marine. The man visibly swallowed his protest, and did as he was told. The door hissed shut behind him. "I hope you're comfortable."

"Oh, entirely." Guide waved a hand at the furnishings, but John couldn't tell if the gesture was ironic or not. "Dare I hope you've brought good news?"

"'Fraid not. But I did want to discuss that with you."

"There is nothing to discuss." Guide turned his back, the black coat flaring, crossed the room to peer out the single narrow window. "If Hyperion's weapon is not destroyed — I cannot help you, Sheppard."

"You need Death destroyed just as much as we do," John said.

"Yes, but I have some chance of doing it on my own."

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't be here."

Guide showed teeth at that, and John pressed his advantage.

"You have to know we can't risk using it. We'd kill our own people."

"It has happened before," Guide said.

"Look," John said. "We didn't kill you. Back on Earth, we could have turned you over to the IOA, and we didn't. Why would we risk killing people as valuable as McKay and Teyla?"

Guide sighed deeply. "First of all, I believe you are keeping the weapon until McKay and Colonel Carter can figure out how to modify it so that it only kills us — you see, I am being frank with you. "

"We wouldn't do that," John said, but his voice wasn't as confident as he would like. That was what Ronon had wanted, certainly what the IOA would argue for if they knew about the weapon — if they didn't order Woolsey to use it regardless, and accept the collateral damage. They'd seen Teyla and Torren once or twice, for ten or fifteen minutes at a reception. The face of the Pegasus Galaxy, yes, one woman and her child, but acceptable losses compared to losing more of their own people. The unknown, incalculable number of others who possessed the Gift, any trace of Wraith DNA, wouldn't weigh any more in the scales.

"Second, even if I were to believe you," Guide said, "you are no longer the authority here. Nor is Mr. Woolsey. It is General O'Neill who gives the orders in Colonel Carter's absence, and I do not know him. I cannot risk trusting him."

John bit his lip, but there wasn't anything he could say to that. Oh, yeah, he could get into a distracting argument about rank and precedence, try to explain that humans weren't always ruled by the equivalent of Wraith queens and that O'Neill really was in charge, not Carter, but that wasn't going to change the essential facts.

Guide nodded as though he'd followed the thought. "In my shoes, John Sheppard — what would you do?"