The Inheritors

Chapter Seventeen Ronon's Decision

The Pride of the Genii had no trouble maintaining the link to Atlantis; it had a bit more trouble collecting the Hammond's transmission, and Lorne suspected it might be taking the feed from the city rather than from the Hammond directly. He and Radim had retreated to what had probably been intended as a secondary control room, but which Radim had co-opted as his personal suite. One wall was covered in display screens, the feeds from the Hammond and Atlantis surrounded by the ever-changing status of Pride of the Genii herself. In the corner, Radim's cot, half-hidden by a tent-like drape for at least the illusion of privacy, looked entirely incongruous. One of Cadman's Marines had managed to make coffee, and Lorne clutched his travel mug in both hands.

In the main screen, General O'Neill was frowning down at something, presumably the tactical screen, while Woolsey had his eyes fixed on the camera. Sheppard appeared a moment later, looking predictably rumpled, and O'Neill looked up with a silent question.

"Sorry, sir," Sheppard said. "I had to get Beckett settled in the chair."

Lorne filed that for reference — they wouldn't want to ask the city to do anything complicated if Beckett was flying her, and they probably wouldn't want to try launching drones, either. In the second screen, Colonel Carter was talking to her exec, but turned back to face her camera.

"We're good to go, sir."

Lorne looked at Radim, who nodded for him to go ahead. "We're ready, too, General."

"And is there any further word from your potential ally?" Radim asked.

"Unfortunately, nothing new," Woolsey answered. "Todd — Guide — still intends to sit this one out."

Radim made a face, but said nothing.

"Do we know yet if the hives are using their new shields?" Carter asked.

"Zelenka says we're not seeing the new power signature," Sheppard answered. "But you know how much that means."

"Well, maybe they decided it didn't work the way they wanted," O'Neill said.

"More likely they couldn't make it work without the ZPM McKay stole for them," Carter answered. "That would be nice."

Sheppard grinned. Lorne repressed the childish urge to cross his fingers. Yes, it would help if the hives weren't shielded, but they were still outnumbered and outgunned.

"Gentlemen," Radim said. "Major Lorne has come up with an idea that I think will be effective."

"Go ahead, Major," O'Neill said.

"Sir." Lorne straightened his shoulders. "If we and the Hammond were to make a short jump, to bring us into range of Queen Death's fleet, we could do a quick hit and run, do some solid damage and get back out again before they come in range of Atlantis."

"Carter?" O'Neill asked.

"Sir, I agree. The microjump is a little dicey, but I think it's worth it. Their weapons have always been shorter-range than ours. We'll jump in, hit them before they can close, and jump back out again."

Sheppard was nodding. "I like the sound of anything that takes some pressure off the city. We're pretty maneuverable for something this size, but we're not going to be dodging any of their fire."

O'Neill looked at Woolsey. "What about the remaining civilians?"

"We've assigned anyone who doesn't have an immediate duty post to one of several interior rooms that Dr. Zelenka identified as the most protected," Woolsey answered. "They're to proceed there as soon as the fighting starts — or sooner, if so ordered."

"That seems to cover it," O'Neill said. "Carter. You're sure this microjump thing is going to work?"

"Yes, sir," Carter answered. "You saw the Wraith do it, and we have finer control over our hyperdrive."

"All right. When can you do it?"

Carter looked slightly guilty, and Lorne cleared his throat. "Uh, we've already made the calculations, General."

O'Neill shook his head. "Of course you did. All right, Colonel, Major, you have a go."

"Thank you, sir," Carter said, with a quick grin, and Lorne glanced at Radim. The Genii leader nodded, and Lorne cut the connection.

"So," he said. "Do you really think this is going to work, Major?"

"Yes, sir," Lorne said. He picked up his P90, slung it over his shoulder. Not that he actually needed it, or he certainly hoped he didn't, but given that all the Genii went armed, he felt more comfortable with the weapon slung around his neck.

"It's fairly common knowledge that it's dangerous to open a hyperspace window too deep into a sun's gravity well," Radim said. "And I've figured out enough about the workings of this ship to know that it's not exempt from that limit."

Lorne hesitated. "That's true. It's tricky, and we could end up shredded. Or blow out the hyperdrive and end up trapped in the system. But — it's the best idea we've got."

"Sadly." Radim smiled. "All right, Major, let's do this thing."

Sam sat down in her big chair. "Ok," she said. "Ready for the microjump. Ikram?"

"Just another moment, ma'am," Ikram said, bent over his forward console.

"Fine," Sam said. The last thing she wanted to do was rush the navigations. An in system microjump had to be extremely precise. "Let me know when you're green." She opened internal communications. "Everyone secure for the microjump, please."

"Bay doors are secured," came the swift reply. The Hammond's landing bays were the most vulnerable part of the ship, and for hyperspace entry it was best to physically close the doors in addition to the energy shield.

"Okay, boys," Mel Hocken's voice carried easily on the line. "The garage is zipped up. Everybody take a minute to make one more run through. There's not going to be time when we revert. I'm in the A lane. Jimbo, you're right behind me."

"Right behind you, boss," confirmed Lt. Pulaski. "I've got Ellis and Mitchell in the B lane behind me."

"Confirmed," Hocken said.

Sam tried not to smile, listening to the familiar litany of the launch order confirming. Cam wouldn't like being fourth, with Teal'c behind him fifth, but it wasn't his show. The first two 302s at the front of the bay, side by side, were the A lane, the B lane the two behind them, the C lane the two behind them and so on. Needless to say, everybody had to wait their turn or there would be a big problem.

"I have the calculations," Ikram said.

Sam nodded. "Let's do it. Everybody, prepare for microjump. On my mark."

The Hammond leapt forward, starfield blurring for a moment, almost a blink rather than the usual elongation of stars, and then before she could draw a breath they were out again, almost on top of the enemy.

"Rail guns online," Davies announced.

"Fire as you bear," Sam said into the comm.

The rail guns opened up at the same time that the bay doors opened, the first pair of 302s hitting full turbos and launching into the night.

Hit and disengage — that was the name of the game. Mel Hocken spun her 302 into a hard left bank, shots telling in a long furrow along the hive ship's hull. The Hammond and the Pride of the Genii provided covering fire, the white angel streaks of Ancient drones slashing one at a time through the dark. The first time she'd seen them had been over Antarctica, General O'Neill launching them from the chair against Anubis' fleet. They'd been outnumbered and outclassed, twenty 302s against seventy or eighty death gliders — all the 302s there were, every one that had ever been built. It was the first time they'd engaged, and it stung. They'd lost nine out of twenty, including Colonel Mitchell, but Mel had been lucky. Well, lucky and good. She never discounted that.

"Take out weapons emplacements if you can," Mel said, flipping over to make a second pass on the same line. And that was pay dirt, an atmosphere plume from a hull breach beneath her, a tumble of debris.

"What the…?" Pulaski's exclamation came just as her heads up display changed, three cruisers appearing almost on top of the Hammond, Queen Death's fleet playing the microjump card too.

"Crap."

The Hammond heeled, caught in a sudden barrage of fire.

"Fall back to protect the Hammond," Mel said.

"Copy that." That was Mitchell's voice on the line. He probably wasn't actually checked out in a 302 anymore. The kind of crack up he'd had in Antarctica wasn't one you walked away from. But if Carter wasn't going to ask that question, neither was she. It wasn't like 302 pilots grew on trees.

The Hammond's shields flared, almost opaque under the volume of fire, and Mel pushed her ship harder. "Come on. Let's keep them busy."

"Cruiser's launching Darts."

"I see them, Jimbo."

This whole scene was getting dirty real fast.

Alabaster had taken the queen's station as though by right, and Guide was startled to feel something that might almost have been resentment. This was his fleet, built from the wreckage of his plans, the disaster of his capture by the Lanteans; Alabaster was not Steelflower, for all she had managed to convince Bonewhite and the others that she spoke for her. And yet…. She was his daughter, after all. He took his place at her left hand, his gaze sweeping across the displays.

The Hammond and the Genii ship were underway, and even as he focused his attention on their course, they opened hyperspace windows and vanished. Surely Atlantis was not going to run, not so quickly — but no, there they were, blinking back into normal space at what he guessed was the limit of their weapons' range. Bonewhite hissed at the sight, and in the same moment three of Queen Death's cruisers opened windows. They reappeared within range of the Lantean ships, ready to open fire, and Guide bared teeth. Not so clever after all, he thought, watching blue fire bloom along the distant hulls.

Alabaster made a small sound, not quite a hiss of distress, and her hand reached out to touch his wrist in private communication. “We should stand with them.”

“You know we cannot. And why.”

“We cannot face Death's fleet alone.”

“They will 'find' the weapon soon enough,” Guide answered. “You'll see.”

“You have spoken with Ember.”

Guide snarled in spite of himself. The cleverman had begged an audience as soon as Guide came aboard, spilled a confused story about sabotage and mysterious transmissions. If it had been anyone but Ember, he would have discounted the matter, but Ember did not make that sort of mistake. “I have. And I will find the traitor. But — not now.”

“Commander,” Bonewhite said. “What are your orders?”

“We do nothing yet,” Guide answered.

Ease looked up from his console. “Is it wise for us to remain here, then, if we don't intend to fight?”

“We cannot run,” Alabaster said. “Even if we will not fight with them, to run would be to declare our position unequivocally. Queen Death will attack with all her strength, knowing she needs to keep nothing in reserve to face us with.”

That was certainly true. Guide caught Bonewhite's eye, saw agreement on his strong-boned face. Hasten turned from his console.

“And if Death's fleet attacks us, Commander?”

“Then we will fight back,” Guide said. “But she will not.” Let Death worry, he thought. She knew she couldn't handle both fleets, not easily; she wouldn't attack until Atlantis was defeated, and by then he could be long gone.

“We cannot be sure of that,” Ease said. “We should join her, or flee.”

Several of the other officers snarled at the bald verb, the hint of cowardice, and Alabaster raised her head. “I do not believe your queen would wish to hear such words.”

“Our queen listens to advice,” Ease snapped. "Nor does she punish a man for speaking his mind.”

“Enough,” Guide said. “We will stand off and observe.” He would give Sheppard that much, and hope that would force the Lanteans' hand.

Time to get out of here, Sam thought. With Todd's fleet sitting it out, the Hammond and the Pride of the Genii were seriously outnumbered. They'd hit. Now it was time to run. She opened the comm again. "302s, this is your recall order. Return to the Hammond."

"Forward shield at 30 %," Franklin said. "There's a crew on it."

But that would take time. Repairs weren't instant, even when possible. "Repeat, this is your recall," Sam said.

"That is not possible, Colonel Carter." Teal'c's voice was measured, and no one but she would have noticed the stress in it. "We are tightly pressed."

It meant something if Teal'c was tightly pressed, but he had five Darts on him, zigzagging and rolling as if to scrape them off along the Pride of the Genii's shields. He'd better not hit the shields either. It would be the same as if he'd hit a solid surface at Mach 4.

"Hocken?"

"Hammond's hit the recall," Hocken said. The stress in her voice was evident, ducking under the Pride to try to get on the tail of Teal'c's pursuers. "Break off if you can."

Which she wasn't doing, as that would mean abandoning Teal'c. You don't do that.

Mitchell dropped in on her wing, so close their silhouettes overlapped on the heads up display, both firing at once. One Dart exploded and the other four broke the formation, scattering to evade.

"Colonel?" Lorne asked on the comm.

"We can't jump," Sam said. "Our 302s are stuck."

No more time, then, Ronon thought, watching the specks of light on the sensor screens cluster together in increasingly heated battle. Out there good men and women were fighting what could only be a losing battle. It was time to end this, and he was the only one who could end it all for good.

He muttered some excuse and left the control room, walking out on the balcony. No one was paying much attention to him anyway. Outside, the shield arched against the stars, their planet hanging blue and bright overhead.

He drew Hyperion's weapon out of his coat. He held it for a moment, feeling its weight in his hand, and took a deep breath of the chill air. His finger rested on the trigger.

Behind him, he heard the doors to the balcony open, and heard John's familiar step. There was enough time to act, a long few heartbeats to either pull the trigger or put the weapon away out of sight. Instead, he drew his pistol left-handed, turning with both weapons trained on John.

"Give it to me, Ronon," John said.

Ronon shook his head slowly. John's hand inched toward his sidearm and Ronon shook his head more sharply, his hand tightening on the trigger of his pistol. He could stun John before John could draw, and John knew it.

"You don't want to do this," John said.

"Yeah, I do."

"It's not worth it."

"No more Wraith," Ronon said. "I'd happily die for that."

"I know you want people to be safe."

"I want the Wraith dead," Ronon said.

John's eyes seemed to look into him. "Do you want that more?"

"This'll do both."

"It'll kill Teyla and Rodney."

"I'm sorry," Ronon said flatly. "I wish there was time to figure out a way to save them, but there's not. That fleet out there is going to bury us, and if we don't use the weapon we're going to lose our only chance."

"You're going to be the one to kill them, Ronon, just like putting a bullet through their heads," John said. "Rodney, and Teyla, and every other person in the Pegasus galaxy whose only crime is that one of their ancestors was experimented on by the Wraith. Could you do it if you had to look them in the eye and shoot them? Say that all those people are acceptable collateral damage and shoot them one by one?"

"If I had to," Ronon said. His hand was sweating despite the cold, and he tightened his grip on Hyperion's weapon. "If it was the only way, I'd do it."

"Even Torren?" John's voice was even and unrelenting. "If it were Torren standing here in front of you, I want to know if you could get down on one knee, and put your gun against his little head, and look into his eyes, and pull that trigger."

He wanted to say yes. He had to say yes. He'd sworn that he was willing to make any sacrifice, to do anything to destroy the Wraith. If what it took was killing a little kid he'd seen born, a little kid he'd played with and watched tucked into bed at night–

"Give me the weapon, Ronon."

He was holding onto the weapon so hard that his hand was shaking. "I ought to do it," he said from between gritted teeth. "Why can't I do it?"

"Because you're human," John said softly. "And you love Torren, and you love Teyla and even Rodney, and if the Wraith turn you into someone who's ready to kill the people he loves, then they win, Ronon. They win. Because they've made you worse than they are."

For a long moment, his finger trembled on the trigger. The Wraith had made him into a runner, a hunted animal, and then a hunter who killed them ruthlessly and without mercy. In Atlantis he'd remembered what it was to be a soldier and a man. And now he had people who trusted him to protect them. People like Torren.

"I'm nothing like them," Ronon said. In one swift move, he held Hyperion's weapon out to John, and John took it from him.

"You're a good man, Ronon."

He shook his head. "Tell that to the people who are going to get eaten by the Wraith because I couldn't pull the trigger."

"We'll see about that," John said. "There's still time to destroy this thing. If we can get Guide's fleet in on our side, we've got a fighting chance."

"And after that?"

"Let's worry about 'after that' after that, okay?" John turned on his heel and headed inside, Ronon trailing after him. He felt drained and strangely weightless, as if he'd been carrying something heavy at arm's length for days and had finally put it down.

John jogged into the control room and skidded to a stop. "We found Hyperion's weapon," he said. "Radio the Hammond and tell them to come get it."

"The Hammond is out of range," Woolsey said.

"So get it back in range."

Woolsey shook his head, his face pale. "Colonel Carter reports that she is heavily pressed by Wraith ships. The Hammond can't come back for Hyperion's weapon."