One of them screamed and launched himself off the stairs, whether trying to dodge or in a purposeful leap, Ronon couldn’t tell. Ronon scrambled back, slapped the shoulder of the young Marine next to him, grabbed his jacket and yanked when he wasn’t moving fast enough. The Wraith landed mostly on top of the Marine, rolling him over and clawing at his shirt. Ronon fired, aimed a vicious kick at the side of the Wraith’s head, and fired again when it came up fighting.
“We have to fall back!” Washington yelled from the other side of the stairs. “They’re still coming — ”
Ronon fired again, and the Wraith finally jerked and went limp. Ronon hauled him up and shoved him toward the stairs, one more obstacle for the ones on the stairs above to have to scramble over.
“Down. Go!” he yelled. “Take the next landing down!”
If the Wraith didn’t try to shoot their way down another flight of stairs, took the corridor on this level to the next landing, they’d be able to work their way around the defenders — but he just had to hope they didn’t know the city that well. “Any security teams who can hear me, we need someone to cover the south tower stairs on the infirmary level.”
“Ronon, that you?” Sheppard said over the radio.
“We’ve got about a hundred Wraith trying to come down these stairs,” Ronon said, putting his back to the wall of the landing and firing steadily, the Marines doing better this time at getting into position on either side of the staircase. “And we just gave up the mess hall level.” He hoped the kitchen staff had gotten off that floor, or at least put the heavy door of one of the walk-in freezers between them and any Wraith who got through.
“Copy that,” Sheppard said, his voice drowned out by P90 fire on his end of the radio. He didn’t sound like he was really in a position to talk. “Just hang on.”
“What do we do?” Washington yelled over the gunfire.
“Keep shooting!” Ronon yelled back. If it wasn’t a great plan, at least it was simple enough that he thought they’d have no problem following along.
John flung himself into the shelter of the doorway, flattening his back against the wall as he slammed a fresh magazine into his P90. Wraith in the gate room, Wraith on the stairs that led to the mess hall level — no, on the mess hall level — worst of all Rodney with a Wraith’s face, a Wraith’s hand and mind commanding drones as though he’d been born to it —
He shoved that thought aside, risked another glance around the corner. Most of the Wraith were still there, drones covering the approaches while the males moved into operations. If they’d been spectacularly lucky, Radek would have gotten the consoles locked down, but given that Rodney was in control of the security systems, that didn’t seem very likely. So the Wraith would be busy consolidating their control of the shield and the gate, making sure they could keep getting reinforcements… He closed his eyes for an instant, visualizing the situation. Wraith on the stairs — Wraith in the gate room and ops and then the stairs, heading down into the vulnerable parts of the city. On the mess hall floor already, and moving down — except that it made more sense to keep bringing in troops, make sure there was no way they could get control back again, and that had to mean that the stairway attack was meant to draw attention. But away from what? Rodney was up in operations — wasn’t he?
John braced himself, took another quick look around the edge of the doorway. He got one good look at the consoles, a trio of males working at the boards, before a drone spotted him and fired. He ducked back, the stun bolt splashing harmlessly on the far wall, a tight knot of fear in the pit of his stomach. All of them had had long hair, and there was no way he could convince himself that any of them was Rodney. He touched his earpiece.
“Lorne!”
“Sir?”
“Do you have a visual of ops?”
“Yes, sir.”
“See if you can spot McKay up there.” John pressed himself harder against the wall as another stunner bolt slammed past. He nodded to the nearest Marine, who returned fire briefly before ducking back into shelter. Words sounded in his ear, but they were drowned by the noise of the P90s. “Say again?”
“He’s not up there,” Lorne said. “Just Wraith. Regular Wraith.”
“Right.” It all fit, suddenly, the pieces coming together in his mind: the way the lockdown had been interrupted, the transport chambers that still worked, the way the diversionary attack had gone, the fact that Rodney was involved… He touched the radio again. “Radek! Radek, can you hear me?”
There was a little silence, and he could feel his heart kicking against his ribs. Too long, it had taken him too long to work this out, Rodney could be there by now —
“I hear you, John,” Radek said. “We are in the ZPM room — ”
“Rodney is headed your way,” John interrupted. “Lock yourselves in and stay alert. I’m coming to you.”
There was a pause, but Radek’s voice was steady. “OK. We will be ready.”
John took a breath. “Lorne. Rodney’s heading for the ZPM room. I’m taking a team and going after him. Cover the approaches and make damn sure he doesn’t get back in.”
“Copy that,” Lorne answered, his voice matter-of-fact for all that they both knew what he’d just been asked to do. “Good luck, sir.”
“To you, too,” John answered. He looked at the people gathered in the corridor, Marines and airmen, pointed quickly to half a dozen. “You, come with me. Degan, take over here.”
“Yessir,” the sergeant said, and John turned away. He only hoped they’d be in time.
Quicksilver glanced at the laptop he had taken from the operations room, checking the specifications of the tower against the maps in his mind. It was almost painfully bizarre to be here in the Ancients’ city, under the soaring windows that had haunted his dreams, and once or twice he had to shake himself away from some memory, some image, that rose unbidden and irrelevant. It was worth it, he told himself, worth a little disorientation to see the rout in the gate room, to see the humans fall, to punish them for what they had done to him — to him, to Dust, and to so many more.
He found the hall he wanted, the one that led to the next transport chamber that he had carefully excluded from the lockdown. It was all working perfectly, all the pieces meshing just as he had known they would, and he pointed left at the next intersection.
*This way.*
*You’re sure?* That was Ardent, the younger of the two blades he had been given to manage the drones, and Quicksilver rolled his eyes.
*Yes, of course I’m sure.*
Ardent glared at him, not quite daring to show teeth, but the other blade, Wakeful, waved his drones ahead without a word.
*Be careful,* Ember said softly, at his back, but Quicksilver ignored him, all his attention on the plan.
The transport chamber was unguarded, as he’d planned — as he’d arranged, certain doors sealing too quickly to allow the defenders to reach this hall, this chamber. He stepped forward, ready to enter their destination, but Ember caught his sleeve.
*Send Ardent first.*
The queen’s brother did snarl at that, but Wakeful nodded. *Go.*
The door slid shut, and when it opened again, Ardent and his drones were gone. Wakeful cocked his head to one side, then waved another group of drones into the chamber, and paused to listen again.
*They have secured the hall. There were human soldiers, and more in this power room, and they are fighting hard. Are you sure this is worth it, Quicksilver?*
Quicksilver was already in the chamber, turned to glare at him, and something in the movement, in the fall of light from the windows and the sleek bronze walls and the pattern of the carvings, caught at his heart. This was — something was terribly wrong here, and for an instant the faces of his friends became like monsters, so that he flung up his arm to shield himself from the sight.