“Do that,” John said, and looked from Ronon to Teyla. “What about our allies? Is there anyone out there we could get it from?”
Teyla shook her head. “There are not so many peoples who can make such a metal. And Death has attacked most of them already.”
“The Genii,” Ronon said.
“Perhaps,” Teyla said. She sounded doubtful, and John couldn’t help agreeing. After they’d nearly had a serious misunderstanding over the Ancient warship, he wasn’t eager to go asking them for more help. “The Manarians dealt in metal ores, but…”
Manaria had been devastated only a few weeks before, in one of Queen Death’s aggressive Cullings. John winced, and pulled himself upright in his chair. “First things first,” he said. “Radek. Can we build and install a mechanical iris? Assuming we have the materials, I mean.”
Radek nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think we can. We know the design, and how it works. It’s only a matter of fitting it to our own gate.”
“Our people can help with that,” Carter said, and Caldwell nodded, face grim.
“OK,” John said. “So what we need is the material.” That, at least, he understood, and he looked around the table. “Radek, get your people searching the city, see what we have that we can use. Ronon, Teyla, I’d like you to compile a list of our allies and anybody else who might have suitable alloys we can trade for. Colonel Carter, Colonel Caldwell, if there is anything on either of your ships that you can spare, we’d be grateful for it.” He looked around the table a final time. “Let’s go with Plan B.”
John caught Carter’s eye before she left the conference room. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure,” she said, sitting back down. “What’s up?”
“Now we’re even more understaffed than we were to start with. You know we couldn’t get back all the personnel who were transferred. There wasn’t even time to get everybody back from the SGC, let alone people who got sent to Iraq or Afghanistan.”
“I’m happy to lend you personnel if I can, but we still have repairs ongoing,” Carter said, sounding like she was sympathetic but being careful not to commit herself before she heard what he wanted.
“I was actually wondering if I could borrow Captain Cadman for a while.”
Carter’s eyebrows went up. “Seriously?”
“Lorne’s down for the count,” John said. “Even if he pulls through this okay — which he will — he’s going to be out of the action for weeks. I have a bunch of kids who’ve never even been through a Stargate yet and some lieutenants who think they know everything. I need somebody with a brain to take charge of Lorne’s team.”
“You have Marine lieutenants,” Carter said.
“You’re right, I do.” He couldn’t exactly say I need a Marine with a brain, but he could see from Carter’s amused expression that he didn’t have to. “But Cadman did a whole tour here as a lieutenant and didn’t get shot, fed on by the Wraith, injured in some even weirder way, or sent home for being a pain in the ass. I can’t say that about a lot of people, unfortunately. And you know perfectly well that when we need the backup team, we really need it.”
“All right,” Carter said. “I’ll temporarily detach her. But you can’t keep her.”
John smiled. “Would I try to poach your crew?”
“You would if you’re as smart as I think you are,” Carter said.
The Queen had been pleased. Quicksilver could still feel the caress of her mind as he presented her with the ZPM, her delight, unguarded and unfeigned, as she unlatched the case and lifted the glowing cylinder from its padding.
*Cleverest of clevermen,* she had said, and behind her the lords of the zenana had bared teeth and bowed heads in varying acknowledgement of her praise.
*We’re not there yet,* he had said. *There’s a lot of work to do before we can use it — modifications to the hyperdrive, to all our systems — but it will help us with the new energy shields — *
*I have every confidence in you,* Death had said, and rested her off hand on his arm. He could still feel the touch of her fingers, cool and soft and yet burning like a brand. Perhaps he should have their shape tattooed on him, etched into his skin while he could still remember each fractional point of contact —
*Are you well?* Ember’s thought broke the pleasant memory, and Quicksilver bared teeth in automatic reproof.
*Yes, of course,* he began, and realized abruptly that he was not. He felt odd, hollow, his legs at once weak and distant, as though they were no longer connected to his body. His feeding hand hurt, a slow pulse of pain in the palm of his hand. He stumbled, and Ember caught his arm.
*When did you last feed?*
For some reason, the question sent a jolt of pure terror racing through him, snapping him upright. He controlled himself with an effort, scowling at the other cleverman. *I have no idea.*
*Then it is past time,* Ember said. *Come.*
Another pang shot through him, and his hand throbbed sharply. He shook his head, unable to explain his reluctance. *I’m — I don’t have time.*
*If you don’t feed, you won’t be able to work,* Ember said.
*Later,* Quicksilver said. The idea of feeding made him feel weak and ill, and at the same time, his hand, his heart throbbed with sudden need. A strange and nameless fear filled him: he could not remember having fed, could not remember how, what to do.
*There is plenty of time,* Ember said. His patience was fading palpably. *If you do not waste it. Come.*
*I have better things to do — *
Ember bared teeth in a full snarl. *For a cleverman, you compound folly!*
*I — *
*No more!* Ember controlled himself with a visible effort *This is foolish, Quicksilver. You must feed now.*
I must not. The words trembled in the forefront of his mind, but he did not press them forward, aware of how ridiculous they were. Of course he must feed. Of course he needed to revive himself, he could feel it now that Ember had given this weakness a name. This reluctance, this fear, had no logic behind it. He would not give in to folly.
He followed Ember along the main corridor, forward out of the clevermen’s lairs toward the domains of blades and drones. They took the left hand fork where the corridor split, and Quicksilver was sure that was propriety, the proper way for clevermen, but even so, he was aware of odd looks and bared teeth, and Ember’s mind was tightly held, giving him no sense of the cause.
Then they had reached the holding pens, and he checked in the entrance, fear sweeping over him like a wave. He had stood in such a place before, he was sure of that as he had been sure of nothing since his rescue, stood with weapon in hand and terror like copper in his throat, darkness folding in on him like a great cloak… Perhaps it had been a raid? An attack on some other hive, when they were desperate to Cull? All that he was sure of was the dark and the fear.
*Quicksilver?* Ember looked over his shoulder, frowning, and Quicksilver made himself take a step forward, and then another, advancing slowly through the haze of memory.
The pen was low-ceilinged, each cell sealed with a thick corded webbing that held the contents upright, only their faces visible. Most hung with eyes closed; here and there, one watched with fear or anger, or wept silently. Quicksilver shivered, hot and cold as though with fever. They were aware, watching, waiting his choice… Of course they were, he told himself. They were human, not completely animal. They would provide no nourishment otherwise. That knowledge was hollow, set against the living eyes.
Ember moved along the row of cells, eyes flicking over the faces. He stopped at least perhaps a third of the way down, and tugged the webbing away from the human’s chest. It was a male, middle-aged, pale with fear. He made a soft sound, a whimper of a plea, and Ember sank claws into his chest, draining him in a heartbeat. Someone, somewhere in the row of cells, cried out, a single note of fear and sorrow. Ember flexed his fingers in satisfaction.