With an effort, he killed that train of thought, wrenched his mind back to the problem at hand. Ember should be here — yes, there he was, just turning away from a cell. A body dangled, withered, and Rodney shuddered again.
*Quicksilver?*
Rodney closed the distance between them in a rush, slamming the Wraith against the nearest support. His feeding hand came up, almost without volition, flattened against Ember’s chest, claws digging through the layers of his coat to touch flesh. Ember hissed and flailed, got his own feeding hand between them, but Rodney had the advantage of leverage, caught his off hand and bent it up and back, pinning him against the hull.
*What—?*
They touched skin to skin, off hand to off hand, and Rodney felt the confusion beneath the words, the bright blossom of fear, the moment when Ember realized what had happened. He flexed his own fingers, setting the claws deeper, and Ember hissed again.
*Stalemate, Quicksilver. Look down.*
*Not likely,* Rodney said, but he could feel the prick of claws in his own chest, see their position reflected in Ember’s mind. They stood body to body, each ready to feed — like enemies, like blades in battle, like lovers.
*You cannot kill me,* he said.
*Watch me,* Rodney answered. Ember had lied to him as much as Dust, deserved anything he did to him—
*If you kill me,* Ember said, *the Old One will fillet your mind, strip out every secret you have ever held, and feed on you laughing.*
The image that came with the words was sharp and shockingly vivid, but Rodney didn’t relax his grip. *So?*
*You know more of Atlantis’s secrets,* Ember said. *And I have not pressed you for them.*
*You did this to me.* Rodney let his fury fill the words, the anguish of seeing himself made monster, and felt Ember tremble under his hand.
*I did not, and well you know it. Dust had the idea, some time ago, when Lastlight that you call Michael was made mad. You were his chance to test it, cleverman of Atlantis. I merely maintained what he had done.*
*And that makes it better?* Rodney felt his feeding hand pulse with his anger, ready to strip the life from Ember. There was a warning pulse in his chest, Ember matching him, and he laughed soundlessly. *Really, give me one good reason.*
*Because you won’t survive if you do,* Ember answered.
Rodney snarled, recognizing the truth in the words. *And I should trust you?*
*We are in this game together,* Ember said. *Whether I like it or not.*
Rodney blinked, another set of pieces slotting into place. Guide — yes, he knew Guide, had indeed worked with him on Atlantis, though that hadn’t quite worked out the way they’d planned. As nothing had, when they dealt with Guide.
“Todd,” he said aloud, and Ember cocked his head in question. *Guide. He’s playing another of his games — is it a triple cross, or is he working up to a quadruple cross this time?*
To his surprise, a kind of wry amusement flicked through Ember’s mind. *I wish I knew.*
*And Sheppard,* Rodney said. He was sure Sheppard had escaped, otherwise the hive would have been buzzing with the news, but he needed to be sure. *You hid the message — and, believe me, if anything goes wrong, I’ll make sure everyone knows about that — did he escape?*
*You know as much as I,* Ember said. *He is not Death’s captive, that is certain.*
And that would have to be enough, for now. Rodney said, *What does Guide want from me?*
*He doesn’t want your death,* Ember said. *And, believe me, I have urged otherwise! Nor does he love Death. But our queen is missing — as you know.*
*And he keeps in contact with Atlantis,* Rodney said, slowly. There was something about Todd’s queen, something wrong there, but the memory slipped from his grasp.
*Just so,* Ember said. He paused. *I do not know what Guide plans, nor will he tell me.*
Rodney caught a brief image, memory or fear, he couldn’t telclass="underline" Ember on his knees before Death, life ripped from him. *But he wishes you alive, and I obey.*
*And if you don’t —* Rodney took a breath, released his claws. A moment later, Ember did the same.
*I will keep you so,* he said. *For all our sakes.*
Chapter Eleven
Interfaces
They came out of hyperspace in an uninhabited system, just as planned.
John paced around the command podium where Teyla stood, her hands in the grips and her eyes closed. “Are you putting the shields up?”
“Yes, John.” Teyla didn’t bother to open her eyes. “They are already up. And we are here well before Guide.” She heard him cross behind her again.
At least he sounded sheepish as she instructed the cruiser to take up a high parking orbit around a gas giant. “Sorry.”
The cruiser complied smoothly. It was, for want of a better way of putting it, feeling better. The hull breach aft had repaired itself, though the skin of the hull was still thin and cold there, and the internal sensors did not work. They needed to be grafted to the neural net of the cruiser, and it had not been done. Teyla was not certain how to do it. Speaking with the ship did not make her an engineer.
Once their orbit was settled she opened her eyes and stepped back, swaying a little as her vision returned to the physical room around her, soft lit blues and grays allowing the screens to be in high contrast. He was watching her, a strange expression on his face.
“What is it?” Teyla asked.
John shook his head. “You look different when you fly. I don’t know. You look…”
“I look what?” she asked, her brows rising.
“Happy,” he said. “Well, not that exactly. Satisfied. Pleased. I guess I always thought the Wraith tech would be hard.”
“It is not hard for Wraith, John,” she said, lifting her fingers from the podium. “Why would anyone build an interface that was painful or unpleasant to use?”
“I’ve wondered that about the Ancient stuff,” John said, sitting down on the edge of the platform. “Carson’s gotten used to it, but he doesn’t like using the chair because it’s uncomfortable. And Sam said that General O’Neill found using the chair on Earth really painful. That he said using it hurt a lot. Why would you build something that way? They both have the naturally expressed ATA gene too, even out of the same cluster.”
“And you do not find it painful.” She made it a statement as she came and sat beside him on the edge of the platform, her heeled boots stretched out before her. “I have seen you when you use it. You look ecstatic, as though you are enraptured.”
“It feels really good.” John shrugged. “It did the first time in Antarctica. It feels great. I don’t even really have any words to describe what it’s like.” He looked up at the ceiling, as though recalling it minutely. “It’s like being totally safe and totally free at the same time. Like letting go absolutely into this zone where you can feel everything and see everything, and at the same time it all makes sense. Like skiing downhill, when the momentum is carrying you and you can’t hear anything except the wind and you couldn’t stop if you tried and you feel like you can fly. Like you have to let go, and it’s the best thing ever.”
“But you do let go,” Teyla said, ducking her head sideways at him. “Perhaps it is a matter of temperament as well as genetics. I do not think General O’Neill is very good at letting go. He seems to me a man who will not surrender, who cannot in some inner place in his soul.”