Sam tried again. “Sheppard?”
Smoke wreathed him, choking him, filling his lungs. The ship was burning, fires eating up all the available oxygen. They’d go out soon. Vacuum would claim their fuel.
Ronon gave Rodney’s legs a shove. Something had gone wrong. That wasn’t a surprise. He couldn’t raise Sheppard and he couldn’t raise the Hammond. It was time to find his own way off the ship while there still was a ship. One more shove, and Rodney was inside the tiny escape pod, head lolling back to expose green veined throat.
Coughing, Ronon dragged himself to his feet. One more time.
The rush of atmosphere caught him with Jennifer in his arms, and he staggered, caught in a maelstrom of air rushing toward some distant hull breach. It was all he could do to hold onto her and a bulkhead at the same time. He couldn’t make any headway. It tore away the smoke, but also the air. One deep breath, two. Overbreathe, because in a moment…
The rush stopped. Somewhere a bulkhead door had slammed shut, some crewman risking life and limb to seal a compartment. For now it held, but the ship was in its death throes.
The air was thin. Ronon held his breath, moving as slowly as underwater. The gravity was fluctuating too. Jennifer’s hair floated out behind her, her eyes rolled up in her head, unconscious. Maybe dying. He had no idea what was wrong. But if they stayed on this ship any longer they’d all be dead.
His vision was getting spots. Not enough oxygen.
A few more steps. He thought it was to the left. Jennifer felt light as a feather. One hand of hers trailed along, as though she had drowned. Oxygen deprived, just as he was.
His vision darkened. He felt the gap with his left hand. Light as this it was easy to shove Jennifer in. Dark. The release must be here.
The door irised shut, self contained systems activating.
Ten seconds. Twelve.
Ronon drank down deep gulps of air. No time to check on Rodney or Jennifer, their bodies sprawled together, dead or living. No time. The hive ship pitched, inertial dampeners failing.
Ronon hit the launch switch, and in a blast of miniature thrusters the escape pod separated, blasting out into fire.
“What in the hell?” John said, the barrel of his P90 rising as he looked around the chamber of the hive ship. He’d felt the tingle of beams, had a moment’s gratitude that somehow Sam had gotten close enough to grab them. Wrong.
Radek blinked owlishly, picking himself up from the floor, while Cadman drew in a breath of astonishment. Only Teyla seemed composed.
And Todd. He turned to a tall Wraith standing at a console, an expression very like pleased approbation on his face. “Well done, Ember.”
“Where are we?” Cadman demanded. “What happened?”
The Wraith at the console didn’t look fazed at all by Cadman being the one with the demands, and Teyla stepped forward, speaking formally to her as though they were barely acquainted. “We are aboard my ship. You have my gratitude for your part in combating treachery.”
John felt like he was still a step behind, but Cadman looked like she was about three steps back.
Teyla turned to the Wraith at the console, and the other three who had hurried in.
“My Queen,” one said, going to one knee. “We are relieved that you are safe.”
“Through the good work of my cleverman, Ember,” she said. “And the foresight of my Consort.” She gave Todd an inscrutable look. John held his tongue. He knew better than to mess with her when she was playing this game.
Teyla turned and inclined her head a few inches to Cadman. “Blades and clevermen, gentlemen all, this is Wreathed in the Plants of Victory, a young kinswoman of She Who Carries Many Things. I tell you this day that my Consort and I should not have escaped from the treachery of Queen Death, whose blades attempted to murder me in the very Chamber of Oath Taking, beneath the most potent symbols of truce! I should be dead this moment were it not for her and the Consort of Atlantis, who had come aboard Death’s ship as part of She Who Carries Many Things’ attack!”
Her voice rang in the chamber. Radek was forgotten in the introductions, but probably he didn’t rank enough to merit an introduction, some hanger on of Cadman’s, who had now been inexplicably raised in status to Carter’s heir.
“Such treachery is unthinkable!” the one kneeling before her said, his voice shaking and his eyes shining, a pretty understandable reaction to being at Teyla’s feet.
“Yes, but it is not finished,” Todd said. “We must go to the bridge. How goes it?”
The one they had called Ember nodded swiftly. “We came in close enough to get a lock. But there are three hive ships and two cruisers. The ship of She Who Carries Many Things has not fired on us.”
“Nor will they with her kinswoman aboard,” Teyla said, sweeping toward the door. “The bridge, gentlemen.” Todd followed at her elbow as though he spent every day doing exactly what Teyla told him.
Cadman boggled at him. “Play it,” John whispered as Radek came up beside them. “Just follow Teyla’s lead. And let’s find out what the hell is going on.”
“Ma’am, we are reading no transmitters aboard the hive ship.” Franklin’s voice cut through the shouting on the Hammond’s bridge. Something had shorted and a fire suppression crew were spraying foam while Sam leaned over the engineering station.
There it went. The dorsal shield was down.
“Pull us out!” she shouted to the helmsman. “We’re naked!” She put one hand to her headset. “Blue flight, this is your recall order. Return to the Hammond immediately. Repeat, all 302s. This is your recall order!”
The Hammond spun about wildly, ducking beneath Todd’s massive hive ship, open dorsal spot uppermost. Lt. Chandler deserved a commendation for this one. This was some serious flying.
“Sheppard? Sheppard?”
One of the 302s was coming in on one thruster, Captain Dwaine Grant. He’d never make it with the Hammond moving like this. Before she could say anything Chandler was on it. Behind the hive ship he could straighten out, let Grant line it up. She heard the line chatter as he slid in, inertial dampeners keeping him from being spread across the landing bay as the 302 touched wing first, skidding in a spray of sparks into the rigged barriers.
And then they were back out from behind the hive ship, rotating as they dodged fire intended for Todd’s hive. The other hive ships had entered the fray, two on one, concentrating on the hive ship rather than the Hammond, remaining cruisers closing.
“Forward shield at zero,” Franklin said calmly. Only the rear shield remained, and it was at 30 percent. All shots now would tell, and they could not take a dorsal hit.
“Sam?” Sheppard’s voice cutting through the static.
“Where are you?”
Static from EM emissions bursting up and down the spectrum. “…on Todd’s hive…” she thought she heard him say.
And then the massive hive ship started pulling back. Three Darts skimmed in, slipping through the closing maw of the Dart bay.
“Chandler, prepare to open a hyperspace window,” Sam said, stalking toward the helmsman’s station, sparks cascading from some overhead conduit.
“…Ronon?” Sheppard’s voice cut in and out.
“Say again?”
“Have you got Ronon?” John asked, almost shouting into his radio as though that would somehow cut through the interference.
And then it was gone.
He spun around, absolute silence on the radio. “What just happened?”