"We have launch," a technician reported, somewhere in the distance, and the screens with the live feed from the hull-mounted cameras darkened rapidly from blue to black.
Lorne felt the moment they reached orbit, velocity and mass settling into a pressure he could feel tingling in the palms of his hands, and he made himself focus enough to look at Radim. "We're in orbit, Mr. Radim."
"Thank you, Major," Radim said. "Take us to Atlantis."
Atlantis. The ship knew that name, secondary and tertiary systems coming to singing life. Atlantis, Lorne agreed, watching the grid form and reform around him, hyperspace calculations streaming past as though blown by wind. He could feel the ship's memory banks calling up images of the towers, matched them with his own memories, tropical sky and snow, but always the towers shining against the sea: Atlantis. Home. They leaped into the dark.
Guide paced the length of the conference room, careful still to keep more than an arm's length from any of the humans. There was nothing to be gained by baiting them, though he was beginning to think that there was also nothing to be gained by remaining here. He couldn't blame Carter's consort for trying to keep Hyperion's weapon — Guide could make the calculations himself, and could see just how O'Neill would think it was worth the risk, because none of them could stand alone against Queen Death. But neither could he leave his people still facing the risk of the weapon, no matter how reluctant the Lanteans might be to use it now. They were short-lived, and their children and grandchildren might well see the problem in a different light.
He glanced at Alabaster, now curiously examining one of the small cakes with pink tops that the Lanteans had brought several hours ago. She sniffed it, then took a wary taste, her nose wrinkling as though she were trying to decide if she actually liked it. He remembered that expression from her childhood, when she had been fond of the sweetest fruits, and for a moment the memory threatened to overwhelm him, the favorites of the zenana at ease in the chamber behind the formal gathering place, leaning against Snow's chair while she and the Hivemaster played at tables, while her two favorite clevermen vied to offer treats to Alabaster. She'd just been walking then, so small that she ricocheted from chair to knee and back, giggling and tugging at sleeves and skirts of coats until blade or cleverman lifted her. Spark had brought a stalk of melos from the world where they had last Culled, and Alabaster crowed with delight as she sucked on them, her thoughts filled with the honey-sweet taste of the fruit. Seeker had brought snap-rose, and she stuck the blossoms solemnly in his beard, where they nipped at his chin and drove Snow to snorting undignified laughter…. Dead, all dead, except for himself and Alabaster, and Darling was older now than she had been then.
He closed his mind over that memory as though he closed his fist, looked up as the door slid back to admit O'Neill again. "General O'Neill. It is time that I spoke to my alliance."
"So it is." O'Neill contrived to look surprised. "I really hope you're ready to tell them to come join the party."
Guide smiled in spite of himself. "Sadly, this — party — is not yet ready to begin. Unless you bear good news?"
He saw with satisfaction that the shot had gone home. "No," O'Neill said shortly. "We don't have it yet."
Guide spread his hands. "Then you cannot expect us to join you. However, I will speak with my ships."
Properly speaking, it was not Ember's place to wait in the control room with the other lords of the council. Clevermen belonged in the bowels of the ship, in the laboratories and secret spaces, unless and until they were invited; this was for blades and commanders. Guide had never enforced that rule, and Bonewhite seemed disinclined to concern himself with it either, so Ember hovered by the environmental monitoring station, deeming it a plausible enough excuse should his presence draw comment. Guide was due to contact them, to confirm that they should continue to Atlantis, and Ember couldn't bear to wait for that news to filter through the ship, not after what Blackiron had shown him.
He kept his thoughts closed tight, his head bent over the perfectly ordinary readings. If Blackiron was right, someone among the men assembled here was a traitor, served Queen Death — he couldn't imagine it, except out of fear. And fear was reasonable enough, given everything she had done, but even if it was a hopeless cause, he could not bear to think of serving her. He remembered the feeling of her hand on his chest, the sting of her claws and the pain as she fed. If it had been Steelflower who demanded that service, that taste of his life, he would gladly have given it, and more than a taste…. But that was not to the point: queens rarely admitted clevermen to more than momentary favor. But if they were to survive — if they defeated Death, well, he'd had as much of a hand in that as any blade, and she was extraordinary, wise beyond her years, and no stickler for convention.
He curbed that thought as well, shaking his head at his own folly. The old proverb whispered through his mind: first find your humans…. First survive this war.
The main screen lit abruptly, and Bonewhite bared teeth as the cleverman on duty adjusted the system to receive the signal. Ember could feel the tension in the chamber, each one of the waiting blades eager to find out their fate. How soon would they reach Atlantis, how soon would they face Death? He let his gaze slide from one man to the next, trying to read their loyalty in the set of their shoulders, the way they held their hands and head, but he could see nothing more than the general wariness.
"Commander," Bonewhite said, and Guide's face appeared in the screen. Behind him was a fuzzy image of Atlantis's control room, a double handful of humans vague shapes in the background. Hairy stood at his shoulder, looking less than happy, and another gray-haired human stood behind him, frowning slightly, his eyes narrowed as though he looked into a bright light or a great distance. Ember had never seen him before, but didn't dare draw attention to himself by asking.
"Is all well?"
That was the prearranged signal, and Ember felt the tension ease a little. Guide was unharmed, and the Lanteans were negotiating: the rest was details.
"All is well," Bonewhite agreed. "We await your next orders."
"There will be a delay," Guide said.
Ember looked up sharply, felt his own surprise echoed around the control room.
"Hold the ships at your present position," Guide continued. "I will be in contact shortly with further orders."
"Very good, Commander," Bonewhite said. "Is there some — difficulty?"
Guide's smile showed too many teeth for true humor. "Let's say we've hit a sticking point. And if I were not confident in General O'Neill's — intentions — this deal would already be off."
"Understood," Bonewhite said, bowing.
"I will contact you again in three hours," Guide said. "If not sooner."
"Three —" Bonewhite broke off. "Very well, Commander."
"Until then," Guide said, and the screen went abruptly blank.
“Three hours!” That was Precision, the leader of the Darts. “Bonewhite, if we're not underway by then — we won't make Atlantis in time.”
“We're closer than that,” Hasten said, with some reluctance. Ember hadn't seen him there — another cleverman keeping out of sight until his word was needed. “We'll have to make our best speed, yes, but we can be there.”