Thorn looked up, surprised. “No one knows. Presumably as they spread world to world they mingled with the human populations they encountered. They live such short lives and breed so quickly, in the five or six generations of humans since then our blood would have become dilute. It would become an interesting recessive, but one never expressed. So it is a matter of no concern.”
“Ah,” Waterlight said. Her brow furrowed, a question forming. “And why is that forbidden? Why should we forbid something that is of no use?”
Thorn glanced away. “I do not know,” he said.
Perhaps that was not the right question, but now she found the right one, the one at the center surely as one may find the keystone at towers. “Lastlight — Michael — what did he hope to create?” Thorn did not answer, but she could find it herself, putting the pieces into place. “One who appeared human," Waterlight said slowly, "yet who spoke mind to mind and had our abilities. A human blade. Not a half-witted drone or a worshipper who could not use our technology or a mindless thrall. A human blade to be a knife to the heart of the Lanteans.”
“It may be so,” Thorn said grudgingly.
“And did he ever find such?”
“I do not think such has ever existed,” Thorn said. “But we have far greater worries now. Queen Death….”
Waterlight's chin rose. “We shall take our ship to join Queen Steelflower. Find her ships and we shall meet them at their next destination. We will stand with her against Queen Death.” She saw the expression in his eyes, and said softly for his mind alone, “Father, it is better to stand together than wait for her to come upon us alone.”
He knew that it was so.
A mess hall was a mess hall no matter where it was or what variety of human was in it. Laura Cadman glanced around the compartment the Genii had designated as the place to serve meals — very possibly it had served the same purpose on the Ancient ship, given the long counter along the far wall, though she had always somehow imagined that the Ancients were above mundane things like meals. They'd been people, though, or so she understood. They'd Ascended, yes, and left all that behind, but they'd been people once, and had needed starships and mess halls and ordinary things. And cities. Like Atlantis.
She couldn't help smiling a little at that thought, in spite of everything. She'd done her tour there, and never thought she'd get to come back, and now here she was again, off on another crazy stunt. She glanced over her shoulder at her team, seated around one of the unsteady square tables, a mix of MREs and local food spread out in front of them. Yeah, it looked like Hernandez had traded all of his for a bowl of the Genii stew — which looked like the posole she'd had when she was stationed at Area 51, though the smell was sweet rather than spicy — and, also typically, Johnson was eating only the mac-and-cheese and the dessert. He was pickier than McKay on a bad day, and that was saying something. They looked good, relaxed and ready, and she turned her attention back to the row of urns.
The Genii didn't use paper or plastic, but thin unglazed pottery that the new archeologist said could be re-worked as soon as it was broken. She picked up a cup and held it under the spigot that seemed to produce something that would pass for tea. It was hot, at least, and smelled a lot like her grandmother's Russian Caravan Tea in the shiny red-and-gold tin, and for just an instant she was overwhelmed by the image, the family at Thanksgiving all hanging out by the television for the big games, and Grandma making mug after mug of smoky tea because Uncle Bill wasn't drinking beer any more….
She shook the thought away and went back to join her team, once again aware of the Genii watching her with something that wasn't quite hostility. It was a little bit like being in Afghanistan, where the local friendlies dithered between treating you like an honorary man and loudly not noticing you were a woman, but at least the Genii didn't seem to think there was anything actually wrong with women, just that they weren't suitable for the military. Still, she was glad it was Major Lorne who was doing most of the talking.
"Hey, Captain," Hernandez said. If anyone was going to ask an awkward question, she'd bet on Hernandez to be first.
"Yeah?"
For a wonder, Hernandez kept his voice down, so that the handful of Genii at the far tables were unlikely to hear. "Is it true that these guys are taking blood samples from the Major? Going to clone him or something?"
Well, she couldn't really expect that would have gone unnoticed. "Major Lorne is just here as a pilot," she said carefully. "We also agreed to let them try our gene therapy, the one that activates the recessive ATA gene. But it's not about the Major, and it’s got nothing to do with cloning."
"Outta sight," Hernandez said.
Johnson started to say something, then stopped.
"Spit it out," Cadman said. Whatever it was, it was better out in the open.
"Sorry, ma'am. It's just — is that a good idea?"
No, actually it sucks, she thought, and lifted an eyebrow. "That's not our problem, now, is it?"
Which was answer enough, really, and Johnson shook his head. "Guess not, ma'am."
Cadman looked around the table again. Peebles, the only other woman on the team, hastily lowered her head, but not before Cadman had seen the swollen lip.
"Lance Corporal Peebles."
"Ma'am!"
"What the hell?"
"Ma'am." Peebles straightened her back. "It was a demonstration, ma'am. Just got a little out of hand."
"How out of hand?" Cadman demanded.
"Not really out of hand, just — I thought I should show them what a Marine could do." Peebles fixed her eyes on the far wall. She was a judoka, Cadman remembered, black belt or probably higher — had a judo scholarship before she joined the Marines, and still worked out regularly. In fact, she taught a couple of unarmed combat classes back in Atlantis. And Peebles was maybe 5'3" on a good day, a petite 120 pounds of deceptively solid muscle. For a moment, Cadman was sorry she hadn't seen the "demonstration."
"I'd prefer you didn't teach them judo, Peebles," she said, and Peebles relaxed.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Tell me what you need right now," Jack said. He'd managed to catch both Sheppard and Sam in the mess hall as they stopped in to fill their mugs with coffee.
Sam and Sheppard looked at each other. "Daedalus," Sam said.
"What you need that'll fit through the Stargate, Carter."
Sam made a face. "In that case, I could use some more repair technicians for Hammond. We're still trying to get her back to a hundred percent. I know there's no way we can repair the Asgard weapons until we get back to Earth, but we can do everything else if we have enough people. And I'm down three 302 pilots."
"I can do that. Sheppard?"
"Hyperion's weapon," Sheppard said grimly.
"Do I look like Santa Claus to you?"
Sam's lips twitched. "A little, sir."
"Knock it off," he said without heat.
"More Marine teams if you have them to spare," Sheppard said. "Whatever the tactical situation shapes up to be in the morning, it can't hurt to step up our ground forces."
"If we can't keep the hive ships off and we lose the city's shield, we're already pretty much screwed," Jack pointed out.
"At that point, additional Marine teams would help cover a retreat," Sheppard said. "If we reach that point, I'd like to try to get some of my people out before we have to blow up the city." His people, not him. Those words were unspoken, but Jack didn't think for a second that Sheppard planned to leave Atlantis.
"The databurst goes at 2200 hours," Jack said. "I'll see what I can order up for you."