"Screwed," John said. But at least Torren was on New Athos. At least he'd taken care of that. Which was a lot more important than Rodney's cat.
"There's nothing more I can do until we find it," Sam said. "My time is better spent on the Hammond's repairs."
"I know." John took a deep breath. "Thanks, Sam."
"Call me as soon as you find it," she said, and strode off toward the transport chamber.
"I will," John said.
"I really thought we could find it this way," Greensmith said.
"We do our best," Radek said, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder for a moment. "But now we must use logic. It must be one of two things. Either someone took it because they do not want it destroyed, in which case they may use it, or someone took it who does not know what it is."
"If they use it…." John's heart sank.
"Most likely they do not know what it is," Radek said. "Perhaps it is time to announce that something is missing. I can say it is some vital part of the city's systems. That way if it is someone who has simply picked up an interesting device that they do not know what it does, perhaps they will return it."
"It's worth a try," John said. "I'll ask Woolsey."
John paused in the mess hall to draw himself yet another mug of coffee. He was still in pretty good shape, despite the early morning and the rush of preparations. With any luck, he'd be able to grab a few hours sleep sometime early in the evening, and be ready to lift the city once O'Neill and Woolsey made the final decision. Not that he had any real doubts about what that would be. If Atlantis was going to have any chance at all, she had to be in orbit, with the choice to fight or flee. That didn't mean that the IOA wouldn't try to make them destroy the city, but he was pretty sure neither O'Neill nor Woolsey would go along with it, if only because they both believed Zelenka when he said he couldn't truly destroy the City of the Ancients. And O'Neill, at least, was in a position to make it stick.
He moved to a sunny corner where he could look out over the city, the sea glinting under the sun, the ice melted to damp patches on the terrace below. Zelenka said the city was fit for hyperspace, and that they had enough power to make the jump; they could run if they had to. They might even end up on a more pleasant world, maybe another tropical ocean like their first two homes. But running wouldn't work forever. They'd have to face Queen Death someday. Better to do it now, if they could.
Of course, the problem with that was Todd. No weapon, to be ceremoniously destroyed in front of him, no Wraith fleet to fight against Queen Death. John couldn't entirely blame him: if the Wraith had something like that, he'd want to have it in hand, see it smashed into little pieces, before he lifted one finger to help. But they were running out of time.
He moved a little closer to the window, out of earshot of any of the tables, and touched his radio. "Dr. Zelenka."
"Yes, Colonel?" The little engineer sounded almost cheerful, and John couldn't help raising his eyebrows.
"Any luck with our hide-and-seek project?"
"That. No, no luck. Nor has anyone reported finding anything that might be it."
"Damn."
"On the other hand, we are making good progress with Rodney's help." There was a pause, as though Zelenka was consulting a screen. "And the Hammond is within four hours of readiness, with only minor work left to do."
Which is great, John thought, except that the Hammond and the Pride of the Genii aren't going to be enough to hold off Queen Death, not even with the city to back them up. And we can't risk losing the city. "Good work," he said aloud. "And thanks. Sheppard out."
He glanced at his watch, a vague idea taking shape in his brain. He had almost two hours before his next scheduled meeting; in that time, maybe it was worth having another word with Todd. Todd had to know that he didn't stand a chance if Queen Death won — she'd feed on him and take his withered carcass up on a wall somewhere to remind people that opposing her was a bad idea. And he also had to know that there was no percentage for Atlantis in using a weapon that would kill some of their best people, never mind every random human who happened to have Wraith DNA. It was worth a try.
Todd — Guide, John reminded himself — had been taken to a suite of rooms several levels below the gateroom. There were Marines on guard who came to attention at John's approach, and one of them reached across to open the door. Guide spun to face him as the door opened, and John nodded a greeting.
"You can close up," he said, to the nearest Marine. The man visibly swallowed his protest, and did as he was told. The door hissed shut behind him. "I hope you're comfortable."
"Oh, entirely." Guide waved a hand at the furnishings, but John couldn't tell if the gesture was ironic or not. "Dare I hope you've brought good news?"
"'Fraid not. But I did want to discuss that with you."
"There is nothing to discuss." Guide turned his back, the black coat flaring, crossed the room to peer out the single narrow window. "If Hyperion's weapon is not destroyed — I cannot help you, Sheppard."
"You need Death destroyed just as much as we do," John said.
"Yes, but I have some chance of doing it on my own."
"If you really thought that, you wouldn't be here."
Guide showed teeth at that, and John pressed his advantage.
"You have to know we can't risk using it. We'd kill our own people."
"It has happened before," Guide said.
"Look," John said. "We didn't kill you. Back on Earth, we could have turned you over to the IOA, and we didn't. Why would we risk killing people as valuable as McKay and Teyla?"
Guide sighed deeply. "First of all, I believe you are keeping the weapon until McKay and Colonel Carter can figure out how to modify it so that it only kills us — you see, I am being frank with you. "
"We wouldn't do that," John said, but his voice wasn't as confident as he would like. That was what Ronon had wanted, certainly what the IOA would argue for if they knew about the weapon — if they didn't order Woolsey to use it regardless, and accept the collateral damage. They'd seen Teyla and Torren once or twice, for ten or fifteen minutes at a reception. The face of the Pegasus Galaxy, yes, one woman and her child, but acceptable losses compared to losing more of their own people. The unknown, incalculable number of others who possessed the Gift, any trace of Wraith DNA, wouldn't weigh any more in the scales.
"Second, even if I were to believe you," Guide said, "you are no longer the authority here. Nor is Mr. Woolsey. It is General O'Neill who gives the orders in Colonel Carter's absence, and I do not know him. I cannot risk trusting him."
John bit his lip, but there wasn't anything he could say to that. Oh, yeah, he could get into a distracting argument about rank and precedence, try to explain that humans weren't always ruled by the equivalent of Wraith queens and that O'Neill really was in charge, not Carter, but that wasn't going to change the essential facts.
Guide nodded as though he'd followed the thought. "In my shoes, John Sheppard — what would you do?"
Chapter Thirteen
The Final Countdown
Rodney bent over his console, the sun streaming in through the long windows of the gateroom. So far, everything was going perfectly, just a shortcut here, a minor tweak there, all to bring the city into perfect readiness. When he had last paused long enough to listen, it had sounded as though the Hammond was ready, too, and apparently the Genii were on their way. That actually surprised him a little, though, really, Ladon Radim ought to have figured out which side his bread was buttered on….
He frowned at his screen, watching the last of the secondary systems nudge firmly into the green, and then leaned back with a sigh. "Where's that coffee I asked for —?"