"Just don't start," Sheppard said, wearily, and Rodney fell silent. There was nothing left to say, not if nobody was actually going to listen to him, but when they reached the cells he stopped in the open doorway.
"If you lock me up for the battle and nothing happens, then what? You haven't proved anything. I'm still a suspect, and you won't have me when you need me."
"And if something happens and you're locked up tight, then we have proved it's not you," Sheppard said. "And — damn it, Rodney, you took Hyperion's weapon. What in hell were you thinking?"
Rodney stepped back, suddenly too tired to fight any more. "That I didn't want the Wraith to get it," he said, quietly. "But I swear to you, John, I left it exactly where I told you."
Sheppard bit his lip again. "Can you tell me for sure that Queen Death hasn't put some other hold on you? Something deeper?"
Rodney hesitated. Of course there was no knowing, he wanted to say. It was a stupid question — how could he know whether or not the queen had implanted a subconscious command? That was why it was called 'subconscious.' But — no, he couldn't be sure. None of them could be sure.
Sheppard nodded as though he'd read the thought. "Yeah. I didn't think so."
Rodney took another step back, allowing the door to slide closed. "You know, Sheppard, if the city blows apart —"
"We'll try to remember to come get you," Sheppard answered, but Rodney had seen him flinch. It didn't feel like much of a victory, though.
John stalked out of the detention area, trying not to look as guilty as he felt. That was Rodney after all, Rodney who'd been part of the team for five years, and no matter what the Wraith did to him, Rodney wasn't going to betray them when the chips were down.
Except that wasn't true. He remembered all too clearly the Wraith with Rodney's face ordering the drones to destroy him. But that wasn't really Rodney, or rather, Rodney hadn't known himself, had believed he was a Wraith. Now that he knew who he was, he was too tough, too downright contrary, to give in to Queen Death no matter what she'd done to him.
Except that wasn't true either. The Wraith had broken Ronon once, and if Ronon could break, anyone could. He glanced at the big Satedan, who looked away. "I don't know, I think we're making a big mistake."
"O'Neill doesn't think so," Ronon said.
"Yeah, but he doesn't know Rodney."
Ronon looked at him.
"Doesn't know Rodney now," John amended. "I mean, yeah, Rodney can be difficult –
"They turned him into a Wraith, Sheppard."
John looked away. That was the crux of the matter, and there still wasn't any good answer. "Teyla says —" And he stopped, because he knew what Ronon thought of that, too. But there Ronon was wrong. Teyla was Teyla, Athosian — human — to the core, and if she thought she saw a better way to deal with the Wraith, well John would back her, just like he'd back her when she said Rodney wasn't under Queen Death's control.
As far as he knew. As far as she could tell. She wasn't certain either, not entirely.
But it's Rodney, damn it! he thought. Rodney might bitch and moan, worry about allergies and weird crap like that, but he was part of the team, he understood what that meant. He wouldn't let them down. And that meant — if there was a problem, if there was some disaster in the city, Rodney had to be let loose, because he was still the best man to deal with it. Someone had to let him out, because John himself would be in the chair flying the city.
"Ronon —"
The corridor was empty. He hadn't even heard him go. He took a step back toward the cells, as though the Satedan might be lurking, but stopped himself. He hadn't felt this alone in years.
Aboard Just Fortune, Teyla paced the width of the queen's quarters and back again, able to indulge herself with no one watching. Perssen and Thessen were in the inner room with Darling, the three of them playing at a three-handed board game that had been popular among Steelflower's blades. Teyla had no patience for games at the best of times, but she was grateful that it kept them busy. The third human, Erach, seemed to be sleeping, to judge from the faint snores that blended with the sound of the ventilators.
She wanted to lay her hand on the bulkhead, to feel the ship's progress. They were due to drop out of hyperspace any time now, and that should bring them to the edge of Atlantis's system. Queen Death's fleet would be closer, too, moving inexorably toward Atlantis, and she hoped again that John had found Hyperion's weapon. What had Rodney been thinking, to take it in the first place? Had he been compelled by Queen Death?
It was not the first time she had worried at that problem, and she shook her head yet again. If there was a bond, Rodney did not know it: she was still confident in her word. But if there was a compulsion of which he was not aware…. She could see how it could be done, could do it herself, and if she could, so could a true Wraith Queen. Had she been able to question herself, when she faced Coldamber, she might not have seen the subtle bonds….
But that was not to the point. She started to lay her hand on the bulkhead again, and again stopped herself. The ship would know her, and might unwittingly betray her presence — Steelflower's presence — and she could not risk that; she would have to wait until Alabaster returned to know what was going on. Being queen had spoiled her: she still half expected to be able to bend the blades and clevermen to her will.
The deck shuddered underfoot and she looked up sharply. Had the lights flickered as well? It was hard to tell. She trailed a finger along the nearest bulkhead, the heavy hide warm to the touch. She kept her own mind tightly closed, thoughts hidden, ready to pull away the moment the ship seemed aware of her presence. Instead, there was a rush of confusion, discomfort, anger — as though the exit from hyperspace had not gone well? She took her hand away, unwilling to probe more, and went back to pacing.
Just Fortune had left hyperspace too soon, the numbers botched; they hung at the outer fringes of the target system, ten hours or more from their planned rendezvous, too far to reach the city before Queen Death's fleet could engage. Ember frowned over his console, ducking his head as the Hivemaster's anger filled the control room.
“What incompetent programmed this jump?"
“I did.” Ease matched him glare for glare. “And my calculations were correct.”
“Manifestly not!” Bonewhite snapped.
“I say they were,” Ease answered. “Ask the Engineer what happened, not me.”
“There was no flaw in the engines,” Hasten said, coldly calm as always. “I have run a second diagnostic, and my systems are unaffected.”
“Nor was there anything wrong with my navigation,” Ease snarled.
Ember ignored them both, fixing his attention on the screen. There was something wrong, something he couldn't quite see yet, an irregularity — yes, there, a flaw in the smooth code, the beautiful and perfect codes that had been shared among all the ships of the fleet…. “Hivemaster,” he said, sharply enough to cut through the swelling quarrel. “Someone has tampered with the navigation programming itself. An extra calculation was added, just here. It subtracts a set amount from our final calculation, and drops us out of hyperspace early, without damaging the ship.”
“Let me see that.” Bonewhite leaned over the console, and Ember ducked out of the way, making himself small and quiet while the Hivemaster scrolled down the waterfall of code. “By all the Mothers, this is madness!” He swung away, heavy coat swirling. “Sabotage again—”
“Indeed, sabotage again,” Alabaster said, and her words silenced the confusion of conversation as though she had flipped a switch. She stood in the hatchway, her scarlet hair loose on her shoulders, her expression mildly curious. That was frightening enough on Guide, but terrifying on a queen, and Ember was not the only one to bow in instinctive answer.