She touched keys, bringing the current tactical plot to the foreground. Not that Todd's fleet was all that impressive. He had three hives, yes, but one of them was smaller than the others, its mass and power signature both less, and he certainly lacked the support vessels. Queen Death had eight cruisers of varying sizes and who knew how many Darts; Todd had only a pair of cruisers and a smaller ship that she suspected was supposed to be some kind of support vessel. Sensors said it was armed, but not heavily enough for the coming battle.
Of course, they also had the Hammond, and the Pride of the Genii — with Lorne flying the Ancient warship, she felt reasonably sure it would stay on their side and not vanish into hyperspace as soon as things got difficult — and Atlantis itself, which was still kind of amazing to contemplate. But all in all, she suspected that their best result was going to be to do significant damage to Queen Death's fleet and get Atlantis into hyperspace before her Wraith could press the attack. And that wasn't going to be as easy as she'd like.
She glanced at the time display and straightened her shoulders. T minus twenty, and it was time she took her place on the bridge. Her eyes strayed to the pictures above her bunk, held to the bulkheads with plain black magnets. They were all here, all her old team, Jack and Teal'c and Daniel and Cam and Vala, and though she knew she should wish them safe on Earth, she couldn't help being glad of their presence. God knew she needed 302 pilots, and Cam and Teal'c were two of the best.
The bridge crew was ready, even though wires hung untidily from a few of the consoles. Sam took her seat, and nodded to Major Franklin. "Status, Major?"
"We're ready to go, Colonel," he answered.
Sam nodded. She'd never yet managed to have that conversation with him, though she thought she knew what she was going to say when she had a minute, but at least there was no question about his abilities as a tactical officer. "Get me Atlantis," she said, and the pony-tailed airman on the communications board jumped to obey.
"Atlantis here, Hammond." That was Jack's voice, faintly ironic as always.
"We're at ninety-eight percent of optimum, General," Sam said. "We're ready to lift."
"Good job," Jack said. His voice chanced slightly, became more formal. "Colonel, the city will launch after you. Proceed to a low parking orbit and wait for us to join you. Then you and Pride of the Genii can go hunt Wraith."
"Yes, sir," Sam said. "Permission to lift?"
"Lift when ready." Jack paused. "Give 'em hell, Carter."
Sam grinned. "Will do, sir. Captain Chandler. Take us into orbit."
"Yes, ma'am." Chandler's hands moved on the controls, and Sam felt the Hammond shudder as the inertial dampeners took hold. Engines rumbled, steadied, and the Hammond rose from the pad. Chandler spun her horizontally, facing away from the towers, and pointed her at the sky. Sam couldn't suppress her grin as the sky went from blue to black, the Hammond sliding from atmosphere to vacuum, stars filling the screens. Steering engines fired, and she caught a glimpse of the Genii ship hanging further out, a graceful shape bright against the black. A secondary screen showed the night side of the planet, haloed in white, the pinpoint of light that was Atlantis the only mark on the perfect circle.
"We've achieved stable orbit, ma'am," Chandler said.
"Nice job, Captain." Sam looked at the technician. "Comm, let Atlantis know we're here."
"Yes, ma'am." The airman's hands flew across her board, and she looked over her shoulder. "Atlantis acknowledges — and the Genii ship is signaling."
"Put them through," Sam said.
"Colonel Carter." It was Ladon Radim in the screen, polite and unreadable as ever. "It's good to see you again."
"And you, Chief Ladon." Sam repressed the urge to cross her fingers.
"Major Lorne has suggested that after Atlantis is established in orbit we make a microjump to just within range of Queen Death's fleet, strike, and jump back out of range."
"Hit and run," Sam said. She could see how it would work, a quick strike to damage the cruisers, and then jump away again. "Major Franklin?"
"We can do it, ma'am."
Sam nodded. "I concur, Chief Ladon. Assuming Atlantis agrees."
"We'll await their approval," Ladon answered, and cut the connection.
"Colonel," the airman at the communications board said. "Atlantis is ready to lift."
Sam looked at the side screen, the black disk of the planet with the tiny glint of light. So tiny, to carry so many lives — but it was the Ancients' Lost City, Teyla's City of the Ancestors, unimaginably old and unimaginably powerful. She might be rising now to her last battle, but she had Sheppard in the chair and Jack in command and that had to mean something. "Confirmed," she said, and turned her attention to the tactical displays.
John settled into the chair, stretching his hands along the arms. It felt cool, waiting. He took a deep breath.
In his headset, Radek spoke from the control room, "Colonel Sheppard, we are all systems green."
"Okay," John said. "Let's do this." He closed his eyes and leaned back, the pads of his fingers sinking in the soft silicone gel that allowed the chair to connect to his own nervous system. There was the usual momentary disorientation as connections formed, the universe broadening until his own body was only a tiny part. John Sheppard sat in the chair in Atlantis.
And John Sheppard was Atlantis. He was the city, thousands of years old, home of millions of people throughout time, lost beneath the waves and found again, a wandering relic, a caravan, an ark, a place of safety that traveled through the stars as surely as a Wraith hive ship.
It's the same, John thought. It's the same idea, the same heart of it — a place that can be anyplace, a ship to sail the wide seas of night and carry people in it safe from the hazards of any shore. My home.
Yours, the city whispered, each circuit reaching for each synapse like a child reaching for its mother, like lover speaking to lover. For a moment he knew them all as the city had known them, pilot upon pilot who sat in this chair through the long centuries, chosen by luck or by skill, in honor and in hardship, a boy barely into his teens sinking into the city's systems to speak through it, its voice now his, an old woman who had died in the chair's embrace, gratefully breathing her last as a hyperspace window opened. They were the ones who had come before him, guardians all.
For a moment he saw himself, black uniform and graying hair. The chair tilted back to welcome him. This was where he belonged. This was what it needed. His mind, his touch, his strength to yield. And long after John Sheppard was dead, Atlantis would remember.
We need to go, he said.
Lines of force appeared, the city calculating the best trajectory. Far beneath, there was a rumble, mighty engines coming online, ports closing beneath the water.
That was Radek's voice on the headset, distant and near at once. "We are showing optimal power from the ZPM."
He knew that. The city knew it. It was ready.
Then go, John said.
The city trembled, engines firing, sliding upward almost impossibly slowly at first and then gaining speed, water streaming away, steaming in vast clouds superheated in the cold air, billowing out over the surface of the sea. Atlantis rose.
"God, that's beautiful." Carter's voice on the line, hushed, as though she hadn't realized she was transmitting.
The sky above darkened, a hemisphere of stars. The Hammond was below, a small bright shape against flowing clouds.