"Take out weapons emplacements if you can," Mel said, flipping over to make a second pass on the same line. And that was pay dirt, an atmosphere plume from a hull breach beneath her, a tumble of debris.
"What the…?" Pulaski's exclamation came just as her heads up display changed, three cruisers appearing almost on top of the Hammond, Queen Death's fleet playing the microjump card too.
"Crap."
The Hammond heeled, caught in a sudden barrage of fire.
"Fall back to protect the Hammond," Mel said.
"Copy that." That was Mitchell's voice on the line. He probably wasn't actually checked out in a 302 anymore. The kind of crack up he'd had in Antarctica wasn't one you walked away from. But if Carter wasn't going to ask that question, neither was she. It wasn't like 302 pilots grew on trees.
The Hammond's shields flared, almost opaque under the volume of fire, and Mel pushed her ship harder. "Come on. Let's keep them busy."
"Cruiser's launching Darts."
"I see them, Jimbo."
This whole scene was getting dirty real fast.
Alabaster had taken the queen's station as though by right, and Guide was startled to feel something that might almost have been resentment. This was his fleet, built from the wreckage of his plans, the disaster of his capture by the Lanteans; Alabaster was not Steelflower, for all she had managed to convince Bonewhite and the others that she spoke for her. And yet…. She was his daughter, after all. He took his place at her left hand, his gaze sweeping across the displays.
The Hammond and the Genii ship were underway, and even as he focused his attention on their course, they opened hyperspace windows and vanished. Surely Atlantis was not going to run, not so quickly — but no, there they were, blinking back into normal space at what he guessed was the limit of their weapons' range. Bonewhite hissed at the sight, and in the same moment three of Queen Death's cruisers opened windows. They reappeared within range of the Lantean ships, ready to open fire, and Guide bared teeth. Not so clever after all, he thought, watching blue fire bloom along the distant hulls.
Alabaster made a small sound, not quite a hiss of distress, and her hand reached out to touch his wrist in private communication. “We should stand with them.”
“You know we cannot. And why.”
“We cannot face Death's fleet alone.”
“They will 'find' the weapon soon enough,” Guide answered. “You'll see.”
“You have spoken with Ember.”
Guide snarled in spite of himself. The cleverman had begged an audience as soon as Guide came aboard, spilled a confused story about sabotage and mysterious transmissions. If it had been anyone but Ember, he would have discounted the matter, but Ember did not make that sort of mistake. “I have. And I will find the traitor. But — not now.”
“Commander,” Bonewhite said. “What are your orders?”
“We do nothing yet,” Guide answered.
Ease looked up from his console. “Is it wise for us to remain here, then, if we don't intend to fight?”
“We cannot run,” Alabaster said. “Even if we will not fight with them, to run would be to declare our position unequivocally. Queen Death will attack with all her strength, knowing she needs to keep nothing in reserve to face us with.”
That was certainly true. Guide caught Bonewhite's eye, saw agreement on his strong-boned face. Hasten turned from his console.
“And if Death's fleet attacks us, Commander?”
“Then we will fight back,” Guide said. “But she will not.” Let Death worry, he thought. She knew she couldn't handle both fleets, not easily; she wouldn't attack until Atlantis was defeated, and by then he could be long gone.
“We cannot be sure of that,” Ease said. “We should join her, or flee.”
Several of the other officers snarled at the bald verb, the hint of cowardice, and Alabaster raised her head. “I do not believe your queen would wish to hear such words.”
“Our queen listens to advice,” Ease snapped. "Nor does she punish a man for speaking his mind.”
“Enough,” Guide said. “We will stand off and observe.” He would give Sheppard that much, and hope that would force the Lanteans' hand.
Time to get out of here, Sam thought. With Todd's fleet sitting it out, the Hammond and the Pride of the Genii were seriously outnumbered. They'd hit. Now it was time to run. She opened the comm again. "302s, this is your recall order. Return to the Hammond."
"Forward shield at 30 %," Franklin said. "There's a crew on it."
But that would take time. Repairs weren't instant, even when possible. "Repeat, this is your recall," Sam said.
"That is not possible, Colonel Carter." Teal'c's voice was measured, and no one but she would have noticed the stress in it. "We are tightly pressed."
It meant something if Teal'c was tightly pressed, but he had five Darts on him, zigzagging and rolling as if to scrape them off along the Pride of the Genii's shields. He'd better not hit the shields either. It would be the same as if he'd hit a solid surface at Mach 4.
"Hocken?"
"Hammond's hit the recall," Hocken said. The stress in her voice was evident, ducking under the Pride to try to get on the tail of Teal'c's pursuers. "Break off if you can."
Which she wasn't doing, as that would mean abandoning Teal'c. You don't do that.
Mitchell dropped in on her wing, so close their silhouettes overlapped on the heads up display, both firing at once. One Dart exploded and the other four broke the formation, scattering to evade.
"Colonel?" Lorne asked on the comm.
"We can't jump," Sam said. "Our 302s are stuck."
No more time, then, Ronon thought, watching the specks of light on the sensor screens cluster together in increasingly heated battle. Out there good men and women were fighting what could only be a losing battle. It was time to end this, and he was the only one who could end it all for good.
He muttered some excuse and left the control room, walking out on the balcony. No one was paying much attention to him anyway. Outside, the shield arched against the stars, their planet hanging blue and bright overhead.
He drew Hyperion's weapon out of his coat. He held it for a moment, feeling its weight in his hand, and took a deep breath of the chill air. His finger rested on the trigger.
Behind him, he heard the doors to the balcony open, and heard John's familiar step. There was enough time to act, a long few heartbeats to either pull the trigger or put the weapon away out of sight. Instead, he drew his pistol left-handed, turning with both weapons trained on John.
"Give it to me, Ronon," John said.
Ronon shook his head slowly. John's hand inched toward his sidearm and Ronon shook his head more sharply, his hand tightening on the trigger of his pistol. He could stun John before John could draw, and John knew it.
"You don't want to do this," John said.
"Yeah, I do."
"It's not worth it."
"No more Wraith," Ronon said. "I'd happily die for that."
"I know you want people to be safe."
"I want the Wraith dead," Ronon said.
John's eyes seemed to look into him. "Do you want that more?"
"This'll do both."
"It'll kill Teyla and Rodney."
"I'm sorry," Ronon said flatly. "I wish there was time to figure out a way to save them, but there's not. That fleet out there is going to bury us, and if we don't use the weapon we're going to lose our only chance."