Eight solid hits.
John felt the flare in the dark, the city's sensors registering up and down the electromagnetic spectrum. Critical hits, a plume of atmosphere, a plume of vapor. The hive dived vertical to the elliptic, falling out of the fight. Aboard, crew would be rushing to stabilize life support, the commander in ship trance overcome by a flood of pain.
"Bogey number four is down," someone said in a distant place. Lorne. That was Lorne's voice on the comm, he realized. He was so deep in the city that it seemed strange to even remember that someone named John Sheppard sat in the chair, a headset against his ear.
Jack paced from console to console, dividing his attention between the main tactical display and the individual systems, glaring at the screen as though he could move the numbers by sheer will. Light flared against the shield, a flash like a camera's across the control room, but the city barely shuddered: the Darts couldn't do a lot of damage on their own, but enough of them would eventually weaken even Atlantis's shields. One hive was falling back, still venting atmosphere and the occasional spurt of flame as something gave way inside the hull. The other hive was still coming, though, nosing left to curve around the base of the city, and the largest of the cruisers followed the Darts up and over the city. Sheppard launched drones, two for the cruiser, three for the hive; Jack counted three hits, but the others were decoyed away, confused by the swarming Darts. We need 302s, Jack thought, but they were back with Hammond and the Pride of the Genii, locked in close combat with Death's own hive. Carter was holding her own, but they needed to get out of there.
And she would if she could, but if she couldn't recover the 302s, it wouldn't do Atlantis any good anyway. Jack glanced at the shield readings again, reassuringly steady around ninety percent. It would take time and numbers for the Darts to make a difference, but the Wraith definitely had the numbers. In the screen, the hive rolled into a turn, surprisingly nimble for something of its bulk, evading a drone that crashed instead into a Dart. More Darts formed up ahead of the hive, diving under the city's base, weapons blazing. The hive followed, its bigger guns targeting the same points, and he heard Zelenka swear under his breath.
Atlantis shuddered, a heavy sustained rumble like an earthquake beneath his feet, and something exploded in the distance. Lights flared red on half a dozen consoles, and there was a sudden burst of chatter.
"Crap," Jack said, but he knew better than to interrupt.
"East Pier maneuver engine is off-line," someone said.
"Yes, yes, I see that," Zelenka said. "Cross-circuit, please, see if you can route around —"
"Not working, Doc."
"Shields?" someone else called, and it was Airman Salawi who answered, her voice high but steady.
"No breach. We were down to sixty percent, but the number's back up, eighty-nine and rising."
"Copy that."
"Patch into the secondaries," Zelenka said. "Yes, I know it won't take the full load, but it's better than nothing."
There was a voice missing, Jack realized, and his heart skipped a beat. He touched his radio. "Sheppard?"
"I'm here." Sheppard's answer was a hair slow, but otherwise he sounded all right. "Looks like we've lost a thruster."
"I am working on that," Zelenka said. "We will get it back on line."
"Sooner would be better," Sheppard said, his voice fading again.
Jack glanced back at the tac display. "Looks like they're trying again, Sheppard."
"I see it."
In the weapons display, half a dozen drones rotated toward their silos, flaring to life at Sheppard's order. He launched them in pairs, not at the Darts but directly at the hive, two pairs slamming home against its nose before its pilot wheeled away, running for room as the third pair pursued, to hit at last harmlessly on the left flank. Jack nodded.
"That ought to discourage them."
"One would hope so." That was Woolsey, standing bolt upright behind the environmental station. He'd been paler when he faced the IOA, Jack thought, and had to admit the man had more guts than he'd expected. "Dr. Zelenka, what's our status?"
Zelenka didn't answer for a moment, his head cocked to one side as he listened to something in his earpiece, but then he nodded. "Okay, keep trying. See if you can find a clear path from here." He swung in his chair so that he was facing Woolsey. "That last run overrode the shield or caused a superheated patch to form, we're not entirely sure which, but the result was an explosion in the East Pier maneuver drive. It's offline right now, and we are trying to reroute power to the system to see if we can restart it."
"And if you can't?" Woolsey asked.
Zelenka shrugged. "It's not good, but it's not terrible? We can compensate to some extent with the other engines, but we will not be making any fast course changes now. Not that we were that fast to begin with."
"What about the hyperdrive?"
"That is fine," Zelenka said. "We can still open a window, the city can still stand the stress, it's just — we're pretty much stuck on our current course." He put his hand to his ear again. "Ah. Okay, don't waste any more time, just get me the best diagnostic you can manage." He looked back at Woolsey. "It looks as though there is actual damage to the engine controller, not just to power conduits. It can be fixed, but we'll need to send a team down there to do it. Dr. Sommer has volunteered."
Jack pursed his lips. That was risky as hell, even with the transport chambers to get them there and back in a hurry — always assuming the transport chambers kept working, which he wouldn't like to bet on. The East Pier was well outside the area that would be covered if Sheppard had to collapse the shield to save power: Dr. Sommer, whoever he was, had to be thinking about that, too. From the look on his face, Woolsey was making the same calculations.
"All right," he said. "But —" He reached for his own radio. "Dr. Sommer, this is Woolsey. You have permission to attempt the East Pier repair, but if there is any problem here, we are going to pull you out. Is that clear?"
Jack couldn't hear the answer, but Woolsey nodded. "Good luck, Dr. Sommer."
Chapter Twenty
Fire Ship
The cruisers were beaten back, at least for now, but the hives were still coming, their fleet splitting to divide the city from its covering ships. Lorne spun the Pride through 360 degrees, twisting as he went, but the hive's fire still clipped the weakened port shields. He rolled left, presenting the ventral shield instead, and winced as another shot slammed home. This was not the flagship, the Pride whispered; Hammond was engaged with Death's ship, the two orbiting each other, struggling for position. Hammond was faster, but her guns were doing little damage so far, and her own shields were suffering. Maybe two of us, Lorne thought. If I can break Pride loose, hit Death's hive, it'll give Carter a break, and maybe two of us can do some real damage.
The other hive swept in again, and he turned to meet it, presenting the strongest shields while Radim called the fire points. Blue light flamed across the hive's mottled skin, leaving scorch marks, but the damage was minimal. Lorne heeled away, and the Pride clamored alarm: too close to the damaged cruiser. Lorne winced as the shots struck home against his shields.
That was enough to give the hive another shot, and Lorne arrowed under it, presenting dorsal shields. Radim called for massed fire as they passed, but to no avail. The hive heeled up and over, fighting for advantage, and the Pride shuddered again as more shots struck home. Sorry, Colonel, Lorne thought. He wasn't going to be able to help — he had his hands full with this hive already.