At that Dust nodded reluctantly and came to sit opposite him on the other bench, lifting the tails of his coat fastidiously so that they would not wrinkle. “We do not know so very much, so it is not a very good story.”
“Tell me anyway,” Quicksilver said.
Dust sighed and began. “They came some time ago — we do not know exactly how long — from a world of humans in another galaxy. They came to the City of the Lanteans and held it as by birthright under the control of a very great Queen, She Who Is A Strong Place. We do not know why she came, with her clevermen and blades. Perhaps she had the losing end of a struggle in her own place, or perhaps she desired greater dominion than she could wrest from the queens there. We do not know. But we do know that she was of full years and at the height of her powers, and that her blades and clevermen were skilled. And she was worthy of her name. When a rival hive of humans captured her own Consort, the one they call Guide, she watched him tortured in front of her and betrayed nothing. That is the act of a Queen, Quicksilver! Only a great Queen would have such courage and such dignity.”
Quicksilver swallowed. For some reason it left a hollow pit in his stomach, imagining the helpless man bound and gagged before the cameras. But perhaps it was only that he was a cleverman, and admiration for such dignity was the province of blades. They always said clevermen were soft.
Dust cleared his throat. “But the Asurans rose up, as they did to the detriment of many hives, and many of our lives were lost in fighting them, the enemies of all life, for they killed humans as they did us, and their ire was directed toward the Lanteans as toward us in equal measure. And they did kill She Who is A Strong Place, as they did so many of our queens, leaving the Lanteans queenless.” He paused to let the horror of that sink in. “As in so many of our hives, there was no heir at hand, for the Young Queen was untried and too young yet, and was also carrying her firstborn. So the Consort, Guide, sent back to their place and made an alliance with one of the mightiest Queens of Earth, one who is called She Who Carries Many Things. And She Who Carries Many Things came to the City of the Lanteans and there she confirmed Guide as her Consort.” Dust shrugged. “No doubt it was for form’s sake alone, as these things often are. We have heard that she has a Consort in her own place, an older blade named Trickster, as is to be expected. She Who Carries Many Things is a warrior Queen, and in little time had pressed the Asurans to the bone and destroyed them, to the glory of us all and to the rejoicing of every hive that is — for surely all of us, Wraith and Kine alike, would be dead if not.”
Quicksilver nodded, and for a moment he could almost imagine this Queen, the gleam of shiplight off pale hair over luminous eyes. “She is beautiful,” he said.
Dust looked at him quickly. “You saw her?”
“I don’t know,” Quicksilver said quietly. “Maybe? I just know she’s beautiful.”
“There are many clevermen who would worship such a Queen,” Dust said contemplatively.
“I don’t know,” Quicksilver said, but again he saw her turn toward him, her face sharp with disapproval, beautiful and forever out of reach. Yes, that must be what Dust meant.
“But She Who Carries Many Things had a greater realm and much to do in other places, so after the Asurans were defeated she went away, leaving in her stead one of her blades, called Hairy.” Dust snorted. “We think it is a joke, as he is an ugly man with little hair. And so Hairy and the Consort Guide rule over the Lanteans while the Young Queen grows.” He shrugged. “We do not know what assurance the Young Queen has given She Who Carries Many Things that she and her son should be let to live, but perhaps they are kin through their mothers, and She Who Carries Many Things is content to let her be her proxy. We do not know. But that is where things stand. It is this Consort, Guide, who is the power among the Lanteans, unless She Who Carries Many Things returns.”
Quicksilver nodded slowly. It was disturbing. All of it. Maybe they’d tortured him. Maybe this Queen had… Something. He could not get out of his mind that he knew her, that he had desired her fruitlessly. He could almost remember, the image was so strong… “Thank you,” he said to his brother. “I will try to remember. And when I do, I will tell you all I know.”
Chapter Eight: Trapped
“Right now our life signs are masked by the cloak,” John said. “But the minute we step outside the Darts will know exactly where we are.”
“And how long can we maintain the cloak?” Carson asked, leaning forward in his chair, his brow furrowed.
“With our present power consumption, a couple of weeks longer than we have food and water for,” John said. “That’s not the problem.”
“And how long is that?” Carson said, looking even more worried.
“We have ten days emergency rations,” Teyla said. “Carson, at worst Mr. Woolsey is not going to wait ten days before sending a rescue party. We told him the gate address where we were going.”
“No, but he will wait four or five days,” John said grimly. “I told him we’d be nursing an Ancient warship back to the Genii homeworld. He wouldn’t be surprised if repairs took a day or two, and the trip back took two or three days in hyperspace. He won’t get worried until Radim says we haven’t showed up in four or five days.” He looked at Teyla as if expecting her to say something about Radek Zelenka. As though she would undermine him that way before Dahlia Radim!
Teyla frowned. “Is there any chance of fixing the jumper?”
Dahlia shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Not that I can do. I’m familiar enough with Ancient technology to see that the main control crystals to the engines, the DHD and the stabilizers are burned out. Two of the three of them are actually broken, one completely and one with a long lateral crack that will shatter the minute we put any current into it. We would need replacement crystals and some means of repatterning them. Dr. Beckett says that the ships’ locker does not contain replacement crystals, and I have no tools to repattern them if it did. That’s not something we’ve ever succeeded at doing.” Dahlia spread her hands. “I’ve pulled damaged crystals from the warship, but the warship carried labeled replacements. It was a matter of switching them out correctly.”
Rodney always carried replacement crystals. The thought hung in the air between them. Ever since the time they’d been stranded on Pelagia, he’d carried a couple in his pocket just in case, to good effect on Manaria. And Zelenka had been the one who had come up with the method of repatterning the jumper’s control crystals more than five years ago, on the mission where John had been attacked by the Iratus bug.
“Can’t we…” Carson began, then lapsed into silence.
“No. We can’t,” John said. “If we start messing around in the control panels doing stuff when we don’t know what we’re doing, we may short out the cloak. And then we’re really screwed.” His eyes avoided Teyla’s. “We’re not going to figure out how Zelenka did it. I’m not an engineer, and neither are you. If Dr. Radim says she can’t do it, we’ll take her word as the expert.”
Dahlia blinked, as though surprised by the vote of confidence. And also perhaps by the honorary title, Teyla thought. She had not heard doctor used as an honorific among the Genii. It was solely reserved for healers.
“Where does that leave us?” Carson said. “Just sitting here until the Wraith get bored?”
“Pretty much,” John said. “Sooner or later they’ll have to conclude that either we’re all dead and that accounts for the absence of life signs, or that we’ve escaped into space, which is more likely. If we can’t repair the jumper, our best shot is to wait until the Wraith leave and then walk out.” He looked as though he didn’t like the idea much.