“Colonel Sheppard. What’s going on?”
That was Caldwell on the command frequency, and John touched his radio. “We have an unscheduled gate activation. We’ve closed the iris.”
There was a second of silence, and John could almost hear the unspoken questions. “Keep me informed,” Caldwell said instead, and cut the connection.
Zelenka said something in Czech, and looked over his shoulder. “Colonel Sheppard. We are under attack. It’s Rodney.”
“Or someone using his codes,” John said. He looked at Salawi. “Lock us down. And put me on citywide.”
“Yes, sir.” Her hands flew over the keyboard.
John waited for her nod, then took a breath. “This is Colonel Sheppard. We have an unscheduled gate activation and a computer intrusion. We are initiating a full lockdown immediately. Sheppard out.”
In the gate room, he saw a flash of bronze hair as Colonel Carter moved to join the iris team. He saw her head tilt as she examined the interlocking plates, tilt again as she turned to speak to the sergeant in charge.
“Ty sráèi,” Zelenka said, his hands working. He looked over his shoulder as the lights flickered. “Apparently Rodney had another bolthole.” He turned back to his monitor, scowling through his glasses. “Ach, ty lstivý bastarde.” He shook his head. “I have lost the shield.”
If we had one, John thought. His hands tightened on the P90, and he made himself relax his grip. That’ll teach me, he thought. Not five minutes ago, I was saying to Keller that I wanted to solve problems by shooting them. Remind me never to make dumb remarks like that again.
“And I have lost main power,” Zelenka said. The lights flickered again, came back up. “Ale ano, mám tì! We are on back-up now.” He peered at his screen. “And holding. He is locked out. Of that, at least.”
The event horizon glowed behind the iris. John knew how the iris was supposed to work: it lay so close to the surface of the puddle that matter wasn’t able to reintegrate, was destroyed before it could exit the system. Something thudded against the shield, and he flinched, bit his lip. Surely that wasn’t — but the thud came again, and another, a series of blows like hail on asphalt, too dull for explosions, but each one a death. The gate’s occluded light shivered, rippled and changed; John had lost count of how many hits the iris had taken, and the thuds kept coming. In the gate room, Carter was watching the plates, the Marines ready at her back, and still the iris rang dully. One of those thuds could be Rodney. John pushed the thought away. Rodney was working the computers, he told himself. He wouldn’t come though until he knew he had Atlantis’s systems under his control; Radek was giving him a hard fight, he’d be needed on the hive…
The sounds stopped. John took a breath, waiting for the wormhole to collapse, but it stayed open, reflecting blue against the gateroom walls. Carter looked up at him from her place beside the iris controls.
“Probe first,” she said, sounding almost serene, “then explosives.”
“Right,” John said. The Wraith weren’t stupid — and especially Rodney wasn’t stupid, he’d figure out what they’d done, and try to blow open the gate.
There was a new sound from the gate, higher, harder. The probe, John thought. “Fall back!” he shouted. “Everybody into cover!”
Carter gave him a look at that — if the iris failed, it would take half the gate room with it, and they would be seriously screwed regardless — but the Marines scrambled obediently for their secondary positions. There was a long pause, the only sound the whine of the generator and the occasional click of keys, and then there was a huge and heavy whump, a sound so deep John felt it in the marrow of his bones. The iris shivered, and held. A minute passed, then another, and then the wormhole collapsed.
John took a deep breath and then another, feeling the tightness in his arms and shoulders, saw Lorne reach wincing for his crutches. He set his P90 aside, got the crutches under his arms, and hung there for a moment, breathing hard, before he straightened.
“Stand down,” John called, and motioned to Salawi. “Citywide.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is Colonel Sheppard. The city is secure. We are ending the lockdown. I repeat, the city is secure. Sheppard out.” He drew a finger across his throat, and Salawi cut the broadcast. He looked at Lorne. “I wouldn’t call this light duty, Major.”
Lorne had the grace to look abashed. “Sorry, sir. But I was right here, and — ”
John nodded. “Yeah. I know. Don’t do it again.” He looked around the control room. “Nice job, people. Very nice job.”
Zelenka finished typing something, and swung away from his keyboard, the lights gleaming off his glasses. “And we are secure again.”
“Good work with the iris, Radek,” John said, and felt the words were ridiculously insufficient.
Zelenka gave a flick of a smile and lifted his eyebrows. “I would not like to do that every day. But, yes, it has held.”
The iris unfolded with a soft hiss of metal on metal, and Carter came up the stairs, shaking her head. “That was interesting.”
“Impressive,” John said. “It sounded like they lost a few men there before they figured out what happened.”
Carter nodded. “Sounded like it. Pity they won’t try it again.”
“For what it is worth,” Zelenka said, “Rodney was not among them. He was trying to break into the system throughout the attack.”
“Figures,” John said, and didn’t know exactly what to feel.
The wormhole collapsed, leaving the Stargate empty, the red hills of this barren world caught in its perfect circle. The air around it roiled in confusion and anger and above it all the long harsh shriek of the queen’s loss. Quicksilver stared at the screen of his portable computer, baffled and furious. He should have known — should have guessed, anyway, even if the Lanteans had left the shield program intact and running to attract his attention. He should have insisted on sending a probe first, even if it would have given the Lanteans a few moments’ warning…
*Thirty men,* Death cried. *And my blades.* She did not name Sky, who had led the second party, nor did she need to, and the circling blades flinched from her grief.
*I knew we should send a probe,* someone said, and the queen whirled, her skirts flying.
*Who says that now?*
There was no answer: the thought had been fleeting, involuntary, and no one dared claim the words.
Quicksilver ducked his head, scrolling back through the pages of data. If he could not save the dead, at least he could see how they had failed. Certainly someone had been though his programs, excised them from the Ancient systems — sometimes neatly, a hand he thought he should know, sometimes with equal skill but less precision — so that he had had to fall back on the last of his failsafes, the one program he had been almost sure they would not find, and could not eradicate completely if they did.
*You, Quicksilver,* the Old One said, softly. *Was there no sign of this change?*
Quicksilver looked up, scowling. *If there had been, I would have told you so. Everything seems to be just as it was before — except, as I told you they would, they’d found my first way in.*
*We must attack at once,* Farseer said, *and revenge our losses.*
*It’s still too far from any base of ours,* Noontide said. *And Atlantis — this proves they’re too strong to take on lightly.”
Death looked at him coldly. *Do you call this a light choice, blade?*
Noontide bowed deeply. *I do not, my queen.*