*She is — *
The door slid back before the boy could finish his sentence, and Death beckoned impatiently from behind her throne. Guide made a cautious bow — it was not a good sign that he had not been summoned to this council — and joined the others. The door slid shut behind him, but not before he’d felt the young blade’s relief. And that, too, was no good sign. A man so young should be lost in worship of a queen as strong as this, not afraid.
*Most gracious queen,* he murmured, burying his thoughts, and Death flicked a hand at him.
*You come before I would have summoned you, Guide.*
*Then I crave your pardon,* he answered. *I came only to beg your leave and favor.*
*Oh?*
*My hive must Cull,* he said. *And I would go with them.*
*Do you not trust your shipmaster?* Death asked.
*Of course, my queen,* Guide said, and permitted himself faint surprise. *But I am commander. It is my responsibility.*
*My queen,* Farseer said. *Since Guide is here, it would be as well to get his opinion.*
The Old One snarled at that, but Death gave the flick of a smile. “Perhaps so. After all, it was his idea.*
Guide bowed again, hiding a pang of fear. What had been his idea? *As my queen wishes.*
*Nighthaze tells me he can make a stronger explosive than the one we used before,* Death said. *And Quicksilver still can master the Lanteans’ computers. You said it yourself, we should keep them in fear. Farseer has proposed that we attack again.*
Guide kept his head down, calming the surface of his mind. He didn’t really want to see another attack on Atlantis, not when he was relying on them to be a counterpoise to Death, not when he might still be able to work with them, trade them McKay for concessions… *I believe it to be a wise choice, my queen.*
The Old One curled his lip. *It is a waste of time and effort. We should gather the fleet and attack them directly, not fritter away our resources on piecemeal attack.*
*We don’t have the strength.* That was Mist, newly admitted to the zenana. Guide thought he had not meant to speak, but to his credit, once the words were formed, he lifted his head bravely. *My queen, our fleet is large, but it is not overwhelming. Not to face Atlantis. Four years ago, I was part of the first attack, and saw what their defenses are like. And they are stronger now.*
*We have the new shields,* a newcomer with a mind like the sound of water said, but he did not sound entirely confident.
*They — I believe they will be of use,* Mist said, *but I don’t think it will be enough to overcome Atlantis.*
*They escaped by trickery that time,* the Old One said. *They pretended to be destroyed, and your queen was fool enough to believe it.*
Mist snarled, reaching for his weapon. *My queen was there, Old One — * He stopped himself in the nick of time, and Death turned slowly to face him.
*What?*
Mist went to his knees. *Forgive me, my queen…*
Death regarded him for a long moment, her feeding hand opening and closing at her side. *It is a pity you are not as clever as you are beautiful,* she said at last, and he sagged in relief.
Guide took a breath. He didn’t really want Death attacking through the Stargate, but he liked the idea of an all-out attack on Atlantis even less. *Surely one need not preclude the other?* he asked. *It will take time to prepare and provision our fleet to take on the Lanteans, and Mist is right that there is still work to be done on both these new shields and on this ZPM. Why not continue the gate attacks in the meantime? And send a ship or two to investigate the city’s defenses, so we are prepared for anything new the Lanteans may have devised.*
There was a whisper of agreement, sourceless but definite, and Death smiled. *You are a cautious counselor, Guide, but wise. Farseer, see it done.*
Farseer bowed. *I will arrange it, my queen.*
The Old One said, *As my queen wills. But is it necessary to keep the abomination alive? He grows dangerous — remember what he said about McKay. We should take the knowledge from him, and use it ourselves, not rely on such as him.*
Death shook her head. *No. Whatever else he may be, he knows his own hand, his own work, better than any man of ours could manage. And I am sure he still believes himself Quicksilver. I felt it in his mind. No, Old One, there is still use in that tool.*
*As my queen wishes,* the Old One said.
The tension had eased a little with the decision, and Guide bowed again. “Forgive me, my queen, if I’m importunate, but — my hive’s needs grow stronger with every hour.*
*Do not think I don’t know your plan,* Death said, and Guide fought down a surge of pure terror. *You will seek your Steelflower, and so be it. But you have made alliance in her name, and you know well what will happen if she dares question it.*
*Yes, my queen.* Guide folded himself almost double, his coat hissing against the floor. For a moment, there, he had thought himself undone.
*Go,* Death said. *Your cleverman, Ember. He will remain.* She smiled. *We have need of him to handle McKay, after all.*
*As my queen commands,* Guide said. He could only be grateful it had gone no worse.
The third cable was holding, winding around the ZPM in its cradle, the readouts pulsing steady blue. It wasn’t yet stable enough to feed the power directly to the hive, but it was smoothing out with each new connection. Four more cables, Quicksilver thought, and the hive would be able to draw directly from it, rather than through the transformer that radiated heat in the far corner; six more, and it would be an easy transition, nothing to strain any of the systems.
And that left him with no distractions, while Ember’s men worked, and he frowned at the power readings as though they told him something new. He could not forget what he had found in Dust’s records, could not rid himself of that lingering fear. Suppose he were McKay, suppose he were human — everything he had been told would be false, Dust’s care and kindness a lie, Ember’s dry friendship manipulation. And all his work would be treachery, betrayal of the humans who had genuinely meant to help him…
He shied away from the thought, then made himself face it. If it were true, if he was McKay, and he was helping to destroy his own people — well, he’d have to stop. Somehow. Which was more easily said than done, considering that the queen had made it clear his life was in her hands, and that failure was unforgivable. And besides, there was still the chance that he was wrong, and that this was just some lingering symptom of having been held prisoner on Atlantis.
What he needed was proof — something that would tell him, one way or the other, whether he was Rodney McKay or Quicksilver. He tapped his claws on the console, oblivious to the other clevermen’s wary glances. The humans had offered to help him, even when he’d led the strike force; the small human in the ZPM room could have shot him, and had chosen not to, at the risk of his own life, therefore… Therefore the others would take even greater risks to rescue McKay. He was sure, though he could not have said how he knew it, that the small, untidy human who had cornered him in the ZPM room was no warrior, and if he had taken those chances — yes, the others, their queen and the consort, they would do more. And that was a test of sorts: if they were willing to risk their lives to save him, then it was likely he was indeed McKay.
However, that was not an entirely practical solution, not least because if he was wrong, he would also be dead. He had no illusions that the Lanteans would spare any Wraith, least of all a cleverman of his stature. So even if he had a way to confront them directly, he didn’t dare. Maybe a message of some kind — except that if they responded, it would not only confirm his fears, but it would betray him to the Wraith as well. He glanced around the laboratory, seeing his clevermen with new eyes: pale, lank-haired monsters, hands tipped with heavy claws — so must the humans see them, in the moments before they were fed upon.