A message, he reminded himself. Some kind of message. More specifically, some kind of safe response to a message. If he told them to meet him someplace? If they went, he would know. Except that it would be impossible for him to meet them, and if they didn’t find him, queen and Consort would assume that it had been a trick, and he’d never get them to do it a second time, which ruled out rescue…
He had been listening with half his mind to the clevermen’s conversation, and suddenly a fragment caught his attention. *What?*
Ember looked up from his own console, frowning slightly. *I told you this before, Quicksilver. These cables aren’t easy to grow, we’ll need to take on supplies soon, if we’re to make the rest of them.*
*Yes, yes, I heard that,* Quicksilver said. *Where were you going to go?*
Ember looked at Salt, who said, *Gaffen is best. And we can Cull as well.*
*Gaffen,* Quicksilver said. *I thought you said somewhere else.* He ignored the exchange of glances, turned back to his console, and let another diagnostic cascade down his screen. When he was sure the others’ attention was fixed on the new cable, he touched keys, called up information on the planet. It was unimportant except for its mineral salts, easily harvested from a thick ground cover that absorbed them into its woody stems; there was a human population, and, yes, a Stargate. He closed the window, his hands trembling, controlled his thoughts with an effort. If he could get a message into Atlantis’s systems, tell the consort to look for him on Gaffen — not that he would meet them there, that was too much, but just to look — It might work. At least he would have the chance to see if the Lanteans had used the gate — and, yes, he was sure he could make himself part of the group that went to harvest the salts. That was easy. The rest… He tapped his fingers on the console again, mapping out the message in his head. Just a piece of code, tucked just here into Atlantis’s systems — yes, if anyone knew him, that’s where they’d look, and if they knew him, he was McKay. And if he was McKay, they would come looking. The Lanteans did not leave their own behind.
Of course, there was still the problem of gaining access to the systems, but he’d be willing to bet that Death would try throwing another bomb through the Stargate. Nighthaze had already been talking about bigger bombs, greater yield; she was bound to try it, and soon. He would be ready then.
The chance came sooner than he had expected, but he had finished his message. Or mostly finished it: the program was complete, hidden among the tools he used to access the Lanteans’ computers. It could probably use further refinement, a few tweaks here and there — but there was no time, and it would have to do. For an instant, there was almost a voice in his mind, rough and urgent, but it was gone before he could grasp the memory. And then there was nothing but the work at hand.
Nighthaze was in charge of the clevermen this time, instead of Ember, and instead of the queen, the Old One brought them down to the planet, ordered the drones to guard the perimeter while Nighthaze and his men busied themselves with their new toy. It was a sphere almost a meter in diameter, its surface covered with knobs the size of a man’s thumb-claw — touch-triggers, Quicksilver assumed, seeing how they held it in a suspension field. Sensible: if he could not find controls for the mechanical barrier — and he doubted there would be any in the computer — there was still a chance that the bomb might materialize close enough to trigger the explosion and destroy the barrier. He bent over his computer, readying his programs, and to his shock the Old One came to lean over his shoulder.
*Well, cleverman. These are your weapons?*
Quicksilver made himself focus on his screen, on the codes he entered one by one. *They are.* He could feel the Old One’s sneer, and couldn’t stop himself from adding, *At least mine work.*
The Old One moved to face him across the barrier of the computer, bared teeth in an unfriendly smile. *You had best hope they do.*
This time, Quicksilver curbed his response, and the Old One turned away, waving to the waiting blade. *Dial the gate!*
The symbols circled and flashed, and the gate lit, the vortex stabbing out into the sultry air, and settling to the rippling pool of blue. Quicksilver touched the keys that dispatched his first transmission, was not surprised when his first probe was refused. And the second, and the third… The bomb hung heavy in its frame, the other clevermen watching over their shoulders as he wrestled with the distant system, matching minds against whoever had the watch in the Ancients’ city. And then he found the weakness, a small, deliberate flaw in a piece of code, and his program slipped past the defenses, lodged itself in a corner of the system.
*I’m in!* he exclaimed, and Nighthaze turned to signal his men. *No, wait! No, no, no, I’m just into the system, I don’t have control yet. I’ll tell you when I do.*
He thought Nighthaze snarled at that, but he couldn’t be bothered to look, all his attention focused on the screen. Shield control — he didn’t dare overlook it, just in case the Lanteans were using it and the mechanical barrier — shield control and the environmental systems, let them worry about what he was doing there, that would draw their attention —
And if he was McKay, he was attacking his own people. He hesitated, fingers still for an instant. If he really was McKay, he couldn’t go much further; if he was truly Quicksilver, he should do more, bring the systems into greater disarray before Nighthaze launched his bomb. But if he was Quicksilver, there would be other chances. He took a breath, and launched his message, watching it sink into the mass of Atlantis’s code.
*Now,* he said, and Nighthaze lowered his hand. The team of clevermen urged the bomb forward, still held in its field, shoved it forward into the event horizon. Quicksilver counted seconds, saw his screen go blank as the explosion killed his transmission, looked up to see the wormhole still serene within the gate. The attack had failed.
*Shut down the gate,* the Old One said, his anger leashed but evident, and Nighthaze shook his head.
*Perhaps it gave them a headache, at least.*
*You find this amusing?* the Old One asked, and the cleverman ducked his head.
*Of course not, lord. Forgive me.*
Quicksilver hunched his own shoulders, hoping to draw as little attention as possible as he disconnected his own computer. At least his message was away. He would know soon enough what was true.
Chapter Twenty-five
Out of Time
The sky outside the gate room windows was almost clear, just a few high clouds streaking the morning sky. For once, John thought, it wasn’t a tease. The meteorologists swore the weather would continue to clear and the temperatures would be comfortably above freezing. Not only that, they hadn’t had an unscheduled gate activation in over seventy-two hours, not since the Wraith tried their bigger bomb, and, while he didn’t really think that the Wraith had given up, it was nice to catch a break now and then.
He looked around the control room, savoring the quiet. Lynn was doing something at the console they reserved for research, one of the botanists leaning over his shoulder and frowning at the screen. Working the Ancient database, John guessed — that was one place Lynn had made himself pretty much indispensable now that Rodney was gone… He flinched at the thought. They would get him back, he told himself, though the words were starting to feel a little hollow. They had to get him back, or the IOA would send a team out hunting, and John didn’t think he could be part of that. And even if they did find him, figure out a way to rescue him, then what? Keller wasn’t confident she could get him back, return him physically to his old self. Maybe not even mentally, and then all they could do was kill him, because a Wraith with Rodney’s knowledge, Rodney’s skill… It would be far too dangerous to let him live, even if there wasn’t the problem of feeding him. And that was maybe not the worst-case scenario. If he’d been too transformed to be changed back, then Rodney was, to all intents and purposes, dead already. John could kill him then, if he had to, one more Wraith who happened to look strangely like a lost friend. He could live with that if he had to.