*Who are you?*
Ember ducked his head. *I am chief cleverman of the Just Fortune — Queen Steelflower’s hive.*
That name was familiar in a way few things had been lately, and Quicksilver frowned. Where had he heard it — when had he seen her, small and fierce and young, hands closed on a weapon, her head barely topping his shoulder? But, no, that was wrong. Dust had mentioned her, that was it, and Quicksilver looked up. *She is missing, your queen.*
*She is.* Ember’s tone was even, betraying nothing. *Her consort speaks in her absence — Guide. He has made alliance in her name with Queen Death, and we were summoned to her aid.*
There was more to it than that, Quicksilver thought, but he couldn’t recall. Dust had been so patient, explaining everything that he needed to know — what would he do without that gentle guidance? He remembered the human sprawled on the floor of the lab, wished again that he had killed him, him and the others who had killed his brother. *How fares the hive?* he asked, shoving memory away. Ironic, that he should want to be free of the only thing he could remember clearly.
*Healing cleanly,* Ember answered. *Our queen has summoned the clevermen of half a dozen hives to help with the work, and it proceeds well.* He paused, showing teeth in something like a smile. *She believes it was a ruse to cover their attempt to steal you back. They must truly fear what you learned in Atlantis.*
*If I could just remember!* Quicksilver covered his face again. *And Dust is dead.*
Ember dipped his head. *I am sorry.*
Quicksilver did not answer, staring blindly at the chamber wall. He could not imagine his future any more than he could see his past; he was useless to his queen, and lost…
*The queen has need of you,* Ember said, after what seemed a very long time. *There is still much to be done, and you may — You must hold the key, if the Lanteans would try to kidnap you. And we must answer this attack as soon as we may.*
*Avenge Dust,* Quicksilver said, his voice bleak. Vengeance was hollow, would not repair his loss or ease his mind, but at least Dust would be remembered that little while longer.
*Yes.*
*I should go to my lab,* Quicksilver said. He looked at himself, at the disarray of his quarters, and shook his head, not knowing where to begin.
*I will help you,* Ember said. *If you wish.*
*Why you? You’re not even of our hive.* Quicksilver glared at him, though it wasn’t his fault.
*I can be spared,* Ember said, with wry amusement. *And I volunteered. My commander also has a score to settle with Atlantis.*
That, at least, Quicksilver understood. He looked around the chamber again, newly aware that some of Dust’s things were missing, his clothes and his games and the case of his jewelry. They could have left me that much, he thought, and Ember tipped his head to one side.
*I think they wished to spare you,* he said.
Quicksilver didn’t answer, closing his thoughts, and Ember sighed.
*Shall I help you make ready?*
*I suppose.* Quicksilver followed listlessly as Ember rummaged among the stores, choosing shirt and coat from among the clothing that remained. He pulled them on, allowed Ember to tug them into place and brush his hair. That last was kindness rather than necessity; there was still too little to dress properly, and he sighed, looking at Ember’s hair with envy.
*Your nails,* Ember said, and Quicksilver extended his hands, palms politely down. *They’ll do. Though we must tend them tomorrow.*
Quicksilver glanced down, saw chips in the flat blue glaze.
*Mine are worse,* Ember said, and showed his own off hand. Sure enough, the blood-black color had worn away at the tips, showing the dark horn beneath. *But for the labs, it will suffice.*
Quicksilver bared teeth in agreement — he really didn’t care, except that he would not disgrace his brother — and Ember reached into the pocket of his coat.
*And one thing more.*
He held out a physician’s dart, the short needle gleaming, and Quicksilver recoiled.
*What is that?*
Ember paused. *It’s your medicine.*
*What medicine?* Quicksilver lifted his feeding hand, flexing the claws. He had no stunner, not even a ceremonial dagger — and why he had reacted so, he could not have said. Except that Ember was a stranger, man of another hive, a cleverman in blade’s leather. It was only right to be cautious.
*For — * Ember blinked. *Didn’t Dust tell you?*
*My brother gave me no injections,* Quicksilver said. *Nor spoke of any.*
Ember lowered the dart, frowning slightly. *I don’t understand. His records say — He said that whatever was done to you left you hyperplastic. This was to control the cell division. From his notes, it was working well.*
Quicksilver stared at him. There had been no injections, he was sure of that, no drugs. But hyperplasty was real enough, frightening, a malfunction of the body’s normal healing ability, when the body went on remaking itself unnecessarily. It was treatable, controllable, but incurable —
*Why didn’t he tell me?* he asked, and Ember gave him a look of compassion.
*You’d been through so much,* he said. *Perhaps he wished to spare you this, one thing too many.*
Dust had been protective, Quicksilver thought. That was certainly true — and how he missed that steady, supportive mind — but it seemed unlike him to have kept something so important a secret. Maybe he had been waiting until more memory returned? Quicksilver had always been sickly anyway, that much he was sure he remembered. He started to push up his sleeve, searching for the marks of past injections, and stopped. Of course there would be none, and why had he bothered to look at all? Those pinpricks would heal in a breath, a heartbeat, and leave no sign.
*If you’d prefer,* Ember said. *It won’t hurt you to miss a dose. Then you can review Dust’s notes and see what he prescribed.*
*No.* The offer was reassuring, and Quicksilver shook his head, pushing back the loose sleeve. *No, it’s all right.*
Ember stepped closer, cupping his feeding hand to steady the other man’s arm without the mouth touching his skin, and with the other hand drove home the dart. Quicksilver hissed — not the little stick he had somehow been expecting, but a jolt of pain, a thick needle driven deep into muscle — but there was not even a drop of blood, the skin closing almost as the needle was withdrawn.
*Done,* Ember said, and folded the dart back into its case. “Let us go.*
Chapter Four
New Arrivals
John looked out at the Daedalus nestled onto the South Pier — they’d pretty much given up worrying about the city’s actual orientation, went with the names everyone was used to. If Rodney was here, it would drive him crazy, and John winced, deflecting that thought with what was becoming practiced ease. When they got him back, he told himself, it would give him something to bitch about. He tried not to think about guys he’d seen who’d survived capture, survived the Taliban, made himself look back at Daedalus, her hatches open now to disgorge the latest batch of scientists. This wasn’t its usual spot, but that was taken by the Hammond, still under repair. And that was something that would annoy Colonel Caldwell, and John was still trying to work up a response that would convey just how much he didn’t care…
Except that this was also a distraction, one more way of putting off thinking about what he had to say to Jeannie Miller, and in what order he could say it that would be most reassuring when there wasn’t much reassurance to be had. He could see her now in the open hatch, a bright red hat covering her blonde hair — a red hat with a pompom and matching red mittens, just another Canadian housewife off to rescue her brother from life-sucking aliens — and he bit down hard on his lip, knowing the flippancy was just another form of avoidance.