Aaren’s desiccated corpse collapsed to the floor in front of Errian, a puff of dust issuing from its mouth. He hardly recognized the wizened, shrunken carcass that used to be the elder. Aaren’s plump face of tawny skin was now a hollow, pallid thing, the flesh of his cheeks drawn tight over the bones of his skull, knots of blackened matter staring back at Errian from deep inside cavernous eye sockets. Still clad in the rich, heavy robes of his high status within the community, the many golden bangles of his rank clattering against the bony, fleshless sticks that were the dead man’s arms, the form that used to be the elder looked as if it were something exhumed from an ancient grave, not a man who had been breathing only moments earlier.
Errian wanted to look away, but he could not bring himself to do so. The horror of what he had seen transfixed him, held him fast. It was more terrifying that the paralyzing touch of the Giants when he had been Taken, because it was his own mind stopping him from motion. He simply could not believe what he had seen; Aaren kneeling before the Wraith warrior, and then the white-skinned monster clawing at the man’s chest. There had been screaming; from Errian, from the others who cowered in the corners of the chamber, and eventually from Aaren, who at first had thought he was about to be given some kind of benediction.
Errian had watched it all, shocked rigid as the Wraith sucked life itself from the elder, draining him dry.
And he knew that he would be the next to join him.
Around him, the group of Wraith who had shepherded them down the wooden corridor and into the carved chambers deep within the core trunks of the city-tree pulled at the victims they had chosen. Some of the people had implored the Wraith to let them come with them, those who were their secret worshippers revealing themselves, those desperate for a cure to the sickness or just too cowardly to resist fearfully trailing along with the crowd; and to Errian’s shame he counted himself among the latter.
One of the aliens turned a baleful gaze on him and dragged him into a shaft of light falling from a lantern above. All the Wraith seemed agitated, violence in their every motion. Something was awry.
“Please,” he managed. “I have a wife and son.”
The Wraith cocked its head and hissed. He was unsure if it could actually understand him. It studied the flesh of his throat quizzically; there were welts and lesions there in abundance, the mark of the sickness in its final phase.
“I only wanted to be well… For them…” He blinked. The pain of the sickness rose and fell though him like waves upon the lakeshore, but his terror towered over all other physical sensations. Perhaps this is for the best, he wondered. I will die and the pain will cease, and I shall not burden my family again. Tears prickled in his eyes. My dearest Jaaya, my brave Laaro.
The alien reached down toward his breast and Errian saw a serrated maw opening in the palm of the Wraith’s hand, glistening with threads of fluid.
He turned his head away so he would not see it happen, ashamed once more of his own fear.
And without warning a bolt of fiery red light streaked by his face, so close that his skin was singed by its passing. He heard the Wraith give a screaming hiss and it fell away, clutching at its forearm where burned skin trailed wisps of meat-smoke.
“Nice shot,” said the lieutenant, hobbling alongside the Satedan. “You winged that sucker pretty good.”
Ronon spat angrily. “I was aiming for his head.” He cursed under his breath. “These damned shakes…” He glared across at the Wraith, panning his pistol across them. “Give me a fight,” he bellowed. “Go on. I dare you.”
Keller moved with them, blinking as she surveyed the chamber they found themselves in. Cut into the living heart of the great tree that supported the Heruuni settlement, it was one of dozens of interior spaces inside the great trunk, doubtless part of the community’s infrastructure. It made sense that the Wraith would have retreated here to feed; there were few ways in or out, and warm, gloomy atmosphere was similar to the environments aboard their semi-organic starships.
A couple of the Wraith made combative motions and they were killed where they stood, eliciting cries of fear from the cowering Heruuni scattered around the chamber. Keller spotted Laaro’s father among them and felt a moment of relief for the boy; but that soon faded when she saw the lesions on his skin. Unconsciously, she shot Ronon a look and frowned.
“Aaren…” Surrounded by a phalanx of his men, Elder Takkol moved to what seemed like a heap of rags lying in the middle of the floor. With distaste, Jennifer realized that she was looking at human remains; whatever it was that was left behind after a Wraith had taken its fill from a living being. Takkol was silent for a long moment. “This was the price of Aaren’s weakness,” he intoned. “It is a fitting death.” The elder spun about and addressed the other Heruuni in the chamber. “You see? Do you see now? There is no cure for the sickness! It is a wound we must bare in exchange for the blessing of the Aegis!”
“Your ‘Aegis’ is just as alien as they are!” snarled Ronon, stabbing a trembling finger at the sullen pack of Wraith. “Don’t you get that yet? No great being hiding in the sky will protect you! You have to fight for yourselves.” The Satedan paused and paled, as if the effort of shouting was nearly too much for him.
One of the Wraith — the one Ronon had wounded — saw the moment of weakness and shifted on the balls of his feet. Lieutenant Allan raised her rifle and shot the alien a hard look. “Don’t,” she told it. The Wraith growled and stood still.
Ronon was breathing heavily and he sagged against a wall, blinking sweat away from his eyes. “Damn it…” he mumbled.
“The sickness…” husked Errian. “The voyager is close to the end, as are we all.”
All at once, Jennifer Keller felt furious; the emotion came up from nowhere and it engulfed her. Her hands contracted into fists. She had been in this place too many times in her medical career, forced to watch her patients slip away because they were beyond her help, even after they had fought and clawed their way through every last shuddering breath. There was no cure for the nanite infection. The monumental unfairness of it all pressed down on her and her jaw tightened; No, she told herself, I refuse to let Ronon die. I refuse to let these people die. Keller was not willing to be beaten now, not after all this. I didn’t let Elizabeth Weir die when everyone thought she would. I’m not going to give up here, either!
There had to be some way to bring Ronon and the others back from the brink, let their bodies heal themselves, some way to fight this slow death with life —
The Wraith take life but they give it as well!
Kullid’s angry pronouncement echoed in her thoughts, the import of it hitting her like a wash of icy water. She stared at the knot of brooding, surly aliens. Each of them had fed a short time ago, she could tell by the blush of sickly green across their ghost-pale faces; and the bodies in the chamber attested to exactly how recently.
The doctor’s thoughts raced; she had read the reports made by her predecessor Doctor Carson Beckett on the Wraith’s unusual abilities, most notably one file that had pulled at her reason with its incredible possibilities. John Sheppard had once been fed on by one of the aliens, but later that same Wraith had somehow returned what he had stolen from the colonel, effectively regenerating his damaged, prematurely-aged tissues. There were even unsubstantiated reports of healthy humans receiving the same regenerative ‘gift’ from Wraith.
And if that were possible… If Kullid had been right, and the Wraith really could give life as well as take it…
Keller snapped her fingers at the Wraith to get its attention. “Uh, you,” she said. “Listen to me. You understand that you’re all out of options, right?” She jerked a thumb at the ceiling. “There’s a battle going on up there. Your buddies aren’t coming.”