The Hammond swam through a barrage of shots like a shark through a school of remoras, iridescent fire eerily beautiful as it danced around them, flaring blue off their shields. But the fire was less than before. Fully half the hive ship’s batteries were disabled.
And yet it had not come without a price. “Forward shields at 40 percent,” Major Franklin shouted over the din of equipment and people on the Hammond’s bridge. “Dorsal shield at 70 percent.”
“Understood.” The captain was at the engineer’s station, Lieutenant Mills having been removed from the bridge with serious burns on his hands when the relays overloaded and sent feedback through the control panels, shorting out with a massive electrical surge. It was the dorsal shield that Sam was worried about. The lighter hull plating Dr. Kusanagi had used for repairs wouldn’t hold against a single shot if the energy shields failed.
The Darts still swarmed, but they were fewer as well. Hocken’s 302s were doing a good job. But even as she glanced up, Sam saw one of them take a wing hit, shearing through the superstructure and clipping the entire wing off. The 302 spun out of control, plumes of gas venting into vacuum. From the wing tank, Sam thought analytically at the same moment that she turned to Franklin. “Beam that pilot out of there!”
“I’m trying, ma’am,” Franklin said, an expression of concentration on his face as he bent over the board.
Sam looked back at the engineering board, toggling power. If she pulled it out of some other systems she could reinforce that dorsal shield…
“The infirmary reports they have Colonel Hocken aboard,” Franklin said, an expression of momentary triumph on his face.
“Good job.”
The helmsman put the Hammond hard over, looping entirely about some arbitrary center point, utter confusion for targeting aboard the hive ship. Every shot in the barrage was a clean miss. That took the stress off the shields for a moment, Sam thought. Good deal.
“Ma’am?” Franklin’s voice rose above the noise. “We have hyperspace windows opening.”
Oh not good, Sam thought, moving quickly from the engineering station to her own where she could get the other readouts. She could see the wavering, as though a fog had crossed the stars, then the northern lights shimmer as the windows opened not so far away at all. She could see for herself. She didn’t have to wait for Franklin to say it.
“We have two additional hive ships and three Wraith cruisers coming out of hyperspace.”
Queen Death’s reinforcements had arrived.
“Sheppard, we’re out of time.” John’s headset crackled with Sam’s voice. “We’ve got six, repeat six, of Queen Death’s ships out here. We’ve got to pull you out of there.”
John looked at Todd bent over the interfaces that controlled the ZPM, still setting up the overload. “Roger, we’ve got you. Give us another minute here. We’re setting up an overload.”
“We may not have a minute.” Sam’s voice was calm, but she’d never say that lightly. “You’ve got until we get in range.”
John looked at Todd. “How long?”
“Almost there,” Todd said, his eyes still closed in the interface.
“Ronon?” John opened his radio again. “Ronon, do you have Rodney? The Hammond is going to have to pull us out.”
“I’ve got a problem,” Ronon said. “Keller’s out cold.”
“Keller?” John looked at Teyla, who seemed equally confused. “Did she get stunned?”
“No, just collapsed. She’s having some kind of seizure.” His voice sounded ragged.
It only took John a second. “Ok. We’re going to work our way back to you. Stay where you are and we’ll come for you. You’ve got the beacons activated, right?”
“Yeah,” Ronon said.
“It is done,” Todd said, lifting his head. The ZPM in its cradle was glowing brightly. “We have four minutes.”
John opened his transmitter again. “Sam? Now is a good time.”
“I can’t do that right now.” The Hammond twisted and dove again, trying to get through. The cruisers had engaged immediately, coming in to form a screen around the damaged hive ship. Each half and a bit the size of the Hammond, they didn’t pack as much punch, but there were three of them. “The Asgard beams are short range.”
“Ventral shield at 50 %,” Franklin said. “Dorsal at 60 %”
Goddamn the dorsal shield. If Sam had been the type to swear on her own bridge she would have about that.
“We are losing the forward shield,” Franklin said.
Sam shook her head. “Reroute the power.” Which meant pulling it out of the others. Not good. She put her hand on the back of the helmsman’s chair, looking out over his shoulder at the battle raging. “Get us in close enough to get our people.”
“Ronon?” John spoke quickly, but his eyes were on the rest of his team and the ZPM now glowing brighter. “Ronon?” There was no answer. “Sam, pull Ronon out first. It’s the cluster of three beacons, not four. He’s got a medical emergency.”
“Standby.” Sam’s voice was clipped and the frequency riddled with static.
“Perhaps we need to find another way off this ship,” Teyla said.
“We will never make it back to the jumper bay in three minutes,” Radek said, scowling at the ZPM. “And there is not much point in going anywhere else aboard the ship, as it will be entirely destroyed as soon as the ZPM reaches critical mass.”
“Sam?” There was a sudden burst of stunner fire at the door, and John dove under a console, dragging Radek down with him. The Wraith had finally discovered they were in the ZPM room. Cadman had flattened herself against the far wall, while Teyla and Todd were behind the interface. The light of the ZPM grew brighter.
“Radek? Is it possible they could stop the overload if they got in here?” John yelled.
“Not a chance,” Radek said from somewhere smooshed beneath him.
John hit the transmitter again. “Ok. Sam, now is a good time.”
“I can’t…” John heard her say, then felt the familiar prickle, saw the familiar shimmer in the air as the beams engaged.
“…get you right now,” Sam finished.
The Hammond pulled up from an attempted dive between two of the cruisers, shields shaking with the strain of a near shield on shield pass. There was the scream of instruments. They’d connected, ventral shield against the cruiser’s shields, a bleed of power as the shields literally forced the ships away from one another, momentum blunted and deflected at the cost of enormous amounts of energy. The Hammond shook, inertial dampeners trying to compensate, and Sam was nearly flung off her feet.
“Damage report!”
“We’ve lost the ventral shield!” Franklin shouted over the screams of alarms. “Dorsal shield at 10 %. Forward shield at 20 %.”
A massive hive ship rotated before the Hammond, weapons blazing at last, Todd’s ship joining the fray. One of the cruisers was caught in its fire, incandescing as shot after shot plunged through the shield gap where the Hammond had damaged it. The shield on shield pass must have told on it as well.
“About time,” Sam said, her hands flying over the engineering station. “That makes it two on five instead of one on six. Sheppard? Ronon?”
Nothing but silence on the frequency. The amount of EM transmissions flying around the battle site effectively acted as jamming.
“Franklin, can you lock onto the radio transmitters on the hive?”
“No, ma’am!” Franklin didn’t look up from his instruments, sweat standing out on his brow, undistracted by the mayhem around him. “We are not close enough for a beam lock. And I am only picking up three signals.”