"Hopefully we won't be killed by a million Wraith," Sam said. "Do you guys have any idea how glad I am to see you?"
"Yeah," Daniel said. "We kind of do. Now what's this about a missing Ancient artifact?"
Cam and Teal'c went to go suit up while Sam explained her missing artifact problem to Daniel; that wasn't Cam's problem, and he let it go, trusting that the people still in Atlantis would handle that. His job was to fly. He'd been one of the best, although he was all too aware of how long it had been since he'd climbed into the cockpit of a 302.
He stepped out onto the flight deck of Hammond with an insistent feeling of déjà vu. He'd borrowed a flight suit, and, helmet in hand, he half expected to find himself back on the good old Prometheus, with his own Blue Squadron waiting for him. Instead, Teal'c fell into place beside him, a steadying presence.
Across the deck, Sam and Lt. Colonel Hocken had their heads together, going over some last minute point of strategy. They looked up as he and Teal'c approached.
Hocken grinned at him. "If it isn't Shaft."
Sam's mouth twitched, but she refrained from comment.
"Hi, Mel," he said. "I thought I'd come lend a hand."
Hocken cocked her head. "You still remember how to fly these things?"
"Remember, sure," Cam said. "But it's been a while."
"We'll be sure to start you off nice and easy."
"I believe I remember how to pilot these craft as well," Teal'c said, looking amused.
"Teal'c," Hocken said more seriously. "It's an honor."
"The honor is mine," Teal'c said, inclining his head.
"This isn't social hour," Sam said. "Be honored later. Let's get this show on the road."
"Yes, ma'am," Hocken said.
"Yes, ma'am," Cam echoed.
"I'll show you your 302s," Hocken said. "They both took a beating, but we've glued them back together for you."
"As long as you used quality glue."
"Only the best on this ship." She sobered. "If you've never mixed it up with Wraith Darts before, they're faster than death gliders, but not as sturdy. A solid hit will take them out. It's getting the solid hit."
"Copy that."
"Not that I need to tell you your business."
"You're the expert here," Cam said. "I'm just visiting."
"You can drop in any time. We'll try to have a huge nasty battle waiting for you."
"Makes it feel just like home."
"I thought it might." Hocken stopped by a 302, putting her hand on the wing with easy familiarity. "Up you go." Her eyes swept the flight deck as he clambered up, confident in her people but scanning for any sign of anything out of place.
For a moment he felt a twinge of jealousy. He'd been senior to her in the old days, in overall command of the Prometheus's 302s before the crash that had left him out of it for a year, wondering if he'd ever walk again. He'd gotten it back together, come a lot further than anyone had said he would in those first months. But he'd never have a fighter command again. His next step up was one of the big ships like Hammond where he could command from a chair.
But he'd had SG-1 for five years, and he'd never regret that.
He started running through the pre-flight checklist, still right there in his head as if he'd never stopped living and breathing flying, and stopped worrying about anything but the job at hand.
John glanced uneasily around the conference room. He was feeling distinctly outnumbered — Teyla with Alabaster's people, Ronon stuck watching McKay, McKay not to be trusted, even Lorne off flying the Genii ship — and the wary courtesy with which Woolsey was treating O'Neill didn't exactly make him feel any better. Not that he didn't trust O'Neill; he did, mostly. O'Neill had managed to get them sent back to Pegasus, after all. It was just…. He glanced sideways down the length of the table, where Daniel Jackson was still typing furiously on a laptop. It was just he really wished he knew what O'Neill was up to.
"Colonel Sheppard," O'Neill said, and John hastily collected his thoughts.
"Sir."
"How close is Atlantis to being ready to lift?"
John suppressed a shrug as being more insubordinate than he actually wanted to be. "Dr. Zelenka says they're tweaking the last few systems now. We could lift if it was an emergency, but they're getting things optimized."
"Did he say how long?"
"By nine."
"That's good," Woolsey observed.
O'Neill nodded. "The Genii should be here by then, and the Hammond's just about ready to go, too."
"I don't think we should factor out Guide's fleet," Woolsey said. "I believe Teyla will persuade Alabaster to at least make the jump here."
"We can't count on that," O'Neill said.
"I wouldn't underestimate Teyla," John said.
"I'm not," O'Neill said. "But do you think Guide is going to cave on this?"
No. John bit his lip. He didn't really want to get into the details of his conversation with Guide — was it only a few hours ago? "We may still find the damn weapon before then."
"I'm really kind of worried about that thing," O'Neill said. "I don't like weird Ancient devices running around loose, especially when nobody really knows that the damn thing does."
Woolsey looked as though he wanted to agree, but was too diplomatic to say so.
"And I really don't like that we don't know what's going on with McKay," O'Neill went on.
"McKay," Jackson said, not looking up from his laptop. "Jack, Queen Death's going to be in range in three, maybe four hours."
"In range?" O'Neill asked.
"As best I can figure out, anyway," Jackson said.
John glanced at his own tablet, touched the cool surface to bring up the ever-present sensor display. "It looks to me as though it'll be at least five hours before they get into Dart range," he said. "More than that before the hives can open fire. Assuming we meet them in orbit, of course."
"And the 302s can hit them sooner than that anyway," Jackson said. O'Neill turned to stare at him, and Jackson spread his hands. "Because they have greater range than than the Darts. Mitchell was saying, before we came through the gate. I do pay attention, sometimes — and anyway, that wasn't my point."
"What is your point?" O'Neill said.
"I've been looking over what information we have about the Wraith," Jackson said.
He sounded uncomfortable, John thought, and his attention sharpened.
"It looks to me as though the Wraith can exert mental influence for quite some distance," Jackson said. "From a hive in orbit to the surface of a planet, even from a planet to a hiveship or cruiser in the same solar system, though I'm not entirely clear on whether that's achieved by using an external communications system to supplement their normal telepathy or not."
"Go on," O'Neill said. He didn't sound any more enthusiastic than John felt, which wasn't a good sign.
"Yeah. Um. Well, putting all those reports together, including the various times that Teyla was able to influence the Wraith long distance —" Jackson paused, then plunged on. "Presumably the Wraith themselves can do the same thing, in reverse, which is to say, their queens could theoretically influence someone on Atlantis itself."
"You're talking McKay," John said. His voice was flat, and he clenched his fists out of sight under the tabletop.
Jackson made an awkward, shrugging motion, spreading his hands. "We have to consider it, Colonel."
"They've never done it before," John said.
"Possibly they've never had cause," Jackson answered. "I mean, they haven't had anyone in the city before — or, actually, they could have been in contact with the various Wraith who've been dropped into the city, only you wouldn't have any way of knowing if they had."