"Varelon," Ladon said, keeping his voice scrupulously neutral, and the spy ducked his head in awkward acknowledgement.
"Chief. You know I would not have left my post for anything but dire emergency —"
"I know," Ladon said. He eyed the other man, tall and whip-thin, his hair long and loose in the style affected by most Wraith worshippers, saw the tremors in his muscles that spoke of having been too long without the Wraith enzyme. "Sit, man, and speak plainly. I expect there's no time to waste."
"No." Varelon sank gratefully into his chair. "Chief, you know I have been placed in the household of a Wraith commander and that he has joined the alliance of Queen Death."
"Yes," Ladon said, when it seemed that some response was required.
"Death has summoned her commanders and their fleets," Varelon said. "She intends to attack and destroy Atlantis."
Ladon saw shock and fear on the others' faces, and let his breath out in a soundless sigh. "You're certain." It was not a question, but Varelon nodded anyway.
"Sure enough that I abandoned my post and came to warn you directly. Chief, their fleet will be underway even now."
And that was the next question answered: not merely a planned attack, but one already begun. That forced his hand. He could not allow Death to destroy Atlantis. "Ambros. Summon the inner council — tell them it's urgent, but don't give them any details. And make sure my sister attends, and the commander of the Pride of the Genii. Then contact Atlantis. Talk to them yourself, and get me a meeting with Mr. Woolsey as soon as possible." He looked back at Varelon. "I know you're in need, but can you accompany me to Atlantis? The Lanteans will want to hear the details from you directly."
Varelon shivered, but nodded. "Yes, Chief. I'll be fine."
I doubt it, Ladon thought, but clapped him on the shoulder as though he believed him. "Good man."
Ronon finished searching the third location on his list and pulled out his tablet to look at the city map. It could easily take them all day to search every inch of every location where the security footage had been tampered with. There had to be a better way.
Think like your prey, his grandfather had said, years ago on childhood hunting trips. That would be easier if he knew who the thief had been. It had to be a scientist or a specialist, someone who could alter the security footage. Someone who knew about Hyperion's weapon and knew or guessed where Sheppard had hidden it. Someone either reckless or driven enough to steal it. Or else someone compromised by the Wraith.
If it were the Wraith themselves, they'd keep it on their persons, figuring it would create a diplomatic incident to search them. So assume it's not the Wraith. Who else fit the picture? Teyla was sure that it wasn't Rodney.
Ronon wasn't so sure. Rodney knew about the weapon because he'd been there when they found it. And he'd been compromised by the Wraith. Ronon knew better than anyone how good they were at breaking people. Rodney might still be working for them, carrying out some plan for Queen Death while he smiled and promised all his friends that he was fine. He'd been acting strangely since he came back, a new twist in his smile and something slightly off-key about his conversation, especially when the Wraith were around.
If it were Rodney… Ronon glanced at the map. Suspicion hardened into certainty. Only one place on it mattered, a rarely-used tower room with skylights that let in the sun, some Ancient scientist's laboratory too far out of the way of the central tower and mess hall to be attractive as work space. He'd followed Rodney up there years ago, watched him stash things there and leave without ever noticing he'd been followed.
A lot of the longtime Atlantis personnel, veterans of too many invasions and alarms, kept emergency caches of food and equipment somewhere in the city. Ronon had made something of a game of looking for them, never disturbing what he found, but remembering where he'd found it.
He headed for Rodney's cache of supplies, despite the fact that it wasn't on his list of places to search. The transport chamber opened only three floors below the lab, and he took the stairs at a fast jog.
Of course the door was locked, and its control panel demanded a password. He started trying passwords he knew Rodney used, both ones he'd watched Rodney enter and the ones Jeannie Miller and Radek Zelenka had painstakingly worked out during Rodney's absence. Finally one of them worked, and the door slid open.
Most of the room was empty. A computer was set up in one corner, on a table cluttered with bags of snack food and bottles of soda, most unopened. Pieces of Ancient laboratory equipment sat in the opposite corner of the room, none looking like they'd been in frequent use. Overhead, thin gray light filtered in through the skylight, now glazed with ice.
Several crates were stacked under the table, and Ronon pulled them out cautiously. The first two crates he searched were full of various electronic parts, most of which Ronon couldn't identify, but none of which could possibly be Hyperion's weapon.
He was starting to think he was wrong when he opened the next crate. Resting on a tangle of circuit boards and wires was a simple rod with a sphere at one end, looking as if it had been carved from a single block of naquadah.
Hyperion's weapon.
It was warm in his hand when he picked it up, which Teyla hadn't mentioned. Ronon frowned. They'd all learned to treat Ancient devices that grew warm or glowed with caution. That was usually a sign that they'd been activated by someone who had the ATA gene, the Ancestors' legacy that let a lucky few of their descendants use their technology.
Ronon didn't have the ATA gene, and the gene therapy that sometimes activated it hadn't worked on him. But John and Rodney both had it, and they'd both handled the weapon. John might have left it in the box Teyla said they'd found it in, but Rodney obviously hadn't, because the box was gone.
And of course Rodney hadn't left it in the box. He would have taken it out and handled it, at least for a few minutes, trying to find some clue to how it worked. That might well have been enough to activate it, priming it so that anyone could use it.
Some devices didn't work that way, like the puddlejumpers; even after they were turned on, it took someone with the gene sitting in the pilot's seat to make them fly. But some did. It was entirely possible that he could use the weapon. It was entirely possible that he was holding in his hand a weapon that he could use to kill all the Wraith in the galaxy.
The weapon moved in his hand, shifting, and Ronon stiffened, wondering what he'd done, his heart racing. The globe was peeling apart, its pieces shifting, some sliding down the rod to form the familiar shape of a trigger, others now strongly resembling the muzzle of a gun. What he held in his hand now, its oddly slick material still unmarked, was unmistakably a weapon.
If it could do this, why didn't it do it for McKay? That was a question for the scientists to answer, but he thought he might have a guess. Most of the Ancient devices responded to thought — no, that wasn't right. To the will. The force shield they'd once found had been like that; Rodney hadn't been able to turn it off until he'd truly wanted it to turn off.
Rodney had been altered by his ordeal more than the others wanted to admit. Even if he wasn't compromised, he was still acting like he thought the Wraith were people. And maybe he was compromised. Either way, he wouldn't have held Hyperion's weapon in his hand and thought about how much he wanted to wipe out every last Wraith in the galaxy.