But first, the infirmary. As soon as the shooting stopped and the ship was in no immediate danger, it was time to check on her people, at least the ones who were here. Hocken was on Pride of the Genii with a concussion, but she seemed to be in one piece. She hoped Mitchell hadn't managed to do too bad a number on himself with that crazy landing. He'd hit the barrier pretty hard. With any luck he hadn't broken bones.
An airman hit the wall outside the infirmary as she approached, and Sam acknowledged the courtesy with a smile. They'd all done well. Her team was coming together.
"No, I am not going to let you set it! Dr. Beckett is going to do it. He's a real doctor!"
Sam stopped dead in the doorway. That couldn't be. That complaint, that voice…. "Rodney?"
Rodney McKay was sitting on the edge of the examining table wearing a hospital gown while McNair, one of the two physician's assistants, tried to immobilize his left wrist.
"I thought you were dead!" Sam managed.
"Well, I'm not, unless your inept military pseudo-doctor kills me!" Rodney said indignantly. "I told him to just bandage it up and transfer me over to Carson, but he won't do it. Do you realize how important it is for me to have full use of my left hand?"
"I thought you were dead," Sam said again. "We couldn't beam you aboard."
"Obviously you did," Rodney said. He looked at her with a frown.
"Obviously I didn't," Sam said. "You were at eight times the range of our Asgard beams." Something was strange here.
"Colonel Carter?" her radio beeped. "Major Lorne needs to talk to you on the bridge."
"On my way," Sam said. She looked at Rodney again. It was clearly Rodney. And just as clearly there was no way the Hammond had picked him up. A thought struck her. "Did you arrive here in your clothes?"
"Of course I did!" Rodney replied. "What? You normally beam people without their clothes and just have them appear places stark naked?"
"I don't," Sam said.
"Ma'am, Major Lorne says it's urgent."
"Coming," Sam said. It would wait.
"There is much to discuss," Alabaster said, her eyes on Waterlight. "And many things that must be decided between us before we treat with others."
"Yes," Waterlight said. To Teyla she felt awkward, unused to adult counsels without her father at her side, a place that he would never fill again.
There was a soft chime at the door, and Bronze's voice came in filled with elation. "My queens, we have the Old One!"
Alabaster let out a soft hiss. "Bring him in," she said, and Teyla moved to stand beside her, Waterlight to her other side.
He was dignified as ever, flanked as he was by Bronze's blades. They seemed like boys beside him, too sharp and unfinished.
"You have done well, my blade," Waterlight said, and her voice was even.
"Thank you, my queen."
"Leave us," Alabaster said.
Bronze hesitated. "He is dangerous," he began.
"We know that," Waterlight said. "But not to three queens."
Bronze blushed, backing out with his men before him.
"I do not see three queens," the Old One said contemptuously. "I see two, and those hardly more than fruit-fed little girls."
"Do you not?" Alabaster said, spreading her hands from her sides, one toward Waterlight and one toward Teyla. "Perhaps you should look again."
His regard shifted to Waterlight and then to Teyla.
“Do you not?” she said softly, mind to mind. “Do you not see me?”
The Old One stopped, his eyes narrowing, and in that moment she saw what he saw, a young woman, dark skinned and fine boned, her black clothes stained from battle and her weapon at her side, the tenor of her mind sharp as bone. She was Osprey and not Osprey, fresh from the mayhem of a boarding party as Osprey had been in those first days, and yet not. Her face, her eyes, were human and like Osprey's own, like Osprey grown up on Athos and never transformed, Osprey left whole, her memories intact and her body unchanged.
“Yes,” Teyla said. “I am Osprey's human daughter, and I stand with my sisters.”
His eyes searched her face. “You cannot exist,” he said.
“But I do.” Her words were as heavy as her implacable truth.
“You are Abomination,” he said.
“I?” Teyla took a step toward him, and anger sang through her, sweet and true. “You dare say that, who were Kairos? You, who killed your own wife and drank her life? Who have murdered again and again, from one end of the galaxy to the other? You, who incited Death to war against her own kind and who slaughtered the peoples of many worlds not for your hunger but for your sport? You call me Abomination? You dare do such when the blood of the Manarians and the Tricti and all the rest cry out in anguish for justice?” She raised her hand without thinking, as though there were a feeding slit there that could take his life.
Alabaster and Waterlight did not move. “When you killed my Father,” Waterlight said. “The last of your murders.”
He stood still. Even his eyes did not waver from Teyla's face. “I have done what must be done,” he said. “The Ancients must die for their crimes.”
Alabaster laughed. She shook her head, long red hair falling over her shoulders. “Old fool,” she said. “The Ancients are dead. They are gone thousands of years, every single one who harmed you. Yes, they were guilty. And they are dead. Their bones are dust and their names are gone. You are telling fables of a time that is no more, fighting shadows instead of living in the world that is.” She stepped forward, shaking her head. “Look at me. I am not Osprey. I do not live in Osprey's world. That past is done and gone. I am concerned with the world to come.”
His mental voice was stern. “We must never forget.”
“Yes,” Alabaster said. “We must.”
Teyla's hand was shaking. If she could feed, oh if she could, in that moment she would drink his life and it would be right. Every last broken body left amid the ruins of their homes on Manaria, every one of their people fallen in the attack on Atlantis….
“He is yours,” Alabaster said to her. “Your people have suffered most recently. His life is yours to take.”
“You give me to the Abomination?” the Old One snapped.
Waterlight's voice sounded choked, her face pale. “Will you not repent of your wrongs even now?”
“I am not wrong,” he said. “And you doom your people, little fool!” He raised his head, standing unflinching before Teyla. “Go on then, Abomination! Do what you wish.”
And like a tide it seeped out of her, all the vast anger that had risen, leaving only sorrow. “No,” Teyla said. “I will not. I will not have blood for blood. I will not take revenge. Let your hate end here, and may your anger become nothing but a sad relic of days that are past.” She took a deep breath, tears starting behind her eyes, but there was Waterlight at her side, a choking lump in her throat for her father, but clean and clear.
Waterlight's fingers brushed hers, a quiet comment aside. “I think you are right,” she said. “Let it end.”
“If I had a daughter,” Teyla Emmagan thought, “I would wish she were just like you.”
Waterlight smiled, quick and fleeting. “Perhaps you will,” she said.
“I remand you to the custody of my sisters,” Teyla said to the Old One. “May you face Queen's judgment. Do with him as you wish, sisters. I am done.”
I am done, she thought, and I will go home to Atlantis.
John opened his eyes, letting himself ride up and out of the city’s embrace. It let him go willingly enough, the data pooled and ready for any possible question, and he focused on the displays, the conversations surrounding him. Death’s hives were either destroyed or drifting, and somewhere in the background he thought he heard Alabaster’s calm voice accepting someone’s surrender, the transmission relayed to Atlantis for their benefit. O’Neill was talking to Lorne, the Pride of the Genii reporting its damage and its losses. Death was dead, and Teyla was safe and unharmed and Cadman with her; two Marines were dead and more injured, but that was better than he’d dared hope. The 302 losses were worse, a voice John didn’t recognize reciting the dead and injured. Guide’s voice, asking permission to remain in orbit while his people sorted out their ships. And now Carter, brisk and confident.