Act 3

Moving around under cover of night was much easier in the settlement than she had thought it would be. Dressed in the dark coloured clothing that had belonged to one of the peasant inhabitants of the village she managed to stay virtually invisible as she moved from the shadow of one building to the next.

The patrol was admittedly heavier than it would have been aboard the Hive ship, but still relatively light and why wouldn't it be? The villagers were all safely locked away, the other worshippers slumbering peacefully in whatever corners they had managed to secure for themselves – undignified all. She was better than that, and would prove it. He had promised.

Merihanna stopped at the edge of a small building almost opposite the central hall where she knew the item, which he wished for her to retrieve for him, lay. The shadows around the hall were sparse, as the Wraith had laid glowing globes in the space before it. If she wished to approach unseen she would have to circle around and come at the building from behind, and that would take time – time she did not wish to waste. She stood for a moment watching the patrol patterns of the drones and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the pattern left a narrow, but open, window when none of them had their eyes turned to the space before the building. If she were fast enough, she could make the doorway, and safety, before the first of them turned back. It didn't occur to her that it was odd that this should be so.

If she had learned one thing through her relationship with the Commander it was timing. Waiting until the moment the last of the drones had turned away she picked up the skirts she wore and pumped her legs as hard as she could to carry her across the lighted causeway and into the sheltering dark before the hall door. She did not stop, but lifted the latch and slipped within to the greater darkness.

For a moment she leaned against the door, breathing hard, excitement mounted in her like the touch of a hand, stroking every sense and nerve until she trembled with it as she looked across the cavernous dark to the single lighted space before her.

It spilled from the small stasis container, an eerie blue-green light generated by the action of the field itself as the edges of it collided with the space without, moving at an ordinary chronological march; a strangely beautiful phenomenon that had been explained to her once – she could not remember when, or why. The light would fade when she deactivated the field, and she would know then that it was safe to reach inside the container and unstopper the vial inside.

She crossed the room in silence, aware only of the quiet hiss of the hem of her dress brushing against the dust of the floor, like parchment over sand, the whisper of her terrible secret.

The blue-green illumination lent the skin of her fingers a dead look as she reached for the control on the side of the small, casket-like chamber, and she watched in fascinated horror as the tremor began. At first she thought it was the excitement of the forbidden that was undeniably coursing through her, but in the split second before the voice, projected out of the darkness, sounded and the muscles in her forearm and bicep cramped to a trembling halt, the excitement became a consuming fear.

{hold, girl} {hold} {hold} {hold} {hold} {hold}

"Wait, I—" she stammered as the pressure inside her mind increased and almost every muscle in her body responded to lock in place. Her eyes moved to track the barely perceptible motion in the darkness. He began to spiral toward her.

"It begins slowly," he hissed, "as a creeping, gnawing fatigue that knows no respite."

"W-w-what are you… doing to me?" she whispered fearfully as her mind began to blur, and a deep exhaustion spread from deep inside her. "How?"

{age and imperfection, impurity, has weakened us} {us} {us} {us} {us} {but we are not… all… dead…} {all… dead} {all… dead} {all… dead} {not yet} {yet} {yet} {yet} {yet}

"Let me go," she demanded, but with little conviction as the desperation clearly infected her voice. She tried to move again, every muscle straining against his compulsion to be still.

"Your body will fight," he continued, pausing behind her, closer now, "but in the end there is nothing that can be done. The enzyme from the organism that has multiplied within your body will be released and your tissue, everything you are, will cease to be."

"What are you talking about?" she said, desperation becoming a cold fear that settled inside of her belly to grow with each of his words. "He said—"

{you think that you can trust his word} {his word} {his word} {his word} {did he not promise you this Hive?} {Hive} {Hive} {Hive} {Hive} {when all the time he was with others} {others} {others} {others} {others}

"You're lying, you—"

Fear suddenly became an aching warmth that spread through her, alien and strange, yet as familiar as her own deep arousal. It came from low in her belly, trickled to leaden her legs and plant the sharp spike of needful pain between her legs. Then the images, the memories began…

"But I am the Queen's servant first and—"

"And she has given me leave to seek my pleasure with you," he told her, "and you will be the greater for it."

He reached for her, and uncertain still, she stepped back. "No, My Lord Commander, I—"

"Trust me, Merihanna," his smile was feral, "I could take you where you stand… but that is not what I seek."

{you… you were complicit} {complicit} {complicit} {complicit} {complicit}

She was outside of herself, suddenly, the darkened room was still around her but the light of the stasis chamber had been replaced by the scene before her – where she watched herself, weak and trembling in front of the Commander as he had summoned her to him – at her side, the Hive Second stood watching impassively, his arms folded across his chest.

{consenting} {consenting} {consenting} {consenting} {consenting} {and he revelled in this new perverse pleasure it afforded him to know…} {…to know…} {…to know…} {…to know…} {…to know…} {…that you have been the architect of your own… painful… ecstasies…} {…painful… ecstasies…} {ecstasies} {ecstasies} {ecstasies}

"He never hurt me!" she spat hurriedly, the lie a bitter taste in her mouth. "And I am his only—"

She gasped as he forced the memories on her again and she spiralled into the scene in front of her to relive every detail…

Her cry became lost in his snarling; her breathlessness unheeded as he pounded into her, still from behind, still with the rough abandon of his unsated frustration. Her thighs ached, and her shoulders screamed in protest as he lay his weight on her, sinking deeper still. She felt him open inside of her as the rhythm of his possession changed, and clutched at the bed frame with splintering fingernails as the near agony of it triggered her body into a deep, dark climax that pulsed around him, until he too released, a flood inside of her, as scalding as his anger.

…felt anew the rending slice of the barbs within her, the raking, clawing possession of her and gave voice to the shuddering culmination, spearing her body with the fulfilment of the arousal; became filthy with it.

{the only release that ever comes for you, comes as pain} {pain} {pain} {pain} {pain} {and as for being his only… you… deceive yourself…} {deceive yourself} {deceive yourself} {deceive yourself}

"No. Don't, I—"

The sickening pull toward memories not hers began again and she saw herself, as he, labouring over the backs and faces of a dozen other worshippers she knew – felt his desire building; the flood of near ecstasy as she felt the spreading of his glans, the increase of sensation from his perception and then…

"Todd?"

She turned and instantly backed away, the arousal in her becoming the feral stalking of a hunter nearing its prey, before she caught her up, the one that she, herself, had sent him to find… took her down and—

"Please! Enough!" she cried, managing to turn her head enough to face the side on which the Hive Second stood. "Enough!"

The frozen scene around her dissolved and the space beside her became empty. His voice came from close in front of her, on the other side of the narrow pedestal on which the stasis chamber stood.

"You did this… and for why? For what?" damned her mockingly. "The false promise of a power that was not his to give…"

"How did you—?" The question came out in a rush, and she fought to turn her head and face him once more, fought until he released her enough that she could move. She pulled back her hand, still outstretched between them. Her near terror drove her to deny him. "You put those lies in my head; made me feel those things!"

He shrugged, a pale spectre against the dark around them.

"Perhaps," he admitted as if it were of no consequence to him, "but you will never know for certain if I did… or did not."

{did not} {did not} {did not}

A roiling sickness assaulted her, her belly churned with it, and now that she could move, she backed away, as he began to come around the pedestal.

"Stay away from me," she sobbed breathlessly as her eyes burned with angry, frightened tears. "I did only what he told me to… as a worshipper must!"

He flew at her then, caught the fabric of her borrowed dress in his claws as he pulled her closer, lifted her from the floor.

"You are so blinded by ambition," he snarled, putting his face right beside hers as he spun her in his arms, to hold her, struggling as she was, securely against him, "that you do not even know what you have done!"

"Let me go," she whimpered, "Don't touch me. Who are you? What… are you?"

The pressure in her mind increased again, frighteningly so, until her whole body trembled from the aching of it, and she saw.

**

The ring of metal against metal was almost melodic in the silence and the weight of the blade in his hand a comfort. The male lifted his head and rose to his full height, equitable with Malcolm's own.

"You are getting slow, Old One," he said, "growing weak."

Though the words were harsh, challenging, the tone was one of respect. He ran his eyes over the ancient Wraith male, likely his sire, but that did not matter, not among the first of them, whose very nature had been altered by the enemy before their flight to freedom.

His lizard-like, butterfly features were withered; his eyes sunken and rimmed red, and the white brilliance of his hair had dulled.

"So it has come at last," the Old One hissed, his voice barely audible except in the mind of those around him. "Good. Let us begin… and take our people forward…"

Malcolm blinked, and pushed harder, barely caring that he could bring her to madness with all he gave her in answer. Her struggles became more frantic, her cries more desperate until she begged him, weeping as though she could catch no breath.

"Stop… please… Lord, no more!"

Deliberately he brought his head to the crook of her neck and bit hard, drawing blood, and she cried out again… beating at the arm with which he held her, ineffectual and pathetic.

"No," she wept. "Don't, please…"

As the door opened he set her down and pushed her in that direction and spat to the side of himself to clear his mouth of the foul taste of her. He watched as she stumbled a few steps, and then tumbled to a ragged, boneless heap. He fixed the incoming drones with a ruthless stare and ordered aloud, explaining so that she would hear.

"Take her to the far edge of the field. No doubt she will try to return, but I doubt, given the state of her, that she will make it very far, and she will be found when the Darts return." He shifted his gaze then to her and added, "Explain to him why you have failed."

As the drones' hands closed on her arms, she screamed, wordlessly at first, but as they neared the door she found the capacity for speech once more and her cries became words.

"Mercy! Please, I beg of you, mercy!"

Slowly he crossed the room toward her, silently instructing the drones to release her. She fell at his feet, clasping the leather of his pants as she did; a supplicant gesture. Slowly he lowered himself to his knees and closed his hands around her arms, in support, as she climbed her way upward over his body. He allowed her increasingly fervent touches over his neck and shoulders… even onto his face.

"Mercy… yes, Lord… mercy, please," she whispered with each touch, as she took his face between her hands and cradled him there for a moment, her cheek to his, her whispers in his ear. He wound his arms around her back, moved one upward into the spill of her hair.

"Oh…" He sighed the word, letting it form as a long, slow breath against the woman's hair. "Merihanna…"

"Lord…" her hand trembled, fumbling at the fastener beneath his throat.

"You must understand," he continued, just as softly, letting the strands of her hair fall through his fingers as he spoke.

"I have done wrong," she murmured, letting the words brush her lips against his cheek. "I was foolish, I know."

"But do you?" he asked softly, pulling back enough to whisper the words against her cheek.

"Yes," she breathed urgently, and turning her head she trailed the word-kisses over his lower lip. "Please, Lord, I seek only forgiveness – your mer—"

His hand tightened suddenly in her hair, and he pulled her head away from his. His eyes flashed with cold fury, as he hissed, "Because of your arrogant diversion of its Commander, the Queen's Hive is lost and her strength scattered. You are not some randomly culled, simpering Human. You were born to this Hive and you… your actions were in part responsible for the loss of its strength – its Honour and the Honour if its commanders."

"I did not—"

"If you understand," he went on, pulling back her head still further, until she cried with the pain of it, and clutched at his chest, "then you know that you are contemptible, and you understand, too, that there can be no forgiveness… no mercy for one such as you."

"No, plea—"

"But I. Will. Not. Sully my honour further," he let go of her and rose to his feet, prizing her away as she clung to him. "I will not be the one to grant you clemency or otherwise… and you know what mercy you will receive at his hands."

He turned his back then, deafening his ears to her screams and cries as the drones carried her away, following his orders.

Only when he could not hear her wailing any more did he move again, taking up the sounds of distress himself, and howling with a pain he could not express otherwise, he almost literally took the room apart until nothing remained but the single pedestal at the centre of the wreckage, illuminated by iciness of the blue-green stasis field.

**

The characters and images on the screen of the tablet blurred together to form a mass of light that burrowed into his head like some alien implement of torture. No matter which way he looked at it, no matter how much he tried to think like Todd he was still left with entirely too many possibilities on the end of each string of information.

He sighed, and in disgust pushed the tablet away and picked up his coffee, now cold, but he didn't care.

"Still trying to refute my irrefutable logic, I see," McKay muttered as he joined him.

"Give it up, McKay," he said. "Not in the mood."

"Look—" McKay started.

"And not in the mood for a pep talk either," he added, cutting the other man off. "In fact the only thing I'm in the mood for right now is kicking ass. So unless you're volunteering for that—"

McKay held up his hand and said, "Okay, okay, I get the hint. We can… talk about something else."

"Like?" Sheppard growled moodily, and looked into the bottom of his coffee cup.

"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?" Sheppard shrugged hoping it would shut the scientist up, but McKay went on, "All right then, um… Woolsey. How about Woolsey?"

Sheppard frowned. "What about Woolsey?" he asked.

"McKay, if you've got nothing better to do than to speculate about the love life of Atlantis personnel," Sheppard interrupted, starting to get up. "Please… go do it some place else. I—"

"No, seriously, Sheppard," McKay pressed.

"McKay," Sheppard huffed. "I really don't want to hear it."

"All right then," McKay had evidently taken offence at not being listened to and stood up, irritation screaming from his body language as well as the tone in his voice. "Try this for size, because frankly, your obsession with Todd is just a little too disturbing."

"He was there, McKay," Sheppard said and started walking away, knowing what McKay was going to say even before the words came out of his mouth. "He's the one responsible."

"How," McKay grabbed his arm, surprisingly pulling him to a halt and half turning him round in the first place. "How do you know it was him? It could have been any of the Wraith on that Hive. What makes you so sure it was Todd?"

"Because," Sheppard said tiredly.

"Because?"

"Because he's the only one we've seen with that… that… super weapon, the… the… cascade beam," Sheppard said, pointing at McKay. "He used it when he was fighting Michael's cruiser back when we first tried to rescue… Teyla."

"And his own ship was destroyed when Michael turned it back on him," McKay said, "as if I need to remind you that."

"Well, he had it once, there's no reason he couldn't install it in another Hive," he argued.

"If that's the case, and we know he's been working with that Queen, whose Hive he destroyed, why not just… install it there?" McKay asked.

"Because… he wanted to keep it to himself," he said, "keep his advantage, his independence – look, what is this – some kind of twisted—?"

"Well, you said it," McKay pressed. "Have you listened to yourself lately? Seen yourself, you—"

Before Sheppard could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed McKay by the front of his jacket, hauled him closer angrily.

"Look, John," McKay said hurriedly, "All I'm saying is—"

"Yeah, well, don't!" Sheppard snarled. "We've lost too many people, McKay. I should have been faster; should have been able to save Teyla, and—"

"We all miss her, Sheppard, you don't have a monopoly on that, but… relentlessly and uselessly trying to pursue phantoms you think are responsible because you feel guilty over not… flying in there like the Light Brigade to save her isn't going to change anything."

"It'll change the way I feel," Sheppard let go of McKay so fast the scientist stumbled. "It'll bring the one responsible to justice and—"

"Will it though?" McKay asked softly. "Is there a way to—?"

"Colonel Sheppard, please report to the infirmary immediately."

Carson's voice, sounding over the citywide comm. sounded harassed and more than a little afraid.

"On my way, Doc," Sheppard said after keying his mic and turning, quickly headed for the door. He knew McKay was behind him, and paused enough for the man to catch up to him.

"Look, McKay," he said quietly, "I do appreciate the effort, okay?"

"Okay," McKay said softly.

"But right now," he sighed, "I need to be able to… do this my own way."

**

"Get your hands offa me!" Ronon snarled, pushing at the orderly at his side, contorting his face in an expression, a rage of denial at the news. "Don't you touch me!"

"Easy, Son," Carson arrived nearby, waving the orderly away. "It's all right, Ben, just go. Wait in my office."

The orderly, a frightened looking young man nodded and backed up, and moved away, and Ronon turned his shattered gaze Carson's way, everything he was just knotted inside.

"You tell me," he said, and his voice cracked mid-word. "Tell me it's not true!"

"I can't do that," Carson said softly, "I really am very sorry, Ronon."

"Dead?" All the air came out of him in a rush, and he felt like he was suffocating. All he could see was her face, all he could smell was the floral scent of whatever soap it was she used. "Gone…? How?"

"I really don't think—"

"You tell me," Ronon growled, and in spite of the pain it caused, a burning lance through his middle, he started trying to get up. "Or so help me—"

"Ronon," Sheppard's voice sounded from the doorway, strongly at first but dissolving into a tone of bewilderment. "Take it easy, buddy. What's going on?"

The question was obviously aimed at Beckett and beside him the doctor sighed softly.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," the doctor said quietly. "He's just found out about Teyla."

An epiphany of fury exploded inside him at the sound of Teyla's name from Beckett's lips. How dare he sully her name with the same voice, the same mind that dreamed up twisted science to make a thing of heartless evil into some twisted parody of a man? But for that, she would still be here… right there with them, holding his hand when he woke, her filial concern washing over him like a cooling balm.

"Don't you speak her name! Don't you dare speak her name!" The words burst from him like a gunshot and he pointed accusatorily at Beckett. "You did this – with your twisted experiments; your… you— How could you even think you could change what he was. What any of them are!"

Beckett looked down and sighed, and some part of Ronon soared with greater agony that he didn't try to deny it.

"Ronon, this isn't the time," Sheppard said instead, speaking slowly, enunciating each word. "You need to rest; get your strength back."

"Just…" Ronon fell back against the pillows, fixing Sheppard with an agonised plea, "tell me what happened?"

"She never made it out, buddy," Sheppard said, and Ronon saw his eyes fill with tears as his soft voice continued in a broken monotone, "she got stuck in the Hive and she never made it out before it blew."

"I really am very sorry for your loss, Ronon," Beckett said, soft and sorrowful, still looking at the floor. "I know what Teyla meant to you."

Ronon growled, still hating that he spoke her name… unwilling to forgive. Nothing he'd said changed because of the way she died… it was still because of Michael and that made it Beckett's fault.

"Hey!" Sheppard's voice rang out across the infirmary. "If you wanna blame anyone, blame me! I left her there… I didn't get her out."

"No… John," Beckett said with a sigh, "It's all right, lad. You don't need to defend me by blaming yourself."

"I'm not, I—"

Beckett cut Sheppard off.

"Yes, y'are and you've no need. It wasn't your fault." Then, speaking to Ronon, added, "I understand you're angry, son. I accept that. I'll sign your care over to Doctor Westbourne. He's a fine doctor. You'll have no trouble wi' him."

Ronon said nothing. He couldn't, barely even heard Beckett excuse himself, or his footsteps moving away… just stared at the ceiling, thinking of Teyla and all that her loss meant – not just to him, but to all of them.

"You know," Sheppard broke in on his thoughts. "You really shouldn't blame Carson. He's a good man. He—"

"—made Michael," Ronon snarled, interrupting, his nostrils flaring in hate at the thought of the Wraith perversion that Michael was.

"Yeah, and so did you," Sheppard accused softly. He snapped his gaze round to meet Sheppard's, already raising his hand ready to punch him. Sheppard stopped him when he didn't move away. "Go ahead. Give it your best shot - doesn't change the fact that I'm right. You, me… even Teyla, we all helped in the creation of Michael, in making him what he is… or was – if he was on that Hive then he's gone too - finally."

"It's not worth the—"

"I'm not saying it makes Teyla's death any better, any easier… just…" Sheppard took a shuddering breath. "…that we gotta find the one responsible, and—"

Sheppard's words washed over him, drawing out his sorrow, his anguish and grief until he couldn't hold them inside and they hiccupped from his body in great, rasping breathless sobs that filled him with a physical pain from his wound that was welcome against the fathomless emotional agony. Without a thought as Sheppard reached for him, Ronon allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace and clung there tightly… not knowing what else to do.

**

He felt her surface from unconsciousness even before he felt the angry touch of the Wraith Queen's mind seeking his. Michael paid no heed, and moved to adjust the flow of one of the tubes running to and from her body, between where she was restrained and the generative tanks.

"I would advise against any sudden movements at this time," Michael told her without even looking up from what he was doing. "We're approaching a very delicate stage in the process, and I would hate to cause you undue pain."

"You disgust me," she spat.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he answered mildly, tilting his head as he watched the flow along the tubes, into the chamber where the genetic materials were met and mingled with his primary serum. "Your kind have always despised the notion of change; evolution – unless it was by your sanction."

"Evolution?" she laughed, a harsh and mocking sound. "Look at you – half-breed throwback, not even a fraction the majesty that was once yours."

She nodded then to his experiments, unable to point as he knew was her instinct. Her voice, snarling sarcasm continued harshly when he did not rise to the insult, rather expected it.

"Playing Primogenitor – espousing evolution when all the time regressing to the bestial nature of Prey and rutting like a common Human," she accused. Michael growled softly, sending warnings along the contact she sought with him, sensing where she was taking her taunting. She didn't heed his unspoken interdiction and jeered, "The stench of her corruption is all over you."

It was like some macabre dance, and he barely registered the movement as he flew across the terminal between them, his fingers settling around the long needled syringe before his feet touched the ground and his free hand reached for her throat. He caught himself then, needle poised at the side of her neck; her head forced back. He didn't need her alive. The Hive could support her bodily functions well enough for his purposes. Yet he knew that this was her intent. To seek release through death, and the angry, festering kernel inside him would not consent to give it.

Regaining his self control and rumbling in the back of his throat he said, "You will not speak of her again."

-or even death will be no release for the agony I shall visit upon you- -upon you- -upon you- -upon you- -upon you- -for I know the workings of every atom, of every cell within your miserable existence- -miserable existence- -miserable existence- -existence- -existence- -and I can make you tear yourself apart even as your body fights for life- -fights for life- -fights for life- -life- -life- -life-

The mental push of each threat he made was accompanied by an emotional image of his promises to her, and they were no idle threats. With a breath, slowly, he released her head from the vice-like grasp in which he held it, and moved away, as measured as his attack had been sudden.

"Now," he said softly as he set down the syringe. "Let us… continue with our work."

**

Malcolm stood silent, watching, listening to the whispers – tentative and forming – coming from the small transport ship that had been sealed, inside which, under the compulsion of the Queen, one of the worshippers had released the Hive organism.

He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head as he did, aware of the approach of the Commander, as a clear presence amid the uncertainty of the Hive's developing consciousness.

"One has emerged as the dominant consciousness?" the Commander asked as he came to a halt beside Malcolm.

Malcolm nodded. "It has been several hours," he said.

"Male or female?"

Malcolm turned his head then, his irritation rising, but he fought to keep it in check. Regarding the Commander coolly he said, "You are as capable as I of reaching the developing consciousness. Be my guest."

He turned and stepped away slightly, allowing the Commander pride of place before the quarantine container the transport ship had become. He saw the Commander stiffen, but the other Wraith moved to take that place none the less and after a moment, stepped forward to rest his fingertips on the outer surface of the hull.

"It… was well done," the Commander rumbled after a moment, without turning. Malcolm caught the sense of the bitter praise sent his way, an emotional and sensory impression of the Queen's former handmaiden.

"Your carelessness," Malcolm replied softly, but with no less acid in his tone, "yet again, proved your downfall and nearly the downfall of another beneath your command."

"And yet you still have not called me out," the Commander mocked.

"To what end?" Malcolm spat, derision in every syllable.

"Perhaps because you know you would not succeed. The Hive still suppo—"

"Hive?" Malcolm burst. "You destroyed your Hive. You refused to hear the advice of the one in whom rests the safety of the souls aboard. I told you—"

The Commander swung around to face him, eyes flashing in anger.

"The Second should support his Commander in all things," the Commander snarled, "and you were never my choice."

"Because you could not control me, as you did the weakling under you before I came to join our Queen," Malcolm growled, taking a step closer, his voice growing stronger and more dangerous with each word. "Oh, but she too you would destroy. What kind of traitor are you!?"

The Commander growled, and his hand flew to the knife at his belt.

"Do not!" Malcolm's voice rang out, a shot in the morning air, and growling, he pressed his will hard into the Commander's mind.

{do not!} {do not!} {do not!} {do not!}

"Your only salvation is that, as yet, your treachery remains beneath the notice of the Queen… but not so everyone. Not so those close to her and they remain under my protection." Malcolm snarled as he felt the Commander fighting back against his mental pressure. "Be warned, for the last time, Commander, I will see you called to answer for all that you have done – and failed to do."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the Commander gasping and impotent, slumped against the side of the transport ship.

**

The water was cooling against his wrists and face, and soothed the ache behind his eyes brought on by fatigue. Michael cupped his hands in the water again, and brought the liquid to his face once more, afterwards reaching for the soft towel to pat the moisture away. He turned as he did, to make his way, unseeing, to the bed in which he meant to rest.

His quarters were Spartan, containing little more than his bed, and the many surfaces, already covered with many tablets of data, which he has spent the better part of his time manipulating, studying – it was an endless process, but necessary.

He threw off his coat, pitching it to the nearby chair, and sitting down on the side of the bed, pulled off his heavy boots, preparing to undress. He should rest. There was much he had to do and without rest he was as like to make mistakes as he was to succeed in his work.

One tiny part of the solution eluded him. It was infuriating as it prevented the cloned cells from annealing to the embryonic template. It was a setback – no, a roadblock, and it was one that was more than beginning to frustrate him. As he moved to settle back against the cushioned head of the bed, he reached for the tablet on the table that stood beside the bed, turning enough to set eyes on the pillows.

He set her down onto the soft, downy surface of the bed, and she reached to hold him even as he knelt over her, poised on the point of becoming one with her again. Emotion and sensation flowed overwhelmingly through his body and his mind and, at its call, he held himself no more – pushing smoothly and deeply against her trembling sex until the velvet of her body enfolded him so completely that when she cried out for him, as their hips met, his mind burst in an answering cry.

The memory caught him unawares, and he gasped, leaning on the bed and abandoning the tablet. The furious tide of his passion had swept him along in its current – years of longing broke apart in shared moments of glorious abandon.

Her passion matched his, further fuelling it as she pulled his shirt over his head, and lavished attention on his chest, nipping at him until she drew the cries from him, then she drew his body against hers with greater fervour. He surrendered then to the intensity of his need, consuming her with his movements over her, inside her and felt her tightening around him, adding to the sensations this sharing gave. The bond they shared caught them both in a mutual exchange of feelings. He snarled lightly and she trembled beneath him in answer.

The Queen had derided his actions, and the thought of that flooded him with a lonely hurt anger. Not that her opinion mattered, save that it fuelled the already raging conflict that had him in its grasp, and the two sides of what he was warred endlessly back and forth on the merits and dangers of what he had done… what they had done.

Shared sensations flowed through him, his body responding to the physicality of the act. He felt her trembling with thrust upon and within her, and knew too, that in them both the gathering tension, hot and bright, would soon shatter and bring them to a deeper bonding still.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and she drew his lips to meet hers as she lay back, bringing him with her and cried out encouragements, tearing away from the kiss as the motion joined them more deeply. He moved more quickly then and with a greater power as he felt her desperation for the breaking of the wave that held, poised, over the both of them. He growled softly, subsumed by the same urgent desire.

What had begun in anger had ended in a strange kind of peace, and yet, the solace he craved had not been answered, nor, he knew, for all that it had released tensions in the both of them, had it been for Teyla the fount of answers it could have been. Rather it seemed to have left them both with questions of so deep and fundamental a nature that he wondered if the dangers had not been the greater than the merits of it. Even so, he would not change those moments shared, and that, in itself, disturbed him.

For just a moment he considered dressing again, going to her, to give her all of him that he had denied to her in answering the opposite side of his nature than the act itself had strengthened in him.

With a cry that matched hers, he shattered, a bright sharp, yet beautiful ache as he surrendered himself inside her, pulsing deep and strong as wave after wave took him deeper into ecstasy. He could not catch his breath and sank onto her, wrapping her in his arms as she burrowed closer, neither moved to part themselves from the other.

Finally, still breathless, she whispered his name. He lifted his head to look into the dark depths of her eyes, falling into them as if she was all that there was. He took a breath, and swallowing hard, began to move away, even as he answered her call.

"Teyla," he said softly. "You are not… hurt?"

He was acutely aware of his own strength and how he could have damaged her without intending it. He began to sit up, away from her, preparing to rise.

"I am fine," she answered, and her hand closed over his arm. He whipped his head round to look at her again. "Michael, please… stay."

He swallowed again, harder still and looked away.

"It is… not," he swallowed again to banish the lump forming in his throat, "appropriate for me to do so. I—"

He felt the frown, which creased her face, along their bond.

"I do not understand," she said softly.

"Yes, Teyla, you do," his voice was clipped as he spoke, but not in anger or unkindness, merely stating fact. "I know that you feel this bond, as do I."

"Yes, but—" she did not deny him, and yet he did feel something akin to confusion from her.

"It is not acceptable for a commander to remain after such an—" He faltered.

"A what, Michael?" she demanded quietly. "What is it that we have done?"

"…after such an intimacy," he said, and even though she reached to turn his face toward her, he still refused to raise his eyes to meet with hers again.

Swallowing again, he pushed aside the thought of returning to her, closing his eyes a moment in the wash of fatigue that took a hold of him again. No. It had been a mistake to submit to that side of his hopes for a future with Teyla. It endangered him – endangered them both, and sighing softly, he stood only long enough to finish preparing for sleep, before he lay down and covered himself with a blanket. They were en route to one of his border worlds, and the other inhabited worlds in its vicinity, and once they arrived, Teyla, however she felt at that time, would begin to regret what she had done, he was certain of it. The realisation was a deep cut to his heart, and with another sad sigh, he closed his eyes, quickly allowing sleep to take him from his gathering sorrow.

**

At the edge of the woodland to the south of the settlement, Malcolm turned and looked back toward the meadow where the new Hive had grown rapidly in the last several planetary hours. He knew that as soon as it was finished the Queen would command its launch and they would be away from there, with all of the resources they had gathered, but scouting parties had returned with news of wreckage in the trees and in the valleys beyond and for no reason he could explain, he felt compelled to investigate. He did not dare to hope.

"All the patrols are in, Second," the Commander's voice from behind him startled him, and he cursed himself for his lack of vigilance. It could have cost him his life. "Why is it that you waste valuable time combing a debris field that has already been named a charnel house?"

Malcolm growled softly, aware that the Commander was attempting to taunt him. Slowly, he turned to face the other Wraith.

"Could it be that you are… searching for signs that your little… plaything has—?" the Commander purred sarcastically.

"You would do well not to attempt to anger me, Commander," Malcolm said, as mildly as he could muster.

The Commander drew himself up to his full height and snarled, "Are you threatening me?"

"Oh, no," Malcolm answered, his eyes flashing. "It is no mere threat."

"Then answer my question!" the Commander raised his voice, pushing a jarring mental slap against Malcolm's mind.

Malcolm pushed back, stimulating the pain receptors in the Commander's brain, just lightly… just enough that the other Wraith would remember that he was outmatched in this and many other ways.

Abandoning his attempt at mental domination, as Malcolm had expected he would, the Commander lashed out in the only other way left to him.

"Your little Human whore is dead!" he snarled, "Scattered atoms in the frigid wastes of space along with all the other useless, worthless—"

It was not simply the Commander's derision of his servant that had Malcolm act before he could halt his movements, nor was it the emotionally painful response of hearing Isla named as dead, rather it was these facts in combination with the knowledge of the Commander's singular lack of understanding of the symbiosis of the Hive, its Wraith and the worshippers that served both, that pushed Malcolm beyond the endurance of his patience. If it were to be now, then so be it.

Reaching behind him, for the hilt of the long blade sheathed at his back, Malcolm came on the Hive Commander in a single stride. His strong arms swung the blade forward, into an arc leading his motion toward the other Wraith. Not quite wild, yet it was a swing that would leave his balance in flux.

The Commander ducked backward, bending his spine so that the blade passed harmlessly through the air above his head, but slipped and was forced to step back and put his knee under him against the ground for support as he snatched at his own long blade.

Malcolm gave no quarter, turning the blade around his hand he prepared to stab downwards, to impale the hateful Wraith and be done. He could gather his head afterward to present to the Queen as proof of succession. The Commander's blade met the downward thrust, turned it aside and locked against the answering pressure Malcolm placed against the parry until the Commander was forced to push away.

It was all he needed. Turning the blade again in his hand, he thrust forward harshly, and fast, his blade moving down a diagonal path toward the Commander's exposed chest.

"Hold!"

=hold= =hold= =hold= =hold= =hold=

At the Queen's voice, and the touch of her mind in his, Malcolm froze, pulling the strike to a quivering halt mere inches from the Commander. The Commander's obedience was not so immediate. He struck out toward Malcolm's belly with his sword. He braced himself for the pain.

It did not come. The Queen's hand flashed forward and with an audible crack, connected with the Commander's chest, pushing him backward, taking the sword out of Malcolm's space. The Commander spilled to the ground as though he had been cut down.

Malcolm breathed out a long, slow breath and carefully lowered himself to one knee, planting the tip of his blade in the ground, in supplication of the Queen as she turned her gaze his way.

"There is much work to be done," she said aloud, and Malcolm saw the Hive's third in command stiffen at her back, "and here I find my two most trusted commanders brawling like common prey and for what?"

Malcolm remained silent, allowing the Commander his due in first answering the Queen.

"My Queen," the Commander stammered, not moving from where he lay on his back. "The Second wasted time in combing debris fields that had already been declared as void of life. I came to remind him of his duty and he—"

"Enough!" she snarled, and to the Commander, added, "You, attend me!"

She turned her head Malcolm's way then.

=if at such time…=

"There are duties that require your attention, Second," she said far more harshly than her mental touch suggested she intended. "See to your tasks, and leave the Commander to his own work."

"As you command," Malcolm said, lowering his head in a bow, even as he moved to rise, "My Queen."

**

"A what, Michael?" Teyla demanded quietly, and her heart contracted, almost in fear to know how he saw the passion they had just shared. "What is it that we have done?"

"…after such an intimacy," he said. At his words she reached out and firmly turned his face toward her. His eyes remained downcast and he swallowed hard.

"You name it an act of intimacy and yet—"

"Wraith do not—"

"You are not Wraith, Michael," she said softly.

"Neither am I fully Human," he argued, almost tremulously. "Hundreds of centuries, Teyla, of culture and conditioning, I cannot shake in a few short years, no matter how much we—"

A sudden bolt of jealousy panged within her at the thought of the others that must have shared this before her, in those thousands of years, the Queens, the Humans subjected to his will…His eyes snapped up then, met with her own.

"How will you ever," she whispered, "if you do not try?"

For many long moments he held her gaze, and through the bond she felt a quieting of the conflict that whirled within him as he sought to bridge the differences within. Then, at the same time a reassuring touch descended as a soft touch against the side of her cheek. His fingertips barely brushed her skin. She leaned into the touch. Her mind screamed at him to stay.

"Forgive me, Teyla," he said, and snatched the touch away from her skin. "I cannot stay."

She closed her eyes as he pulled away from her, biting back the words of protest, of supplication for him to change his mind. She would not give him that. She barely heard him leave, but fell back against the linen that still bore his scent as her eyes filled with tears of—

The sound that woke her was soft. It was barely more than a light footfall, but it came from the direction of the crib and in an instant she was awake, and moving to cover herself enough to be decent as she tried to put herself between the figure she saw in the half light as she opened her eyes, and her son.

"Get away from him," she snarled, and without realising what she had done, reached out mentally to push the intruder away.

A light gasp came in answer, followed by a soft, young female voice.

"Forgive me," she said. "I did not mean to waken you, nor to disturb The Child, but—"

"What do you want?" Teyla asked harshly, wishing she could see the woman better. At her unspoken command, the light level in the room increased.

The woman that stood at the foot of her bed was young, had perhaps seen a score of summers and a handful more. Her hair was long and dark, but was tied back to keep it from her face. Her skin, though pale, bore no trace of hybridisation – and this confused Teyla, since she had so obviously responded to Teyla's unwittingly given mental reprimand.

"He bid me wait in attendance on you," the woman answered, swallowing. "You were still sleeping, and I thought—"

"I need no servant," Teyla told the woman, the hammering of her heart in fear for her son barely abating.

"A companion then, a…" the woman faltered, before finishing, "…friend? Please, I—he…"

Teyla wavered on the edge of indecision. If this woman had indeed been instructed by Michael to attend to her care and she refused her, it would likely be the woman that suffered, and Teyla would not bring herself to be responsible for harm to another. She held up her hand to stop the other woman's worry.

"I am Teyla," she said, though she doubted such an introduction was necessary. "What is your name and where are you from?"

"My name is Midani," the woman said, her voice trembling as much as she was, visibly so. "I came from Harlesscan."

"I know it. My people traded often with the settlements on your world," Teyla told her. As she spoke, with the sheet wrapped around her, Teyla moved to check on Nethaiye. He wriggled slightly in place, awake and alert, looking up at her. Her heart melted and she reached out to gently caress his cheek. He grasped her hand, pulling it toward his mouth, and in her mind she felt the sudden rush of his needs. "He is hungry."

"There is food here," Midani told her, and as Teyla looked in her direction the woman gestured to the table. "For both of you… clothes too. If you wish to bathe and dress I could care for The Child and—"

"No!" Teyla snapped, regretting her tone as the woman shrank away.

"I will not harm him," she said almost desperately. "I have cared for him until you came. He is barely the turning of one of our lunar cycles younger than my own."

Teyla gasped, and stumbled back to sit on the corner of the bed, looking up at the woman as she moved closer, as though she intended to be a support.

"You have a child of your own? Here?" she asked.

"Yes," Midani said, "a daughter, she travels with me, and the one that is her father. Life for us does not simply stop because we have joined his Cause."

Teyla frowned, feeling a great weight settle on her as she asked, "Are all of your people h-hybrids?"

"From… my settlement, the men were given the treatment, yes," Midani answered. "Those of us bonded to the men folk were permitted to accompany our bondmates; the others were transported to other settlements and remain on Harlesscan."

"All of them?" Teyla repeated, her voice barely a whisper as she pictured the settlements of that world stripped of their people, the men transformed into Michael's creatures, and yet, by this woman's words it was not as she had pictured – not quite… "The women?"

Midani shook her head. "Rarely, few of us are given an injection that makes us able to hear his will, but… no woman has ever received the treatment."

"You?"

Midani nodded fearfully, and said, "I hear him. Yes."

"Midani, he—"

"We want for nothing and it keeps us safe from the Wraith," Midani stepped forward, twisting her skirt in her hands. "My daughter would not have survived if not for his help. Many others of us would not have survived the culling of the Wraith. Don't you see?"

"I'm building an army that will soon replace them as the dominant race in this galaxy," he said, speaking of the Wraith. Emotions warred within her at his words.

"An army of monsters," she said, remembering the creatures from the resettled Taranan's new home world, only imagining what he must have done since that time. It frightened her, but she refused to let it show.

"I'll admit," he said nodding, "my early attempts were a little… crude, but that's all changed now. I've refined the retrovirus to create the perfect balance. Ability well beyond any normal Human but without… the one weakness that will be the downfall of the Wraith…"

Her breathing quickened until she felt light headed, as though she would fall at any moment from her perch. Was it possible that these people were here through choice and not simply because they were prisoners turned into puppet creatures to do his bidding?

She gasped softly, as Midani's hand pressed against her shoulder, supportive and warm, and with a kindness that flowed from the touch that she sensed along the growing mental bond she shared with Michael, and she knew he watched this woman, the one he had chosen to care for her son. She could not help but glance Nethaiye's way.

"Please," Midani said softly, "let me help you. All will be well. You will see."

In spite of herself, and the frightened suspicions she still felt, she could not help but feel herself warming toward the woman.

**

"My Queen, I—"

"Do not speak!" the Queen rounded on the Commander as the door closed behind the two of them. "This is an outrage! How dare you spend your time quarrelling with the Second when there is a Hive to be rebuilt – worshippers to be directed – Wraith to be guided who look to their Commander to receive that guidance. What were you thinking?"

"But, My Queen—"

"Silence!"

=silence= =silence= =silence= =silence= =silence=

She pressed her will harshly into his narrow and weakening mind, and watched as he lowered himself to his knees; stalked closer and reached for him with her blade tipped fingers.

=how long did you believe I would allow this rivalry to go on at such a time?= =such a time= =such a time= =such a time=

"My Queen, you do not understand," she saw he risked glancing up, his eyes almost meeting hers. "The traitor was—"

"Traitor?" she roared, and released his chin, only to lash out, drawing four parallel cuts down across his face. "You call him traitor when all through the battle he fought to bring us to safety."

=but for him the Hive and all souls would have been lost= =lost= =lost= =lost= =lost= =it is him we should thank for our survival= =our survival= =our survival= =our survival=

"You favour the Second then?" he asked, gasping, she knew, against the pain she caused him.

"I favour no one," she snarled the untruth into the Commander's face. "I demand obedience, and loyalty to the Hive. Have you demonstrated that… Commander?"

"I have never failed you, my Queen, never betrayed you?" he stammered, drawing away from her. She felt his fear of her anger and drank it deep, drawing strength from it, revelling in her power over him.

"No?" she questioned.

The Human woman's cry became lost in his snarling; she was breathless as he pounded into her, still from behind, still with the rough abandon of his unsated frustration. The deck tipped suddenly and still he lavished his possession on her; laid his weight on her, sinking deeper still.

The Queen thrust the plundered memory so deeply into his mind that he gasped and fell away from her, to lie squirming on the floor of the hovel under her influence.

=where were you when my Hive fell around me?= =where were you?= =where were you?= =where?= =where?= =where?=

"My Queen, I—" he gasped, and she released him then, turning away to go stalking toward the makeshift throne they had erected for her.

"Last chance, Commander," she hissed as she took her seat. "Do not fail me again."

**

At his place, standing at the console, Michael stiffened, barely perceptible to any but himself as the Hive came screaming out of subspace into high orbit around a world set apart from the others in its system, not by physical distance, but by its sworn allegiances.

"Status?" he demanded.

"The system is clear. There are no Wraith Hives in the vicinity," Rissek's answer came back smoothly.

"Then it would appear that our timing is perfect," he answered. "Set a course for the system's third planet - ready main weapons."

"Main weapons are online, and ready for firing," another hybrid answered.

"Fire when in range," Michael instructed dispassionately, aware that there would be casualties at first. There always were, but this time it bothered him more than others. Shaking away the feelings, he concentrated on the approach. The timing of the assaults was always critical and it would not do for him to be distracted.

"Target acquired," Rissek announced, though Michael, in rapport with the Hive ship, already knew. He brought the Hive to a halt in a low geostationary orbit, as the hybrid at the tactical station began firing.

A soft growl escaped him. Soon he would have the numbers he needed to crew a second ship – a cruiser if not another Hive.

**

Teyla looked up, glancing toward the viewing portals as she felt the Hive slow to a stop, and the weapons engaged then fired. She heard them before she felt the changes. A frown of concern crossed her face, and gathering Nethaiye into her arms, she approached the viewing port to try and see more clearly.

The planet below them, swathed in the grey of cloud over the green and brown of its land masses, and the blue and green of its waters became alight with the yellow and orange of explosions. She could almost hear the screams from the people below.

"He is firing on the planet," she said, half to herself. Then turning to the woman who was fussing over ensuring the debris from the meal was tidied away. "Why?"

Midani looked at her, shifting somewhat uncomfortably.

"Tell me," she said quiet but urgently.

"I… do not know," the woman said, looking down.

"You are lying," Teyla said. "You wish for me to trust you, and yet you lie to me when first I ask something of you."

"It is not for me to comment on his methods," Midani said, looking up. "Or even to know if he treats all places the same."

Shifting Nethaiye to cradle him in one arm as she approached the other woman, she reached out and took her arm, drawing her to sit on the end of the bed. She sat beside her, watching as the woman once more set to wringing her hand in her skirts.

"Tell me, Midani," Teyla said gently, "When Michael came to your village, what did he do?"

Midani shook her head.

"We thought it was a culling," she said, her eyes drifting back in time. "The Darts came upon us in the middle of Even-meal. There was nowhere for us to run. Fifty of our people were gone in the blinking of an eye. We mourned them for the turning of three moons' cycles, and then they came back…

"Wraith!"

The young shepherd boy ran in from the fields in the gathering gloom of evening, when he should have been tending his dwindling flock. Since the farmers that were left had grown sick, the condition of the animals had weakened and many had to be euthanized. Few were good enough to eat. The village was hungry, and in danger of becoming empty of all life.

Midani gasped and pressed her hand against her swollen belly. If the Wraith came now, they would surely not spare her for the child she carried.

"Stay here," her bondmate said, pointing to her place beside the hearth. "If it is Wraith I will send word, and for the sake of our child you must head to the mountain caves."

"I won't go without you, Teldris," she argued.

"Yes, you will," he told her. "Your duty, and mine now, is to see that our child is safe, whatever we must do to ensure it."

The whine of Darts grew louder in the still of the evening and before she could argue further, Teldris was gone from the house, leaving her to obey him and gather her things in preparation.

The culling beams sounded out of the night, and for too long afterwards there was a strange quiet from outside. Midani eased her way to the door, to open it and from the doorway saw what had silenced the rest of the men folk of the village. There, standing before them all, were the ones that had been taken months since, only… there was something about them, in their stillness and the pallid quality of their skin which bore marks on their faces, as did the Wraith, and yet… they were not Wraith.

"A single Dart returned then, and with its beam, set down into our midst the one you call… M-michael," Midani said, having a great deal of trouble, Teyla saw, to say the name. "At his gesture, the ones that had returned began to move among us, coming to ones that had been family, and then, with no warning at all, the Dart circled and opened fire on the village. Four shots, I think, were fired and the home behind me… became nothing but rubble…"

She heard Teldris call her name, but was disoriented from the destruction behind her and stumbled forward, felt a hand close around her arm.

"Stand still!" The figure attached to the hand that still held her; that pulled her in closer, rang out. "I will not harm her."

"Let her go!" Teldris yelled.

"Once she has found her balance," The man that held her, no… not a man, she saw, as she turned her head up to look at him, but not a Wraith either, though he seemed somewhere between the two. "In her condition it would not do for her to fall. Had the attack truly been from the Wraith, your woman and your child would both be lost. I mean you no harm."

"What do you want with us?" Teldris demanded.

The one that held her tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "It is what I offer that should concern you, Teldris, and the rest of your people."

"My people are dying," Teldris spat, and took a step forward, toward the stranger that held her. Immediately all of their people that had returned drew weapons and pointed them at her bondmate.

"Please, don't hurt him," she begged and reached to press a touch against his arm. She was prevented. His wrist met with hers, pushing her hand aside.

-he will not be harmed-

The voice in her mind startled her and she whimpered.

"What did you do to her," Teldris bristled, but held his ground.

"I'm all right," she told him softly.

"The sickness your people suffer," the one holding her said, "I can help with that. In addition I can see to it that those remaining in neighbouring settlements are safe from the Wraith."

"No one can do that," Teldris accused softly, "Not even the Wraith themselves, can keep us from other Wraith."

"That's where you're wrong." He raised his voice then, addressing all of the villagers, and released her to return to her bondmate's side. "As you can see, I have returned your loved ones to you, unharmed. Bring me your sick, and I will help them. In return, I offer a haven for those among you that would join my Cause in bringing about the extermination of the Wraith."

"And that was what he did," Midani said, catching Teyla's hand. "You must believe, he kept his word. My best friend, Haydria, she was sick with a terrible fever, and could not catch her breath. Her bondmate was the first to bring her to him. He took her away, and some days later, she returned to us, fully healed and well. After that, one by one, the villagers of my settlement agreed to join him. The rest was as I have told you."

"Yet now he fires on settlements from orbit," Teyla said, and found herself trembling with anger. "What did these people do to deserve this?"

"I cannot know his mind, his intent, please…" Midani clutched her hand more tightly still.

"I can," Teyla said saddened through her anger.

…Michael, please stop…

She began to hand Nethaiye to Midani. "Watch my son; be sure that I will know… if any harm comes to him."

"I will not harm him," Midani told her plaintively. "I have cared for him as though he were my own."

Teyla nodded, and said, "I will return soon."

"Please do not anger him," Midani said, clearly afraid as she cradled Nethaiye in her arms. "He will know—"

Teyla just shook her head, freeing herself from the other woman as she got to her feet.

"I will return," she repeated, and headed for the door.

**

"Dispatch the Darts," Michael ordered, and then lifted his head as he felt her contact; heard her plea. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He had expected her objections, but not so soon, and not when she was not in full possession of the facts. That Midani would have told her of her own recruitment and that of her people, he had no doubt. He expected it; welcomed it even, but for Teyla to have assumed the worst of his actions disappointed him.

-show her to the bridge-

He sent the silent instruction to the hybrids stationed outside of Teyla's quarters. Perhaps if she saw and understood the greater picture, she would more readily accept his tactics.

It was not long before she arrived, marching into the control area of the bridge; her head high. He could not help that his breath caught in his chest at the sight of her in the soft leather skirts of the deepest black that swung around her ankles. They were cut in the Athosian fighting style, indeed had been made by those of her people that remained with him, as had the shirt, softer, a dark suede fabric, tooled with silver amid the black in swirling Athosian designs. She was truly beautiful and wore the aura of an avenging angel as she took the place that, on instinct, he vacated.

-Teyla-

Mentally he reached for her as she fit her hands into the controls, and closed her eyes, connecting with the Hive. He felt the ship shift around him, and a part of him soared in elation, and yet he could not allow her to undermine his authority with his hybrids. He closed his hand around her arm as she began to shut down systems one by one.

Savagely she snatched her arm out of his grasp.

"What is it you do here," she demanded.

"You have connected with the Hive and therefore have access to the data concerning this world," he said as mildly as his rising temper would allow. He took a breath and once more closed his hand around her arm. This time his grasp was unyielding. "The settlement being fired upon is loyal to the Wraith and has attacked neighbouring villages who do not share the same loyalty. This strike, Teyla, is in protection of our own."

"Our own?" she spat. "Then the others are your people?"

"Yes." Michael said, and his heart sank at the stress she put on the words she spoke.

"And what will you do with the worshippers, when you have them subdued."

He frowned at her as if in confusion, and before she could speak again, drew her quickly, practically marching her into an adjoining chamber, where he closed the door behind them.

**

"Do?"

Michael relaxed his hold on her arm, so Teyla snatched herself away from his grasp again, fixing him with a cold expression that matched her anger.

"Yes. What will you do with them once they have surrendered?" she demanded.

"They ally themselves with the Wraith, Teyla," he turned to her fully and spread his arms in appeal, as if the solution were obvious. "Even were they to surrender, they cannot be trusted. They—"

"—may be as they are because they had no other choice!" she implored him.

"Do you believe," he snapped, advancing on her, "that the Wraith would show mercy to any of my people, were they discovered?"

"That is not the point," she countered. "If you show no mercy to these people you are no better than the Wraith!"

"Mercy?" he questioned, the distaste clear in his voice.

"Yes," she stepped toward him, reaching out a hand. "If you were to show them compassion—"

He slapped her hand away, and in fear she stepped back as he advanced still further. How could she have believed she could ever hope to reach within him to find the humanity and bring it to the fore? What had she done?

Her eyes filled with tears as he snarled, "Compassion? In this galaxy that has shown me none? How can you expect that I would be willing to grant that which I have been denied?"

"Not… so, Michael," Her throat tightened in empathy of the pain coursing through him. She pressed a hand against his chest.

…please, Michael… …listen to me…

"No, Teyla," he growled, "I cannot, not this time, I—"

"Cannot or will not?" she asked. "Does my compassion mean nothing to you? Do I mean nothing to you?"

"I must protect the Cause," he answered, his voice harsh with the pain she felt her question brought him. "How can you not see that?"

He grasped her arms tightly, almost shaking her, and she felt his mind pushing at hers as he implored her to understand.

"You are hurting me," she told him, pushing against his restraining grasp.

"I had hoped you would—"

"And I would," she wound her fingers into the lapel of his coat, "but not like this. Not with this needless destruction."

"I have told you," he leaned down to her, fixing her with an earnest expression, "what I have done – what I do here – must be in order for our survival."

"These people," she argued. "If they could be turned away from the Wraith—"

"They would already have capitulated to my demands," he snarled. "There is nothing more that I can do for them. I must go and see that they are—"

"Let me come with you; talk to them," she asked. "If I cannot reason with them then—"

"No!" he roared at her, and shook her hard once, before letting go and pacing away and then spinning to face her. "It is too dangerous. I cannot allow—"

"Michael—"

"No," he advanced on her again, but this time she held her ground. "Any one of them could—"

"I will not stand idly by and allow you to—" her breath caught as he took hold of her again, "to slaughter these people when it is likely fear of reprisals that prevents them from making a choice. Allow them to make that choice, Michael. Show them that you can be compassionate where the Wraith cannot!"

He met her eyes, and she held his gaze, spiralling into him, into his mind to convince him of the strength, not only of her conviction, but of her belief… in the situation, and in him…

**

Beckett leaned closer to the microscope, to see again first hand the image that graced the screen of the computer attached to it. The configuration of cells, and the model of the DNA were irritatingly familiar. Straightening again, he pulled up his stool, sitting back to search his memory for any occasion he might have seen such a thing.

"How is it coming, Doctor?"

Beckett looked up as Michael stormed into the lab, the expression on his face almost as grim as the doctor's own.

"It's not," he said. "Even with the addition of a specifically programmed retrovirus to force transcription, when the cells divide beyond eight, the organism begins to produce a destructive enzyme that completely reverses the transcription process. I'm telling you, Michael, it won't work."

"What is the composition of this enzyme?" Michael frowned as he leaned in closer and Beckett knew he was checking his work.

"Predominantly the same as the Wraith enzyme," he said, bringing up the visual representation of the chemical composition. "That's probably why it reacts so badly with the Human cells."

"What of those within a Human host?" Michael asked coldly.

"Aye," he said, "They fair a little better, though not by much, and after the cellular breakdown begins within the organism it proceeds to attack the Human host as well. We've already lost two of the subjects to this."

"Try again," Michael said and handed him a box containing a number of vials in stasis. "And try also using the cells you harvested from the Wraith Queen we captured."

"Those cells were corrupted, Michael," he reminded him. "If they're already damaged I don't see what use they'll be to creating this perfect cl—"

"Do as I ask, Doctor," Michael snapped. "You already know the cost of your disobedience."

But Beckett wasn't listening. He had already set the contents of one of the small vials onto a slide to begin an examination of the cells Michael had provided for him this time. He gasped softly.

"These are…" he looked up at Michael, horrified, all manner of possibilities running through his mind. "This ovum is from a hybrid – a natural hybrid. Where did you get it?"

"Oh no!" Beckett said softly as he moved to bring the computer image to a greater magnification. "Dear God, please tell me I'm wrong."

Hurriedly he started pulling slides out of stasis, all of them Keller's, and calling up the results of blood work taken as far back as when she first came to Atlantis. Frantically he began comparing slide after slide, result after result, looking for the one piece of evidence he hoped not to find, and when, some minutes later, he found it, staring at him from the blood work taken shortly after his death – the death of the original Carson Beckett – he cupped his head in his hands, and breathed out long and slow.

Jennifer Keller possessed the Chimera Radical that he and Michael had identified as being necessary to allow transcription of Wraith RNA to begin in Human cells.

**

She hurried to keep up with Michael as he strode into the settlement where his men had corralled the survivors of the first wave of attacks. Buildings still smouldered around them, and women crouched by fallen men, tending their injuries and, seeing her, looked on with eyes filled with hope.

Abruptly, Michael came to a halt in the middle of the central space, obviously searching the assembled villagers for a single face. Teyla could feel the smouldering anger that he kept buried beneath a cold façade. Her breath quickened with the familiarity of the feeling; and the way it strengthened when his eyes found the man he sought, and sent his hybrids to pull him from the crowd.

"You know why we are here," Michael said aloud, his voice ringing clear across the occupied space.

"To destroy the homes and families we built," the man spat as the hybrids dragged him apart from his companions and to his knees in the space between the crowd, and Michael and Teyla who stood now, side by side, though, Teyla noted, Michael kept himself a distance from her. "If you think to beguile us with the woman, think again. Our masters know you for what you are - abomination!"

"It is the Wraith that beguile you," Teyla said softly, though her voice carried. "He offers you another way. A way to defeat the Wraith… remain safe and—"

"Spare me! He offers us nothing but an ultimatum," the man shook off the hybrids and came to his feet, turning his head Teyla's way. "Join his Cause, or—"

"Then answer this," Teyla interrupted, speaking not just to the headman of the village, but to all the assembled villagers. "When the Wraith next arrive – what will they demand of you?"

"They ask only that we give a handful of our people. Then they go and leave us in peace," one of the villagers called out.

"A handful – only a handful," Teyla repeated, stepping forward, and she felt Michael control his reflex to move with her. "Still, is it not true then that this leaves families without fathers and sons, children without their mothers?"

"What do you know of such things?" The headman spat petulantly, taking half a step towards Teyla. "And why ally yourself with this… this… thing that is neither fully Wraith nor Human when you once enjoyed the protection of the Lanteans? I know who you are!"

Teyla shook her head and held out her hand to him. She knew that by his words, even if the village acquiesced to Michael, this one had practically condemned himself. She could feel it in the anger that bristled at her back.

"Both of my parents were taken by the Wraith. I know what it is to live without both mother and father, and I would not wish it for any one of you," she looked around, meeting the eyes of as many villagers as she could. In some she saw hate, blind fervour and devotion to the words of their Wraith masters. These she doubted she could save, but in others she saw fear, subjugation and the tiniest spark of hope. She would have to choose her words carefully. "And yes… what he says is true. I used to be among those of Atlantis, but over time I came to realise that their ways were not always the best for meeting the needs of the people of Pegasus – people like you. So we have parted ways and I must choose my own path now."

Michael threw the transport ship into a desperate manoeuvre as the Darts from the Elder Queen's Hive closed in on them, firing on them and attempting to cut off their escape from the Hive. Teyla knew that they barely had minutes before damage to the Hive would cause it to explode, and if they were not far enough away they would be vaporised in the blast.

Without consulting either the hybrid or Michael, and hoping they were still within range Teyla keyed her headset to activate the transmitter.

"John, can you provide covering fire? We need your assistance," she said urgently. "We are aboard a transport ship, harried by several Darts. Repeat, can you provide covering fire? We need your assistance."

"Do you truly believe that will do any good?" the hybrid asked mockingly. "You would do better to assist in the piloting of this craft. The serum I gave him will not last indefinitely."

Even as he mocked her, she saw from the sensors that the Darts had peeled off and were fighting in another direction. She turned an I-told-you-so smile the hybrid's way and activating her mic again, and using words she had heard those of Atlantis use before, said, "Godspeed, John Sheppard. I will contact you when I am able."

"With that?" the headman spat.

Ignoring him, and guessing that those in whom she saw defiance against her persuasion were the leaders of this village, and those that benefited most from their allegiance with the Wraith, she said, "Similarly, each of you is free to choose your own path. You do not have to follow the dictates of those among you that are favoured in this agreement they have made."

Even had he not growled as he came at her, Teyla was ready for the headman to attack. Her foot rested against a piece of debris from Michael's bombardment of the village, and she kicked the long wooden pole up into her hands and caught the hilt of the blade he swung at her on the end of the makeshift staff and tore it from his grasp, following with a strike to the man's legs that sent him stumbling towards Michael.

It was over even before the hybrids could bring their weapons to bear and, as she came to rest in a state of readiness, her staff held poised to defend against any other attack that might have come, Teyla winced as she heard the sickening crack of bone. She tilted her head in time to see Michael release the body of the headman, whose neck he had broken in swift… retributive justice.

"No!" the cry came from her opposite side, and the ripple of movement caught in the edges of her peripheral vision as the woman, obviously the one bonded to the village headman, pushed through the crowd and began to race toward her man.

Teyla's heart wept for the woman in that moment, and she dropped the staff, to catch the woman in her arms; to keep her from acting against Michael in her moment of grief.

"You can do nothing for him now," she said as the woman struggled with her. "I am truly sorry for your loss, but—"

Pain blossomed in her side and lower back. She gasped, and belatedly she realised that the woman, too, held a weapon – a small bladed knife – with which she had made the painful slashing attack.

She caught the woman's wrist and twisted until she heard the blade thud to the ground.

"Stop!" she commanded the woman, holding her fast, still trying to protect her even after what she had done. "He is gone. He—"

"Murdered!" the woman threw the curse in Michael's direction, and breaking from Teyla's grasp, threw herself on her now dead husband.

Drawing her long coat more tightly around her, Teyla got to her feet, slowly, using all that she possessed to hide the injury from Michael's notice, twisting her empathy for the woman around into the anger she suddenly and strongly felt on behalf of those that held no status in the village.

"This," she said, pointing to the headwoman's display of grief, "this is something I know many of you know – when the Wraith take your men folk, your sons… your daughters, wives and mothers. It need not be. You have the chance to do more than just escape from… subjugation at the hands of the Wraith, but to fight back, to… break their domination of this galaxy, but you… you must make that choice!"

She saw one of Michael's hybrids come from the outskirts of the village and come to Michael and speak in hushed tones with him.

"Time's up!" he said as he raised his head from the conference and spoke in a clipped voice that bordered on anger. "A Wraith cruiser has just dropped out of hyperspace and is heading for this planet. We are leaving. You know the alternatives."

He held out his hand in Teyla's direction, a signal to her that she should come with them, but not a demand. She felt his touch in her mind and it was almost gentle, almost affectionate as though what she had tried to do, however unsuccessfully, had somehow strengthened the endearment he felt toward her. She began to move toward him.

"Wait!" a small voice called out among the top of the growing din.

Teyla paused at Michael's side and they both turned to face the speaker. A young woman, barely out of childhood stepped forward, holding the hands of two younger children, clearly her siblings. Behind her an older man reached for her, as though trying to stop her.

"Yes?" Michael prompted after a moment, surprising Teyla.

"If we agree to join you – if our fathers and brothers agree to fight with you – what of those of us that cannot fight; do not know how? Will you abandon us as our village leaders would do in their service to the Wraith?" She nodded toward where a small knot of villagers had somehow separated themselves from the others. In fact as Teyla watched it seemed to her that the flow of the crowd was somehow dividing the villagers. She held her breath, hardly daring to hope.

…Michael…

She reached out to brush a touch against his mind as he stood immobile, watching, as she was, the ebb and flow of the people before them.

"Any man that willingly submits himself to join The Cause may bring with him the family unit to which he belongs," Michael confirmed.

"And what of those of us that have no men folk, because they have already been given in sacrifice to the Wraith?" an older woman asked.

"Those of you that demonstrate loyalty will be similarly treated with equanimity and given a purpose," he answered.

For many long moments there was little but a quiet murmur among the almost Brownian flow among the people, then, just as Teyla thought the efforts had all been in vain, the father of the girl that had first spoken pushed past his daughter and looking toward the tangle of elders raised his head as if in proud defiance of them and spoke.

"My family," he said. "We will join you."

Michael nodded curtly and Teyla felt him issue unspoken instructions to one of his hybrid soldiers who then moved to the family, beginning to lead them away. Even as they did, another small family unit stepped forward, then another. Out from the tide of doubt among the people several emerged willing to embrace the chance that Michael offered, and though Teyla knew it came at a price, still, she realised, there was far more to Michael's organisation that she or any other knew.

"We must go."

She started as she felt Michael's hand close on her elbow and the press of his arm across her back as he reached to take the other, to lead her away in a protective fashion. She hoped his hand would not brush lower, to where she knew blood from her injury was beginning to soak through her coat. If he knew she was hurt, she feared he would exact retribution against these people and her efforts at mitigation would have been all for nothing.

"Are you satisfied?" his question startled her still more. "A handful of villagers willing to listen to your rhetoric?"

"If my reasoning," she told him as she hurried to match his rapid stride, "here today or any day saves even a single life then it is worth every effort I have given to make it so."

Michael nodded.

"Very well," he said to her and calling one of his hybrids to walk with them, instructed, "Of the remaining, separate the common villagers from their elders, and prepare the men to receive the treatment. Bring the women and children aboard the Hive and quarter them in the lower stations. See to it that they gather provision and their belongings quickly – we must leave before the Wraith cruiser is within range."

"The others?" the hybrid asked.

"Neutralise them," Michael instructed coldly, and though Teyla winced, she also knew he had no choice.

**

"What the hell do you mean, missing?" Sheppard asked incredulously as Warsh almost trotted to keep up with him.

"I mean missing, Colonel," Warsh said. "We've been searching the city since the infirmary reported he'd absconded, and he's nowhere!"

"The man's hurt – just recovering from major surgery, he can't have gone far," he snapped.

"This is Ronon we're talking about," Warsh said, turning a look Sheppard's way.

"I know that, Lewis, but," he said, "where would he have gone?"

"I don't know, Sir, but I'm telling you, we've searched the city and he's nowhere."

"All right," Sheppard stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair. "I want… I want all the teams that have gone off world in the last twenty-four hours to be contacted. Find out if any of them have had any contact with Ronon. Same with all teams still conducting searches of the mainland. He's sick. We've gotta find him."

Warsh nodded acceptance of the orders, and started to walk away.

"And have a medical team standing by with a Jumper pilot available to take them straight to Ronon when we find him."

"Yes, Sir," Warsh said.

"And keep me posted," he added, starting to move off himself, "I'll be in the infirmary – trying to figure out how the hell this happened."

He couldn't help but think that it wouldn't have happened on Beckett's watch.

**

Isla's run of luck held, and the injured Wraith sub-commander remained immobile as she searched the console and found the switch to release the hatch at the rear of the ship.

She hardly dared to breathe as she slipped her hand away from beneath his arm, moving slowly, forcing herself not to snatch her hand away. The imperative, somehow implanted in her mind demanded she survive; demanded she seek out her master – and she had no doubt that he survived – and return to him.

As soon as she could she moved away, creeping as slowly back toward the now open hatch as she had approached the console, and the injured sub-commander. Everything still screamed at her to remain, to see to his wounds; at least to apply a tourniquet to stop the worst of the bleeding, but she knew if she did that, the chances that he would waken became far greater, and her chance for survival would diminish.

Reaching the rear compartment again, she began searching among the wreckage for those things that might prove useful. Her hand closed around the hilt of a weapon. She shuddered. To carry one without the instructions of one's master was a grave error, but she was not naïve enough to think that she would not need to have it, and grabbing a carrying bag from one of the storage compartments still intact, she quickly stuffed the weapon inside, along with a knife, and some foul smelling liquid she suspected was a fuel oil of some kind. The one thing she could not find was anything to use as a blanket, some kind of cover against the cold. The Wraith had obviously not anticipated transporting any of their worshippers in this particular craft.

Sighing, she turned to pick up the beacon light she had noticed close by the doorway between the cargo area, and the cockpit just as the shadow fell over her as the sub-commander loomed before her, reaching for her.

Stifling a scream, she scuttled backwards and tripped on one of the dead drones, continuing to skitter along, dragging herself on already aching arms as fast as she could. Still the sub-commander kept pace, tossing aside the fallen drones as though they had been little more than pebbles.

A hand reached out, clamped around her windpipe to stop her moving. Intense pain from his talons as they bit into her skin burst over the top of her fear, and she scratched at his hand, ineffectual and increasingly more desperate as his feeding hand mantled and came down hard against her chest.

She felt the bite of the barbs at his maw as they burrowed through her already ripped clothes, and the sting of the enzyme, prickling against the punctures the barbs made. She kicked at him, struggling desperately, abandoning clawing at his wrist to search within the limits of her reach for a weapon.

As the first bite of the agony of feeding coursed through her, she screamed, redoubling her efforts for freedom. As the pain brought a grey haze at the edges of her vision, her fingertips connected with something solid, and she stretched desperately, reaching until she could close her fingers around the jagged metal shard, heedless of the fact that it cut into the palm of her hand and her fingers as she swung it toward the Wraith's head.

Blood splashed hot against her fingers, making her grasp on the weapon hard to maintain as she drove it home, but rending pain in the depths of her being ceased abruptly, and freed from it she was able to push hard against the Wraith's restraining grasp and free herself, to fumble in the bag that had fallen nearby until she could heft the Wraith blaster. She closed her eyes as she fired, then turned to run and did not look back until the sting of branches whipping against her face convinced her of sufficient distance from the downed Wraith craft.

**

Though it was early, only just full dark, Keller tossed and tangled in her bed. She'd given up on the day some time after eating her evening meal, feeling sick and dizzy; her limbs and joints aching with an ague that she could neither escape, not explain.

She moaned softly, and turned her sweat soaked head the other way against the pillow, gasping and whispering in the dark.

"Todd… we can't… what if…"

"Jennifer…" he growled softly, and grasping her hair, pulled back her head until he could nip at the base of her throat, drawing breathless cries from her. He tugged at the sheet she'd used to cover her, exposing her firm breasts to the touch of his eyes and hands, chuckling softly as, in spite of her own reticence, she reached for him.

He turned her then, trapping her body beneath his, his hand against her back even as she struggled being so pinned.

"Surrender, my Jennifer," he murmured, almost catlike at the back of her neck and her protests ended in a gasp of pleasure as his fingers found her centre, and plundered her dewy folds.

"Todd!" she cried out, arching her back as she came hard against the touch of his hand, her trembling almost shaking her apart.

His teeth nipped hard at the side of her neck and she felt the trail of her own blood as it made its lazy way over her collar bone, to splash against her breast. Still his fingers did not cease their lazy possession of her body, nor did his growls of pleasure as she pulsed around him, her ecstasy slow to leave… building again inside of her.

"Todd, please…"

"Tell me," he rumbled, "Tell me what you need."

"You…" she gasped.

"You have me," he growled softly.

"Inside me…"

His touch left her then, left her feeling bereft and empty… filled only with the ache of a painful longing as the muscles of her sex trembled for want of being filled.

"I want to feel you inside m—"

Her cry was shrill, but not of pain as he surged against her, suddenly filling her, undulating over her and inside of her, pushing at her thighs until she spread them still wider to press his body against her, taking him deeper still. She barely drew breath as he pounded hard against her, filling her with greater and greater pleasure with each successive abandonment and possession, until she could hold no more, and shattered… sobbing with the pleasure of it.

Her cry woke her as she arched her back as the climax took her. Her eyes flashed open and, momentarily, she was wild with terror, expecting at any moment Todd would roll her over once more to her back, as he had done, and plunder her sweetness with the heated lapping of breath and tongue, a moon to the tides of her pleasure until she gave up greater cries of need.

Aching with the remembrance of it, trembling as if caught in the moment, Keller threw back the soaked covers and struggling, dragged herself from the bed. The movement brought a rush of nausea and she gagged and swallowed hard.

She tasted blood and nausea became fear, and fear turned to panic as, moving, a stab of agony replaced the tingling pleasure as she tried to move her legs and found the movement of her hips so fluid and unfixed that they collapsed beneath her, spilling her to the floor of her quarters.

She lay there for a moment, sobbing, and swallowing down more blood, and gagged again. She coughed into her hand and it came away from her lips reddened with the evidence of her distress.

Unable to rise, she forced uncooperative limbs to haul her, crawling on all fours to the table on which she knew she'd laid her headset before she went to bed, practically pulling the table on top of her as she tried to reach it.

Still retching against the taste of blood, her hand trembling, she fit the radio into place, and keyed the mic, hardly able to speak for the sobs.

"Beckett… this… this is Keller… Help me… please, I—"

Her strength failed then and she fell forward to land hard against her shoulder. The last thing she remembered was the sound of the city wide comm. sounding the alarm, and Chuck's calm voice announcing:

"Medical emergency. Doctor Beckett, report to personnel quarters. Repeat: medical emergency, personnel quarters."