Cedarfiction.net - No Way Back

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Act 4

Proximity alarms wailed as the swarm of Darts converged on the Daedalus, firing weapons as they came. The smaller craft were so agile that very little of the battleship's returning fire was hitting its mark and the Darts' desired effect, Caldwell knew, were being served as he ordered, "Hard to port!" in order to avoid the blockade of Darts that were flying in formation.

"We're never going to get through at this rate!" Marks echoed his thoughts as he obeyed the order.

"My thoughts exactly, Major," Caldwell concurred. He keyed the comm. button on the arm of the command chair and ordered, "This is Caldwell, all fighter pilots report to your ships. You have a go for launch. Repeat, all three-oh-twos, you have a go!"

Deactivating the comm. Caldwell returned his attention to the HUD and the view screen beyond. He all but threw himself out of the chair to walk closer to the forward screen, watching as the flashes of weapons' fire exploding against their target Hive briefly lit the darkness of space as explosive decompressions gave fiery beasts a brief span of life.

"The Wraith?" Caldwell turned round to face Marks as he spoke, peering at the other man through the reverse side of the HUD. "I don't think so. There has to be another reason."

"Well then maybe the first salvo… I dunno, maybe it damaged their weapons control or something," Marks said.

"Or maybe Sheppard and the others are in there causing more trouble than they said they were going to," Caldwell said darkly. He knew Sheppard and even though the mission briefing had been to get in, find Michael and get him out with a minimum of engagement, he knew that the flighty Lieutenant Colonel wouldn't pass up the opportunity to hurt the Wraith if he got the opportunity.

"Three-oh-twos are away, Colonel," Marks interrupted his thoughts, and with a nod he returned to the command chair, throwing himself into it with the same resigned force as he had left it.

Caldwell sighed. One of these days Sheppard was going to start following orders… and that would be the day that they would all be in trouble.

Sheppard rolled to a jarring halt against the wall at the side of the junction, and instantly rolled away as the long blade came down hard, cutting into the wall of the Hive where he had been only seconds before.

With barely a moment to catch his breath, Sheppard lashed out with one of the two short combat knives he held, slashing across the forearm that held the sword that had almost cleaved him in two. The Wraith hissed and pulled away, giving Sheppard the time to climb to his feet.

He backed away, taking a moment to mop at the blood trickling from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, and spat to the side to rid his mouth of the coppery taste.

"Not so invincible after all," he gasped, trying to buy himself time, trying to find a way to get inside the defences of this all-too-controlled Wraith. If he could just get him to lose his focus, lose his temper maybe – make a mistake – then perhaps he stood a chance. Otherwise—

"Do you wish to talk, or fight, Human?" the Wraith he had named Malcolm hissed, coming at him again before he even had the chance to answer.

Blades clashed, both of Sheppard's crossed to deflect the heavy blow that Malcolm aimed his way. His arms screamed in protest, and as he deflected the blade to the side he had to duck the raking, clawed hand that swept across between them.

He turned, still half doubled over, following the direction he'd been leading the deflection, and as he started to come up, releasing Malcolm's long blade from where he had trapped it between his two knives, he threw his arms wide, leading with the sharp sides of the combat weapons. The action forced the Wraith back to avoid being sliced across the lower half of his chest.

For just a moment Sheppard thought that in doing so Malcolm gave a brief nod of respect for the move.

"You like that, huh?" he said, unable to help himself, though it was not through overconfidence in his abilities that he was bragging. "I'd like to say there's plenty more where that came from but, I'll be honest with you, I'd rather not have to fight at all… if it's all the same to you."

Without answering, Malcolm came on again, long blade sweeping first one way and then the other, blindingly fast. The sparks from the clash of metal on metal, as Sheppard barely managed to catch the Wraith's steel a glancing blow in deflection, bit into his neck and shoulders, before he slipped and missed the block. The tip of Malcolm's sword sliced across his shoulder, and Sheppard growled in pain.

"Your mission is doomed, Human," Malcolm told him, expertly turning the hilt of his sword over the back of his hand and back into a ready grasp, and Sheppard couldn't help but agree with the assessment in that moment.

"Don't suppose," he gasped, still breathing hard against the pain, "you'd consider giving me an out clause?"

The tall Wraith tilted his head for a moment before he said softly, "I will grant you a moment…" he began, once more turning the sword full circle in his hands, "…to make your peace with whatever gods you recognise."

"Concentrate fire forward of the mid-section," Rissek ordered the hybrid at the tactical station. "Drive them away from the bridge and forward Dart Bay."

The hybrid glanced at his console and the readings there. "Seventeen minutes and counting," he said calmly.

Rissek nodded. That would give him enough time to execute the steps he had planned in order to escape the Hive, so long as nothing had gone amiss in the meantime, and if it had, Rissek had no doubt that, as resourceful as The-one-that-led-them was, he would find another means of escape.

"On screen," Rissek demanded, and watched as the screen resolved to show the dog-fight that was in progress between the Earth battleship and their current position, and the progress that the battleship was making toward them.

"Standby aft starboard batteries," he said. "Fire on them as soon as they come within range. I do not want them interfering with this."

"Understood, Commander," the hybrid at tactical answered, and then a moment later added, "Commander, the Elder Hive has launched a wave of Darts, inbound on our position."

"Launch a counter attack!" Rissek ordered, returning to his position at the central console. "Keep them busy."

Rissek turned his attention to the images, side by side on the forward view screen, falling into unity with the ship to keep them in the best position possible to achieve the multiple goaled strategies he had ordered from his crew.

He knew that even a single mistake could blow the whole plan, and while the addition of the Earth battleship was not something he had expected, contingencies had been made for a battle in which multiple Hives would stand against them in their attack against the Elder Hive. He-that-led-them had been well aware that the Elder Queen was forming alliances among the Wraith, and it was entirely feasible that one or more of her subordinate Hives could have been in attendance on her. An additional independent foe was not so different.

Still, he could not help the warning shiver that ran along his spine as the Earth ship drew closer.

The deck rocked again as a second barrage of fire from the Hive and her Darts exploded against Daedalus' protective shields.

"Aye, Sir," the gunner answered, beginning to make the necessary adjustments to the targeting of the forward batteries.

"Very good," Caldwell acknowledged. "Any sign of Sheppard and the others? Communications?"

"Negative, Sir. Comm. chatter is from flight only," the communications officer answered.

Caldwell sighed, and under his breath said, "Come on, Sheppard, you've gotta know what's going on."

"The second Hive's firing on the target Hive," Marks' voice rang out, business-like across the bridge and the Daedalus rocked again with the impact of Wraith weapons' fire.

"Sir," the female officer at the reserve tactical station to the rear of the bridge spoke up suddenly. "Sensors are detecting an anomalous power reading aboard the second Hive."

"Marks?" Caldwell turned his head the way of his second, waiting for Marks to switch his readout.

"I think we've seen something like this before," Marks said, sending his display to the HUD.

Caldwell frowned deeply as he realised what he was looking at. "How long before they achieve optimum power?"

"Based on previous telemetry," Marks said, and Caldwell could almost hear his mind whirling through the calculation. "I'd say they have less than eighteen minutes, give or take."

"Set a countdown," Caldwell ordered, "When it gets within ten minutes we're breaking radio silence. If it is what I think it is, we have to get Sheppard and his team out of there."

As if in protest of his plan, as the deck rocked again, the fizz of a minor explosion sounded in the far corner of the bridge. Even before Caldwell could ask the question Marks answered.

For some reason, turning on the light on the top of the borrowed P90 made Teyla feel more secure as she inched her way along the corridor, cautiously brushing the edges of the Hive mind to try and find her way. She was not normally afraid of the dark.

She steadied herself as the deck rocked beneath her feet, her hand against the wall. Footfalls, booted but not heavy enough to be Wraith, were getting closer, and she pushed away from the wall to bring both hands to the weapon she carried.

She had no real desire to fire the weapon, and would have preferred to have brought weapons of her own – her Bantu sticks perhaps – but John had insisted on the 'added punch,' as he called it, of the P90s. It seemed to her that he had forgotten the many beatings she had given to him at the end of her Bantus.

Settling herself over her weapon, she spun to the side, turning the bend in the corridor with the action. Her light reflected from the nearby figure, as she had suspected, not a Wraith. She halted, her finger partly tightened on the trigger.

"Do not shoot!" he said, a plea. His voice was strong, but it was a plea none the less.

It wasn't this that stopped her, however, but the familiar features that marked him as one of Michael's hybrids. Even so she demanded softly, "Give me a reason!"

"Help me find my way to greater trouble?" she suggested, not without a little sarcasm.

"I desire to escape this place as much as I suspect is your goal," he answered, "Two may watch one another's backs."

The sound of an explosion close by reminded her of the growing peril. She could feel it in the undercurrent of the Hive too – not quite fear, but a certain unrest and an increase in activity.

Teyla's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she straightened up a little, though her grip on the weapon did not lessen.

The hybrid shrugged. "Those that serve The Cause," he said, correcting himself.

"And how is that served by mounting an attack against this Hive?" She straightened as she asked the question, a shiver of hope running along her spine. She tilted her head, and fixed the hybrid with a harshly demanding look.

"I could demand the same of you?" he answered obstinately. "In what way is the agenda of the Atlanteans served by infiltrating this Hive."

She suddenly stepped closer, pressing the barrel of the P90 under his chin, pinning him to the wall with the weapon and her body weight combined. Something in her had snapped, the fragile string of hope holding her sanity as a shield against her building fear crumbled. She had to know.

"Every moment we stand, striving with one another, like enemy generals brings us one step closer to the destruction of us all," he said, "Is that what you want? Is that why you are here?"

She made a leap in the dark, desperation rising in her small frame and lending her strength. If Michael's people were here, if this hybrid was here, speaking of destruction, implying that time was at a premium, it lent only credence to the fact that Michael was a prisoner aboard this Hive. She added pressure to the confining touch of the P90 against the hybrid's chin.

"Put down the gun, Teyla," he told her softly, and she was not at all surprised by his use of her name.

The Wraith's hand connected with his shoulder and Sheppard left the floor once more, spinning in the air as he sailed toward the bulkhead. He tensed, anticipating the impact; awaiting the pain.

There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt and he was bleeding from the many slices and cuts that Malcolm had inflicted during the course of their fight, but the Wraith had long since abandoned his sword in favour of fighting bare handed against Sheppard and his two short blades and Sheppard knew then that Malcolm was playing with him, much as a cat might play with a mouse before making the kill.

This was a fight he wasn't going to win – not unless he got lucky… real lucky, he thought as the impact with the bulkhead drove out what air he had left in his already aching lungs and he slid to the floor. Malcolm came at him almost as soon as he landed.

As the Wraith drew near, Sheppard lashed out weakly with the blade he still somehow held. He caught a glancing blow against the side of Malcolm's hand.

"Finish this, you sorry son-of-a-bitch," Sheppard gasped, forcing his legs under him and sliding his back up the wall in support. He raised both blades between them, his hands trembling.

"Oh, but it has been so long since I have pitted myself against one of your kind," Malcolm purred, tilting his head, he spread his arms, palms open toward Sheppard, and blood from the slide in the side of his hand fell like some dark stream toward the deck, already slick with Sheppard's own.

"Screw you!" Sheppard spat, sliding to the side, trying to put some distance between him and the Wraith, but Malcolm moved with him, sidestepping, not changing the attitude of invitation he had made by opening his arms, as if offering some kind of deadly embrace.

"Interesting," Malcolm hissed. "Your anger drives you toward vulgarity, a demonstration, perhaps, of your status among males of your kind. Are you… an alpha among your own… John. Sheppard? Come then – let us finish this."

The fact that Malcolm was trying to psychoanalyse him pushed Sheppard beyond the limits. Adrenaline rushed through his body and the pain receded as his anger lent him strength. Growling, he pushed himself away from the wall with no warning, and just rushed at the Wraith. His blade led the way, and he turned it in his hand as he drew closer, raking downwards with all the force he could muster and leaving the knife embedded in the left side of Malcolm's chest, up beside where his collar bone would be – if Wraith even had collar bones, he thought grimly – as the force of the impact between the two of them spun the Wraith.

"So be it, Human!" he snarled on the end of the roar, and came again at Sheppard, clawed fingers outstretched, and Sheppard refused to give in to the thought that these may well be the last moments of his life.

McKay couldn't help but think how strange it was that fear sharpened his mind and hard on the heels of that thought, he wondered what one called a genius whose mental capacity exceeded that of the ordinary genius by at least three times the norm. He had so far unerringly led them from their precarious position in the outer corridors of the Hive ship along less travelled and safer routes toward the forward Dart Bay where they had left the Jumper.

Their journey hadn't been without the odd fire fight and once or twice they'd been embroiled in close quarters combat with small pockets of Wraith drones, but Ronon and Halling – he had been surprised by the tall Athosian – had quickly taken care of the attacking Wraith.

He was about to comment on his revelations about his own mental agility under pressure when he all but collided with Halling and was forced to look up from the tablet.

They'd reached another junction in the corridors, one that led three ways from their current position, and beyond the junction was a misty darkness that was not so easy to penetrate.

"One second," he said quietly, lowering his gaze to the tablet, and then looked up again, an expression of incredulity on his face, and a laugh teetering on the edge of his near hysteria as he proclaimed, "I did it! We just go straight ahead. The corridor opens out into the Dart Bay."

"Well done, Rodney," Beckett murmured quietly from behind Ronon on the other side of the corridor.

"Well," he said with the beginnings of a modest tone in his voice, at least – modest for him – "Anyone could have—actually, scratch that, anyone couldn't have, and the fact that I did just goes to show how much of a genius I am even before my synapses are pushed beyond the limit by adrenalin and the other effects of fear and—"

"Come on!" Ronon's hand closed around his bicep and he was pulled from the relative safety of sheltering against the wall. Something in the look on the Satedan's face made him slip the computer tablet back into its sheath on his back and close his trembling hands around the P90 that hung from its strap in front of him.

"Okay," he squeaked, then cleared his throat to repeat himself in a more manly fashion. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Stay behind me," Ronon ordered, and then moved off, leading the way along the corridor McKay had indicated they should take.

McKay followed, growing more and more nervous with each step as it occurred to him that it had been easy, thus far, for them to avoid the Wraith, but now, with the attack against the Hive, the Dart Bay was likely to be one of the busiest places.

There was little warning, just the shadow that fell across him as the shape of a Wraith drone seemed to appear from nowhere right in front of him. Reflex had him squeeze the trigger of the P90. At least the sound of gunfire masked his scream, and the force of the rounds hitting the Wraith, at such close quarters, drove it backwards. The high pitched trill of Ronon's blaster finished the process McKay had begun, making a smoking mess of the space where the drone's head had been.

"You all right?" Ronon asked, turning to McKay, but the scientist's answer was to raise the P90 again, aiming past Ronon into the Dart Bay, in the same moment that Halling cried out a warning.

"We are discovered!" Halling called out, starting to move toward the drones heading their way.

Much to McKay's relief, Ronon turned back, and the trilling of his blaster began to fill the air, filling the small spaces left by the deafening, bone shaking rattle of his P90 as McKay pulled the trigger once more.

They were outnumbered, but their saving grace was that the drones had been heading for the Darts, pilots to join the battle being raged out in vacuum outside the Hive, so they were unarmed. It didn't halt their advance though, and even with the automatic weapons' fire coming from both McKay and Beckett, and Ronon's blaster, Halling was soon fighting for his life against the stronger Wraith.

"McKay! Go!" Ronon's voice cut above the cacophony of the battle. "We can't get pinned here – go!"

"Leave Halling to me," Ronon growled, already moving the Athosian's way, not stopping the onslaught of his blaster as he moved. "Beckett, go!"

Beckett started to move, and McKay moved with him, both men firing their weapons to keep the path between them and the transporter clear. Neither was truly adept with the weapons, but necessity had given both more than a passing familiarity with their use – enough to be effective in achieving their goal.

"Thank God!" McKay gasped as his back hit the far wall of the alcove that was the transporter. Just a few moments more and they'd be up to the relative safety of the Jumper.

McKay turned a brief smile his friend's way, but as he turned back, the smile faded as cold, hard dread settled into the pit of his stomach, and before he could call a warning, another group of Wraith emerged into the Dart Bay, and these were no drones, but sub-commanders and they were armed.

Everything slowed down; as if time itself were dilating to show, step by sordid step, the moment that everything went wrong. The leading sub-commander raised his weapon, and high sound warbled, distorted, through the air. The flash at the muzzle of the Wraith blaster he held was like the opening of some exotic, but deadly flower, spitting its venom into the almost safety of space that Ronon and Halling had made for themselves.

Ronon stumbled, as if pushed from behind by the one remaining drone that Halling still fought. The stumble became a fall as the big man toppled forward, a spray of red erupting in the space beside and before him.

"Ronon!" McKay called out, at the last minute remembering the weapon in his hands as Ronon's own skittered to a halt at his feet. He raised the P90, and moving forward, fired the weapon, crying out as if crazed as time resumed its rapid downhill charge.

The last drone down, and the other Wraith pinned down by his frantic covering fire, McKay saw Halling duck down to Ronon's side and in the next minute heard his frantic call.

McKay advanced another step, praying that his ammunition would hold; that the gun wouldn't jam… anything to keep them safe… let them get Ronon back to his feet again. They were behind him now and he couldn't see what was going on, not and keep a reasonable aim on the Wraith coming against them.

"Rodney, come on!" Beckett's voice, brittle with worry barely reached him, and he glanced around to see that he and Halling had all but dragged the too-immobile Satedan into the transporter alcove. He began to back toward them, almost tripping over Ronon's outstretched legs as he reached them, and still firing the weapon with one hand, keyed the controls with the other, the grim scene, of which he was a part, dissolving momentarily around him.

Arms aching from holding back yet another well aimed blow, Sheppard ducked beneath Malcolm's reach, letting his own fist fly, ineffectually against the Wraith's leather clad belly.

The hiss of static just before his radio activated distracted him and he moved right into the powerful backhander just as Malcolm lashed out his way. He staggered back, but managed to keep to his feet. Blood trickled from the gash on his forehead where the Wraith's finger guards had torn his skin. He shook his head to try and clear his vision.

"Sheppard, Teyla, this is Beckett, Ronon's down, I need to get him to the better medical facilities. Where the hell are you?"

"Carson, I am on my way." Teyla's voice sounded wary, guarded, even through the radio. Something in the tone of it made Sheppard think she was in trouble of some kind. Coupled with Beckett's call this was not the news he wanted to hear. He managed to get a hand up to his own earpiece to key the mic.

"Beckett, this is Sheppard," he circled as Malcolm stepped toward him, mantled in an attitude of threat. The Wraith would not allow this conversation to continue for long. "If I'm not with you in ten, take off without me. Teyla, rendezvous with the others as soon as you can, that's an—"

He was forced to break off as he reached the limit of the time Malcolm was prepared to allow him and he had to concentrate all of his efforts on avoiding the all-too-sharp claws and finger armour both.

"John?" Teyla's voice came back at him, and when he did not answer she repeated more formally, "Colonel Sheppard, please respond."

It twisted his gut in an agony of remembrance, and in spite of himself he keyed his mic again and said, in tired resignation, "Just like old times…"

"No!" Sheppard told her. "You have your orders. Rendezvous with Beckett and the others. Sheppard out!"

Sheppard's hand snapped upward, his wrist jarred with the impact of deflecting the attack that Malcolm aimed his way, and stepped inside the Wraith's reach to give himself a moment's respite.

Malcolm tried to back up, so Sheppard grabbed at the collar of his coat, and using energy reserves from deep inside launched himself from the ground, his head connecting hard against the Wraith's.

The move stunned him, and he dropped away, stumbling backwards and coming to one knee, but Malcolm had clearly not anticipated such a bold attack, and momentarily surprised, did not press the advantage Sheppard's daring had delivered into his hands.

The Wraith tilted his head first one way, and then the other, hissing softly in the back of his throat, and Sheppard felt momentarily stifled by the anger that swelled to fill the junction in which they fought.

"You should have allowed her to come," he said, the menace dripping from every syllable he spoke.

"And that's precisely," Sheppard answered as his head slowly started to clear, "why I didn't."

"Orders?" the hybrid purred the word he'd heard come from the earpiece in Teyla's ear.

"Colonel Sheppard and the others came here because I asked it of them," Teyla snapped, putting extra pressure on the barrel of the gun beneath his chin. "Do not try to turn me against them. You have not the capability!"

"I don't doubt it," the hybrid answered. "Though I do question why this colonel thinks that doing so gives him the right to give you orders."

"I was once a member of his team," Teyla answered, and he couldn't help but think she sounded defensive. "He is my friend."

He would never again understand what it was that alerted him to the danger, but in the second before the first of the explosions began to ripple through the Hive toward them, a shiver of danger passed down his spine.

In that moment he ceased to acquiesce to Teyla's restraining pressure, and lashed out at the barrel of the P90 she pressed beneath his chin, far more quickly than she could possibly react to squeeze the trigger.

Teyla gasped, and to her credit, recovered enough from the surprise to attempt to fight back. He threw himself against her, pumping his legs to move them both across the room from where they had been standing; wrapping himself around her and pushing her down in the lee of the wall as the flames from the explosion rolled over them.

As soon as he felt the heat dissipate, he yelled above the roaring of the air as it sped past them, escaping into the cold and dark of space, "We have to make it to the other side of the safe bulkheads… as soon as the Hive registers the breach it'll seal the area."

"I have experienced this," Teyla yelled back, pushing at him to try and free herself from his restraining grasp.

"Stay low," he instructed, leaning up enough that she could wriggle from beneath him, before he propelled her in the correct direction. "This way…"

Even as she started to move, propelled along by the hybrid, who still seemed to be shielding her from the worst of the sudden storm inside the corridor, Teyla felt it becoming more and more difficult to breathe.

He had saved her life. She had no doubt of that, and that alone filled her mind with questions, most of all, why? Her stomach turned over in answer, and she felt against the palms of her hands, not the cold, semi-organic hardness of the Hive floor, but the almost warm, soft leather that she had held against her in the empty cell – it seemed like days ago.

"Keep moving. We haven't long!" the hybrid called out. She hadn't even realised she'd stopped.

Her mind had slowed. Thoughts were becoming difficult and she fought the arm that wrapped around her, dizzy at the sensation of movement until suddenly she was spinning… over and over… a face blurring over her; under her; over her again. She closed her eyes… A sound – rocks falling rumbled in her mind; deafening… suffocating as their heavy weight settled over her…

Sheppard landed hard, fighting the darkness that gathered at the edges of his vision, gasping for breath and all but choking on the blood in his mouth and nose. The deck bucked beneath him, throwing him against the wall again and a second time as the sound of explosions rumbled through the Hive.

Malcolm started toward him, not even waiting this time, as all the others, for Sheppard to at least try and pull himself to some semblance of upright. Sheppard closed his eyes and stopped even trying… resigned. It came to everyone in the end, and with the pain he was in… the unlikelihood of his ever finding a way off the Hive… now might be a good time.

The shrill desperate quality of the sound that split the air grabbed at his gut and twisted hard. He moaned, barely recognising the sound for what it was. He knew only that the blow he expected, or the fire of being fed upon, did not come.

Malcolm froze as the Queen's alarm sounded; half way to the Lantean, but this was a summons he could not ignore. Growling softly in frustration he mentally summoned drones to his location to take care of the intruder; deliver him to a holding cell, and turning on his heel all but sprinted toward the Queen's chambers.

As he moved he reached out to the Hive, to the living mind at its core, pushing his way past poorly erected shields the one that commanded had erected to keep the Hive's innermost secrets for his own, to be shared only by the Queen.

The demand was soft, but a demand none the less, and it was answered without hesitations. He did not receive the answers he had hoped to hear. Critical systems were failing and the Hive was fighting to switch key power nodes to keep weapons and shields online.

Reaching the Queen's Chamber he found her pacing as if in anguish or great pain. He knew she would be both. He addressed her frightened, cowering handmaidens, pushing his will on them most firmly.

Without waiting to see if they would obey, Malcolm crossed the chamber to intercept the Queen. Now was not the time for protocol, and when she growled at him and snatched her arm away as his fingers closed around her elbow, he hissed at her until she acquiesced.

Slowly, Teyla became aware of being dragged more upright and of something hard at her back. She snatched in deep lungfuls of air until she ached from it.

There were hands around her arms and she tried to shake them off as her memory slowly cleared and she remembered the explosion, the decompression and the vague sensation of being pulled to safety.

"Where are we?" she demanded, opening her eyes and pushed harder still at the hybrid until he moved away, and then she told him, still somewhat breathlessly, "I am all right."

"We have not moved far," he said. "Just until we reached the space the Hive shut off from the damaged areas."

His question did not begin to answer her own and she shook her head, saying, "I held you at gunpoint, threatened you – you had no reason to believe I would allow you to live."

He shrugged a little. "I had no reason to believe you would not either. You wish to find a way to reach one of the Dart Bays. I could lead you there. We could be allies."

"And I have no reason to trust that you would do that, and not lead me into further difficulties," she said, climbing to her feet.

"Aside from the fact that I just saved your life," he said and he got to his feet, stepping forward again.

"Then we are at a stalemate," he said, and she could hear the almost regret; the almost sarcasm in his voice.

"Not quite," she answered, tilting her head as her hand found its way to the handgun concealed in the holster taped to the small of her back. She pulled back the slider and aimed the gun unwaveringly in the hybrid's direction as she finished calmly, "Now, help me to find a way back to Colonel Sheppard."

The hybrid raised an eyebrow, looking almost disappointed, and then he turned and began to lead the way along the corridor. With one last glance around, Teyla followed.

"Colonel Caldwell," the female officer at the auxiliary communications station to the rear of the bridge called over to him. He didn't like the tone in her voice as she spoke his name and turned quickly in the chair to encourage her to give him the news. "I'm picking up comm. chatter on our frequencies coming from the Hive. It's not good, Sir."

"Patch me in," Caldwell snapped, and when she nodded, keyed the switch on the arm of the chair. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Daedalus, do you copy?"

The silence that came in answer ran a river of ice over him as a million possibilities, all of them bad, flowed through his mind.

"Colonel Sheppard," he repeated, "Anyone on the away team, this is Daedalus. Please respond."

For a moment there was static, and then the anxious voice of Doctor Beckett sounded across the bridge.

"Ronon is down. We managed to get him to the Jumper and are waiting on Colonel Sheppard and Teyla before we can leave. I haven't been able to raise Sheppard but Teyla reports she's en route."

"To be honest, the faster I can get Ronon to medical facilities, the happier I'll be." Beckett said. "I don't suppose there's any way you could bring the Daedalus within beaming distance?"

"Doctor, we're having a hard time getting anywhere right now," Caldwell answered, "An enemy Hive came out of hyperspace a little while ago, and they're determined to keep us from interfering."

"I'll get as close as I can, Doctor, but you may have to meet us half way," Caldwell hated to let the team down like this, but Daedalus was increasingly more pinned down by the incoming waves of Darts. He glanced at Marks. "Do what you can to take us in, Major."

"Aye, Sir." Marks answered, his hands beginning to move rapidly over the console.

"Doctor Beckett, we're doing what we can out here," Caldwell said, "Keep trying to raise Sheppard, and good luck."

"Thank you, Colonel. I think we're going to need it." Beckett's tone was grim. "Beckett out."

Caldwell sighed, and turned his attention back to the HUD, demanding a status report from all hands. It wasn't going to be easy, but he'd be damned if he was going to let a few Wraith Darts stand between his ship, and helping the people he'd been assigned to protect.

Even so, he couldn't help getting a bad feeling, one of those feelings that told you the safest and most sensible thing to do would be to exercise the better part of valour and effect an immediate retreat.

"All right, Marks," he said, metaphorically thumbing his nose at the feelings. "Take us in."

Sheppard knew he couldn't keep lying there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that though the Wraith that he'd dubbed Malcolm had gone, called away by the alarm still sounding its shrill warble through the Hive, there would be other Wraith, and they would probably be coming to finish what Malcolm had started.

Hard on the heels of that thought, he became aware of a voice sounding shrill and insistent in his ear, and groaning in added pain as he moved, he raised his hand to key his mic, and rolled to his hands and knees, slowly, trying to find his feet.

"Thank God!" McKay's voice pounded into his ear. "We've been trying to reach you for ages."

"What's going on, Rodney?" he forced his mouth to form the words. "I thought I told you to get the hell out of here."

"You did, but Beckett managed to get Ronon stabilised, and we're still waiting on Teyla, so… anyway, we thought we should let you know, you have more time."

"Damn it, McKay," he said, and finally managed to get his feet under him, though he stumbled around as though he'd had several too many glasses of cheap beer. "When will you learn to follow orders?"

"When you do!" McKay answered. "Just… get your ass back here, Sheppard. We're not leaving without you…or Teyla. She said she was on her way, but there's still no sign."

"I think I have an idea," Sheppard said darkly. "Just… prep the Jumper for flight. I'll be right with you."

"Will do." McKay answered, the stress more than clear in his voice. "McKay out."

Sheppard started to take his still stumbling, but strengthening steps, toward the corridor he believed led in the right direction. As he did he keyed his mic again.

Teyla tilted her head with a sigh as the call came in on her radio. She gave consideration to not answering, but knew that he would not give up until she had and she knew from his tone the words that would come. Eventually she keyed the mic.

"Teyla, listen to me." His voice was urgent and earnest, and she heard both physical and emotional pain in the tone. It was small comfort to her that it hurt for him to say what he did. "I know what you're doing, but your Intel was wrong. He's not here and you need to get back to the Jumper."

"I was on my way," she told him, "but my route was compromised by another explosion, and by necessity to help you."

"I told you: forget about me. Get to the Jumper – whatever way you have to go. Help Ronon."

"That was uncalled for, John," she said, and though she was angry that he would say such a thing, she could muster only sadness.

Sheppard heard the sorrow in her voice and knew he had crossed yet another line and would find it hard to regain what was lost by it. As much as it hurt him to continue in the same vein, sometimes – especially, it seemed, with Teyla – it had to come down to cold, hard-to-stomach facts in order to be kind.

"Uncalled for or not," he said, "the truth of the matter is that no matter what else is going on, Ronon needs us now more than anything else."

"I understand that, John," she said, and this time he heard the beginning of angry resentment. "And I am trying – trying to do my best to serve every demand placed upon me."

"That you place on yourself," he corrected her. "Teyla, we don't have time for this."

"On that I will agree," she said. "I will meet with you in the Jumper. Teyla out."

He closed his mouth, backing away from the retort he had been about to make, and sighing, concentrated his own efforts on reaching the Dart Bay.

"He is wrong," the hybrid said softly from up ahead and by way of explanation added, "your friend – to say he is not here."

Hearing the words, everything in Teyla drained toward her boots and the niggling, tense silence in her head was filled with the sound of her own pulse suddenly hammering like some sculptor against her emotions. As the hybrid glanced at her, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pressed hard with her weapon against his chest.

"Where is he?" she demanded, stepping up until she could stare right into his pale eyes.

"The worshippers that brought my food spoke of a prisoner that was being held in a laboratory suite not far from the Queen's chambers," he said. "He is that prisoner, Teyla. When the attack began I heard his command to execute his plan to get him off this Hive."

"You do not imagine that he would not have designed a way to escape captivity at the hands of the Wraith," the hybrid admonished softly. "But he will need our help."

Teyla started to answer, trying to make sense of the many feelings that were beating on her from every side. Ronon was hurt, and as hostile as he'd been to her since she returned to ask for their help, she could not see him suffer, or worse. She loved him as she would have loved a brother, and he, along with her friends, needed her to join them before they would leave the Hive. If she did not, she would endanger them all. On the other hand, Michael was her only link to her son and whatever else – whatever other feelings surfaced when she considered the Wraith-Human hybrid – she could not ignore that, would not abandon her child.

"Do you know the way?" she asked the hybrid, stepping back and putting up the gun.

Teyla nodded, uncomfortable, but knowing she had no choice but to trust the hybrid to lead her to the object of her search; of the entire dangerous mission, a danger only underlined as the Hive's deck rocked once more beneath her feet, unbalancing her and throwing her against the bulkhead even as the hybrid reached out to try and steady her.

As they began to move, all the while fighting the unsteady Hive that shook and writhed as if in pain, she keyed the button on her earpiece.

"Doctor Beckett, this is Teyla," she said urgently, turning with the hybrid to take a corridor that ran tangentially to the one they had been taking. "I will not make it to you in time. You must leave without me. Take Ronon to safety."

It was Sheppard's voice that came back, growling, but full of frustrated concern.

Sheppard stumbled against the side of the open rear hatch as he hurried up the ramp and into the back of the Jumper. He waved Halling away as the Athosian came to help him.

"I am sorry, John," Teyla's voice sounded in his ear. In her voice he could hear a mixture of sadness and resolve, but also fear. "There is no other way."

"Find a way," he insisted. "I won't leave you here, Teyla. Not chasing shadows."

"I will find an alternate means of escaping the Hive," she told him, sounding almost desperate. "Please, go. Save Ronon."

He would have argued, but as he opened his mouth to answer her; to put to her all the reasons he wasn't about to turn tail and run when he could get them all safely off the Hive if only she would do as she was told and find a way to reach them, when Beckett's quiet but urgent call cut across the rear Jumper compartment.

"I need some help here, please," he said, "He's crashing! Colonel Sheppard, she's right. She's out of time. We have to go now, or we're going to lose him."

Sheppard turned to watch in horror as Beckett flipped the switch on the portable defibrillator and the whine of the small machine began to build.

"You're not," Beckett snapped, his voice choppy as he started compressions while the machine charged. "Teyla made that choice herself."

Still Sheppard did not move. He watched, in horrified fascination, Beckett's efforts to keep Ronon alive.

The sharp, desperate shout from the doctor broke the fragile spell that held him, caught between two paths equally as evil in his own mind. He pushed away from the open ramp, slapping the button to close the rear door as he did, throwing himself into the decision the situation had forced on him as he hurried to the cockpit.

"Go and help Beckett," he ordered, slapping McKay on the shoulder, the sounds from around him blurring into one long scream of anguish.

The sound of the defibrillator firing. Ronon's body falling again to the Jumper's bench.

"Colonel Caldwell, this is Sheppard," Sheppard said, falsely and fatally calm. "We're on our way out. Requesting covering fire."

"Negative, Sheppard," Caldwell's voice sounded strained. "We're still not within range. You're gonna need to come out cloaked or these Wraith bastards are going to take you out."

"Understood," he said and coaxed the Jumper into flight, his mind still registering the desperate struggle from the rear compartment.

"Stand clear," Beckett called, and the defibrillator fired again. "Damn it, don't do this, Ronon. Bag him, Rodney."

"Doctor Beckett," Halling's voice sounded calm when set against the others. "Is there anything I can do?"

Sheppard tuned out the sounds, concentrating on flying them safely out of the Hive's Dart Bay. He'd worry about getting them safely to the Daedalus once they were out, but right now, that seemed like it was going to be Ronon's only hope.

Rissek looked over as the hybrid at the weapons' console called his name, still listening for the command that he knew would come. Waiting…

He nodded falling into union with the Hive ship to switch their position sufficiently that the weapon, once fired, would achieve maximum efficiency.

"Still attempting to penetrate our defences," the hybrid at tactical reported softly. "The Darts are holding."

Rissek nodded, feeling comforted that, so far, everything was going according to the carefully constructed strategy.

Sheppard had to bank hard to port as they came out of the Hive, in order to avoid a formation of Wraith Darts that were flying a strafing run against the Elder Hive.

"Hang on!" he called back to the others as he righted the Jumper and tried to plot a course through the chaos between the two Hives toward where the HUD told him the Daedalus was pinned amid a swarm of Darts.

It soon became clear, however, that without using the Jumper's weapons to make a path through the battlefield it was going to be near to impossible to get within beaming distance.

"Beckett," he called through to the rear of the Jumper. "How's it going back there?"

"I've got him stabilised," Beckett said, "though I don't know for how long. John, I really need to get him into surgery."

"Sheppard, this is Daedalus," Caldwell's voice on the comm. cut him off. "What's your status?"

"Not good, Colonel," Sheppard said honestly. "The way things are now, unless I open fire on these sons-of-bitches, we're as pinned as you are."

"You drop that cloak you're as good as dead, Sheppard, and you know it," Caldwell said. "Hang tight. One way or another, we're coming to get you."

"Major Marks," Caldwell deactivated the comm. and partly turned the chair toward his con. officer, "Take us in. All batteries, fire at will."

"Sir, if any of those Darts get through our defensive barrage," Marks warned, "it's going to seriously deplete our shields."

"I'm aware of that," Caldwell answered grimly, "but under the circumstances I don't see what choice we have."

He turned the chair front and centre once more, his mouth set in a hard line, watching as the flash of weapons' fire repeated over and over, as they began to move, effectively 'playing chicken' with the Wraith Darts, though he already knew that when it came to fulfilling their mission, the Wraith would think little about giving up their lives in suicide runs against the Daedalus. It was not a thought that filled him with confidence.

McKay tried hard not to look at his hands as he made his way forward to lean against the back of Sheppard's chair as the more experienced pilot eased his way gingerly forward.

He stared past Sheppard, out at the maelstrom of weaving ships, and flashing weapons' fire and the countless explosions that briefly lit the blackness of space until depleting what little oxygen had been released on the demise of the ships they had once been.

"Who do you think they are?" McKay couldn't help asking the question, and made a grab for the console to steady himself as Sheppard banked the Jumper again to avoid a Dart that was spinning out of control. Jumper One rocked again a moment later as the minor shockwave from the explosion, as the Dart collided with the Hive behind them, flicked them with its scorpion tail. Sheppard pulled up in time to avoid running right into the path of an energy blast.

"I don't know. You know what the Wraith are like, it could be anyone," Sheppard said, and McKay watched him for a moment as the other man's eyes creased with concentration. "I do know that much more like that and it won't matter whether I drop the cloak or not, we're still going to end up as a thin film of atoms against someone's windshield."

"That's not going to happen," McKay said, feeling panic start to gnaw at his belly again. "You're good, right?"

"I'm good," Sheppard confirmed, without breaking concentration for a moment, "but this…? This is insane!"

Looking through Jumper One's front screen again, McKay couldn't help but agree, amid the explosions and the movement and the sheer confusion around them, that Sheppard was right.

As they reached the doorway, the hybrid caught Teyla's arm, holding her back and urging caution.

"Proceed with care," he told her as she glared at him. "He was not well treated by any aboard this Hive."

"If what you say is true then it is even more important that we bring aid to him quickly," she said, and with one final glance back along the corridor she slipped through the doorway and into the laboratory, reaching out with her senses as she did.

The Wraith at the workbench turned and flew at her, and she caught the flash of the dim light reflecting of the metal off the blade he thrust in her direction. She raised the handgun she held, defensively, to catch the blade, before using all her strength to push her attacker away.

He stumbled backward a step, giving her time to take aim, but not enough. His empty hand lashed out, raking against her wrist and sending the weapon flying to the dark corner of the lab, before he came at her again, swinging his knife in a wild arc between them and she was forced to leap back to avoid being cut.

He hissed at her, an angry sound, and as she crouched, a moment later, reaching for the knife from the sheath in her boot the hiss became almost a scream of fury.

The light caught the coppery strands in her rich brown hair; reflected off the smooth coffee tones of her skin. Even the balance, the poise in her movements as she crouched, no doubt to retrieve a weapon of some kind, was perfect.

Deep, visceral pain erupted through everything he was and a primal scream of fury left his aching chest. How dare they do this to him – create some kind of doppelganger and send it against him; to break him – the ultimate, final injury they could inflict.

He gathered the rage, revelled in it, bathed in the insanity of its seductive might and held for barely a breath before he launched himself at the impostor, giving no quarter, refusing to allow himself to see what they wanted him to see.

…He snarled in denial of the memory, and lashed out, catching the tip of the blade against the sleeve of the shirt she wore. She hissed softly and punched forward with her empty hand against the inside of the arm that held the knife. He barely felt it against the burning of his anger. Instead he rained blows against the creature until, in blocking, she was forced to give ground, and he followed, blocking the strikes that she made against him in turn.

Teyla was tiring. She wasn't sure how much longer she could meet the punishing blows the angered Wraith aimed her way. He had her on the defensive, and he was too close to her for her to be able to reverse that. Not without a sacrifice and for Michael's sake she could not afford to risk injury or worse. She needed to wait, to bide her time until she could find an opening that would afford her an advantage over this Wraith and rid herself of the threat he posed. Only then could she search the laboratory; free the one that needed her aid.

She did not even have the luxury of looking around to see if she could find him. This one was so fast that if she took her eye off the fight, of the dangerous advance of his blade for even a second, it would prove the death of her.

She dropped back another step, and knew that she would soon run out of space in which to retreat.

She ducked aside as the blade came toward her cheek, ducking under the outstretched arm, and spinning to deliver a desperate punch to the Wraith's side. He howled in pain, but far from retreating, grabbed her hair in his free hand. She had made a mistake, and knew, in that moment, that it would be a fatal one.

"No!" she growled. She couldn't let it end this way. Not now, when she was so close. She turned the knife in her hand, ready to lash out, ready to bury the blade in the Wraith's belly and gut him like a grounded fish.

He pulled back her head, and in the same moment that the cold of his blade came to rest against her exposed throat, he pushed her back, hard, against the bulkhead wall…

"Stop!" The hybrid's voice came from the doorway in horrified urgency as she pulled back her hand. "Teyla, no!"

The sound of his hybrid calling out her name cut through the blinding rage that held him in its grasp, and hesitating, he forced his eyes to meet hers; made himself see and open his aching mind along those broken pathways.

Could it be possible? Had the scientist lied, merely for the sake of some cruel sport; some restitution against past insults he'd felt had been served to him?

Her eyes widened and he felt her stiffen in his grasp as he fell into the deep brown of her eyes, that already were warming with horrified compassion for his plight. He could feel the edges of it; the beginnings of its touch around the tattered edges of his psyche.

"Michael?" she gasped, and her voice was filled with the pain he could find no way to express.

He released his grasp on the knife he held at her throat as though it were poison to him and heard it clatter, harmless now, to the floor. Then he let go the tight hold he had on her hair and, suddenly trembling, he was forced to brace himself against the growing weakness that crept insidiously through his limbs, against the wall of the laboratory.

She caught him by the elbows as his strength began to fail, even as he tried to brace himself against the wall behind her.

"What have they done to you?" she gasped softly, sinking down with him as he came to his knees.

Dismayed, she ran her eyes over his altered, injured form, from his short cropped, bone white hair, over his face, fully reverted now, the butterfly shape around his eyes swollen and bruised as if from many beatings. His lips were thin and bloodless, over his pointed teeth, and were parted in pain as he tried to catch his breath.

She could not stop herself from taking in the sight of the all of him. Her eyes passed over the blackened, hardened patch of Iratus-like skin on the side of his neck, over the filthy blood stained shirt to the twisted, painful looking swelling of his hands and fingers.

Tears for him welled in her eyes, and releasing his elbow as he swayed, dangerously close to falling, she caught his side briefly, and he hissed with added pain. She pulled her hand away again, wet with his blood.

"Nothing… that cannot…" he gasped softly, moving to support himself against her shoulder, his grasp tightening. "…be undone."

"Tell me what you need," she said, and glancing at the hybrid she craved. "Help me!"

"We must leave this place," Michael said as the hybrid came to join them. "I have the… strength to stand, but not to fight." He almost smiled then, a bitter-sweet smile as he looked again into her eyes and added, "Not any more."

"If we move swiftly, we may be able to avoid many of the Wraith," the hybrid said, moving to support Michael as Teyla began to help him to rise. From within a folded seam of his leather coat, the hybrid took a miniature syringe. Teyla caught his wrist as he moved to administer the contents to Michael.

"It will lend him strength in order to reach the means of our escape," the hybrid told her.

"It's all right," Michael added, and she knew he had seen the suspicion in her eyes. "I don't have a death wish quite yet."

She hesitated for a moment, and then nodding, left Michael to the hybrid while she retrieved her fallen sidearm, and went to the doorway to check outside.

"The corridor is clear for as far as I can see," she informed them as she returned.

"There isn't much time," Michael said, grimacing as the hybrid finished fastening a makeshift bandage around his wound, and as Teyla tilted her head in query, Michael explained, "The injury is deep."

She met his eyes for the briefest of moments, before he nodded, and began to lead the way from the laboratory.

Malcolm banked the scout ship at breakneck speeds thought the ongoing battle, rolling to avoid an incoming salvo from an enemy Dart and returning fire, flying straight through the blossoming fire and debris of the destroyed craft as he made his way back to the Hive.

That he had successfully carried the Queen to safety was small comfort. There was one that remained aboard the Hive that his honour demanded he find.

He rolled again, pulling up sharply to avoid a collision, and saw the enemy Hive full on, and for the first time noticed the spire-like attachment to the forward section of the hull, and the slight glow surrounding it as the energy began to gather to a single point at the head of the spire.

Recognition hit with the force of dread so great he barely remembered to breathe and he reached out with all the urgency he could muster to find the mind of the Hive Commander.

{Commander, you must listen to me} {listen to me} {listen to me} {listen to me} {the Hive is in danger} {danger} {danger} {danger} {you must lower the shields} {lower the shields} {lower the shields}

"Colonel Sh—pard, this… Teyla," the sudden, desperate sounding communication was broken and filled with static. "If you can… … I… … the Dart… I will… … aboard… … craft."

"I'm on it," McKay answered with a frown. "Though there's no reason we should be picking her up loud and—"

McKay broke off, and Sheppard exchanged a horrified glance with the scientist. He realised that the scientist had come to the same conclusion as he had.

"You have got to be kidding me," he said, his voice picking up speed as the sentence progressed. "McKay, open a channel to that Hive. Teyla, this is Sheppard. You need to get the hell out of there. You need to get out now!"

"Todd, this is Sheppard," he said urgently, barely pausing for breath. "If you can hear me, stand down! I repeat, stand down. I have people on that Hive!"

Teyla's voice sounded again, so broken as to be unintelligible, even with McKay's obvious efforts to clear up the signal.

Sheppard wasn't listening to McKay's protests. A member of his team was in danger, and in his book, no one gets left behind.

Michael snatched up the Wraith blaster from the hands of the fallen drone and turned quickly to give Teyla covering fire to reach their position. As soon as she reached him he took her by the arms, turning her into the lee of the scout ship while the hybrid covered the both of them.

"Come with me," he said urgently. "You know as well as I do, Colonel Sheppard will not make it back aboard this Hive."

"Then he, too, will meet his end," Michael said finally. He let go of her then, turning to lean heavily against the scout ship as he joined his hybrid in returning fire against the drones. "Live or die, Teyla. Time to choose."

"Shields at thirty-seven percent," Marks called out. "Sir, we can't take much more of this!"

Caldwell flinched as another console behind him erupted in sparks and the activating fire suppression system echoed loudly around the bridge.

"Stay on course, Major," Caldwell ordered, "And someone find out why Sheppard's not answering our hails."

"Sir," the tactical officer called to attract his attention. "The enemy Hive has recalled its Darts. They're breaking off. Look!"

"Colonel, I just lost mid-range sensors," Marks said, just as several trilling alarms began to sound, all but drowning out his voice. "Communications are down, and—"

He didn't need to finish his sentence, as the HUD suddenly winked out of existence.

"Oh… My God!" he murmured, and got out of the command chair to go and look through the bridge view screen. Then, speaking more loudly as he watched the beginning flash of energy erupt from the front of the enemy Hive, moving with a wavelike undulation toward the target Hive, he said, "You were right, Marks. We've seen this before. Find some way to get our fighters out of there. Major Marks, drop the shields and get us into beaming range of the Jumper. Beam them directly to sick bay. I don't care how. Just do it!"

Malcolm growled as the Hive Commander's answer reached him. He threw his scout ship into a spin, firing in redirected, frustrated anger, at the retreating enemy Darts, before banking and breaking hard to avoid the nearby craft that cut across his trajectory and all but forced his ship against the leading edge of the energy wave that was advancing toward the Hive.

Desperately he broadcast his understanding of the danger to the Hive itself, but hissed sharply when he felt the Commander actively blocking his sending.

"Sheppard, pull up," McKay yelled as the subspace ripple passed directly in front of the speeding Jumper as the colonel tried to get them back into the Dart Bay. He didn't need functioning sensors to be able to see it. "Pull up!"

He was slammed back into his seat as the Jumper's inertial dampeners strained to equalise the forces involved in the sudden manoeuvre and was then released to all but fall against the console as Sheppard brought the Jumper to a complete stop.

"John, can… …" Teyla's broken voice crackled through the speakers, "…fire. … need… assistance."

Even as he sent another warning he knew the Commander would not listen. That one's arrogance would be his undoing, and that of the Hive itself. Accelerating to impossible speeds, Malcolm headed directly for the Hive's forward Bay, trying to outpace the wave from the enemy Hive, knowing that it was a lost and hopeless cause. As the wave overtook his ship, and flared against the Hive's shields, he was forced to pull up sharply, turn in a rolling loop; abandon his run.

Sheppard watched, horror-struck, as the Hive's shields flared brightly as the wave struck; watched as the energy at first appeared to fade, remaining only in several dazzling spots against the dark hull, a constellation of disaster unfolding before his eyes.

The first of the explosions started seconds later, a brief flash, like a signal flare, and then nothing, until the next, and then the next; dominoes toppling to continue the deadly chain.

"Sheppard!" He heard McKay's warning, but couldn't act on it. He was frozen. Locked in the terrible knowledge of what was coming – his eyes fixed with failing hope against the exit of the Dart Bay.

"Sir, we should be within range, I'm picking up their subspace signals, barely, but I can't get a lock!" Marks called out, and his voice held a desperate edge.

"Take us in closer, route all available power to whatever systems you need to get them out of there." Caldwell got up from his seat, pacing toward the view screen, watching the remnants of the dog fights continue between defending and fleeing Darts… and the blossoming, increasing explosions that began to ripple over the hull of the Elder Hive.

The Hive Commander frowned, pulling his hands away from the command interface and peered at the tactical screen. There was no reason for the overloads that were surfacing throughout almost every power-rich system aboard the Hive, or for the failure of the sensors that, only moments ago, showed no enemy craft within range, and with the shield showing eighty-five percent across all generator nodes, there was no reason for the ongoing damage to the Hive. Nothing made sense!

Understanding came slowly along with the memory of the warning the Hive Second had given.

He growled, pushing aside the sub-commander that stood at the nearby console to pull up readings from internal sensors to confirm his suspicions.

"Shut down main power!" he snarled as he spun away, heading for the exit of the bridge. "Isolate all systems and purge all remaining command subroutines!"

As his steps quickened, as he all but threw himself into a transporter in order to reach his ship in the Dart Bay, he silently ordered all remaining Darts into an all-out attack against the enemy Hive.

"Damn it, Sheppard, we have to move!" McKay's hands started flying over the console, abandoning the cloak in favour of being able to use the weapons to blast an escape route away from the Elder Hive. "The Hive's going critical. If we get caught in the blast, we—"

"No!" Sheppard yelled, as McKay tried to wrest control of the Jumper from his native ATA gene. It was as much in denial of what was happening as to prevent McKay from piloting the Jumper away. "Teyla, this is Sheppard. Please respond."

A bright, yellow tipped inferno erupted beside them, inside of him. Filling him with agony, pushing him beyond the limits of anything he could endure. He practically punched the console as he abandoned what little mental control he still possessed and grabbed the manual sticks, banding the craft and accelerating to maximum.

From the rear compartment the fizzling crack of exploding crystal blowing out the panel became a deafening cascade of sound, and then… everything dissolved into the whiteness of nothing.

Caldwell raised his hand to shield his eyes from the brightness of the central explosion, and the deadly radiating blast that incinerated the fighting and fleeing Wraith craft and one lone Jumper.

"Do we have them?" he yelled at Marks, whose hands flew over his controls, fighting to keep the bucking deck of the Daedalus under control as all around him, ship's systems began to overload as power conduits failed, sending explosions spilling through the ship.

"Do we have them!" Caldwell repeated turning to face Marks who looked on him with an expression of helpless, regretful uncertainty.

He tried to fill his mind with the sound of his feet pounding on the deck plating in place of the absent beat that should have been a part of him as he raced through the corridors.

The view screen was filled with white and orange and red, and the bridge with the sound of Caldwell's worried, almost anguished cries that turned to urgent commands has the man set eyes on Sheppard as he finally made the bridge.

Sheppard reached out toward the grim scene, turning to keep the sight of hell within his gaze for as long as he could, filling his bleeding heart with its cauterising burn. His fingers settled against the cool surface of the screen, empty, ineffectual… useless.

Act 5

Spiralling out of control, spinning toward the planet's atmosphere, Malcolm embraced the pain flowing through him, welcomed it as the reflected rosy brightness faded into black and all awareness of the Hive and everything on it snapped into a sudden silent absence.

Trembling… hissing in agony he fought for the control to slow his ship; achieve a safe velocity for re-entry into the atmosphere so that he could join the survivors… assist the Queen in rebuilding for the future.

Desolate, breathing in snatches he managed to commit the only act possible; the only act necessary and demanded of a Wraith in such a position as he.

{Mmmy Queen} {my Queen} {my Queen} {my Queen} {I am coming. do not despair} {despair} {despair} {despair}

Marks looked around the now silent bridge as he coaxed the Daedalus on her limping journey back toward Atlantis. They barely made it out of the blast radius, and only by the Grace of God maintained hyperspace capability, but the mood was grim and the damage to Daedalus would take months to repair and something told him they wouldn't have the luxury of months.

The enemy Hive had made the jump to hyperspace even before the explosion had boiled away to nothing, and shortly after, Caldwell had forced Sheppard to see reason; to let the comm. officer give up the fruitless attempt to raise Teyla, when all that came back was static.

Marks sighed, and closed his eyes. If that was the price – if that was the burden of command – then he'd happily stay a major for the rest of his life.

Sheppard watched as Beckett closed his eyes, took a shuddering breath and opened them again, obviously fighting to keep his emotions under control. He was grieving. They all were, but he suspected that the doctor blamed himself for what had happened. That the gentle man probably thought that if he hadn't acquiesced to military pressures and created the retrovirus in the first place then none of this would have happened.

Sheppard had already visited that particular recrimination, among many others, in the last forty-eight hours and found himself more than a little wanting in respect of the monumental fuckup they'd made.

His red rimmed eyes met those of the doctor. Sheppard ignored his own discomfort as he stood, tattered and bruised, but immaculately dressed in full military dress uniform, trying to send what comfort he could Beckett's way. He knew it was little enough. Another failure.

Beside Sheppard stood the neatly trimmed figure of the base commander whose black suit and tie stood stark against the crisp white of his shirt. The civil and the military, side by side now, finding an uneasy peace in this death, but still they warred, ethically and professionally within the environs of Atlantis, the Pegasus Galaxy, and her people.

Sheppard blamed himself for this; for the price that Teyla had paid for all of them; to show all of them the madness in it.

Tearing his eyes away from those of his friends, Sheppard began to move toward the podium that had been erected in front of the Stargate, but not before he saw McKay reach out to close his hand on Beckett's shoulder.

Standing at the podium, turning to face them all again he fought the urge to bolt, filling his mind with the thought that – even though he'd failed to save her when she'd needed him most – and for once he wasn't thinking of the events of the last couple of days, but long before, when he'd first realised the way she felt about everything; about Michael – he could at least do this for her now.

"Two days," Sheppard said. "Forty-eight hours… two thousand, eight hundred, eighty minutes," his voice cracked then, and he saw Carson open his eyes again, to look at him across the woven pallet on which Teyla's possessions, including the little hand carved crib, had been reverently placed, waiting for the time when – in lieu of her body – they would be carried through the Gate to the settlement of her people, to lie in state, before the pyre would take them all; reduce them to ash and dust that was all that remained of the woman herself, floating endlessly in the vast cold of space.

Sheppard's eyes filled with tears as he thought on all they had lost… on all he had lost. He cleared his throat and continued, "One hundred, seventy-two thousand, eight hundred seconds… since we lost Teyla… and I've lived… every single one of them in a darkness… deeper for knowing the absence of her gentle presence in this galaxy… There's nothing I can say that will bring her back, and nothing I can do that will make sense of the loss I know we all feel. She was… our guiding star, our wisdom… and I didn't see it before it was too late."

"I don't think any of us did, John," Carson said, breaking protocol and stepping forward to interrupt the words he spoke for her, and Sheppard moved aside a step to give the doctor space to join him at the podium. He was grateful to Beckett. He couldn't do this alone.

"Teyla was a rare soul," Beckett continued as he reached Sheppard's side. "She had a way of seeing through to the heart of the matter even when we… all of us… were hard pressed to even figure out what the matter really was in the first place. She wasn't afraid to tell you if she thought you were wrong… or when she thought you were right. I'll miss that very much."

Sheppard took a deep breath as Beckett fell to silence, picking up again where he'd stopped, strengthened and able to go on.

"She was a good friend to all of us; a leader to her people, and to me… the one I never realised; never reached for; never had the courage to set aside duty to be just… John for long enough. I'll miss her… and if, Teyla, wherever you are, in whatever… embrace of the Ancestors you now find rest, I promise you… I won't stop; I won't rest until there's peace and safety in the Pegasus Galaxy for your son – for all the children, and all people of the many worlds… an end to the conflict that you, yourself, sought to end."

"Teyla's memory will go on, John Sheppard," Halling said, with a slight bow, as if in acceptance of his promise. "And peace will be an enduring legacy, when it comes."

Beckett watched as the Athosian moved to stand at his place at the front of the litter, and Sheppard moved to the opposite side. After a moment McKay took his place behind Halling, and Beckett moved, suddenly bone weary to take his own place behind Sheppard. Then, in a silence that seemed fitting, appropriate, the four men lifted the litter, and walked slowly toward the active 'Gate.

"Find peace, Teyla," he whispered as he stepped up to the event horizon. "Four years is penance aplenty. You've suffered long enough… find peace now…"

And with a breath, and closing his eyes to send his wishes out into whatever powers might hear and grant his plea for her among the stars of the Pegasus Galaxy, Carson stepped into the wormhole, letting the cooling liquid rush of it surround him and bring him, for just a moment, that which he craved for Teyla.

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