Melissa Scott - The Inheritors

"If you were compromised, McKay," John said, as if he were a slow student. "Are you sure they didn't make you take it?"

"Of course they didn't make me take it," Rodney said. "I took it because I don't trust the United States military with genocide-in-a-box."

"We work for the United States military," John said.

"You work for the United States military," Rodney said. "I work for the IOA. Has anyone asked them what we ought to do with the device?"

"Does that sound like a remotely good idea to you?" John demanded.

"All right, no," Rodney admitted. "I don't trust them with this. I don't trust us with this. I'm not sure I'd trust anybody with this." He drew himself up to his full height. "I think it ought to be destroyed."

"Which is what we are currently planning to do," Woolsey said.

Rodney blinked at him. "We are?"

"O'Neill decided that last night," John said. "Carter and I went to get the device to destroy it, only, hey, it's gone. As you can imagine, Todd and Alabaster are pretty pissed off with us, or at least that's what they tell us. So if you're not brainwashed, where's the goddamn weapon?"

Rodney hesitated. He hated to lose the security of his private retreat. Of course, there were other unused tower rooms, but he'd always liked the view there. "I could go get it," he said.

"Not a chance," John said. His hand rested pointedly on his stunner.

"What, like stunning me is going to make me tell you where it is? Which I'm about to do," he said, to cut off any further accusations. "North pier, tower 11, the west side of the top floor. The password is 23181401012218. It's on a box under the desk."

John tapped his radio. "Carter, this is Sheppard," he said. "McKay says he moved it to keep it safe." He sounded extremely dubious, but repeated the details Rodney had given him. "She's going to go see if it's there."

"I should go up there too," Rodney said. "This is a delicate piece of machinery we barely know anything about, and no offense to Colonel Carter, but—"

"She'll be fine," John said. "And you're not going anywhere."

"You've got to be kidding," Rodney said indignantly. "Queen Death's fleet is on its way. Every second I spend in here is time I'm wasting not preparing the city for a major Wraith attack."

Woolsey cleared his throat. "Under the circumstances, Dr. McKay, you'll understand why I think it's better if you don't help."

"So, what, you're just going to keep me in here?"

"Just sit tight, McKay," John said. "As soon as this is over—"

"Once this is over, what? I mean, assuming that we're not all eaten by the Wraith. Is there any way that I can ever actually prove that I haven't been compromised? Because I can't even begin to do my job if you don't trust me. I need to be back on regular duty, and I need full access to the computer system back."

"Which is exactly what you'd be saying if you had been compromised," Woolsey said.

"And exactly what I'd be saying if I hadn't been compromised, so that doesn't tell you anything. It's like the man who always lies and the one who always tells the truth."

John frowned. "What are you talking about, McKay?"

"You know, the logic problem. Where there's one man who always lies, and one who always tells the truth, and if you ask them if they're lying, they're both always going to say no."

"Have you been compromised by the Wraith?" John asked, but Rodney could hear the black humor in his voice.

"No," Rodney said, with the same bleak smile.

John shrugged. "Good enough for me."

"Does that mean I can go now? I still need to help Sam figure out how to actually destroy this thing."

"She says she's going to drop it into a sun."

"Oh, yes, that's elegant."

"We're not going for elegant, here, McKay, just gone. And you're not going anywhere until we hear from Carter."

"Fine," Rodney said, and crossed his arms. "We'll just wait."

After a few very tense minutes, John looked up, his hand on his radio earpiece. "What do you mean?" He listened again for a moment, his whole body tense. "No, I copy that."

"What's going on?" Rodney demanded.

"You tell me," John said in a dangerous tone. "Carter found your secret clubhouse. The weapon isn't there."

"That's where I left it," Rodney said. "Someone must have found it." John and Woolsey exchanged looks. "You have to believe me."

"Believe me, I wish we could," Woolsey said.

"But we can't," John said flatly. "Not unless we can get someone to tell us what's really going on in your head."

Woolsey looked skeptical. "I know Alabaster has the ability to read human minds, but I don't see how we could possibly trust her."

"I'm not talking about Alabaster," John said. "I'm talking about Teyla."

Another break from another interminable meeting, this time ostensibly for lunch, though Teyla doubted anyone would actually eat. Certainly the Wraith would not, and she had no appetite, too tense from four hours at the conference table. Instead, Teyla walked out on the balcony. She would stand for a moment in the wind and sun and hope to find balance.

The bright sun caught the white caps of the waves breaking against the piers below, glittered off windows scrubbed by rain. The wind was cold, but she could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, turning her face toward it like a dayflower.

The door opened again behind her and she knew without turning that it was Alabaster, and knew just as clearly that two Marines stood behind just inside the door, technically guarding the door, not the young queen. The thought lay on the surface of Alabaster's mind, a sardonic aside — as though what? She might suddenly leap from a forty story building? Why?

“It is their job to guard,” Teyla said, mind to mind. “You would not rebuke any blade for doing his duty.”

“To guard you?”

“I do not need guarding,” Teyla said, but there was no heat in it. Alabaster knew it well enough.

Instead she rested her elbows on the railing, looking out over city and sea. Her red hair caught the sun brighter than any hue natural to humans, and she stretched out her hands, palms downwards, as though the warmth felt good to her too. For a long moment she stood thus, watching the shadows of clouds on the sea and across the City of the Ancients.

“It is beautiful,” Alabaster said contemplatively. “I have never seen anything like it, and Osprey had no memories of Atlantis.”

“No,” Teyla agreed. “Osprey was never in Atlantis.” The only memories of the City of the Ancients were her own — her own life, her own path, her own choices — not those of a woman dead ten thousand years.

“It is beautiful,” Alabaster said again. “One of many beautiful things they wrought. So much that was wrong, and yet so many things that are beautiful.” She turned to Teyla, her hands at her sides and she smiled in a way that no doubt disconcerted the Marines just within. “And can you say that we are not beautiful, you and I?”

Odd and strange, yes, but beautiful still, the turnings of the hive, the light on the towers of Atlantis. “All of the daughters of the Ancients are beautiful,” Teyla said, and a strange peace opened in her heart. “All of the daughters, whether the daughters of Amytas in Pegasus, or the daughters of the women of Earth, or Osprey and her kind. We are all the heirs of the Ancients.” Towers reflected sun and sea or each other, dazzling brightness. “This belongs to all of us. We are all their children.”

“Yes,” Alabaster said. She looked away, toward the sea again, and her face seemed very young, a girl of eighteen or so, which perhaps she was in Wraith years, a woman young for her service. “I do not believe you would use this weapon. I do not think it is in your heart to do so. But that is not true of everyone here, and you know it.”