Melissa Scott - The Inheritors

“ Adamant 's commander reports that all his men are off the ship,” Bonewhite said.

Guide nodded, the battle unfolding in the tactical screen. The Lantean ships were still hard pressed along with the strange hive that had joined them. If he could only get across, he could buy them time — but Death's other hive still had him solidly engaged. “Tell Thunder to engage Death's hive.”

“He can't hold them,” Bonewhite said.

“No.” Guide glared at the screens, seeing the strange hive falter, bleeding atmosphere for an instant before its clevermen sealed the wound. “But our ally needs help.”

Bonewhite spoke into his communicator, and in the screen Thunder's hive rolled away from the tangle of Darts. It dove on Death's hive, Thunder cutting between the stranger and Death, shooting for the gap that opened as both pilots pulled away. A beautiful maneuver, Guide thought, except his timing was imperfect. Death's gunners caught him as he tried to turn, and flame blossomed from the hive's stern.

“Thunder has lost engines,” Bonewhite said. “Shall we assist?"

“No.” Thunder could hold out a little longer; there were more important targets. “Take out this hive,” Guide said, teeth bared, and his gunners answered, each firing as they found their target. The hive staggered under the volume of fire, and the first serious damage showed black on its hull. Evermore swept up and under, harrying, and Guide turned again, accepting hits to bring the greatest number of guns to bear on the target.

The other hive hung for an instant in the center of the attack, then blew apart, the fireball washing over Just Fortune . Guide steadied his ship, the litany of damage pulsing against his skin. Nothing serious, nothing they couldn't handle, and in the communications screen Evermore reported similar status. The stranger hive was still fighting, the Lantean ship and the Genii's Ancient warship struggling to stay with it, but not enough of their shots were striking home. The Lanteans and Genii he could excuse, they didn't know the stress points, the best targets — but the stranger's commander seemed no more experienced. He put Just Fortune into a turn, but Queen Death saw and turned to meet him.

Ember brought the borrowed Dart into the shuttle bay, the doors sealing behind him, and settled it with its weapons carefully pointing away from the Lantean shuttle. Its door opened as he clambered from the cockpit revealing three humans with lowered weapons; the Dart's system clamored at him, warning him of a readied drone as well. He lifted his hands, showing them empty, and hoped the humans had been warned of his arrival.

"I have been sent to help."

There was a silence, and his muscles tensed. He could survive the first shots, but the Lantean weapons were more than capable of overwhelming his ability to regenerate.

"Yeah." That was their leader, short and stocky, and the noise of the Dart faded away as the drone disarmed itself. "Ling, Grazyk, take him to the control room."

I know the way . Ember swallowed the words, knowing they were pointless — nor would he have allowed a strange human to roam a hive without escort. Instead, he let them surround him, one before, one behind, hurrying down the main corridor toward the control room. They passed bodies, Death's blades crumpled where they fell, and he heard the man behind him cock his weapon nervously. Ember ignored him, though every knob of his spine felt tingly and exposed, and at last they came to the control room.

"Lieutenant! It's Ling. We've brought the Wraith."

The door slid open, revealing a handful of humans at the consoles, and a human woman standing in the commander's place, her hands steady on the controls. Surely that could not be right, Ember thought; a commander controlled the ship through force of will, just as a queen controlled her hive, but no human could speak mind to mind — except that manifestly she was doing so. Her eyes opened and she fixed him with a startled look.

“Ember.”

The mind was Steelflower's, enough to send him to his knees before he thought, but he looked up, frowning, knowing his confusion was plain to read. “Lady?”

The human's mind was closed to him, tight as fingers protecting the handmouth, and yet even the stance, everything about her said she was his queen. “How —?”

“There is no time for explanations.”

The mental touch was unmistakably Steelflower, complex and beautiful and sharp as the metal that made her name. And the body was human, impossible, brown eyes and brown skin and nothing Wraith about her except the touch of her mind on his.

“We must turn the cruiser,” she said. “It will obey, but it is slow. Something holds it back. Find it, Ember, find it and fix it for me.”

Ember rose to obey, checked for an instant still in disbelief. This could not be his queen, and yet it was — and there was no time for that. In the main screen, Atlantis loomed, too near, too large. She had spoken truth there, whoever, whatever, she was: there was no time left. He turned on his heel, surveying the consoles. Yes, there, the engineering display looked off, and he moved quickly to call up its details. Someone had installed a governor, restricting power, restricting the use of the maneuver engines. He ran his hands across the boards, and was not surprised when they did not respond.

"Ms. Emmagan," one of the humans said. "Atlantis says it can't evade —"

"I'm trying," Steelflower answered, her frustration almost palpable. "Ember!"

He did not answer, but whirled to the next console. It would be easier to override the blockages from the Hivemaster's station, and he remembered codes from his time on Death's hive. He entered them, holding his breath, and a window lit, data cascading down the screen. There — there was the block, and there the codes that would release it; he punched in the numbers, reached for levers to control the shifting power. “Try now, Lady.”

"Yes." The word reached ears and mind alike, and he felt the old ship respond at last to her touch, grateful for the sure hand that steered it. In the main screen, Atlantis's image seemed to fall away, though it was they who moved, tilting ponderously out of its path.

“Well done,” Steelflower said, generous and proud, and in the same moment the human woman spoke. "Radek! What about the fuses?"

"The proximity fuses are disabled," a voice answered. "But the bombs are still live."

“How?" Ember asked again. “How can you be my queen?”

The woman turned to look at him, her mind brushing his with gentle regret. “I am Teyla Emmagan, Teyla of Athos, Teyla Who Walks Through Gates, and I am Steelflower, Osprey's many-times-great granddaughter. Long ago, a cleverman mingled his blood with that of humans, and the end result is me.”

The Old One had spoken truth. Ember shuddered, remembering the story shared with him when he was briefly the Old One's prisoner: the Wraith were the Ancients' mistake, their terrible creation, their doom. And Guide had known, he realized. Had known all along, and seized the weapon that came to hand, this woman with the mind of a queen, because without a queen, they could never have stood against Queen Death. He bowed his head, cleverman to queen, but spoke aloud, so that the other humans could hear his submission. "What should I do, Lady?"

Her gratitude washed over him, as much balm as it would have been had she in truth been the young queen she had seemed. "Help Radek defuse the bombs. We are still too much a danger, drifting like this. Corporal Ling, go with him, please."

"Yes, ma'am," one of the males said, and Ember turned to follow.

Rodney was surrounded by white light. What do you know , he thought. I guess there is something after death . It shone brightly in his face, blinding and pure, and his left wrist throbbed with pain. But shouldn't that be okay? If he was dead, how come his wrist still hurt? Rodney tried to sit up.