Jo Graham - Secrets

“Go ahead,” Sheppard said.

Guide completed the gesture, loosened the strip of black fabric and let it fall to the floor. The gateroom was filled with a cool, pale light, the sky beyond the windows like the polished heart of a shell. The colored glass looked dull, dirtied, against the pure pale silver of the clouds. Woolsey stood at the top of the broad stairs, flanked by Carter and Teyla — Guide found a moment to pity him, caught between two such queens. There was also a grey-haired man Guide didn’t know, his back straight and his eyes appraising. The tall Satedan stood beside him, his face a grim mask.

“Welcome to Atlantis,” Woolsey said — a nice use of protocol, giving precedence to neither queen.

Guide bared teeth in what he knew was a disconcerting smile. “Thank you. It is — most interesting — to be here yet again.”

“Under happier circumstances, I hope,” Woolsey said, and Ronon stepped aside.

Until that moment, Guide had not entirely believed. There would prove to be some trickery, some reason for delay that would ultimately become an admission of deceit, or, at best, bones on some barren world. But she stood there, tall and fair in her long robe, her scarlet hair caught back by a band that spread like wings across her temples. Snow had looked thus once, when he had first seen her, young and strong and gallant, mistress of her hive. His breath caught, though he had thought himself prepared.

*Alabaster.*

*Guide,* she answered, and came down the steps toward him, holding out both hands.

He took them, silenced, and in her touch she whispered, *Father.*

Guide bowed his head over their joined hands, his hair falling to screen his face. Teyla might read his confusion, joy and wonder and fear that somehow this miracle might still be snatched away, but no other.

*Child no more,* he said at last, and felt his words break with their joy. He lowered his head further still, until his hair brushed their joined hands. This, perhaps, was what the Fair One had meant by music, their emotion joined and rejoined, delight and wonder feeding on itself. Alabaster caught the echo of his thought, and she smiled cool and proud.

*But my father still.*

Something moved then on the stairs. Guide straightened, startled, and the boy paused, looking warily at his mother. Alabaster smiled and beckoned, gathered him against her skirts to peer solemnly up at Guide.

*My son,* she said. *I call him Darling.*

*Darling indeed,* Guide said, and went to one knee. *Well met, Alabaster’s son.”

*Well met,* the boy answered, and his mother prompted him with a touch. *Snow’s Consort.*

Guide smiled at the old-fashioned courtesy, at his grandson healthy and unharmed, and on the steps someone cleared his throat. Guide rose, drawing himself up to his full height, and Alabaster turned to face the Lanteans.

“I am in your debt,” he said aloud. It was a cheap concession, they would have known it no matter what he said.

Behind Woolsey’s shoulder, Sheppard smirked, his thought plain to read. Woolsey cleared his throat again. “Yes. That’s — it’s something we will certainly all bear in mind. In any case, we have much to discuss. But first, allow me to introduce you to another of our people’s representatives.”

He gestured to the gray-haired man who stood beside Carter. Guide made an appropriate response, his eyes flickering from one to another, assessing their response. Who was this stranger, and why was he here? Unless — yes, he thought, that had to be the answer. It explained why both Sheppard and Woolsey looked so wary: this was Carter’s true Consort, come at last to support his queen.

“General Jack O’Neill,” Woolsey said.

“A pleasure,” Guide said, and meant it. Perhaps they could come to a better bargain after all.

“Well,” Jack said, mostly under his breath. “This is different.”

Carter gave him a look that he guessed meant ‘not so much,’ and Woolsey made a little movement like he’d started to tap his computer into better order. The Wraith formerly known as Todd showed his teeth in what was clearly meant to be an unnerving smile.

“There is much to talk about, I realize.”

He was bigger than Jack had expected. Oh, he’d read the reports, scrolled through the photos — obsessively, during the weeks Atlantis was off the grid. He’d had time to get used to the idea that the Wraith looked a lot more alien than, say, a Goa’uld in its host, or the Ori, even the Priors, had time to try to get his brain around the idea that there really were aliens out there who ate people, and who looked a lot like people had always imagined vampires would look. He’d listened to Daniel theorize about that, the notion that vampire legends might be some twisted reflection of Ancient lore, a memory of the war that had driven them to take refuge on Earth, but it hadn’t really prepared him for the reality of Todd — Guide — sitting at the far end of the conference table with his artfully disheveled hair and his tattooed face and, most of all, his presence. Jack hadn’t thought much about immortality lately — the Goa’uld weren’t, and the Asgard weren’t, and that had pretty much seemed to cover it: naughty or nice, nobody lived forever — but looking at Guide, he was beginning to get a sense of what that long view might look like. He wasn’t sure he liked it, and only then became aware that he was meeting Guide’s eyes with more challenge than he’d meant. He matched the Wraith’s smile tooth for tooth, and looked away. Carter gave him another quick glare, and he did his best to look innocent, as though he wasn’t wishing he could kick somebody under the table. Carter rolled her eyes like she wished she could kick him back, and Woolsey cleared his throat again.

“Yes. Since you are here, there are several matters that we could profitably go over.” He glanced at his computer. “The state of your alliance under, er, Queen Steelflower being primary among them. And Dr. Keller has made some significant advances with the retrovirus that she would like to discuss with you —”

“And there is also this weapon, is there not?” Guide said, with a mildness that deceived no one. “That should also be on the table, I believe.”

Crap. Jack tried to look innocent and unconcerned, doubted he was any more successful than Sheppard, biting his lip next to Teyla. How the hell had Guide found out so quickly? Telepath, he answered himself. Alabaster knew; of course she’d told her father, probably in the middle of that touching greeting —

“We have recovered an artifact that Alabaster believes to be a weapon,” Woolsey said, without a blink. “We have not confirmed that this is in fact what it is, or that it still functions. We know almost nothing about it at this point.”

“It is a weapon,” Alabaster said. Her voice was clearer, more musical than Guide’s. Practice with her human flock, Jack wondered, or just natural timbre? “I have the memories of my foremother, Osprey, and I have seen and handled it. It is Hyperion’s weapon, and it was made to destroy all Wraith, and any who share our blood.” She nodded to Teyla. “This one can confirm what I say.”

Teyla offered the smile Jack had seen her use on Earth, in the days of the IOA hearings. He wasn’t really sure he liked seeing it again in this context. “I also believe that this is the weapon of Osprey’s memory.”

“We have no proof,” Woolsey said, with emphasis.

“And I hope are seeking none,” Guide said.

“We feel that, given the general unpredictability of Ancient devices, there is very little to be gained by pursuing the matter,” Woolsey said.

“Until it seems advisable?” Guide asked. “Or expedient? You cannot seriously expect us to feel secure leaving this device in your hands.”