Jo Graham - The Furies

“It sucks a lot more for the people who got fed on instead,” Ronon said.

“That too.” Cadman looked thoughtful but uncowed, and Ronon remembered that she was, after all, the only Marine lieutenant in five years who’d served her whole tour and gone home without a stretcher or a body bag. Cadman was good at getting by. She was like the kids he’d grown up with, the best of them.

“Cadman, why are you a Marine?”

“Laura.” She shrugged, her eyes on her plate as she took another bite. “Call me Laura. And I guess it was because that’s what my school had. It was Navy or Marines, and I don’t like boats.” She looked up, her eyes very bright. “If what you’re asking is why I’m not a graphic designer or something, it’s a long story.”

“Ok,” Ronon said. He liked to hear her talk. And she did, pretty much nonstop.

“My parents are both flakes. I was in junior high when my dad went off to Arizona to find himself and my mom went to Miami with her boyfriend. So I moved in with Nana and Pops in St. Petersburg. Pops used to be in the Navy, so he talked about how much he’d liked it and all. But Nana and Pops didn’t have any money for school, and they thought I ought to do better than the drive-thru, and my grades weren’t good enough for any scholarships. Except the Marines. So they paid for my four years, and then I owed them four years.” Cadman shrugged. “My four years are up, but I like it, so I’m staying in. How many mediocre graphic designers get to go to other planets?”

“Point,” Ronon said.

“Besides,” she said, “you meet some really interesting people. And some of them are pretty hot.”

“What, like Rodney?” Ronon asked, remembering Cadman’s whole mess with Rodney when she’d first gotten there, when a malfunctioning culling beam had left her stuck in Rodney’s body.

Cadman laughed. “No, not exactly.” Then she sobered. “I’m really sorry about Rodney. And I’m glad I get a chance to help get him back. He’s an ok guy.”

Ronon’s eyes met hers across the table. “We may not get him back.”

“It won’t be because we didn’t try,” Cadman said.

Ronon looked away. Something weird like hope was crawling around in him. Maybe they could do this. Maybe it would work. And then everything could go back to normal.

“When we get into it,” he said, “you watch out for Zelenka, ok? We’ve got to take him because we’ve got to have somebody to deal with Wraith tech if we need to, and we can’t count on finding Teyla first. He can’t shoot for shit.”

“I’ll watch out for him,” Cadman promised. “He’s a sweet old guy. Reminds me of Pops.”

One hour until time.

Sam sat down at her desk and took a deep breath, looking up at the pictures held to the metal wall above with cheerful magnets in the shape of bright colored flowers. Cassie in her graduation gown. Daniel in a floppy hat and wire rimmed glasses, Teal’c looking inscrutable beside him in the light of some alien sun — that was an old one, that picture. Daniel didn’t look much like that anymore. Jack in his baseball cap, sitting on the end of his pier with a fishing rod in his hand, looking straight at the camera with a sideways smile.

This was the email she never sent. But it was there, in case someone else needed to send it.

October 16, 2009

Dear Jack,

I’m not sorry. I don’t regret any of it, not one minute, not one second. Not ever.

Your Carter

Her radio sounded softly. “Colonel, we will be dropping out of hyperspace in fifty minutes.”

“Understood, Franklin. I’m on my way.” She carefully hit the save button and closed the laptop, turned off the light and went up to the bridge.

Forty minutes.

“Be prepared to reopen a hyperspace window immediately,” Guide ordered the helmsman.

The hive ship had not yet exited hyperspace, but Guide took no chances. Silent in the center of the control room, Queen Steelflower nodded her assent.

“We are ready, my commander,” the helmsman said, his head bent over the console, half in shiptrance. “We are coming out of hyperspace now.”

They slid through the window, blue streaked stars shifting to the speckled blackness of a normal starfield.

“We have a hail,” the ship-master said, looking over his shoulder to his queen.

“One hive ship on our instruments,” the helmsman said, “One and one only. It is Revenant, belonging to Queen Death.”

“That is well,” Guide replied. “All is as it should be.” He looked at Steelflower. “What is your wish, My Queen?”

“Hail Revenant,” Steelflower said evenly. “And inform them that I have arrived to speak with my sister.”

Sable, the commander of the honor guard, winced inwardly. Let it never be said Queen Steelflower lacked audacity! She spoke as a superior queen to a lesser, or at least as one who would never acknowledge lesser status. Perhaps she would come as an ally, but not as a subject queen. And yet perhaps there had been too much bowing and scraping to Queen Death. She was, after all, not the only queen.

“Yes, My Queen,” he said.

“Twenty five minutes to reversion,” Major Franklin said precisely.

“Understood.” Sam Carter settled back in her chair. “Raise shields five minutes before we exit hyperspace.” She tapped her radio. “Colonel Sheppard? Is your team ready?”

“We’re getting in the jumper now,” Sheppard said clearly in her ear. “Me, Cadman, Keller, Ronon and Zelenka. We’ll be ready to go on your mark.”

“You’re going to have a very narrow window,” Sam said. “To get inside while they’re launching darts.”

“We’ve done it before.” Sheppard sounded confident. “We’ll cloak before we get out of the bay.”

Franklin looked at Sam. “If they’re cloaked our automatic systems won’t be able to sense them. And …”

Sam nodded. “Sheppard? You’ll have to do a purely manual departure. The moment you cloak we can’t see you.”

“Got it. Just open the bay doors for us and we’re good.”

Launch and recovery were the times the Hammond was most vulnerable. While her landing bays were energy shielded, those shields were incredibly fragile compared to her hull. And the bays were small. Thirty feet in height was nothing compared to the immensity of space. A pilot error of a few feet, of hundredths of a percent, would run a ship into the walls or into the delicate components within, which was why recovery and launch were generally done with the Hammond’s systems providing constant data feedback to the 302s or jumpers. It took a very skilled pilot indeed to turn all the safeties off and do it on manual.

Of course, Cameron Mitchell had recovered her in a spacesuit on manual, aboard the Odyssey . Not that it was an experience she’d ever like to repeat.

But Sheppard was probably the most skilled jumper pilot they had, and he’d have the jumper’s systems to assist. Sam didn’t even blink at letting him do it.

“Open the bay doors as soon as we’ve raised shields,” Sam said to Franklin. “Colonel Sheppard will take it out without assistance.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The shuttlecraft mated neatly with Revenant, the door irising open in a series of cascading movements to reveal those within. Queen Steelflower stood straightbacked, her chin high, and no trace of trepidation showed on her face. At her back, her Consort loomed tall, his immaculate leather coat falling to his ankles, his expression impassive.

Steelflower’s gaze raked the assembled blades. “I am Steelflower,” she said.

Revenant’s watch commander stepped forward, inclining his head deeply. “I am Iceseeker. It is my honor to escort you to the reception chambers where all has been made ready for you. My queen will join you shortly.”