Jo Graham - The Furies

Steelflower hesitated a moment, her skirts swaying. She was not dressed formally, but rather like a warrior queen in boots and short coat, its emerald folds only reaching her knees, stiff with embroidery.

Her Consort read her movement. “Our shuttlecraft will cast off and return to our ship,” he said. “Thereby to await Queen Steelflower’s pleasure.”

There was little the watch commander could object to in that. After all, they were two alone, as they had said they would be, and the crew of the shuttle would not figure in anything that came. “Of course.”

“Then lead us, commander,” she said, and her eyes fell on him like falling sparks. “We shall await your lady.” She followed him with her head high, her slender hand set to her Consort’s wrist in a gesture both graceful and courtly, as though she stood among her own kindred.

“Five minutes,” Franklin said, frowning at the board. “Raising shields, ma’am.”

Sam didn’t reply to that. “Sheppard? You’re good to go.”

“Copy that,” Sheppard said. “We’ll be in and out before you get the paint scratched.” He sounded high on adrenaline, ready to fight. Which was a good thing.

Sam opened the shipwide intercom. “Four minutes to reversion. All hands to battlestations. It’s showtime, people.”

*It is a trap,* Guide said, mind to mind, his hand brushing against hers as they stood within the reception hall.

*I know that well,* Teyla replied. Above, the low ceiling was arched with a tracery of supports scribing a perfect circle. At the center of it a low table held oath taking materials, while each of the six radial entrances was guarded by a drone in full battle gear, weapons at the ready. They carried formal pikes, not the more mundane stunners. There were of course no humans about, and for use upon another Wraith a bladed weapon would be more effective. Stunners could be shaken off and bullets survived, but severed limbs would not regrow.

*I doubt Queen Death is even aboard this ship,* Guide said, a pleasant smile on his face.

*As long as Rodney is, and likewise the ZPM,* she replied. “That, at least is true I think. These drones cannot hide such things from me.* She likewise gave him a courteous gaze. *And no, they do not yet plan to kill us.*

*Yet,* Guide said softly, a caressing note in his voice that was almost anticipation. He caught the hint of amusement in her mind. *Does that entertain you?*

*You remind me of John,* she said.

The Hammond ’s bay doors slowly opened, revealing the blue of hyperspace. Outside the puddle jumper, in the landing bay, there would be claxons hooting warnings, but inside it was silent. Flashing yellow lights indicated depressurization.

“Coming out of hyperspace,” Major Franklin said in his earpiece. “Good luck, Colonel.”

“Thanks,” John said, glancing over at Radek in Teyla’s usual shotgun seat. “Here goes nothing.” He moved the indicators to full cloak.

Outside, there was a brief flash as they reverted to normal space, sublight engines engaging with a flare of white fire. The Hammond had emerged ninety degrees to the ventral of the two hive ships, and now she pulled up in a climb vertical to her own plane of entry, forward rail guns opening up on the nearer of the two ships.

John wondered briefly how Sam had made sure she was shooting at the right one, but that wasn’t his problem.

They rocketed toward the hive ship, looking for a moment as though they intended a collision, or at least a shield on shield pass that would strain every system, pulling away at the last second with only a few tens of meters between one shield and the other, rail guns spitting bright fire, the hive ship’s shields flaring blue in the void. The Hammond’s gunners couldn’t see them, so he’d have to dodge friendly fire too.

“Here we go,” he said, and as the Hammond reeled away, diving beneath the hive ship, the puddle jumper leapt forward.

The hive ship screamed. There was no other word for it, for the alarms that rang out high and urgent in every room and corridor.

“What is happening?” Queen Steelflower demanded of the nearest guard.

“I do not know,” he replied truthfully.

“Find out,” Steelflower snapped, her Consort coming forward to her side.

The note of the alarm changed. Pilots to the dart bays. The ship was going to full battle alert.

A young blade of Queen Death’s, his hair pulled back in a single white braid, came hurrying into the chamber.

“What treachery is this?” Guide snapped. “We have come aboard your ship in good faith, and now you are attacking our ship!”

“We have done no such thing!” the blade replied. “It is the Lanteans! It is the warship of She Who Carries Many Things.”

“We will return to our ship immediately,” Steelflower said.

The blade swallowed. “I cannot allow that,” he said.

Steelflower drew herself up, her eyes fixed upon his. “Am I your prisoner then?”

His mouth opened and then shut. “No,” he said. “At least I do not think…”

“Then you will stand aside and allow me and my consort to return to our ship,” she said, and did not take her gaze from his.

Another blade approached, his steps swift on the floor. “Ardent, what are you doing?” His mind was hooded, his resolve firm.

“Queen Steelflower wishes to return to her ship, as the Lanteans are attacking us,” the one called Ardent replied.

“That cannot be,” the other said, and Steelflower felt a frisson run through her.

*Guide,* she said, a moment’s warning as the blade drew steel.

“I do not see how we are to do this,” Radek said quietly as the puddle jumper jinked, dodging madly around the fire radiating outward from the hive ship, trying to hug the surface of the shields as closely as possible.

“They’ll open the bay doors to let the darts out,” John said, his hands loose on the controls. There was no need to jerk a jumper. It moved like water, like his thoughts. Nothing had ever moved like it did.

The Hammond’s rail guns spat fire, but the jumper rolled beneath it, friendly fire missing by a few meters. In the seat behind Radek, Cadman swore. “They can’t see us,” she said.

John didn’t spare a breath to respond. He’d seen the dart bay opening, the first blue dots of launching flares. “There we are. Just like that, baby,” he whispered. The puddle jumper slipped between the oncoming darts, rotating 180 as she slid through the gaps in their formation, straight into the maw of the dart bay.

Metal rang on metal as the blade drew a long knife, but Guide was faster. His arm rose in a lightning parry, catching it on a dagger of his own before his queen, a quick twist and disengage sending the weapon flying.

Ardent drew in a sharp motion but did not advance, his face a study in confusion.

*Get them!* the senior blade shouted, *In the Name of the Queen!*

*So be it,* Steelflower said, and with a sweep of robe she drew as well, back to back with her Consort, dropping into guard as gracefully as a blade.

The drones charged, pikes at the ready.

Guide took the first, grasping the pike in both hands. Closed thus, struggling for the staff, his knife slipped into the drone’s chest. The drone staggered back stupidly, the knife standing out. The wound would heal, of course, but it would at least slow him down.

Guide brought the pike up sharply, the blunt end connecting with the second onrushing drone, sending him reeling, while the bladed back end connected with his legs, slicing through skin and muscle, dropping him to the floor.

Steelflower ducked beneath the first drone’s pike, coming neatly beneath his guard with a series of flashing blows. In themselves they would not have been much to his might, but with short dagger in hand they were blinding. Literally. He stumbled, clutching his face, a wound that would take days to heal.