Sonny Whitelaw - The Chosen

“It is all right,” Teyla declared, exiting the transport ahead of Sheppard. “They cannot harm you.” She smiled reassuringly at the children and walked across to the transparent stasis chambers embedded in one wall. “I believe they are in a form of hibernation.”

Extracating himself from the cluster of limbs, Rodney joined Teyla and Sheppard staring with a mixture of repugnance and fascination at the naked Wraith curled into fetal positions. Noting the framework surrounding the Wraith’s heads, and recalling the little he’d gleaned about Dalera’s experiments, he immediately assessed the situation. “Oh…my. Oh, wow! This is amazing. Do you realize what this is?” But there was little time to admire Dalera’s handiwork. If his theory was correct, the power grid would only work if all of the Genes maintained their positions — and with choking, oily smoke rolling in, that wouldn’t be for long, assuming that they were all manned in the first place.

“The reason why the Wraith are hell bent on breaking into the Citadel?” Sheppard made no effort to disguise his shock. “I thought you said this was a weapon?”

The children were wandering around the room with their mouths agape. “Don’t touch anything.” Rodney pulled off his pack, lowered it to the ground, and scanned what looked to be a patchwork of consoles made up from several different types of technology. While some of it was decidedly Ancient in origin, much was unfamiliar to him. “Dalera experimented with a neural interface for a weapon. I had assumed it was something like the weapons chair. Apparently not.”

Sheppard turned to him. “Didn’t you say that it was unsuccessful?”

“In her colleagues’ opinion, yes, but I’m wondering if her banishment really was due to her choice in husbands, or—”

“The nature of her experiments.” Sheppard turned his attention back to the Queens.

Nodding curtly, Rodney added, “Once exiled, Dalera wouldn’t have had access to much in the way of technology. Instead, she cobbled together whatever she could find — including control panels from…I don’t know.” He examined the consoles again. “Wraith ships, perhaps.”

“They don’t look ten thousand years old.” Sheppard studied the Wraith uncertainly. “And they’re kind of small — younger than the last Queen I met. I gotta say, the whole eyes-open thing is a little on the freaky side.”

“Being in stasis,” Rodney muttered, searching for a familiar point of reference, “theoretically they should age, but at a vastly decelerated rate.” Rubbing his forehead in frustration, he snapped, “I’m never going to be able to get this operational. I can’t even use my instruments to create an interface…Wait. Here’s something.”

He flipped open a panel similar to the one that Kesun had used to display charts of the planet’s land mass. Instead of maps, though, the information offered a tantalizing insight into the weapon’s plan. It vindicated his theory that the Stations were vital hubs in a kind of circuit board that powered a weapon, in addition to providing a defensive strategy. It also indicated something that looked like—

Realization hit Rodney with almost painful force. That was why her colleagues had dismissed the experiments as a failure. But Dalera had continued with them nonetheless. “That’s why the Wraith are attacking!” He turned to Sheppard. “What role do queen bees play a hive?”

“They make lots of baby bees?”

“Yes, of course, Major, but more importantly they control the activity of every bee in the hive.” Now that Rodney understood what was going on, it was hard to keep his words from tumbling over each other. “These weren’t Queens when they were placed in these chambers. They were larvae, babies, whatever you call these things when they’re young. Dalera incorporated them as a biological component to a weapons’ system, but—”

“In the years hence, they grew into adults.” Teyla turned to face him, a less than thrilled expression on her face.

“The determination of the Wraith attack and their unwillingness to bomb this Citadel would indicate that their offensive is considerably more than a mere culling. Instead of mounting the intended defense, these two—” Rodney rapped a knuckle against the hood of one of the stasis chambers. “—are most likely using the Wraith equivalent of pheromones to drive the attack, but in such a way that will ensure their retrieval.”

“Well, there’s one solution to that.” The Major stepped back, raised his weapon and, cringing against the anticipated shock, aimed it at the stasis chambers.

“Would you just hold on a moment?” Rodney shouted. “Not every solution comes at the end of a gun.” He felt a momentary twinge of guilt when Sheppard winced. The Major really did not look good. And unless he found a solution to this further problem that the vaunted Dalera had failed to foresee, none of them would fare too well when the Wraith burst in here to rescue their Queens-in-waiting.

“Move back!” Aiden ordered, ushering people away from the entrance of the transport. “We need the space to get everyone in the next group out of the transport as quickly as possible.”

The Dalerans were reluctant to shift their positions near the doors. Parents grasped children, terrified of losing them in the crowd, while many of the elderly stared at their surroundings with tears in their eyes. In the distance, a squadron of Darts had set up a holding pattern, obviously hovering just outside the edge of the Shields’ influence. They were like vultures, waiting to strike as soon as the Dalerans were forced to evacuate the Citadel.

Aiden turned to pose a question to Yann, Peryn having returned in the transport for the next group, but it was answered by the wails of the villagers.

“The sacred Enclave is destroyed,” sobbed a woman near his elbow. “Our last sanctuary offers nothing but false hope.”

“Surely we are lost now,” cried another. “Who could have done this?”

“Who is responsible for burning the Enclave?”

Aiden stared at them. They’d wanted to save these people, from oppression and from the Wraith, but had they ever had a chance at saving them from themselves?

“This was but one building, the temple,” Yann reminded them as he went back inside the transport to retrieve the next lot. “The heart of the Enclave, Dalera’s weapon, remains untouched. With the help of all the Genes, you will be protected.”

The transport doors closed, and Aiden’s thoughts turned to Lisera, still at her post in the Station. The smoke was most likely closing in—

Hearing a noise nearby, he spun around, bringing his P-90 to bear. A short distance away, the remains of a fountain toppled to one side, and an area about the size of a manhole opened up. Elsewhere, timbers creaked and glass shifted as more holes began opening up. People scuttled away, screaming, “Wraith! The Wraith are here!” And this time, they weren’t jumping at shadows.

It was the childish giggle that alerted Rodney. It was so unexpected that he glanced around. The children were huddled together in the shadows on the other side of the room, about as far from the Wraith as anyone could possibly get. He didn’t much blame them. So what did they find so hilarious?

“It feels funny,” the little girl supplied.

Even in the darkness, Rodney could see that she had inserted her hand in something. “I thought I told you not to touch anything!” he admonished, striding across to them. But when he saw what she was touching, instead of batting her hand away, for a brief, insane moment he considered adopting the child. “Major!”

The children parted to let Sheppard through. He immediately placed his hand against the same rubbery control device that normally existed on an Ancient chair. Nothing happened. Before Rodney could so instruct him, the Major stepped into the stasis chamber and leaned back.