Disclaimer: I don't own John, his team, or Todd. Just my OCs.

A.N: Not Atlantis centric. This is focused on Althea and Lynex, my human and Wraith OCs. If you're not familiar with them read Warrior, Diaspora, or Lonely Divides.

A.N#2: This was written before reading the Stargate Atlantis: Legacy series. Consider my take on Wraith society AU.

A.N#3: Written to all the Bear McCreary's Battlestar Galactica soundtracks, particularly "Something Dark is Coming," "Blood on the Scales," and "Funeral Pyre."

A.N#4: Goodness, was I wordy ten years ago. Edited as of 05.03.20.

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A Road to Nowhere

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PART I

.

i.

she's a tired thing
more weary than alive
but she loves him
and maybe he loves her
and that's
okay.

.

.s.

.

If there was anything the young woman learned about Wraith in her time living with them, it was their need to be part of something bigger themselves. It overshadowed everything they did. She looked at the figure from where she gathered shade from a twisted tree, watching her second half crouch by a river. His hair was salt white. On his right hand was death.

His back was turned but she knew he was as aware of her presence as she was of his. She had a human name once but she was Althea now, "the littlest of daggers" in the guttural Wraith tongue. It was all she knew. The one who'd named her had been a high-ranking Wraith who, on a simple whim, brought her back to his Hive. She'd been spared, but Wraith were not kind beings. Under the unnatural union between two radically different cultures, she became a singularity unwelcomed in both worlds.

But she wasn't alone.

Althea regarded the eater-of-men from where she sat, her eyes slow. He was different than what he used to be. The salt-white hair, once smooth as silk, was tied in a rough ponytail. The claws, once so well-polished, were chipped and dirty. The black leather, once telling of his high rank, was torn and travel-stained. She herself had exchanged her leathers for human fabric, but she knew why he refused to replace his.

It had been three months since the loss of their homeworld to a rival Hive. They escaped but vowed to return. Returned they did, armed with the infamous Atlantis team to aide them. But only when a ravaged and raped landscaped welcomed them did they understand their old their home was forever gone. They'd little time to mourn. They fled from the incensed Atlantians, but not first without shedding a fair amount of blood. They paid the price, the Atlantians—

The next time we meet, it's a bullet in your brain! You hear me? I'm going to kill you!

—made sure of it. Althea shuddered even as she sweated in the wool shirt she wore.

That'd been two months ago.

The Wraith stood. Even after rough ponytails and dirty claws and torn leather, he still managed to take her breath away when he turned to face her. She loved him with all of her heart. But she'd never forget what he was. He was Wraith, and he fed upon her kind. Men, women . . . a young nomad boy not long ago. Once she'd been so sure she'd be the victim. There were times when she recalled the wind-swept tundra, the wet slit on her neck, and the terrible desolation that followed. She sometimes hated him for it.

The Wraith made his way to her, the grasses around his knees swishing against his leathers. The woman followed him with her eyes, neither rising to meet him or moving away. When he blotted out the sun and kneeled by her side a traitorous part of her thought, Today he might. The thought was gone as quickly as it came. When he reached for her, she acquiesced with all trust.

Claws that could rip a man checked the underside of her arms, ghosted over the scab on her forehead, pressed with the utmost gentleness on healing ribs. Althea shifted, winced, but nodded.

The Wraith grunted, apparently satisfied, then got up and started walking away. Althea wasn't worried. Where'd he go? The world they were on now was a lush but cool one, filled with meadows of grass. She could see for miles, the horizon a vague sloping line. Flowers too, ranging from blue to gold dotted the scenery in floral livery. They reminded her of the tundra world in which they'd come from, where they had forced the Atlantis team to their will. Althea shuddered. She could never go back to that way of life, especially after all the chances they gave her. She'd been too Wraith, too willing to use them for her own gains. Less and less, she fantasized living among her birthright people.

A cool breeze lifted, rippling the grass. It cooled the sweat on her brow and made the young woman sigh in relief. Her eyelids fluttered and grew heavy. The woman smiled a little, remembering the first time she tried to take a nap after reuniting with Lynex from the nomad family. The Wraith nearly snapped her neck trying to rouse her. He was so certain she'd never wake up.

Her chin drooped to her chest. The sun was bright and warm, filling her with a drowsiness she'd forgotten she could feel.

.

.s.

.

Moonlight greeted Althea when she awoke. She blinked from where she lay on her back, ring of grasses corralling her view. She stayed there for a time, staring at nothing. Gooseflesh erupted across her skin as a breeze rustled the grasses over her head. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her. A silver world welcomed her. For a moment she could only stare, open-mouthed, at the natural beauty that'd become of the meadow world. Everything moved in unison with the wind, the grasses becoming a seamless, liquid surface.

The hiss-spit of a fire returned her attention. For an instant her muscles tensed and heart stopped. But then she caught sight of the familiar head of white hair and almost slumped in relief. She chided herself for dropping her guard—what was she thinking, taking a nap? And how'd she have slept for so long?

Feeling a flush of embarrassment Althea made her way towards the fire. She saw the back of the Wraith's head turn, acknowledging. A whiff of cooking meat hit her nose. Her stomach gurgled, suddenly very aware it'd been hours since the last time she ate. Her mouth began to water as she saw the spitted carcass of some animal over the fire. A collecting dish beneath the animal caught the dripping juices.

Althea entered the campsite and noticed someone had trampled all the grasses flat, just enough to have a fire without fear of the surrounding grasses catching alight. Again, a flush came to the young woman's face. She became very aware of the Wraith sitting beside her. She cast him an auspicious glance. The fire's glow bathed him in orange and yellow, jutting out his cheekbones and casting his eyes in heavy shadows. He was staring into the fire, effectively ignoring her, eyes hooded and calm. He sat with one knee to chest, both arms encircling it with hands steepled together.

She sat down, knees to her chest. She didn't copy his position. From long experience she found it uncomfortable to maintain even for short periods of time.

"You shouldn't have let me slept for so long," she said. She didn't look at him. The fire's heat fanned her face and soon she forgot the cold. The food cooked, the fine sheathe of connective muscle tissue popping whenever the temperature became too high. It was then she realized there was a big enough mound of wood and fibrous fuzz to keep the fire going into the night. Had he done everything?

"At least you could've let me help with the campsite," she said.

She heard him shift in a barest movement. "You needed sleep."

The young woman opened her mouth, then kept it closed.

Silence fell around but not between the two pariahs as they sat in the forb meadow. When she judged the meat cooked Althea helped herself, not worrying to share. Though she knew Wraith could ingest solid food as humans did, their digestive system were useless in absorbing nutrients. Their intestinal tract were merely for show, leftover parts from the time they were human.

Althea licked the hot grease off her fingers, somewhere wishing she had something to spice the meat's blandness. Maybe next time we're near a village I'll try to get some more, she thought. Almost immediately she recalled running in the dark, furious voices hounding her steps. She rocked on her heels and stared into the ebbing fire.

If there was any regret she had not growing up in a human village, it was not knowing self-reliance on the land. Had she grown up among people of her own kind, she would've known which plants were poisonous and which were edible, which she could use as seasoning and which to avoid. She would've been able to make her own clothes, baskets, carrying containers, medicine, even weapons. Now she was reliant on human refuse on the edge of villages. Lynex did what he could. He helped her hunt, but he was more clueless than her when it came to plant food. And one could not live off meat alone.

The young woman shook herself. Best to leave those thoughts for the morning.

.

.s.

.

Dawn was breaking when the Wraith dropped something in front of her. For a moment Althea could only stare at it before realizing what it was. She'd seen something like it before in other human villages. It was called paper. Althea picked it up and frowned. It had big block lettering on the top and smaller words below it. She could read none of them. She turned where Lynex stood.

"What's this?" she asked.

"'Caution! Woman and Wraith traveling together. Kill on sight or report to nearest bounty hunters. Do not approach. Last seen in Coh. Woman's description:—" Here Lynex began to list a set of descriptions. Althea listened with growing horror as it described herself down to the gray of her eyes. Then Lynex listed his own description, again, with perfect accuracy, and went quiet.

Althea dropped the paper as if it burned. She tried to control her mounting fear with deep breaths. It wasn't so bad, was it? The galaxy was a huge place, with many, many worlds. How could they possibly track down and kill them? They could find a backwater planet and try to scratch out a living—

Food. What would she do for food? And Lynex. He needed to feed.

"What're we going to do?" Althea said. If life had been difficult before, it seemed near impossible now. She doubted they'd ever see any member of their old Hive again, and it wasn't as if she or Lynex could simply join another Hive.

"As we've always done," Lynex said, and there was a challenge in the Wraith's words, as if he were daring the galaxy to refute them. Because it was them against the galaxy. They were the unnatural, the unthinkable. She and he were the first and last of their kinds, and when Althea died, there'd never be again.

.

.s.

.

The young woman stepped through the Ring. Though the Wraith didn't said anything she knew something was bothering him. He was tenser than usual, words short, and when she touched his upper arm she felt him vibrating with heightened awareness. Althea wasn't sure what this could mean but didn't bother asking him when he was like this. She trusted he knew what he was doing and followed him without complaint.

The new world was a boreal one, colder than the meadow planet. Dark spruce and fir filled the forests across the mountainous landscape. The Ring was on the edge of one such wooded area, half-hidden. Althea regarded the needled trees and couldn't help but compare them to the ones from her old homeworld. She looked up in the sky and was almost surprised to find no twin moons. Stupid, she thought as a fresh wave of homesickness pierced her. She hugged her oversized wool shirt tighter to her body and hurried after Lynex's longer strides. They dodged the main road, sacrificing ease for secrecy. The two of them crept in the underbrush, pushing away evergreen boughs. Althea frowned at the amount of noise they were making.

"Lynex? Aren't we making too much—"

Lynex hissed-spat. Althea dutifully quieted down.

They continued on for a time. The forest all around them were eerily quiet. Where're the birds? the young woman thought. Her stomach grumbled again and she clenched a hand around it.

One time, not too long ago, Althea had hid near a village. The local humans had made their home in a mountain's valley, protected and safe from the Wraith. From what Althea could tell they were a bright, happy people, full of boisterous laughter and animated songs and drank a drink that made Althea spit out. The young pariah envied but didn't hate them. Though they were not her people, they were people nonetheless. She even went a step further and hoped they'd continue evading the Wraith. She was almost ashamed the next time she met Lynex's eyes, afraid he'd read her thoughts.

Sunlight streamed down from the tops of the trees. The terrain became steeper in pitch until Althea was on all fours to climb it. There was enough exposed roots for her to grab onto, but more than once she thought she was going to fall and slide all the way down.

Then Lynex hissed at her, a warning kind, and the woman flattened herself to the ground. With her nose so close to the soil everything smelt of cool loam and pine resin. But she could smell something else, too. Was it burning wood? She craned her neck up and saw Lynex had reached the lip of the steep embankment. He was looking out but was motioning her to come forward. Althea did, but slowly.

When she reached the top, she knew why Lynex had stopped.

A Culling had occurred.

The young woman stared, solemn. Shattered bricks and pulverized wood covered the landscape below. A few solitary foundations remained, still forming walls despite everything else having crumpled. Smoke marched upward in gray columns. Carrion birds circling overhead, dusty wings gliding, their squarping croaks echoing for miles.

"I'm going to look for food," she said. Althea began making her way down the steep slope, slinging her legs over and riding on her butt. She heard the Wraith hiss behind her but she kept going. Rocks cascaded all around her as she slipped and slid all the way down to the valley's floor.

There was no wind in the valley. The air hung like a heavy blanket, stinking of smoke and brick dust, rotting carcasses of livestock and the birds who fed on them. Sweat began to prickle on her forehead. Everything was oddly soundless, as if a great vacuum had came and sucked up everything and left only dead air. She felt hushed, a muted shadow in all the destruction.

Althea picked her way through the debris. She didn't know why she was here. She didn't even know what she was looking for. She passed by a couple dead cows. The vultures ignored her, their naked serpentine necks sliding in and out of the carcasses, stopping only to squabble with each other.

The pariah walked on what had been a main street, her thin shoes clacking on the up-heaved stones. Something caught her eye. She bent down and swept away the light coat of dust on it. She picked it up. It had been an eating utensil. One of its four prongs was snapped off, another bent. The young woman stared at it, holding it close to her face. She had eaten with one similar to this one during her time in the Floating City. She forgot what it was called. She slipped it into one of her baggy pockets.

The young woman moved towards the middle of the town, overturning rocks and stones at random. Then she began searching the spaces where the dwellings once stood. Her luck didn't improve. Much of what she found for plant and fruits were rotting under the windless heat. Mice and other rodents had picked at the grains and what wasn't squooshed or covered in dirt and dust was unreachable. After two hours of scrounging, she managed to salvage a small bag of kidney beans, two withered apples, a palmful of starchy cattail roots, a thin hank of salted meat, one carrot, and, in a moment of luck, found a nearly-full water bag. In another moment of incredible luck, she found one small bag of salt. She dipped some fingers in and greedily licked them. Then she put the salt with the rest of the findings in the knapsack and continued on.

She was on the outskirts when she found one of the dwellings had, for some reason, managed to avoid the disaster of its fellows. Only part of its roof had collapsed and all four walls were standing. Even the door worked as Althea pushed it. It opened with a creak. She peered in. Hazy beams of light filtered down into the murkiness. She wrinkled her nose at the stuffiness. It smelt of damp mildew and brick dust. She pushed the door open a little more and walked in. She tilted her head and gazed at the wooden ceiling. She could see patches of sky above, gray and nondescript. When she looked back down everything appeared darker.

She blinked, waiting for her eyes to readjust.

There was more in this house than the entire village combined. Within the first few moments the woman found blankets, candles, stores of food. Althea's eyes lit up and she swiftly crossed to the other side of the room. Grains, a pot, a knife, more vegetables, fruits, a loaf of bread, a blanket. She began to riffle through the drawers. Spices, dried and curled, nameless to her but more valuable than she had thought possible. She put everything she could fit in her knapsack. Its sides and pockets bulged under the strain.

A noise, no more than a murmur, made her stop. Althea froze in the murkiness of the house, eyes wide, breath held. It'd sounded like it came from under the stairs. The young woman moved towards it. The noise came again, so soft Althea wondered how she'd heard it the first time. A wooden bureau stood in her way. Grunting, the woman put a shoulder to it and shoved. It teetered on two legs for a moment then fell with a mighty crash. Althea cringed, squinting her eyes and hunching her shoulders.

As the dust settled Althea peered at what the bureau had hid: a small curtain, once blue, now beige with brick dust. She moved it aside with her forearm and jerked away in surprise.

A human child lay before her. She was curled up on her side, legs drawn to her chest. She was sleeping, the eyes beneath the lids twitching back and forth in rapid movements. The source of her moans came from an unnaturally bent arm. Dried blood and yellow fluid covered her limb in fractal designs. Althea didn't need to be a healer to know the child was suffering from it. What'd at first appeared healthy cheeks now were flushed with fever, the sleeping lids sunken and shiny. When Althea leaned close she could smell the bland yellow on the child.

The girlchild murmured and twitched once, but otherwise remained unconscious when Althea took her in her arms. It took several repositionings before the young woman found a comfortable position to hold the child in. The broken arm flopped. It burned to the touch. The child moaned again.

"It's almost dead."

Althea snapped her head up. Lynex stood in the doorway. He was looking at her. She clutched the child tighter.

"A child, Lynex. She's hurt."

"Leave it," he said, then moved on.

Althea looked after him, torn between following him or remaining behind with the child. She's so little, she thought. A tenderness she had never known welled up inside her. Had she been this small and helpless when Warrior took her in? She had no memory of her life before the Wraith. What language she used to speak was gone, what name she used to have, forgotten. All she knew was something had made the Wraith allow her to follow him. Had he not, she would've likely had died from exposure.

The young woman walked out with the child and the pack. She noticed Lynex staring at her but lifted her chin and kept on going.

.

.s.

.

Althea stopped for the sixth time in thirty minutes, half bent, panting. In front of her Lynex continued to stride ahead, the gap between them widening. Sweat dripped into her eyes. Back muscles groaned as Althea jostled herself in attempt to lift the sliding knapsack and reposition the girl. The girl shifted, lids fluttering, but didn't wake. Althea was beginning to think she never would. She lifted her head and blinked. She couldn't see Lynex anymore. She did another little half-jump to tighten the straps of the knapsack then continued.

She didn't know how long she plodded. She kept her eyes on the ground, a mantra of keep walking keep walking parading in her head. The land was on an uphill, not steep enough to make the climb impossible but enough to slow her progress to a crawl. At least she was out of the valley. A faint breeze stroked her face. She closed her eyes to savor it but didn't stop.

At last Althea reached the top of the rise, a panorama of wilderness greeting her. The air was fresher here, thick with sweet resin and wind. She flung her head back as a wind, blissfully cool, swept across her cheek. She put the girl down as gently as she could on the lichen-mottled rocks and slung the pack off her. The entire back of it was wet with sweat. She suddenly worried about wetting the food, especially the spices, and cursed herself for not having the foresight. She took everything out. Some things were wet, but it wasn't too bad. When she re-packed, she put the blanket closest to her back for it to absorb her sweat but keep the food dry. She kept a withered apple and some bread out for herself.

She didn't know how to get the girlchild to eat. She dribbled some water from her waterskin in her mouth. The child coughed and sputtered. Most leaked off her chin, but Althea was sure a few droplets went through. She sat back. She took one bite and fell to devouring the apple and slice of bread. When she was done she looked around if she had missed a piece, licking crumbs and sticky apple juice off her fingers.

She looked up to find Lynex regarding her. It was a gaze he only gave her, that not-quite-soft, not-quite-kind gaze which bespoke of the something she knew she meant to him. It was powerful and brutal and sometimes when he looked at her like that she struggled for air. But today his gaze was softer, more muted. He turned his head away, his profile to her. She watched him look out across the wild expanse of the wooded planet, brooding, eyes half-lidded.

She let him have his peace. She followed his gaze, falling into the contemplative silence between them.

"I'll take your pack," he said.

Althea looked at him. "You don't have to."

"You're too slow."

She didn't argue. She nodded, took another drink of water. It couldn't have been more than midday. They still had quite a distance to go, though, as to where, Althea had no idea. It was as if she was on a road to nowhere, forever traveling to a place just out of reach. Maybe Lynex knew. He was the one who led her. But maybe he was as lost as her. She didn't ask him about it. She didn't have the energy to.

Althea hadn't realized how much she had been carrying until Lynex took the pack from her. She was almost amazed at the weightlessness she felt. She hurried after the Wraith, almost keeping pace.

.

.s.

.

The sky was beginning to darken when Lynex held up a fist. Althea slowed to a stop besides him. It was a small bare patch of duff, wide enough for ten people to sleep side-by-side. A trickling brook ran along at the left. A huge fallen moss-covered log lay next to it. A white boulder formed the right side of the tiny clearing. Soft patches of mossy fur coated it.

Althea set the child down as the Wraith began to prepare camp. The smallest of movements had her arms aching anew. Her back groaned. Her skin felt sticky with dried sweat. When the Wraith judged the fire was strong enough to accept bigger pieces of wood he moved aside to let Althea make a meal for herself and the child. With the brand new pot she had taken for herself she cooked some of the vegetables in a thin layer of water. She added a little of the white grain to the meager mix then sat back and waited. She watched the Wraith disappear into the coniferous underbrush. She knew he was patrolling the tiny territory that'd be their home for the night.

When she judged the meal done she took the pot off the fire and poured the goop onto a battered tin plate. It smelt hot and grainy. Mouth watering, she sprinkled a sparse amount of salt on it. Her stomach gurgled. She wanted to shove everything in her mouth, steaming or not, but resisted. The child needed to eat. The woman looked behind her. The child was quieter now, no longer thrashing and moaning. Her lids flickered less. Her skin was shiny in the warm orange glow of the fire.

After some thought, Althea mashed up a small portion of the grain and vegetables. Then, taking it with her, she went to where the child lay on the blanket. Althea lifted the girl's head. She dipped a finger into the mash and put it into the girl's mouth. It was like putting food in a doll. The young woman, afraid of choking the girl, withdrew her finger but made sure the food remained. Maybe she'll swallow it eventually, Althea thought to herself, frowning. She didn't know how to set a bone. She didn't know what to use for medicine. She tried cleaning the blood and pus from the skin, but even her lightest of touches seemed to cause the child pain. Althea crooned Wraith entreaties to her.

She peered closer at the child, in awe of the tiny nose, the little forehead, the chin, the light coloured hair. Producing offspring worked for humans. Parents were destined to die to allow the child to take their place. But Wraith, a species of ultra-longevity, producing offspring made little sense. With undying parents, it would only create more competition as the offspring grew up. Young Wraith were a product of prosperous times. Aside from her own clique, Althea never saw other Wraith children. She had no idea how drone Wraith were created.

She stared at the girl, wishing all the more for her to wake up. Her stomach growled again. The food had become lukewarm but she gobbled it down anyway. She licked her fingers, barely satisfied. She turned to the campfire, added more wood, and stoked it. Tiny sparks shot up from the disturbed fire and climbed high into the air. She watched them extinguish one by one. The sky above was murky, almost black. She could still see some definition of cloud-cover. Somewhere, an owl whoo-hoo'd.

Althea pulled her woolen shirt tighter around her. Though she had grown up in a wooded world similar to this one, she found she somewhat preferred the tundra planets with their far-seeing horizons. One could see an enemy miles and miles away.

Her eyelids dipped, fluttered awake, and dipped again. They felt as sticky as dried sweat and when they closed, it was hard to open them again. Suddenly feeling all the exhaustion in the world, the woman crawled over to where the child slept and, avoiding the broken arm, curled around the little body and fell asleep.

.

.s.

.

The child died two days later. Althea had woken up and found a fly crawling on the girl's eye. The young woman stared at the young body who, up until the night before, had a heartbeat and breathed.

Althea went through the motions of making breakfast and told Lynex when he returned what had happened. He said nothing, though he helped her bury the child. It was hard work, and she sweated, and by the time she was finished her hands were red and blistery from using a fire-hardened stick as a digger.

It was only when she was standing over the finished grave of the child did an inexplicable surge of sadness swept through her. Why? She didn't know the child. She didn't give birth to it, didn't nurse it. She didn't even rear it. And yet a terrible sense of loss gripped the young woman. She didn't know how long she stood before the grave, desolate for no reason, confused because of it, but when Lynex put a hand on her shoulder and began to push her away, she didn't resist.

By mid afternoon, they were packed and gone.

.

PART II

.

ii.

they had to shoot the horses
one by one in the head.
she wished she knew a prayer
for dead things.

.

.s.

.

Althea woke to howling winds outside their tiny cave. She remained where she was on the rocky ground, staring at the jagged ceiling. Cold wind buffeted her face despite the blanket they used as a buffer. A deep shiver ran through her. She tried to squirm deeper into the pile of mismatched clothes she had collected, clutching them tighter to her body. She closed her eyes and pretended she was somewhere warm.

A blast of freezing air and snowflakes whipped through the cave. Althea shot upright and watched as Lynex put the windstopper back into place and staggered into the shelter, stomping snow off his boots. Ice clung to his hair and half his face. It covered his shoulders in thick clumps. He shuddered hard once and most of it fell to the ground, finding no purchase on his smooth leathers.

The young woman smiled despite herself as she watched the Wraith flick his fingers like a cat shaking water.

The Wraith growled to himself as he shook the last clumps of ice from his hair. He went to her and dropped the object of his search at her feet. A bundle of sticks, some as thick as her thumb and others as thin as straw blades. Althea picked one of them up and felt it squoosh with sogginess. She cast an eye to their already dwindled supply of firewood and made a few swift calculations. They'd have enough for two more days, three if they stretched it.

"How does it look?" she said.

The Wraith moved past her in a waft of cold air and knelt in his customary sitting position across the fire. He smelt of snow and ice. Had he been human, he would have had to shuck his wet clothes to escape hypothermia. As it was he kept them on, ignoring the tiny runnels of water beading off.

"Worse," he said.

Althea sighed.

She began boiling herself some ice in the small pot she'd taken from the ruined village. She sometimes had dreams she'd wake up and find the pot gone and bolt awake to make sure it was still there. She couldn't imagine life without it.

She sat and stared off into space, coming out of it only when she heard the soft puk puk of the water boiling. Steam rose in white sheets as she poured the hot water into a cup. She riffled through her pack for some withered leaves and plopped it in, replicating something she'd been served in Atlantis. She forgot the name of the drink now, but she knew it turned a boring cup of hot water into something more pleasurable. She added a few more leaves then sat back to let it brew in her hands. Its warmth soothed her fingers.

She listened to the blizzard rage outside as she cradled the hot cup in her hands.

"I'm beginning to think the snow'll never end," she said, eyes faraway.

"All storms end," the Wraith said. He didn't look up from cleaning his stun pistol. He had taken it apart and was now wiping over every little metallic piece with a piece of cloth. Althea had lost count of how many times he had cleaned it. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, admiring the way his arm worked and how his head was bent.

Discreetly, careful not to rouse his notice, she studied him in earnest. She'd always remarked to herself how greenish he seemed, but now in the low light he appeared grayish. It had a glistening shine to it, and though she supposed some was because of the melting ice. Her eyes wandered over the sharp eyeridges so unlike her own. They gave him an alienness the rest of his body didn't, a severe regality so unlike humanity's expression. It made him appear as if he were constantly in mid-frown. When Lynex allowed her, she sometimes ran her fingers along them and feel the bone underneath.

Her eyes dipped to the twin facial notches adorning his cheeks and resisted the urge to feel her own smooth, uninterrupted human face. Her eyes traveled down the bridge of his nose and went to his lips. They were a shade darker than the rest of his skin, tight now in concentration. They were perhaps the only feature identical to her own. Below them were his twin mustachios, still bound tight and elegant after months of rough living. Her eyes flicked upward. She couldn't see his eyes for the angle, but she could see the folds of his eyelids and the white lashes. Then, at last, her favorite parts: the white hair, now swept out of the Wraith's face in a rough ponytail. She was glad her Hive's style didn't include dreadlocks. She loved the loose-flowing nature of it. When it was clean, it flowed like silk.

"What is it, Little Dagger."

Althea told herself she shouldn't be surprised. "I was reminding myself," she said.

Her partner didn't answer, though the obvious question was what she was reminding herself of. She didn't expand, and he didn't question. The moment fell away and silence regained in the cave. The chilled whistle of the wind outside came into focus again. She cradled her cup, swirling the contents within it. After a moment she stopped playing with it and just held it in her lap. She stared into it. She was nothing but a darkened shadow, dim features marking her reflection.

"Lynex, do you think humans have souls?" she asked.

Lynex paused what he was doing, the cloth stilling in mid-wipe. "How should I know?" he said. He resumed cleaning.

"What do you think'll happen to that little girl?"

"She'll decompose," the Wraith said, his movements never pausing. "Nothing more."

Althea rolled the cup in her heads, brow pensive. Steam rose and she could feel its minute heat against her cheek. "Is that it?" she said. "Will I just decompose too?"

All sounds of the cleaning stopped. Lynex looked at her. "Stop it," he said quietly.

The cup fell to the ground and cracked. The Wraith's eyes widened as, in a flurry of movement, she rushed to his side and kissed him hard, her hands clasping both sides of his face. His lips were firm against hers, still chilled from the icewater. She pressed herself to him, not giving him a chance to breathe as she covered his mouth with embraces. She held on with the strength of a drowning man even when he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his hips, never wanting to let go, not even when he growled Wraith comforts into her ear.

.

.s.

.

The howling winds abated three days later. Althea hissed and squinted, trying to shield her eyes with an upraised hand. In the end she had to turn her head away against the sunlight on the snowfields. It was cold, but without the wind her skin longer felt like it was being chopped to pieces. The air was so crisp it hurt to breathe in deeply.

A panorama of white snow-covered glaciers stretched far into the horizons and filled the winter world with frozen majesty. In the distance jagged peaks rose to the sky. Clouds drifted along their bases, unable to scale their heights. As her eyes adjusted even more, she could see cracks and ridges where deep fissures had formed in the glacier nearest to them.

She caught a dark shape in her peripheral vision. It was her Wraith. Her heart sunk at how translucent gray he looked, how malnourished. Yes, she decided. Shadows far suited Wraith aesthetic.

She was rewarded a sight rarely seen when Lynex glanced her way: his pupils, so often lost in the darkness of his iris, were as clear as ink on transparent green. They were the thinnest of slits, catlike, against the amount of brute sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned away with the secret smile.

The way down from their cave had been a goats path, narrow and twisting, but now it was nothing but frozen snow. After a few false starts, the travelers began to pick their way down, taking thrusting steps to break through the crust. At one point snow went up to Althea's hips.

By the time they hit level ground icy-blue shadows were creeping along their ankles. Once they saw humans in the distance, riding on sleds teams of dogs pulled. The young woman could hear the barking across the ice. There were two of these teams. Althea came abreast with Lynex and watched as the people slowed to a stop. The two parties regarded each other. Then, as if by unspoken signal, they both continued on their ways, though Althea thought the humans had picked up their pace. She followed the sleds with admiring eyes.

She watched the dog teams leave, not really putting much heat behind the thought of "What if . . ." It would've been a lie to say she hadn't imagined life growing up in human society. When she had been enthralled with Lt. Colonel John Sheppard of Atlantis, she oft had such fantasies. What she would've eaten. How she would've dressed. How she would've acted. On more scandalous fictions, deep in the privacy of her own mind, she'd even imagined who she would've mated.

That'd all been before the disastrous parting with the Atlantian team. She still dreamt of when he hit her and would wake up sore. Not physically: her ribs had knitted and healed, her temple had scabbed over, her bruises were long gone. But she ached, even now as she walked along the glacier. It was somewhere deep inside her, next to her guts. No more what ifs. No more Lt. John Sheppard. Even if she did fantasize life as a human, it left her bitter and dissatisfied, resentful beneath a vague discontent. She suspected Lynex knew the cause of her sudden depressions, and though she waited for him to confront her about it, he had yet to say a word.

By the time they reached the Ring the dark heavens were afire with snaking blue and green waves. Althea craned her head all the way back to watch the lightshow, astonished something so beautiful like this existed. If she watched long enough in one particular spot she could actually see it shift and bend like a living thing. Even the colours shifted in organic patterns, becoming green then blue then green again. How come she had never seen this before?

"What are they?" she said, unable to hold her silence any longer. She felt Lynex shift besides her, glancing upwards.

"Magnetic fluctuations. We must be close to one of the poles," he said.

"Why the poles?"

"That's where the electromagnetic fields are the greatest."

"Is there a name for them?"

"None I know."

She felt she could stare at them for hours, and was disappointed when the Ring finally activated. A great sgloosh of blue light and the portal was open, its shimmering lights mimicking a pool of water. Althea squinted and frowned as the lightshow became hard to see with all the bright light.

"Lynex, can we wait here a little longer? Just a little bit more."

The Wraith regarded her. He brushed her cheek with the back of two fingers. "You're shivering," he said.

"Please."

After another slight hesitation, he pressed a panel on the ancient dial and darkness returned. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, but when they did, the colours came back, and the splendor. The cold wrapped around both like a cloak, both muffling and stilling them. It was so quiet the woman felt they were the only people who existed. It was both an unsettling and comforting thought, and she didn't want to leave. But the Wraith hadn't lied: her muscles were attempting to warm themselves with tiny spasms, leaving her almost dancing with cold.

When the time came the Wraith ignored her pleas and herded her through the Ring.

.

.s.

.

Althea dove into the water and came up sputtering. With sure strokes she reached the other side of the pond. She flipped onto her back and began to float with the lilies, her hands swishing like duck's feet to keep herself level. The sky was so clear and blue she imagined she could see all the way to the outer atmosphere. She closed her eyes at the placid warmth of the sun. Althea flipped onto her stomach and began to kick her way back to the other side.

She didn't know when she learned to swim, only that She Always Could. Her human sire must've taught her. Perhaps that's why she felt so at home in the water: it was a purely human thing. Lynex avoided it whenever he could, never partaking in her watery frolicking.

"We weren't born with gills," he'd say if she asked him to join her. But he rarely left to do other things when she swam. He'd sit on the bank and watch her. He never asked her to hurry, never grew impatient.

Althea sucked in a huge gulp of air and went under with a scissor movement of her long legs. A murky world rose to meet her. She opened her eyes and peered into the gloom. Shapes darted by. Blooms of algae swayed in unhurried strokes. She loved the strange quiet of the underwater world. Did fish feel this way, forever tucked in peace? To move so fluidly, each flick of a fin altering the course of the world.

Eventually her lungs began to burn. She kicked out with her legs and broke the surface with a gasp of air. She treaded water for a moment, rubbing water from her eyes. She glanced in the direction of the banks. Lynex wasn't there. He hadn't been, not even when she first entered the pond.

He was out feeding.

Dragonflies skimmed the water's surface as Althea began to make her way to the pile of clothes resting in a sunny patch of grass, her strokes slow and languid. She stood up. Mud the temperature of blood glooshed through her toes with each step she took. Algae and lily stems tickled her legs and clung to her thighs.

She shot her head up as four children appeared around a bend of underbrush. They stopped when they caught sight of her. Not too far behind them were two women, chatting as they carried baskets full of clothes. They too stopped when they saw the naked woman, their conversation cut short.

Althea blinked and stared, still half-way out of the water.

It was one of the children who first broke the little scene. He turned his face to the woman and chattered something in the melodic and fast-flowing Common. As if shaken awake, one of the woman gabbled something back. She grabbed the boy's hand and yanked him in the direction they had come from. Much of what Althea had learned of Common from Carson Beckett was lost, but she picked up the phrases "go back," and "no." She hoped the humans would leave. Then she would grab her clothes and disappear into the woods. She shifted. Go away, she thought. Go away.

But then something happened she didn't account for. The other woman began to call out to Althea. Althea shook her head. The other took a step forward, voice a clear beckoning. Or was it a question? An old helplessness gripped Althea as she shook her head again.

"I don't understand what you're saying," Althea said, in the only tongue she knew.

The older first woman hissed at the younger one, clearly in a dispute. The second one waved her away and came closer. She was now a stone's throw away from Althea, speaking lowly as if to magic a spooked horse. She made come, come motions with her hand. The woman wasn't beautiful—Teyla of the Atlantian team was far more handsome than this one—but her eyes were warm. Without meaning to Althea called her Henkra, which meant "brown eyes one," or "one with the brown eyes" in Wraith. She found herself relaxing.

Althea waded the rest of the way out of the water. When she stepped onto dry land Henkra gave Althea one of the sheets in her basket to dry off.

Althea took the sheet. It was soft to the touch, softer than the woman had expected. She murmured in wonderment at the fuzzy texture and rubbed it between two fingers. It was warm—exceptionally warm. It must have been in the sun. Althea quickly wrapped it over her shoulders and covered herself. Instant heat enveloped her.

"Thank you," she said, dipping her head shyly to Henkra. Henkra nodded in return, understanding the gesture though she didn't recognize the words. She looked down at the children who crowded her legs. They were three boys and one girl. Though the girl had brown hair and a different face, she reminded Althea of the one who'd died. Althea attempted a friendly smile and felt crushed when the girl ducked behind Henkra's leg.

Henkra aimed a stream of melodic warbles at Althea again. She gestured to Althea, making the Come movement again, and pointed towards the way they had come. Althea looked away, the gesture of kindness overwhelming.

She wasn't the only one who reacted to Henkra's motions. A shocked scowl of words rose from the first woman. Althea decided then to call her Brenhur, for her antagonistic nature. Henkra turned and spoke to Brenhur, her tone firm. She then gestured at Althea's pile of clothes. She wrinkled her nose. Then, still arguing something, Henkra gesticulated to Althea herself.

The young woman blinked, then looked down at herself. Her two legs poked from the bottom of the sheet. They were wiry with the muscle of continuous hiking but thin, not an ounce of superfluous fat on them. Veiny feet stared back at her. When she removed the rest of the sheet she noticed, perhaps truly for the first time, how her the comfortable padding of fat on her hips were gone. How her clavicles jutted out. Even her breasts seemed flatter, her skin clinging to her ribs. It suddenly made sense why once-fitting shirts now draped over her like dead weight. Shirts, now ratty and holey and travel-stained.

Althea flushed at the implications. How could this woman whom she'd never seen, care so much about her? She suddenly felt put on the spot. The nomad family had been the same way: they took her in, cared for her. Looking back, it'd been a very real possibility she could've died.

Should she accept the woman's offer? Althea almost disagreed, had it not been for the overwhelming urge to replenish much-needed supplies. Unable to look the people in the eye, Henkra especially, she nodded. After rewrapping herself in the sheet and collecting her pack and clothes, she began to follow the tiny procession. The children sprinted ahead, the girl first in the lead due to a surprise head start. They curved around a leafy bend and disappeared. Brenhur brought up the rear, her presence radiating distrust.

.

.s.

.

Holding her breath, Althea stepped into the village.

It was a small one, no more than twenty dwellings. They were a mixture of leather lean-to shelters and wooden cabins. At first Althea thought they were of nomadic inclination. Then she noticed the dirt under her feet was hard-packed, smooth from generations of use. The noise level wasn't particularly loud. If anything, it was perhaps one of more subdued human settlements she had ever been in. Althea struggled a moment with herself to describe it. It wasn't strained, just . . . calm. As if the lull of morning hadn't lifted yet despite it being afternoon. She lifted her head and sniffed. Smoking meat and herbs wafted on the breeze.

People walking by turned their heads and stopped. A couple put down the cart they were pushing. Children stopped their play and crowded around adults' legs. Althea kept her eyes to herself but she heard Henkra sing something in her melodic tongue. A greeting? The young woman lifted her head and saw in time an older man coming forward. He had thinning white hair, a beard, tan arms flaccid with age and slack muscle. His arms were outstretched and embraced Henkra when she went to meet him. Althea peered at the man aslant. She knew enough about human culture to assume they were close. Were they father and daughter? Was he these peoples' chieftain? The young pariah woman decided to treat him with utmost respect.

Henkra and the chieftain separated, though they still exchanged fast-flowing words. The man leveled a gaze at Althea, more curious than peremptory. He had brown eyes, ringed blue with age.

Althea dipped her head. Had she met a Wraith, she would've kept her eyes in a no-gaze to avoid direct eye-contact. Althea had been fortunate. Warrior had been lax with her. He never forced her to undergo the full greeting a deeply subordinate gave a complete superior.

But, seeing how the old man was no Wraith, Althea settled for something simpler.

A few more words passed between the old man and Henkra. A few gestures later, an apparent conclusion was reached. Henkra nodded at Althea and began walking.

A few continued to stare as Althea walked past but they were the minority. Althea in turn tried to ignore everything. She kept her eyes straight ahead on Henkra alone. Outwardly, she was the picture of calm. Inside, she was a tuning fork of tension. The memory of the pamphlet warranting her and Lynex's death or capture squirmed in her stomach. Her guts did loop-de-loops as she walked deeper into the tiny, woodland settlement.

Henkra led her into a small tent on the outskirts of the town. Althea ducked her head and squeezed herself into the tent. Even more surprising to the young woman was the inside. Sunlight on the canvas made the air glow a warm orange. Mats woven from different kinds of grass and fiber acted as rugs on a dirt floor. There were no tables or chairs, only cushions. There was tiny bed in a corner, some heaps of clothes next to it. Hot air escaped from a hole atop the tent, creating a circulation of air.

Henkra sat cross-legged before Althea on one of the cushions and patted the seat across from her. Puzzled, Althea did as commanded. She almost got up again when, of all people, Brenhur appeared through the flap. The young woman gaped as the disagreeable woman passed by her and, without any consideration, shoved Henkra out of the cushioned seat. Althea stared at the both of them.

"I'll never understand any of you," she said, not without some despair.

From the way she poked and prodded Brenhur reminded Althea of the time she and Lynex got their adult leathers and became full-fledged members in Wraith society. It'd been immediately after they'd returned from the disastrous Hunt of Passage. She struggled to control her expression as she remembered what Lynex was doing. She didn't want to think about it, not when around these humans going out of their way to help her. He could be feeding on a Henkra right now, or on a Brenhur. She tried to bring herself back to her previous state of enjoyment and found she had lost it. She'd gone swimming had been to comfort herself. A sliver of dejection wiggled past her mask.

Henkra noticed and, brows drawn in human empathy, warbled a question at the young woman.

"Thank you," Althea said quietly, nodding for the clothes Brenhur laid before her. "You're both so kind to me. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay you."

Henkra frowned and leaned forward, clearly struggling to interpret Althea's change of mood through her words. She pointed to the clothes and chattered a question-lilt, frown still on her face. Althea shook her head, took the clothes and gave the biggest smile she could, repeating "Thank you." Henkra's frown deepened.

It was Brenhur who came to the rescue. The older woman said something, gesturing to Althea's old pile of clothes, then to the ones in Althea's hands. Henkra's frown evaporated and she shook her head vigorously. She repeated a word again and again, and Althea got the feeling Henkra thought her gloom came from her shame taking gifts while having nothing to offer. Which was part of the truth, but not the main reason. The young pariah woman was content in letting her think that. Althea smiled at her, though it was tired on her face. Henkra noticed it, and said something at Brenhur.

A moment later, food was laid out before her. Althea's mouth watered at the sight of the loaf of bread and fruit. There was even a little bit of salted meat. The woman felt she could eat everything. When was the last time she had eaten something this bountiful? She tore her eyes away and saw Henkra looking at her with a particular expression, one Althea couldn't place. There was sadness, and regret, too. What'd it mean? Before the young woman could look more deeply in the strange look Henkra pointed to the food and nodded. She even went so far as to mimic tearing into a leg of chicken.

It was all the encouragement Althea needed. She fell onto the food with a starving dog's fervor, not stopping to breathe. She gobbled the fruit and bread and was gnawing on the meat when Henkra passed her a wooden cup. Soon only crumbs were left. That, too, she ate, licking her fingers wet then swiping the plates clean.

Brenhur gave out a low whistle. The woman placed more food in front of Althea. The young woman devoured as much as her shrunken stomach could hold. Brenhur began rummaging through her tattered knapsack and picked her way through the clothes. Althea licked her fingers clean as Brenhur bundled up her old clothes and tossed them away. She began rifling through the odd assortments of objects Althea had collected over the months—her trusty pot, her dinged eating utensil, a cup, a bent pewter knife, a coil of string, a rag, a half a dozen bags made of animal intestines including the water bag the nomad woman Mema gave her, plus what was left of her food storages. She even had a toy rattle.

"Don't throw them away," Althea said, reaching and stopping the older woman's hand when she looked like she was going to put them with the bundle of old clothes. Althea stared Brenhur in the eyes. Brenhur twitched away, surprise scrunging her face. She rattled a stream of nonsense at the younger woman, then got up and, taking just the clothes, exited the tent.

Henkra shrugged, then began to repack all the strewn objects Brenhur left out in the knapsack. Althea gave a Wraith's grunt of thanks. The knapsack had served her well for all the months, never breaking, never complaining. It was made of a heavy-duty canvas material, one Althea never encountered before. It'd started out an off-beige colour but long rugged months turned it a mottled brown. A sly smile came to her lips before she could quash it. The previous owner had it coming, anyway, leaving such a fine-quality knapsack on his dining room table for anyone to take. It'd looked so alluring under the kerosene lamps, and now Althea was reluctant to part from it for a moment for fear of losing it. What impressed her most, however, was Henkra's ability to notice Althea's attachment to the sack. Unlike Brenhur, who had appeared prepared to throw it away with the rest of the old clothes. The woman had a hunter's attention for detail.

Suddenly, Althea knew what to give. It was easier this time without Lynex snarling with jealousy. She leaned forward and tapped her chest. "Little Dagger," she said.

Henkra's eyes lit up and grew shrewd. Althea had to repeat herself only once before the other woman attempted to mouth the strange and guttural Wraith tongue. Her execution was pitiful at first but soon gathered conviction. Al, al-tthhheeee-aaaa. Altheeea. Althea. The littlest of daggers.

Then the other woman tapped her own chest and said her true name, but she was Brown Eyes to Althea, and nothing would change that.

.

.s.

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She was running. It was dark all around—night? Pre-dawn? Was she in a forest? She couldn't tell. There was mud coating her legs slowing her down, holding her in place. No matter what she did there was nothing she could do to free herself. A terrible urge to runrunrun made her struggle all the harder. She was almost crying with frustration, calling out to her Wraith lover. But he wasn't there. He was riding a Dart overhead, its engine whining its terrible scream. For some reason Althea was trying to outrun him. Mud came to her hips. He was coming closer and closer, the raucous wail of the ship sounding as if it was passing straight over her head—

Someone was shaking her awake, shouting in her ear. Althea shot her eyes open and found Henkra inches from her, eyes wide and white-ringed. Her mouth was moving but all Althea could hear was the high whine of a—

"Darts!" Althea said, sitting upright. She turned her head to the ceiling but saw nothing. Outside people were screaming, the sounds of running feet and ripping fabric adding to the chaos. Horses were whinnying in terror. Henkra was almost yanking Althea's arm out of her socket, desperately trying to pull the young woman towards the tent's exist. Another body materialized. In the gloom Althea could barely make out Brenhur's sweaty face. Brenhur was gasping something, one word tumbled over and over.

Wraith!

Bullied to her feet, Althea somehow managed to snatch her knapsack full of fresh clothes and new supplies and bring it outside with her. A blast of chilly air met her and she shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. Henkra pulled her by her elbow, fingers digging into her skin. Something other than fear coursed through Althea as she ran. It wasn't fear—she'd never been on the receiving end of a Culling, only experienced the detached, quantifiable aspect of it: how many ships dispatched, how many soldiers required, how many wounded, how many humans procured, numbers numbers numbers. Never before had she been in the actual fray itself, with the turmoil and chaos and fear and confusion. There was something surreal about the whole scenario. It was easy to pretend this was all a game, or a dream. But something caught alight in her bloodstream and her pulse grew rapid and eyes wide.

She had to find Lynex.

She tried to pull away, to head towards the dark forest, but Henkra was unshakeable. With iron strength she kept Althea by her side. At one point they collided with another party running in the opposite direction. Her sweaty hold on the heavy knapsack slipped and it became lost. Althea shouted and tried to get it but oncoming feet nearly trampled her to death. Althea barely had time to mourn before she was on the move again, running through the village, air pounding up and down her throat. Dawn was breaking, sky a lighter indigo. Althea could see the whining shapes of the Darts. With a cool sense of detachment she remembered flying in one of them.

Something collided into Althea hard enough to jerk her out of Henkra's grasp and send her slamming onto the ground. She lay there for a moment, wheezing. She curled onto one side, old pains blossomed from beneath her skin. She tried sitting up. Someone sailed past, their wayward feet kicking her in her head. Althea collided with the ground again, crying out in pain. Someone was shouting her name.

"Little Dagger! Little Dagger!"

A hand appeared through the chaos and Althea grabbed at it with the strength of a drowning man. She was pulled to her feet and a rush of vertigo almost sent her falling again. Warmth trickled down her face. When she withdrew a hand, it came back wet.

Henkra was shouting at her, trying to get her to move, desperation scrawled on her face. Althea looked over her head and her eyes widened, mouth going slack. Henkra turned around in time to see a beam of white light whizz towards them. Althea had a vague sensation of being swept up before becoming lost, her sense of self fading farther and farther away in a world of particle streams, organic readings and spiders' dreams.

.

.s.

.

Once, Little Dagger asked him what his hunger felt like.

Lynex didn't answer right away. Several abstracts came to him instantly. Pain. Yes, but what type of pain? Hunger. Hunger? How does one describe hunger?

The closest he came was no relief, but even then he felt dissatisfied. He tried analyzing what he felt when he needed to feed, but every description seemed inadequate, just wrong enough, to thwart him. The hunger burned, but . . . it felt like melting more than burning, but melting wasn't it, either. Minutes dragged on and still he couldn't conceptualize the sensation of hunger in a way she could understand. It was like describing what the colour black smelt like.

Eventually the fire dwindled to embers and Little Dagger went to sleep. But the Wraith remained awake, agonizing over something he experienced time and time again. What did hunger feel like? When morning came Little Dagger didn't ask again, but Lynex remembered the question. It frustrated him to no end, unable to put words to such an important sensation.

It remained like that for days, before inspiration finally brought relief to him. He took her to a world he knew inhospitable, a place the Ancients had used for an airship base. The sky was a roiling mixture of soot and ash. Everything stunk of sulfur and pumice, scorching the inside of throats and tearing eyes. Lynex could feel her curiosity like a physical thing but he didn't accommodate her. He just continued to lead the way, helping her through the treachery of the black ground.

It grew hotter and hotter until the very air shimmered with heat. Drawing in breaths felt like sucking in liquid steam, stinging in the nose and burning the inside of the mouth. Both of them became wet with sweat. He could hear Little Dagger wheezing, but he pushed a little more, knowing her limits, until at last he found what he was looking for. He came to a stop on the obsidian ledge. Besides him, the young woman become quiet and still. Her eyes grew huge.

The volcano seethed below them. From its red maw a river of lava gurgled out, hotter than anything the Wraith had ever experienced. Even from his distance away Lynex could hear it moving, shifting, boiling, searching like a ponderous living thing. Scorching ash and pumice roiled above the volcano's sullen bloodstream. Hot sparks of molten chunks of rock exploded in sudden bursts. But something more than the purely physical sight both awed and subdued him. He could feel the volcano in his chest, burning, angry, never-ending. It was his most constant companion, both the life and death of him.

"This," Lynex had said, "is what the hunger feels like."

Little Dagger, pale, only nodded. She fell into step behind him and didn't look back once the entire way to the Ring.

.

.s.

.

It was amusing how humans never ask about the relief of feeding, only the hunger.

The body dropped to the ground, disturbing the bleached river stones beneath. It once had been a man but now it was freeze-dried flesh and tendon, mummified bone and leather. The skull grinned in agony but pain was the last thing Lynex was feeling.

The Wraith closed his eyes. The pain was receding, that deep, angry throb of burning ash and all-consuming fire. He could feel it dissipate more with each pulse of his heart, slowly becoming nothing but the palest warmth. His feeding slit twinged in pleasure-pain as it retracted to regular size.

He reopened his eyes and picked up the dead human. It weighed as much as a leaf, though its texture was of hard-boiled sinew. He sucked in some air through his sensory pits and suddenly had an overload of desiccated flesh. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head to get rid of the scent, growling faintly under his breath. His boots clomped on the river stones and sent smaller pebbles skittering. It'd been the rocks which caught the human. He would've escaped—he was unbelievably swift, giving Lynex a hearty chase through the woodland forest—had it not been for the treacherousness of the stones. Appearing stable but weren't, the man crashed on the river bank. Lynex had found him dragging his useless leg behind him, almost on all fours trying to reach the river. The Wraith spared no time flipping him on his back and ramming his hand onto his chest. Then the relief came like an orgasm's afterglow, and Lynex feared for his life no longer.

The Wraith covered the body with branches of dead trees and struck out in the direction of the Ring. He scented the air, backtracking the man's odor. He traveled fast and light, feeling more invigorated than he'd in days. Muscles no longer burned but sang with strength. He was tempted with a youngling's desire to push himself into a sprint. But he needed to make this human's strength last, and forced himself to trot. Foolish, he thought.

Lynex found the Ring, dialed out to the world he had left Little Dagger, and went through the portal. A heartstop-suction-gutdrop-nothingness moment later, he materialized on the other side.

The Wraith knew something was wrong the moment he set foot on the grass. At first he thought it was nighttime. Then his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he thought, Too light. He squinted at the light gray bar in the east. Some time after dawn, he decided. But that wasn't the wrongness he felt.

He could feel them. Nothing but the slightest of pressures on the filament of his consciousness, but they were there.

Wraith.

Lynex stood paralyzed. He imagined telecommunicating again, the communal comfort of mindspeak, its flow, its naturalness. As he thought about easing the strain of silence, a desperate yearning rose. He could sense they were speaking to each other, part of one mind. He took a step forward, eyes closing, head extending forward.

Just one thought, just one . . .

Little Dagger regarded him, eyes gray as the sea.

It was terrible, thinking of the woman he belonged to. Lynex snarled. His eyes flew open and, with a herculean effort, threw off the temptation. A hand gripped the side of his head and he held there for a moment, struggling to regain his composure. He couldn't go home anymore. If the other Wraith knew he was here they'd kill him, or worse. Lynex stood up tall with a shuddering breath. He snuffed at the air, eyes cutting through the dimness.

She had been here.

Without Little Dagger slowing him down he half-ran in the underbrush, following the little dirt path leading away from the Ring. He stopped by a dawn-still pond. It was empty. Her scent led away. For a moment he frowned, stopping on the edge of the bushes. After a look in both directions he went to the path and crouched on his haunches. In the dimness he saw a series of footprints. He brought some dirt to his face. He rolled it between his thumb, index and middle finger and sniffed it. She'd been there. Her pack was gone.

The scent trail headed towards the human settlement. He hurried, but not enough to sacrifice stealth. He could sense lingering presences of Wraith, stronger now, enough to remain on guard.

Soon Lynex reached the village, or what was left of it. The Wraith ignored the devastation, focusing on the faint remains of her scent. Once he passed by a woman but she was dead. He snorted and continued on; without a life-force, humans were useless. A disquiet was building inside him but he stoutly ignored it.

He crouched down in the rubble and began pawing away some debris. After a moment, he pulled up a knapsack. The Wraith held it close to his nose and took in a huge whuff of air. He held the knapsack close to him for a moment, eyes closed, still crouching. He buried the knapsack in the ground and covered it with planks of wood. Then he stood up and stared into the dawn.

.

.s.

.

Lynex waited less than an hour before a Wraith came around. He was snuffling about the ruins alone. Lynex twitched the dead woman's hand. The other Wraith became rapt, body freezing, predator's eyes locking and focusing. He hurried over, hunger rising on his face.

The Wraith noticed something amiss a moment too late. He managed a single hiss-spit in surprise before Lynex exploded from the debris. The fight ended before it begun and thirty seconds saw Lynex straddling the other's stomach. He touched his feeding slit on the other's chest and the other uttered a strangled yowl.

Lynex released the other after the barest moment. He put his feeding hand inches from the other's chest as the other Wraith caught his breath, a leer twisting his visage.

"I have a little problem," Lynex said, smiling down at his captive, "and you're going to help me fix it."

.

PART III

.

iii.

her skull is a cup
and her finger bones are the spoons.
her shoulder blade is a plate
and her teeth are jewelry
all strung
in a neat little row.

.

.s.

.

She was on a Hiveship.

Althea stared at the wall from her vantage point on the ground, feeling the hum of machinery far below. She'd been awake like this for a while, unmoving, getting a sense of her bearings before she alerted everyone she was conscious. She could hear people shuffling. Low chatter. Soft sobs.

I'm really on a Hiveship, she thought. She'd been so sure, so resigned, to never see inside of one again in her life. It was darker than her own, the red and yellows dominating the lightscape. Her Hive used far more blues. For this reason Althea concluded this Hiveship felt more organic than her own. She clenched her eyes, pretending for a moment she was back at home.

Home.

Someone crouched close to her. Althea sat upright. It was Henkra. Before Althea could react, the other woman reached out and hugged her with strength enough to leave Althea struggling for air. The young woman didn't attempt to disentangle herself. A rush of warmth swept through her and she embraced back, feeling the other quaking. Henkra was warm, far warmer than Lynex ever was, and though she stunk of sweat and fear, her humanity eased the ache Althea had been carrying in her stomach since Sheppard's rejection. In that moment she vowed to do everything possible to get Henkra to safety, even if it killed her.

Althea pulled away and held the other woman at arm's length. She looked deep into the other's eyes and said, "I'll save you. It won't be easy, but if we work together and if you do what I do, we should make it. I'm not sure where Lynex is but we can't rely on him. I'll do my best, but you have to trust me. Trust me, Brown Eyes. Please."

Henkra stared at her and Althea fervently hoped she somehow understood something important had just passed even though she knew there would be no look of realization, no nod of acknowledgement. But Althea had made a vow, and she'd try her utmost to keep it.

.

.s.

.

Althea made Henkra sit in plain sight on the right side of the enclosure, close to the bars. Henkra insisted at first sitting towards the back, struggling and gesturing to where the other people were huddled, but Althea was unshakeable. She almost drew blood forcing Henkra away from them. She couldn't explain to the other woman Wraith looked from right to left and more often than not ignored the first thing they saw. She couldn't explain how she knew clusters of humans struggling to hide drew a Wraith's attention. The best was to pretend like you didn't notice them and they didn't notice you. It was easier, Althea realized, with so many humans in the enclosure. She counted thirty people. She and Henkra made thirty-two.

"Listen to me," Althea had said in her best Lynex voice.

After a long, searching look, Henkra had relented, troubled. All the same she'd looked to the other people with clear longing on her face. They were all hanging near the back, squeezing themselves along the wall the farthest away from the enclosure's entrance as possible. Some where hanging onto each other. One young couple kept whispering something over and over again, entwined as if to never let go. Some were crying into their hands, trying to muffle their sobbing while. Children huddled by their parents. Others stared ahead, shell-shocked to their fates.

Althea had eyed the latter with a critical eye. They'd get eaten the quickest or put into cold storage to keep preserved if they appeared too dead. She'd regarded Henkra again. The woman sat on her butt with her knees pulled to her chest. Althea scooted closer and crooned Wraith praises.

The young woman showed Henkra how to keep still and demonstrated how to keep her eyes down when the Wraith came finally. Henkra had trembled besides Althea the entire time. But she copied Althea, keeping her head down while sitting cross-legged on the ground, and Althea nodded in approval. The other humans plastered themselves to the far wall, some crying in earnest.

Althea had caught sight of the Wraith from a discreet turn of her head. The style and cut of the leathers were different than her Hive's, more intricate in design, more open at the top. The Wraith who came in wore pants but no trenchcoat-esque portion, and his upper garment showed his bare arms. Dreadlocks seemed to be the norm for this Hive. His white hair hung about his shoulder blades. And tattooing as well, though she couldn't see what it looked like from her quick glance.

The Wraith dropped a pile of food down on the floor then left, ignoring Althea and Henkra despite his close proximity to them. Althea watched him go down the hall, the two drones clomping behind him. Then the weblike bars of the enclosure came down and relief flooded the humans. They relaxed in degrees. A few began speaking quietly.

As they were the closet, Althea snatched the best choices of the nourishment: a mottled brown apple, a withered carrot, and a cup that still had some water in it. She left the meat alone. She returned to her place alongside Henkra, ignoring the other humans rushing at the food.

Taking some of the water, Althea began to wash the apple and carrot, knowing it was poisoned with sleep to make the humans compliant. She showed Henkra how to clean the food, so to avoid the drugs. When she was done, Althea looked to the other woman.

Henkra had stopped trembling and was gazing at Althea. She ignored the food and fixed an incredulous stare at her. The shrewdness returned and she said something even through she knew Althea couldn't understand her. The two woman then ate in silence, watching as people began to fight and argue for what little food had been placed.

.

.s.

.

Althea didn't realize she had fallen into a human survival mechanism: care for yourself and those you know before all others. To Henkra she focused all her attention, poured all her experience and knowledge. She didn't tell the other humans about washing the food and avoiding the meat. She didn't tell them Wraith liked it when they showed spirit and didn't tell them to hide in plain sight. She instead left them alone, despite her eyes straying over to them when curiosity took her. It didn't surprise her the other humans left her alone. She expected it. Perhaps they knew something set her apart, made her different. Althea watched as the humans banded together, sitting in circles and holding hands. Never once did they offer for her to join, though once or twice a few cast curious, if not pitying, glances her way.

But what Althea didn't understand was why the other humans didn't reach out to Henkra. Henkra had wanted to go to them before Althea forbade it. But then none tried to reclaim her. She glanced at her. Althea knew Henkra suspected something. The woman was keen, keener than Althea had originally thought. Althea knew she would figure out her affiliation with the Wraith soon. Would their friendship survive the revelation?

No. She had to be realistic. She could almost hear Lynex in her ear. Stop filling yourself with pointless hopes. She resigned herself to Henkra's eventual departure, and blinked at the sharp, stinging pain it brought.

She gave Henkra a squeezing, desperate hug, the pain not lessening when Henkra returned it.

.

.s.

.

The hour came at last.

The Wraith returned. There were five of them this time, four drones, one faced one. The leader of the group was different than the first one who'd brought food: taller, broader-shouldered. He, too, bore dreadlocks and had a tattoo sweeping around his left eye. He wasted no time marching to the humans cowering in the back corner. People darted to get away, stumbling over each other. The Wraith went right past Althea. Besides her, Henkra kept her head down.

The lead Wraith paused in the middle of the room. From Althea's vantage point his back was to her. He could see his head turning as he regarded the humans in the room. After a moment, he gave an indiscernible twitch of his index finger. Three of the four drones pocketed their stun pistols and marched past the leader. Althea's eyes narrowed as they ignored the people wedged in the corners and hauled up those who stared at the world with dead eyes. They slung the people onto their shoulders as if they were lambs. Thirty-two minus three is twenty-nine, she thought.

The three drones walked out of the enclosure and disappeared around a bend, leaving the leader and the single drone. The drone backed out, waiting for its orders with the patience of a wood post. Althea gave it little consideration. They were the same on any Hiveship despite the faction.

She heard a grunt Lynex gave when he was satisfied. She flicked her eyes upward enough to see the lead Wraith walk past. He didn't glance at either women.

The wake the Wraith left was very large.

No one spoke, slowly coming out of the corners, one hand on walls to steady themselves. No one looked at each other. Even the young couple stood side by side without embracing, their faces pale and shocked. One of the women who cried regularly stared straight ahead with dry eyes.

One of the males said something, and the spell broke. Suddenly everyone had something to say. Besides her, Henkra shook her head. Althea could read sorrow, regret, fear—fear, yes, that never left, not here—but something more. Henkra caught Althea staring and looked away, but if she was blushing or from the red overhead lights, the young woman couldn't tell. Althea ducked her head.

In the subdued silence between the two of them, Althea thought about Lynex.

.

.s.

.

Twenty-nine became twenty-four. Twenty-four became twenty, then nineteen, then fifteen. Then eleven people remained of the original thirty-two, one of which was seriously contemplating a way of reaching Lynex.

There was no time in the enclosure, only the terrible waiting. At first, every waking moment was on a knife's edge. Exhaustion, not the desire, always brought sleep. When sleep did come, it was fitful and thin. Althea rubbed her grainy eyes, glad she didn't have a mirror or a cup of water to look at herself. Then, as time passed, everything became duller. Everything flowed into each other. Even the food-bringing Wraith became commonplace. Did days pass, or weeks? Althea wasn't sure. At first she had tried judging the passage of time by the appearance of the Wraith, but there was no pattern to follow. The Wraith with the food was a little more regular, but as the number of humans dwindled, so did his visits. Althea saw some people try to count the days with marking on the wall. She wondered if it worked for them.

Eleven became seven.

Someone had discovered a tiny vent blowing warm air into the enclosure. Those who remained clustered around it, warming fingers and hands. There was less talk these days. Those who had fought for their lives were long gone, chosen almost at once. Those who remained passed the hours sleeping under the drugs' influence. People accepted someone's disappearance as they accepted their continued presence. There had been escape attempts. Of course there were. Some succeeded and crept away. Henkra had wanted to go with them, eyes begging Quick, we have the chance! but Althea had managed to persuade her to stay. Lynex told her stories of escapees. Their fates were almost worse than those used for food. When Althea asked what that entailed, Lynex answered with the word "runner." She remembered Ronon described as one.

As she predicted, those who escaped never returned. Instead, they passed into the obscurity of Not Here.

Seven became six.

There was nothing to do but sit and wait. One almost wanted to be chosen just to end the infernal waiting. Althea felt herself stiffening, her joints creaking and cracking whenever she flexed them. Henkra fared better, considering she'd been healthier to begin with. But she, too, was showing outward signs of minimal nourishment and cage life. Her once full cheeks were hollowing.

Eventually they took the children. Althea watched as the screaming mother pitched herself on the ground and sobbed into her hands. Althea had to look away. Without the maturity of aging, children offered nothing but the shortest of bursts of life. Their hearts couldn't handle the enzyme Wraith injected in them. It had always been Wraith mentality to let human offspring mature before feeding. Now, Althea was sure, even children were fair game.

Six became four.

She and Henkra became inseparable. After the first residual resistance, Henkra did everything Althea asked of her without question. She didn't touch the meat, washed the food before she ate it, stayed along the right side wall nearest to the webbed door without complaint. Althea didn't have to check to see if her head was in the proper position whenever the Wraith came. She didn't attempt to escape. If Althea got up, she got up. If Althea laid down, she laid down. If Althea became tense, she became tense.

Althea didn't need spoken language to know Henkra knew she knew what she was doing. The young woman caught Henkra staring at her sometimes with a deep expression. Whenever she seemed to reach a conclusion she would shake the thought away, sometimes startling Althea after she hadn't moved in hours. Then the storm would pass, leaving behind only the barest puzzlement on Henkra's face. Althea always pretended to not notice.

More and more, she began to dread the moment Henkra found out the truth.

It was during one such particular moment between them the Wraith came. Althea found herself dipping her head and falling into the cross-legged position automatically. She didn't need to look besides her to know Henkra did the same.

She counted only two Wraith—one soldier, the other the same Wraith who took people Away. She paid attention to the gleam of his black shoes. She began counting in her head. She got up to seven when,

"Take this one."

Henkra sucked in a breath.

Althea shot her head up. The drone was bending down to grasp Henkra's upper arm. It was hauling her to her feet when Althea launched herself at it. She'd fought soldiers before to know of a particular spot beneath the mandible area, near the mental foramen, where they were weakest. One jab could put one to sleep. Althea yanked hard on the wiry dreadlocks and, throwing the soldier off-balance for the slightest of moments, searched under its bone mask near its chin for the sweet spot. Her fingers found it and she shoved her fingers upward with all the force she could muster. The Wraith shuddered once and toppled over as if—

A stunning cuff took her off her feet and slammed her to the ground. Her teeth clicked together and she almost bit off her tongue. She muffled a cry of pain. She looked up and saw the Wraith looking at her, normally apathetic eyes slightly widened in what, on a human, would be bemusement. His placid expression never changed. He twitched a finger.

The drone shuddered once before rising to its feet like a pain-stricken bull. It resumed its task of retrieving Henkra, who hadn't moved once throughout the turn of events but was staring at Althea, her eyes wide and mouth gaping. She didn't notice the soldier taking her, her feet walking by themselves before she realized she was being led away. Althea groaned, spat blood and said:

"Please, don't take her. Take me instead."

The moment the words left her lips the Wraith's gaze shifted and the apathy disappeared. He gazed at her for a moment, staring, before he turned and marched off, following after the soldier and Henkra. Althea staggered to her feet, arm cradling her stomach. She lurched herself after them. The webbing came down and she clutched at the organic wiring. She shouted until her throat was hoarse. The two other humans looked on with empathy.

.

.s.

.

When the Wraith came she knew it was for her. Two drones accompanied the lead Wraith from before. Althea stood in the centre of the enclosure. She didn't make a human's mistake of instinctively looking into his eyes when he came to a stop in front of her. She made her gaze a not-gaze, letting it hover in the space between his eyes without focus. She could feel his cool breath on her face.

"Don't speak."

Althea followed him, the two burly drones flanking her, their booted feet clomping they walked down the dark, red-lit corridors. It was like walking in an artery. Althea remembered similar time like this. She'd an escort of two soldiers and one guide when her Hive's Queen summoned her. Lynex had no choice but to let her go, face nonchalant with worry. Think of it as that, she told herself, eyes glued to the back of the dreadlocked Wraith's head. Between the drones and the lead Wraith it felt like being wedged in an ironmaiden, stuck between two slabs of row after row of metal spikes.

She attempted to memorize her way though she knew it'd do little good. Each corridor was the same, with its red-yellow-mauve lighting, buttressed walls of organic metal, cobwebs, Ancient-turned-Wraith language, and panels as translucent as dragonfly wings. They passed by the hollow bowels of the ship, weblike structures reaching out like the axons of a neuron. Occasional darts whined like somnolent flies as they docked in far-reaching corners of the organic labyrinth. Left, left, right, straight. They passed a few drones. Another left, straight. The air was getting warmer, it seemed. We're getting closer to the upper levels, she thought. Her heart chugged. Right. Left. Straight. Sweat pearled her hairline.

She was led into a high-vaulted chamber, the ceiling disappearing into the red darkness above. Membranous panels of pale yellow and solid metal formed the walls. A long wooden table filled in the centre. It was bare, save a goblet and an empty iron-wrought plate. Althea stared at it, mouth filled with sawdust. She almost jumped when she realized both the lead Wraith and the two soldiers were gone. She spun around. She was alone. She rubbed her arms despite the warmer temperature and kept near the table. She curled out a finger to touch it, and when she drew it back, she found it covered in dust.

"I hear you speak Wraith exceptionally well."

Althea spun around and banged her butt on the table's edge. The goblet rattled in place, found its balance, and vibrated into stillness. The Wraith standing not five feet away regarded her with a level gaze, arms held behind his back.

Althea's mind panicked under the proximity. Caughtcaughtcaught! What would they say if they found out she had lived among them? Unnatural. Abomination. If they didn't believe her, she'd be fed upon. If they did believe her, she'd be killed on principle alone. Suddenly the patient yellow stare was more hostile than a starving Wraith's.

"I . . . I was a worshipper," Althea said.

The Wraith peered at her. "If you were one, why didn't you say so? They say you've been in the cages for some time." He didn't explain who "they" were.

"I . . . I was still getting over my last master," she said. "I needed time to adjust to the possibility of serving a new one."

"Which Hive did you serve?" he asked.

Althea's panic rose like a bird. "Which. . .? I-I don't understand."

"What did your Queen look like?"

Althea struggled not to sigh in relief. She remembered the Queen as if she'd seen the she-Wraith the hour before: hair as red as old wine, eyes frozen chips of garnet, tall, dressed in pale gowns.

The Wraith leaned away slightly as he heard Althea's description, eyes slitting ever-so. He pursed his lips, then said:

"Ah, I know of that one. Yes, that faction was taken over not too long ago. Fell quite easily, if my memory serves. I had thought there were no survivors. I suppose I was incorrect in that assumption." His eyes slid back down to her. He leaned forward again and Althea fought the urge to lean back. Her eyes hovered in the no-stare, the space between his eyes.

"Which Wraith did you serve?"

She stared at him for a heartbeat, the panic returning. Then Warrior came to mind.

"I served the First," she said.

The slightest of frowns lowered the Wraith's eyeridges. "You mean, the Commander."

"There was a Council of Three below the Queen," Althea said. "He was the First of them."

The Wraith didn't blink. He didn't move, his expression placid, his gaze never shifting from its calm patience. Breathing in, Althea realized she couldn't smell him.

"I deal with the human populace serving us," the Wraith said. "It is I who deem worthy to serve and those who, ah, serve us another way. If it were solely up to me, we wouldn't have any of your kind working for us in such close proximity. What does it say of our race if we lower ourselves to human servants? The man does not sleep under the same roof as the horse, and nor should humans serve as anything more than nourishment. My Commander is of a different opinion. He says humans have their uses and tells me never to underestimate them. What do you think?"

Althea was torn. She knew how a Wraith acted with another Wraith, not a human with a Wraith.

"I think your Commander is right," she said. "Humans have their uses beyond mere food. And if you underestimate them, you might one day find yourself on the receiving end of their guns."

The Wraith grew still. In the coolest voice Althea heard yet, he said, "It's hard to believe you've survived with such an impetuous tongue. Your previous master may have indulged himself in your human wit, but I'll have none of that here. Do I make myself clear."

Before Althea could say anything, he said:

"What did he call you?"

Althea hesitated for the barest of seconds, then told him. The Wraith looked at her anew, blinking. "That's a good name—he must've prized you greatly. What did you use to address him?"

Althea responded with an honorific, one which roughly translated as "The great mighty one I bow before."

The Wraith grunted. "A little old-fashioned. Here we use—" Here he spoke a word which, condescended, bundled down to "sir."

The room became filled with scuffling. The young woman jerked her head and saw Henkra stumbling into the room. The drone who had shoved her left. Henkra righted herself up slowly, full of fear. Her eyes flicked to Althea, then the Wraith, then back to Althea again. Suspicion bloomed across her face. Althea restrained the urge to run to her and hug her tight. She became aware the Wraith was still watching her.

She turned to him quickly and said, "This woman is my helper."

The Wraith turned to Henkra. "Is this true?"

"She only speaks Common tongue, sir," Althea said. In the corner of her eye, she saw Henkra's face blanch.

"Ah . . . so you are her superior."

"Yes."

The Wraith's eyes narrowed his slightly. They wandered from Henkra's captivity-hollowed face. He cocked his head and said, in tones reminiscent of someone stroking their chin, "Hm. She doesn't act like the general ilk."

"Oh, no, it's she's still attached to her old master," Althea said. "But she'll adapt quickly, I promise you."

The Wraith ignored her, but repeated his question to Henkra, this time in Common. Henkra's eyes flew open wide and she stared at Althea. For one terrible, horrible moment, Althea thought Henkra would ruin everything. But then, with infinitesimal slowness, Henkra nodded. She warbled something subdued to the Wraith, voice low and head down. The Wraith said something back. She nodded, warbling in the same, low voice.

The Wraith gazed at the subdued form, eyes slitted just-so. Althea dared not breathe. Please, she thought. Please, please pleasepleaseplease.

The Wraith turned to Althea. He peered at her.

"Seems there's truth to your words. I'm curious, though, how you two can communicate despite lacking a mutual language."

"We have our ways, sir," Althea said, her heart pounding. "One doesn't need spoken language for everything."

The Wraith grunted. "What's her name."

Althea wished she'd chosen a better name. "Brown Eyes, sir. But she's of a keen mind, quick to learn. Quite valuable."

The Wraith blinked slowly, then made a small movement of his hand. Althea blinked as a man—human, late forties, bald, dressed in the white cottons of a child—emerged from the red darkness and approached on soundless feet. Althea didn't know what to feel as he walked to them. Had he been there the whole time? She watched as he avoided Henkra and came to a stop besides the Wraith. Althea's eyes immediately noticed his demure demeanor, the way his shoulders rounded just, the way his head lowered, his eyes downcast. His hands hung loose by his sides.

"This is Small Sound." His name was pronounced as Ith. "He shall be the one overseeing your induction into this Hive's servitude. Be careful," the Wraith said, and though he continued speaking in Wraith, Althea knew he was directing this to the man. "If she proves herself as valuable as her status indicates, she might replace you one day." The Wraith's lips quirked. "You might even want to take lessons for your grammar and pronunciation from her."

"Yes, sir," Ith said in Wraith, voice equivalent to Althea's no-stare. It was a no-voice, placid as the Wraith's eyes.

Althea tried not to let her fearful revulsion show. She preferred the humans in the cages with their excess of emotions. Was this what it meant to be a worshipper? She suddenly understood what this Wraith was saying: humans had no place serving here. It was too radically a different system. Humanity was crushed in Wraith society. Humans were a tactile animal, pack-and-social oriented, of mammalian descent and nature. With no outlet for this, they became . . .

Abominations.

"Follow, please," Ith said, and Althea realized he did speak in a heavily accented Wraith.

Without another look at the Wraith, she hurried after him. After a moment's hesitation, Henkra brought up the rear.

.

.s.

.

Henkra refused to look at Althea.

Althea tried not to show it bothered her. For all her preparation, it still didn't take out the sting of knowing she'd been proven right. She kept her chin high as Ith led them through the winding passages and corridors, walking with such confidence Althea knew he made this trek often. His footsteps were noiseless on the multi-coloured surface of the floor, living up to his namesake. It was cooler now, cool enough for gooseflesh to prickle along the young woman's arms. She looked over her shoulder. Henkra's eyes met hers. An instant later they darted away.

Ith led them into a large room with a high ceiling similar to the first room. Althea craned her neck looking up into the organic, rib-like rafters. There was space enough to hold one hundred, two hundred people and yet it was as empty as an abandoned warehouse. It lacked a distinct smell, smelling more of cobweb and dust than anything else. It was quiet enough to hear the gentle hum of machinery far below their feet. Maybe thirty cots lined the wall, all neatly made in identical folds. There were few organic bureaus at the far end of the room.

Ith stopped and turned around, facing them fully for the first time. Althea peered at him. He was taller than her. Not Lynex's height, but just about. In the dark, reddish overhead light, his eyes were a nondescript dark. His brows puckered in a frown.

"Do not do that," he said, and Althea was relieved to hear human inflection.

"Do what?"

"You look as Wraith does. Bad. Do this," he said, and demonstrated the posture he had shown before: shoulders rounded, head bowed, eyes lowered, hands by his sides.

"You're human," Althea said. She continued to stare at him as Lynex would. "I'll follow your orders but won't bow to you."

Ith's upper lip twitched. "Very well," he said in a Suit yourself tone. "You start duties not now. First, bathe and clean. You stink."

Ith repeated the same thing to Henkra in Common. She didn't nod or make a sound, eyes a shocking dark compared to the paleness of her face. Althea hesitated, unsure how to comfort her.

"What is this place?" Althea said, gesturing to the grand sweep of the room.

"These our communal quarters." He repeated the same thing in Common to Henkra. Again, no movement of acknowledgement. Ith's upper lip curled as he regarded her.

Althea growled. Ith twitched, body jerking into the submissive position before he realized the sound had come from the young woman, not an irate Wraith.

"Henkra is my servant," Althea said. "She follows me wherever I go. No harm will come of her."

Althea almost stumbled backwards at the amount of sheer malevolence Ith directed at her. Just as she thought it would come to blows the man backed off, face smoothing with the grace of long practice. He gave her the no-look she gave Wraith, looking through her. When he spoke again, it was with the no-voice.

"Follow, please."

Althea and Henkra were led in a small alcove adjacent to the main room. A large black, pseudo-muscled basin of water stood in the centre. Ith stood in the corner, arms crossed as Althea and Henkra removed all of their clothes and dipped themselves into the steaming water. Henkra didn't look at Althea once as they scrubbed themselves raw with porous sponges. They used a foamy lather to wash their hair. It smelt faintly of pond algae.

They stood naked, shivering, until Ith brought them their clothes. Althea picked one uniform up: cream coloured, soft, very similar to what she wore as a girl. After a moment's hesitation Henkra followed suite, picking the remaining pile of clothes and putting them on.

When the women were clean for the first time in a long time, dressed in fresh clothes, Ith led them back to the main chamber.

"You wait for duties," he told Althea first. "Rest. Food is in box on table." He repeated the same thing to Henkra in Common. Then he left without another word. Silence yawned in his wake, ringing.

Althea swallowed and cast her eyes sideways. Henkra was trembling, looking straight ahead.

Althea reached to touch her arm.

Henkra jerked away, then slapped the young woman full in the face. Althea froze. Warmth bloomed along her cheek. She rubbed her face with unfeeling fingers and looked at Henkra. Tears fell from the woman's eyes as she spat something at her. Then, storming away, Henkra found a cot, tore back the covers, and buried herself under them. Althea stared after her, cradling her stinging cheek.

.

.s.

.

Lynex jabbed his prisoner hard in the side. The other grunted in pain, half-stumbling but forced to keep walking, unable to stop with Lynex's constant pressure on the back of his neck. One of his arms dangled uselessly by his side, broken beyond repair. He had tried to escape. Lynex caught him. Blood the colour of ink dripped.

"I'll tear your other arm off and make you eat it," Lynex said. "Keep walking."

Sunlight streamed through the trees. The air felt crisp and cool but the surrounding forest huddled in traumatized silence from last night's rape. Nothing sang, nothing moved. Lynex shoved the other, judging he wasn't going fast enough. The other almost went on one knee, wheezing through a broken nose. He lurched to his feet.

"How much farther?" Lynex said.

"Not . . . much," the other Wraith said. And they weren't. Fifteen minutes later Lynex could see the field with the dartships in between the trees. He counted three, their forms sleek and sullen in the early morning light. He couldn't see any drones or male Wraith. He tried scenting the air. It was blowing upwind. He stopped and together they crouched in the bushes. Lynex thought of what to do next, mulling over several options now he knew the access codes. The other Wraith was quiet for a moment, then hissed.

"You're the one . . . they're all talking about," he said. "The one . . . with the human."

Lynex spat-snarled. The other one growled bitterly. "What's the point? You're . . . going to kill me anyway."

Lynex curled his lip but didn't deign to answer. Should he make a break for it? He couldn't see any guards. He growled to himself. He didn't like it. Which one should he take?

"You're sick . . . consorting with a human. Even humans . . . don't mate with dogs—yeeurk!"

Lynex tightened his grip to crushing force. The cervical vertebraes' beneath his hand popped like rotten grapes. The prisoner shuddered and slumped like a puppet without strings, dead before he hit the ground. Lynex wiped his hand on the curve of his thigh and spat on him. A deep, rich anger throbbed inside him, one much like his hunger. He put a hand on his chest and breathed deeply. He shook himself once.

The Wraith broke cover hunched in a scuttling run. His leather trenches billowed around his feet as he headed for the first sleeping ship. When he reached it he could feel his immortal heart pounding. His eyes cut all around him. Nothing. He snorted and turned to the ship's pseudo-muscled side. He was about to jump into the cockpit when the click! of a drawn hammer shot across his ears like a rifle's crack. Lynex froze. He felt the point of the stunner press against the back of his head. It hummed with hot electricity.

"Someone should teach you manners, boy. Turn around, slowly."

Lynex did as the voice ordered. The Wraith who held him at gunpoint had frayed shoulder-length hair, olive-gray skin with light tattooing, and an ill-kept goatee. But Lynex's eyes stung at the sheer amount of power this being exuded. And when other Wraith smiled, hope withered like a frost-bitten leaf in him.

"Well, well," the Wraith said, voice a throaty croak, "I never thought I'd meet the infamous brother who had Atlantis in such a stir. I'm glad to finally meet you, though, ah, I wish it was under better circumstances." His smile widened. "I'm called—" he said a name in Common, sounding like "Todd." "I believe you're coming with me."

.

.s.

.

It wasn't long before word of an exclusively Wraith-speaking human spread across the Hiveship. Althea couldn't walk anywhere on the ship without feeling Wraith glance her way. They never stopped; she knew it was beneath their notice. Althea knew nothing of Wraith politics, but she knew Wraith social dynamics. When Wraith turned to her she didn't submit in worshipper position. She kept her posture square and tall, her chin raised, eyes settled in the no-look between his eyeridges. As desired, the Wraith continued on their way.

It also wasn't long before the other worshippers began to regard her with dark looks. They were twenty-eight in total, mostly women with a scattering of men, all in various ages. All of them were dressed in children's cottons. Most could speak a few broken sentences in Wraith while the high-ranking worshippers like Ith could speak passably well. But all of them, low- and high-ranked, had thick, heavy accents. They had difficulty mastering the swallow the "kcr," the gravely roll of the "hr," the hiss of the "esh," all things easy to fumble unless one knew how to use the back of the throat and movement of the tongue. They bristled at Althea's easy sentences and flawless pronunciation. Within days none were willing to help in the slightest.

Only one worshipper—a young thing, no more than sixteen—tentatively stretched her hand out in friendship. Within the hour harsh rebukes rained down on her from all sides. Althea attempted to return the gesture and almost thought things would come to blows. After one other strongly rebuffed attempt at amity, Althea left the young worshipper alone.

Althea knew Henkra only remained by her side for survival's sake. The woman watched everything with hard, shrewd eyes. She was quick to snap and rare to speak. Althea never saw her cry again. With a sinking feeling, it reminded Althea of Lynex's drastic change in character. The loss of his Hive did something to him, hurt him deep, and Althea knew she'd hurt Henkra despite saving her from being fed upon. Or had that been cruel? Would death be better than this? Althea began to doubt herself. Had she done the right thing? The young woman decided then they needed to get out of the Hive, and soon. Their little ruse may've saved their necks, but who knew when it'd last. One day the Wraith or worshippers would learn of her true reason behind her knowledge of Wraith and kill her. She wished for Lynex every day, but knew she couldn't rely on him alone. She had to save herself and Henkra.

Within the first few days the young woman learned what being a worshipper meant. After observing what the other humans did, Althea learned they were to keep Wraiths' boots polished and free from dirt, to keep leather burnished and oiled, to sweep and clean, and most of all, to be invisible. Some of the favorites were allowed to wash their master's hair and comb it. None, except for one or two, were allowed to touch the weapons. Althea also learned, after some trial and error, worshippers could act as spies, delivering messages to their masters about other Wraiths' activities.

The young woman also learned this faction was more militaristic than her own, with Subcommanders and Lieutenants and no Council of Three. She had yet to hear mention of the Queen.

Within the first week Althea stole a weapon from a lower-ranked Wraith's chambers. It was a stun pistol, similar to the one Lynex carried on his hip. Althea knew too high a ranked Wraith would attract far too much attention, and was thrilled when the incident passed with only the briefest of fits. The worshippers' cots were torn to pieces and bureaus were shaken of all personal objects. Althea watched everything with cool eyes. She knew behind the membranous lights were secret pouches to hide things. It had been a Wraith youngling's game of hide-away. She and Lynex filled their childhood playing it.

When the drone left and the worshippers went to sleep on broken cots, Althea drew back the tiny flap in the membrane and showed Henkra where the weapon was. All Althea needed now was a ship to commandeer. She was suddenly incredibly thankful for learning how to navigate one. We'll have to escape during a Cull, she thought. When there's a lot of confusion.

Two days after stealing the weapon, Althea learned the cause of the worshippers' hostile behavior.

The worshippers were all cleaning Wraith clothing in the main room, burnishing the leathers to a polished sheen. The sounds of sponges swishing on leather filled the lull in conversation. Althea and Henkra were with them, a little ways away, arms aching with the repetitive motions of their wrists. A Wraith stormed in with little warning. Before everyone could jump to their feet he threw something onto the floor and snarled something in Common. As he stalked out Althea stared at the shriveled thing. It was wearing a soft crème uniform, dress-cut. With a funny lurch of her stomach she recognized the light brown hair of the girl who'd tried to gain her friendship. Her head lifted and her eyes met Henkra's. The two women shared a mutual moment of horror. Henkra looked away, but slowly.

The rest of the worshippers looked on, all in varying degrees of shock on their faces. One of the women closest to the girl began to weep in her hands. Her friend tried to console her.

Ith was glowering at Althea, his expression one of blame, as if holding her responsible for the girl's death. He said to her, "Only best of us spared. Our lives hang in balance, no longer secure. Those not worthy serve masters different way."

That night Henkra sat on the edge of her cot. Though hers was next to Althea's she'd always lay facing away from the young woman. Now she sat, brow perturbed, mouth pulled downward, towards Althea. The young woman was unprepared when Henkra uncoiled from her cot and sat besides her. Their thighs were touching. Althea didn't dare look at the other woman for fear of spooking her. She was as pliable as warm clay when Henkra reached out and physically turned her head, her hands cool and dry on Althea's cheeks. Althea could see the track of Henkra's eye as the other gazed deep into hers.

Then Henkra released her face and without a word got up and went to her own cot. She settled in her customary position facing away and didn't move, leaving Althea to wonder if that was what forgiveness felt like.

.

.s.

.

Althea felt the ship jolt beneath her as hyperdrive systems cycled down and inertia took over. She looked up from the boots she and Henkra were shining. It was commonplace for such rests. Lynex once explained the organic part of the ship's infrastructure forced them to let it recuperate. But this stop was too early. A ship could go days in hyperdrive. Their last stop felt like few hours ago. Althea frowned. Why did they stop? Are they going to Cull? she thought. Her hands tightened on the boot. Henkra saw the gesture and frowned herself. Althea caught her eye and together they shared an uneasy look.

Althea almost jumped when she noticed Ith in the entranceway. The man was glaring at her with more venom than usual, and when he spoke, it was with a barely masked sneer. "Commander wishes see you."

"Who?" Althea said.

Ith's lip twitched. "Leader of Alliance."

Alliance? What alliance? And why? Instead, she asked, "Where do we go?"

"To bridge. Hurry; he does not wait patient."

Althea put the boot down and made a c'mon gesture to Henkra. As they were leaving Althea paused alongside Ith and said, "That's, 'He doesn't wait patiently.' You might want to work on that."

Althea continued on, Henkra close besides her. She knew the way to the bridge by heart. Before five minutes' time they slipped onto the command deck. Althea never tired from coming here. Dim yellow and red light filtered down from the glowing membranes. Soft beeps from consoles and shuffling bodies filled the air. Wraith worked at various stations, each absorbed in their tasks imputing data or noting readings. Star charts crisscrossed with longitudinal and latitudinal lines hovered in mid-air, casting the Wraith's face activating the charts in deep golden light. One wall was nothing but an expansive window looking out into space. Ghostly purple and pale green wisps of a nearby nebula spiraled by.

Althea and Henkra hugged the wall, trying to act as invisible as possible. Sweat prickled the women's hairlines in the balmy temperature. As moments passed and no Wraith glanced their way, Althea wondered if there was any summon. Blood rose to her face.

She was trying to get Henkra to back up slowly to the door when a Wraith came up to them. He sniffed at Althea and grunted. The young woman recognized it as a beckon and quickly followed him when he began to walk off. He led them away from the main bridge and towards the quieter corridor adjacent to it. The Wraith stopped at the largest set of double-breasted doors Althea had ever seen. He stopped her with a growl before she could go through.

"Not her."

At a nod from Althea Henkra remained off to the side. A feeling of disquiet crept up Althea's spine as the doors slid back with a pneumatic hiss. She walked feeling almost naked without the steady presence of the woman by her side.

The room was large enough to fit sixty Wraith with space to spare. A high-backed chair stood in the centre, looming and ribbed with pseudo-muscle. It was an ugly jewel-green colour, its edges wrought from the highest craftsmanship. Four flat steps descended from its clawed feet. Althea stared at it, almost painfully aware this was a royal's seat. But what stepped from behind it wasn't a Queen.

He was old, far older than any other Wraith Althea'd seen. He was a grayish-green, like a lime losing its vibrant colour to age. She wondered if he'd suffered a time of great malnutrition. His eyes were pale replicas of his skin, the colour of peeled grapes. His had a tangled mane and an ill-kept goatee. When he walked it was with none of the coiled grace his species exuded. There was no fluidity. Though he held his arms behind his back there was a stiffness in his shoulders, as if an old ache bothered him.

It was only then she realized he was dressed in handsomest of black leathers, befitting of a station no less than absolute.

"Ah, so you're the little she-human I've heard so much about," the Wraith said. He stopped a human's distance away from her, tilting his head. Althea felt like a bug under his curious, almost friendly gaze."To think you've been aboard one of my ships the whole time. You're quite a sensation from what I've heard. But from the stories, I pictured something . . . taller."

She struggled to maintain her composure. Her gaze wavered in the not-gaze. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand."

Something in the dead cats' eyes flickered. They grew sly. "You speak our words well. I wonder, why is that? Ah, I see I've made you uncomfortable. No, no, don't try to explain yourself. I think I have a decent idea. Is your name Little Dagger, perchance?"

Althea's eyes flew open. "How did—?"

"A gift from Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, I'm afraid," the Wraith said, and to Althea's horror, chuckled. It was the sound of a hacksaw cutting wet wood. Althea felt blood leave her face and within moments was icy hot. The name of the man she never wanted to meet again thundered in her ears. The Wraith continued.

"I'll admit I could not believe his tales of a young woman and one of our kind holding his team hostage. Dr. Mckay was adamant he was tortured." He peered down his nose at her. "Hard to believe such a small thing could cause so much ruckus."

"How did . . . how—?"

"He and I? We are occasional business partners from time to time," the Wraith said, and from the way he waved a hand in a way she knew he wasn't telling her everything. "Honorable for a human—very rare for his kind. But such a temper. Have you and the other truly done all those things?"

The next time we meet, it's a bullet in your brain! You hear me? I'm going to kill you!

Althea swallowed hard. Her gaze flickered from no-look to full-on stare. Her heart was a machine gun in her chest. "Yes. Yes, we did," she said.

The Wraith wheezed a low Ah. The chuckle returned. "No wonder he put such a bounty on your head! When I first heard of it, I almost couldn't believe my ears. Never underestimate a human's personal vendetta. Ha, ha, ha!"

She'd never heard a Wraith laugh like a human before, ha-ha-ha. Shivers flew up her spine.

"Sir, I—"

"Call me—"

". . . Todd?" Althea said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Little did she know it meant fox.

"Another gift from John Sheppard. Why, with all these gifts one might think I should repay him back a favor. What do you think, Little Dagger?"

Althea stilled. She looked up into the Wraith's face, a rabbit at the end of the shotgun's barrel.

"You're going to give me to them."

The Wraith—Todd—shrugged. "It seems they're willing to pay substantial resources for your capture. Unfortunately for you and your . . . companion . . . they're far too tempting to pass up. As the humans say, no hard feelings."

Althea perked. They had Lynex? "They'll kill us," she said.

"Yes, I suppose they will. I wouldn't be surprised if John Sheppard did it himself. As for your partner, he has graciously agreed to volunteer as test subject for this new gene therapy. Quite generous of him, considering I caught him stealing my ship."

Althea heard everything miles away. She was standing in a hole, watching someone without a face shovel dirt into it. It was piling up around her feet, creeping up her legs.

"What did you do to him?"

"Oh, nothing too terrible, I assure you, aside from a few lessons in manners. In fact, he's here, on the ship. Would you like to see him?"

She heard herself say, "Yes, please."

Todd regarded her with his Wraith eyes, leaning away as if to get a better angle. His alien gaze was expressionless. He opened his mouth, paused, closed it. He shook his head once in an almost rebuking motion and snorted. "Come. I shall escort you."

Althea was out of the chamber and off the bridge before she realized she was following Todd step-for-step. Icy sweat trickled down the sides of her face. She stared at the floor in stricken silence and walked in the inertia of the Wraith's wake. Dead we're dead we need to get off they'll kill us ship need a ship Lynex can drive he was always good at that we need the weapons CAUGHT ship weapons where's Henkra please don't kill me deaddeaddead—

"Oof!" Althea collided with a wall of black leather. She stumbled back, holding her nose. Only then she realized they'd stopped in front of a webbed door of a cell. Two drones flanked it. They didn't move when Althea rushed to the bars. If ordered to they'd remain standing until they starved.

"Lynex?" she said, and her belly dropped and heart soared when a familiar shape unfolded itself in the prison's red dimness. She hung onto the bars with a white-knuckled grip. "Lynex, it's really you."

Lynex quickened his approach, eyes transfixed on Althea. He froze like a trapped animal when he saw the older Wraith standing behind her. He glared at the other Wraith with a desperate fury, body both hunched in submission and forward in aggression. He gave a strangled grunt when Todd put a hand on Althea's shoulder. It hung on her like a dead weight. Althea kept very still.

Todd said, "If I open these doors, will you behave and not feed on her?"

The younger Wraith began to snarl but instantly backed down when the elder Wraith roared, eyes blazing, teeth bared. Althea's ears rang. Lynex hunched sullenly in the cage as Todd eyed him. At a indiscernible nod the two drones moved away and took up position alongside Todd and Althea, their stun guns leveled. When the webbing peeled back Lynex remained where he has, glowering in the red shadows. He began to growl but stopped at a soft tsk from the elder Wraith.

A gentle push sent her forward and Althea found herself clasped tight in Lynex's arms. She didn't attempt to breathe as the Wraith crushed her to his chest. She could feel minute tremors run up and down his arms. Todd watched them as if transfixed. Lynex hunched over Althea, his growl vibrating against her cheek.

"I wonder what you see," Todd said, face enthralled, "that is so blind to me."

Lynex kept growling under his breath and didn't answer. The other Wraith hummed to himself, narrowing his pale eyes. He shook his head, chuckled a little, then turned to leave. He looked over his shoulder as he began walking away and said, "Oh, and one more little thing. If you're strong, the silence shouldn't really matter."

Then the elder Wraith disappeared beyond the cell's field of vision, his steps echoing like a human's down the long, winding corridor. Lynex's low snarls trickled into silence. The tremors in his arms calmed. When he finally released Althea he took a step back from her but kept his hands on her shoulders. His leathers were even more torn and ripped from the last time she'd seen. Little ribbons held some portions on.

"I feared the worst," he said. He frowned, noticing for the first time what she was wearing. He picked at it with thumb and index claw.

"I told them I was a worshipper," Althea said. "They believed it. I stole a weapon and was waiting for a Culling to steal a Dart to escape." Frustrated tears stung her eyes. "I was so, so close. Had I acted a little sooner—"

The Wraith held her again, gentler this time, allowing her to breathe. She could feel the sweeps of his bones beneath his clothes: the hard swell of the ribcage, the lumps of the thoracic vertebras, the sharp edge of the scapula. Her embrace tightened.

He led her to the far side of the cell. He didn't sit in his customary kneeling stance but with one leg stretched out in front of him and the other folded beneath. Althea fitted against his side like a puzzle piece, at once finding a comfortable position. She leaned her head on his shoulder and wondered when they'd sat like this last.

"They're taking us to Atlantis," she said.

"I know."

She stared into the dimness, eyes following the pseudo muscles and ligaments of their cell's wall without really seeing. All she could see was the face of John Sheppard from the last time she saw him: above her raining blow after fisted blow, face flushed and murderous. Her ears were filled with his screams following them

I'll kill you

as they fled.

"What's gene therapy?"

The arm around her shoulders tightened but she received no answer. She turned her head up. Lynex was looking straight ahead.

"If I'm going to die, I'd rather it'd be by you," Althea said.

"Don't talk like that," Lynex said. His arm was very tight around her.

"But what if . . .?"

"I am yours," Lynex said, and there was a sigh in his voice. "And you are mine. Should anything else matter?"

The two of them lapsed into silence as the ship all around them shuddered and lurched into hyperdrive. Soon the hum of quantum machinery filled the tiny cell and Althea lost the passage of time.

.

.s.

.

Psychologists the smallest definable change a person could be aware of the absolute threshold. When Althea jolted awake she felt something was different in the air, like an electric charge. Besides her Lynex was tense and alert, peering towards the webbed door. She heard him pulling in big gulps of air. She sat up from her huddled position on the floor. It was only then she realized the humming had stopped. Had they reached Atlantis already? She hissed a Wraith's inquiry. Lynex grunted a negative but kept staring at the door. Althea stared along within him. Her insides were acrobats practicing their routines.

She jumped when two blue blasts of electricity hurtled by. The two drones dropped to the ground in twin thuds and went still. Althea couldn't believe her eyes as Henkra walked into view, stun gun loose in her hand. Her cheeks. Althea ran to the webbed door.

"Brown Eyes!" she said.

Henkra regarded her, something rising to her face. But then her eyes shifted behind Althea and she sucked in a breath. She took a step back. Althea shook her head desperately. She pressed her face against the organic bars.

"No, no, he's fine, he's a friend—Lynex, tell her to open the doors. Hurry—no, Brown Eyes, don't back up, he won't hurt you. No, no, no please, don't, don't go Brown Eyes, Brown Eyes no!" Althea wanted to scream when Henkra turned and fled, her thin-soled shoes echoing down the corridor. She ground her teeth and slammed a fist against the webbing. It hardly rattled. She swore Wraith curses and would've continued assaulting the bars when Lynex appeared by her side.

"Can you slip your arm in the littlest hole there?" he said. Althea stopped and looked to where he was pointing. She frowned.

"I think so," she said.

"Try and see if you can get the rifle. Hurry, Little Dagger."

Althea crouched down and rolled up her sleeve. Her arm slipped through the hole like an eel and she pressed her whole body against the bars as she stretched, face contorting with effort. Lynex hovered over her like nervous energy. She felt a manic grin widen across her face when the tip of her index finger touched the rifle's cool surface. She tried to wiggle the rifle out from beneath the drone's sleeping arm with her index and middle fingers. She grunted with exertion.

"Can't . . . too . . . heavy," she said.

"Keep trying."

Althea worked for a little while more. Her fingers screamed under the strain and she could feel the ligaments in her elbow like hot cords. Both he and she hissed when the rifle began to loosen and come free. She redoubled her efforts. At last it was close enough for her to wrap her whole hand around it.

"Hand it up," Lynex said, putting his own arm through a much bigger gap above hers. After some awkward maneuvering Althea managed to pass the clumsy weapon to Lynex. With a few strange contortions the Wraith pointed the stunner end at the glowing control panel and fired. The control panel fizzled for a moment and the webbing began to retract. He dropped the rifle and withdrew his arms back with a snarl before the webbing could tear them off.

Before the door had fully retracted Lynex hurried to the fallen guards' sides and relieved them of their stun pistols. He tossed one to Althea. She caught it and set it to the highest setting. "This way," she said, and together headed down the corridor Henkra came from. Each ghostlit passageway was the same as the next but Althea could feel the drop in temperature like it was a wind on her face, guiding her to the hollow bowels of the ship. They stopped and hid whenever they heard the clomp clomp clomp of marching drones. At a tap on her shoulder Althea continued leading the way.

She didn't know what saved her. Maybe it was the flash of white in the corner of her eye or Lynex's shout of warning. She threw herself to the ground as the first burst of electricity whizzed past her head. Her hair tingled with static. She hit the ground and rolled. Another blast struck the spot she was a moment ago. She shot without thinking, firing the pistol in the direction of the attacks. The drone ducked her shot in a surprising move of agility. Althea fired two more shots in rapid session. Both missed their mark but created enough confusion for Lynex to come in and stun them. The three drones slumped to the ground. Lynex rushed to Althea's side, grasped her upper arm and pulled her to her feet. They both began sprinting down the hallway. Althea almost broke her neck when Lynex suddenly grabbed the back of her collar and yanked. The blast of electricity meant for her head flew inches past her face. Her eyes watered at the soda-up-nose sensation. Lynex covered her, his shots hitting drones right and left. He had taken out four of them out before a chance shot struck his gun arm. He made a Yurch! sound as the numb limb fell to his side. His pistol clattered to the floor.

Within moments seven drones surrounded them, their rifles bristling in their arms. Lynex glared, snarling softly. He hunched over Althea in a protective embrace. Both their breaths rose in the icy, vacuum-chilled air. The drone looked on unmoving. The young woman felt Lynex suddenly shudder and his snarling took on a pained edge when two of the drones backed up to give them room. The drones waited, patient as stumps of wood.

None of the drones moved when seven electricity blasts slammed into them. Althea stared slack-mouthed as each of them slumped to the ground. Lynex stopped snarling. Both turned their heads in the direction of the shots.

Henkra stared back, pistol still held straight out in front of her. She lowered it slowly, eyes never leaving Althea's. She said something, voice curt and low.

A moment later Lynex said, "You know a way off this ship?"

Althea nodded. Henkra's eyes hardened.

"Take me with you," she said through Lynex.

Without looking away Althea said to the Wraith, "Tell her you're with me. Swear you won't harm her."

Lynex obeyed, his words growling. Henkra's face didn't change but Althea didn't press. She weaved around the drones and, careful not to brush shoulders with the other woman, began leading them towards the final step to the hollow portion of the Hiveship. She heard Henkra fall into step behind her and tried not to shudder at the familiarity of the sensation. Lynex took up the rear a moment later, non-dominant hand holding the stun pistol.

Althea felt Lynex touch her shoulder when they reached the vast expanse of catwalks and freezing air. "That one," he said, nodding to one of the dartships brooding on a docking platform. "I'll take the ship and make a pass. You go wait on one of the ramps and I'll beam you up. Little Dagger, must we take her along?"

"Yes," Althea said. She didn't need him to explain who "her" was. "Now tell her the plan."

Lynex did so. Henkra didn't say anything from where she crouched. She held onto her stun pistol with white-knuckled force.

"Go, Lynex," Althea said. "We'll be in position."

The Wraith was gone in a rustle of torn leathers. The two women watched him ascend the steep ladder to the docking level. Althea sucked in a breath when a burly drone's head appeared over the platform. Lynex flattened down, plastering himself on the stairs beneath the ledge. The drone went away. Lynex catapulted up and disappeared from view. The sounds of flesh striking bone cracked through the air. A body thumped to the ground. Silence. The women strained their ears.

At the telltale whine of a Dart warming up Althea urged Henkra forward with a hissing, "Go, go!" Henkra was up and running at the first "go," her feet clacking against the surface of the catwalk. Althea was a step behind her. She could hear the Dart's engines spool up and the craft take off from the dock. Hurry, Lynex, she thought.

Hweet! Hweet!

Althea ducked and two electricity missiles whizzed by. She whirled around. It was Ith, red-faced and wide-eyed. His mouth moving but she was too far away to hear the words coming out. He was gesticulating wildly in their direction, shouting.

Althea spun around and found Henkra had stopped as well. "Go!" Althea said and the two of them sprinted down the two mile-long ramp, their hot breath sizzling up and down their throats. Two more blue blasts rocketed by.

The two women were almost halfway along the catwalk when Henkra screamed. Althea turned in time to see a leg go dead beneath her. Henkra lurched crazily to one side as her numb foot slipped on the edge, one arm pinwheeling for balance while the other clawed at the loose gravel. She went over. Althea dove and hit the ground, jarring all the wind from her lungs. But her hands were like iron clasps, refusing to let go of their precious cargo. Henkra stared up at her, eyes huge as she dangled hundreds of feet in the air. She was gabbling something, near sobbing. Althea gritted her teeth. Muscles screamed at her. Henkra swung up her free arm and latched on Althea's sleeve. The more she tried to pull herself up the more Althea felt herself being pulled forward on her stomach. Her feet could find no purchase in the loose gravel. Something was whistling by them, sizzling in the air. Althea focused on Henkra's face, refusing to look away. Henkra dropped down, her sweaty hands sliding out of Althea's grip inch by inch.

Althea felt her stomach plaster itself to the back of her spine as she plummeted head first and tumbled in free fall. Someone was screaming. Wind rushed in her ears as her body picked up speed. She could see Henkra below her but her body twisted in midair and she was looking up and saw nothing but catwalks and red light and a great big shadow—

.

.s.

.

"Escaped? What do you mean, 'escaped'?"

"What can I say? They subdued the guards and left in a Dart."

"Well, go after them! Shoot them from the sky, track them, anything! No, Teyla, I'm not going to calm down, especially not after what they did. Rodney, shut up, you didn't get the worse of it." Then, "Hey, wait a minute. You said you had them. You obviously don't, you goddamn liar. Give us back the information we sent you. The deal's off."

"Ah, well, you see, John Sheppard, that's an interesting story . . ."

.

.s.

.

The young woman stood in the wreckage of what used to be a village. She was thin for her kind but the crème uniform she wore fit like a custom-made glove. She didn't know how long it would last but she had extra clothes in the unearthed knapsack by her feet. She could smell rain on the wind and she wondered when it would.

The woman in front of her shifted. Her eyes were brown in the morning light. They flicked to the young woman then to the creature behind her. She made a motion with her hand, a Come gesture. The young woman shook her head and looked over her shoulder. The Wraith ignored her, pointedly looking towards the sullen stormclouds to the west. It still jarred her seeing him in human shirt and pants than old, tattered leathers.

The young woman returned her attention in front of her. The other woman hesitated. She opened her mouth, closed it. Then she nodded. She shouldered the canvas bag resting next to her leg and began walking away. She didn't look back. In no time she entered a bend in the road and went out of sight.

Althea stared the way Henkra went before remembering her own pack. With a sigh she slung its familiar weight onto her shoulders. She did a little jump-hop to settle it into a comfortable position. There was still a long way to go and blisters hurt worse than anything. And they would have to hurry before the Wraith called Todd traced the Dart or if Atlantis sent search parties. Best to leave when something happened like that. She turned to Lynex. He was looking at her with that not-quite-soft, not-quite-kind gaze he gave only her. She found herself smiling back and began walking towards him, because if there was anything she'd learned about Wraith in her time living with them, it was their need to be part of something bigger themselves.

And mine, too, she thought.

.

.

.

-fin-