The Speed of Dark
by Bil!
T – Angst – EW – Oneshot
Summary: She is one small star in the great galaxy of the Asuran collective. Lifeline tag.
Season: 4
Spoilers: Lifeline.
Warnings: Character death.
Disclaimer: I'm not the one who did this to her, I'm just playing with the pieces they made.
A/N: Really not a happy fic. You have been warned.
She is one small star in the great galaxy of the Asuran collective. (She always did love the stars, a small voice murmurs in the darkness and several nanites are diverted to correct the imbalance.) One small star, part of the great whole and of no importance in and of itself. No importance.
There is no memory left to her of fighting, of screaming, of fearing. No memory of hating all the things she has become. There is no purpose to such memory and so it does not exist. There are certainly no tears. No tears.
Nothing.
She obeys.
Oberoth smiles and that is good. He is her creator, if not one of the Creators, and it is good if he is pleased. There is no other purpose in her life, no other reason for being. (Some small ghost screams in angry frustration and several neurons are adjusted, silencing it.)
The Asuran collective consciousness must grow, it must become stronger, always stronger. Its enemies are the Wraith and the children of the Creators and these must be destroyed. All this is good and right and not to be questioned. She is a worthy addition to the collective; she doesn't question. (Not anymore... A whisper, swiftly silenced.)
Where there once was darkness there is now the light of the Asuran galaxy.
The speed of dark must be greater than the speed of light because where ever the light goes it finds the dark is already there. It is a foolish thought that has no truth and no purpose and as such it is eliminated, for the collective will not tolerate foolishness in its parts. There can be no speed of dark because dark is not a thing, only an absence.
One small star in the Asuran galaxy. Very small. There is no small weeping voice there, for stars do not weep – the collective will not allow it. There is only the collective, the collective and its war against the whole universe. The collective will win, because it is the collective.
There is no weeping.
Faces pass before her eyes, faces she should recognise. Does recognise. But the memories of this body no longer reside within it, they are only a part of the great collective consciousness of the Asurans and there is no meaning to her in the fear and desperation in their faces. As the collective has deemed, so shall it be. Her eyes see. She doesn't.
She doesn't see Rodney, eyes wide with fear, mouth pouring out defiant, futile words. She doesn't see John, proud even on his knees, head high. She doesn't see the hope in their eyes as they look at her, she doesn't see the death of that hope. For her there is only the collective and its needs. It needs the intruders dealt with, it doesn't need her to look at them and see them. The hammer does not care about the feelings of the nail.
The speed of dark, whispers some ghost lost in the labyrinth of the collective, clinging to life in one stubborn, ridiculous thought.
She doesn't see John dying under her hands, doesn't hear him screaming, doesn't feel his body break, doesn't smell his blood in the sterile Asuran air. She doesn't. So why is there screaming echoing silently in her ears, that stubborn voice that never quite dies?
Oberoth is pleased, the collective is served. That is all that matters. It doesn't matter that John lies dead on the floor at her feet. It doesn't matter.
And there is no voice, no voice that screams and screams and screams in silent, bodiless horror. There is no voice.
There is no one watching, no one to see one tiny star go out.
Dark is an absence.
Fin