A face peered at him through receding fog, one he recognised at once, and with it came the tugging insistence of failure. He surged upward, and snarled as pain clamped a sizeable fist in his innards and through his head, squeezing with all the mercy of a vice. He barely registered the soothing touch of the other's mind, or the firm hands on his shoulders that urged him back down to the nest.

"Jennifer...?" he wheezed, and the hands pushed him again as he tried to rise. "Meroc, I must..."

~Be at ease, my cleverman.~ Soft tones flowed across his tense nerves, and scent drifted across his nostrils, settling into his sensory pits. ~You were injured.~

~Meroc?~

~He lives.~ Flashes of the human's injuries, the wounds, the colour of his skin bitten by the frozen air of the ice world, jostled for his attention. The scent grew stronger, and he opened his eyes to his queen leaning towards him, her citrine gaze intense. ~We have triangulated on Guide's signal, and will retrieve them soon.~

~The Fair One?~ he managed, overwhelmed by sudden anxiety, and threw back the covers, to find himself forced to the mattress again. Scenes crashed into his awareness. Memories of the blue flash of blasters, the faces of warriors, and he recalled the sword that scored him, cut into his belly, sliced him with fire. Too many wounds at once for him to heal, and the sight of Jennifer, brave, fighting too until rendered senseless with the same cruel effectiveness. ~I cannot stay here.~

A consolatory touch crept across the edges of his rolling thoughts, displayed things were not as dire as he believed. ~We will find them both.~ Her tone brooked no further argument, but the cleverman warred with his instincts despite her calm. ~Be still.~

~Lady, I must go to her,~ Sprint objected, while his thoughts churned and his stomach roiled as though filled with too much liquid. ~She needs me.~

~As do I.~ Alabaster's eyes were warm, affectionate. Amazed, honoured, Sprint watched as she moved from the bedside to take up a cloth, which she used to wipe his skin. Had he really earned her respect? ~We are already in hyperspace, and it will take two more hops until we reach the co-ordinates.~

Calculating the time it would take to reach their destination, Sprint chafed as she attended him, and debated his options. No choice remained open, he had to speak. ~Allocate me to the team that goes to retrieve them.~

Alabaster cocked a brow ridge at him, her lips in a small curve. ~I believe you should ask, cleverman, not demand.~

~Forgive me...~

A soft snort caused him analyse her with care and he eyed her with a certain amount of wary caution. ~The Fair One is important to you... to us, Sprint. It is seemly that you care for her, and seek to protect her.~

~Even though she is not Wraith?~

~Perhaps because she is not Wraith,~ she murmured, and something settled in her thoughts, light as silk, before it disappeared. He tried to grasp it, but it slipped away with fog-like transiency.

~I am well,~ he said, and pushed himself to sitting, but for all his words, he had to admit to weakness when the muscles of his arms protested and trembled. Hunger flashed, raw, insistent, and he groaned with the effort to speak, coherence flying in the face of need . ~I - ~

~Yes, you must feed,~ she agreed, and gestured with her off hand to the hulking shadow standing outside his bedchamber. ~Skilt will assist you.~

Sprint's eyes widened a little when he realised Alabaster offered one of her own retainers, and as the enormous man drew closer, then sat with the grace of a stone on the edge of the platform, he canted his head to the side in question. Truly? The glimmer in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

~Lady...?~ he croaked, and at another signal the man turned towards him, the line of his broad chest naked, face quite stoic, expectant. Alabaster' gave a sharp nod before glancing away, her mouth tilted.

Meeting the eyes of the man again, Sprint shifted, slow, delicate movements that did not disturb the barely knitted wound, until he could place his palm on that naked chest and set his claws into the firm muscled flesh. Before the barbs of his handmouth latched, a grimace shivered across Skilt's features; his teeth bared while Sprint bore down and drank and drank.

Life flowed, golden, sweet, warm... thicker than the finest honey. The flavour of summers and winters, every autumn and spring, regenerating tissue and nerves, soothing pain, aches, hunger... A cry echoed, rang in Sprint's ears, wrenched from the human's lungs, and he hissed, held the man close as a lover when he loomed across him. Delight poured in every vein, each neuron, and it did not cease, an infinite, fulfilling, constant stream of energy... Such temptation for gluttony; he could gorge all he wanted. Enough. Enough. He pulled away; blood coloured his palm, scarlet drops falling to the covers, splattered them like rubies.

Careful, Sprint released and scrutinised the retainer with detached interest. So. The result of all their painstaking work lay on his bed, snorting heavily, but undamaged apart from the gory feeding mark on his chest. No sign of ageing, no grey hairs, no wrinkles and he...? Sprint ran a personal diagnostic, checked his own limbs, found nothing other than perfect health. He marvelled at it.

Restored, the cleverman took a deep breath, welcomed the flow of oxygen to his parched lungs, thoughts in tumult once more. Until now, what seemed a purely an intellectual exercise held no true significance other than a way to prevent starvation but, this... this experience. Realisation of its implication for both species, and what the future might hold hit Sprint with the refinement of a rock. Exciting possibilities, things that caused his stomach to leap and coil on itself, painted themselves into his mind.

All that clinical information needed transmission to a far better format than mere memory, too, and he itched to get back to the laboratory. But... now he understood the contained excitement carried by Ember, and Guide, why they, each one of the council, staked their lives. The reasons for all their efforts lay contained in a human male, lost to the waking world, in a cleverman's nest.

Concern, also new, swept across the cleverman, so he rose from his nest and, with the ease of full strength, swung Skilt into its depths, uncaring that the man rested there. To offer solace, in the face of his life, came without the need of measure or worth. The Gift never meant so much as it did right now, and its significance stood forever changed as their union, mutuality, grew towards the foundation of a new society, a fresh way of being. Gratitude such as this, Sprint reflected, would become commonplace, and alter everything they understood about their relationship. A complex new order waited for exploration.

Shadow danced at the edge of his vision, and two other Worshippers came forward to retrieve the enervated servant, a gurney trundling between them. While they loaded Skilt onto it, he eyed Alabaster, reminded of his mission, the first task he had to complete. ~Lady, I must repeat my request.~

~Yes,~ Alabaster murmured, her attention more fixed on the man lying on the stretcher, ~you will go, my cleverman.~ As they cleared the doors, her gaze snapped back to Sprint, the subject changed. ~This thing she has done, it is a wonder, is it not?~

~Experiencing it for yourself allows for...~ Nothing adequate came to mind or expressed the response it engendered in Sprint; it remained knotty and puzzling. He needed time to dissect his personal feelings from the exhilaration of a scientist at a job well done, to decant it intounderstandable jargon that would allow careful repetition. At length, he settled on phraseology that seemed adequate, much to Alabaster's enjoyment, though she made a valiant effort to hide it from him. ~An appreciation of its meaning.~

~So I thought,~ she agreed. ~There may be danger if you go with Bonewhite to retrieve Jennifer.~

The cleverman made a scornful noise, and shrugged. ~I am tasked by the Commander to ensure her safety, lady.~

Green-gold swept over him, tested the matrix of his thoughts, and she gave a thin smile. ~I see you will not be dissuaded, but you should remember you are mine also, Sprint.~

~Always,~ he said, fervent, and came to his feet so he might reach for her hand when she offered it. Bending over it, he kissed her fingertips.

~Think on the task ahead,~ she warned, and followed after the gurney and her retainer.

Sprint watched as she left, right up until the doors slid shut on her figure, slim and tall, red hair falling in a cloud to her waist. There was a great deal of danger, he agreed. Stepping onto an enemy hive always came with a particular set of risks, but he felt able to tackle them. In all conscience, he could not leave the Fair One to face the Hive Master on her own, even if Guide acted as a buffer. He had seen first hand how the tense relationship between them flared tobright prominence, which could distract everyone from the job they needed to complete. An extra layer between them to lessen the friction was required, and he did not mind being that. It also served his own purpose rather well.

Satisfied, the cleverman moved to his terminal, and patched into the computer system, hoping to catch up with current affairs before his presence was required. The information that Ember went to Atlantis to assist Quicksilver came as a surprise, but after further perusal, Sprint could see the sense in it. This too served them well, and brought the Lanteans closer to them, maintained links with the Tau'ri that were important. He had not been reading for long when a light blinked on the keyboard, indicating a message. Depressing the key, Sprint observed the tumbling glyphs.

~xxXXxx~

The hive came to a halt in the magnetic field of the super gas giant that sat at the outer boundary of the habitable zone. In some places its icy blue atmosphere churned with violent storms, but the spin on its axis provided the much needed centrifugal force to separate the super-cooled gases into distinctive stripes. So far, they were fortunate, and they had not been spotted; Bonewhite acknowledged that with a certain amount of satisfaction. The giant would disrupt sensors with its strong magnetism, and provided they remained on its far side, inside the orbit of one of its moons, they could not be observed by eye. A deft touch brought the ship into exact alignment, hung it in limbo in the planet's long, jet shadow.

At the centre of the system, a furious red star burned, a baleful eye in the darkness that detailed the inner rocky worlds with ruddy brilliance. The second of these, a dust-ridden hell-hole, was their destination, and the Hive master flattened his lips to suppress a low growl. Once they made their move, it would likely alert the enemy to their presence, and then all hell would break loose. A shit storm, if he recalled that phrase correctly. At times he wished for the shield technology the Lanteans possessed, and another part of his mind calculated the odds it might become available to them at some later, undefined time? Provided they survived this particular escapade, and managed to maintain good links with the Lanteans. Neither of which offered great odds.

Amused, Bonewhite calculated those odds; he did not favour them. Too much reliance was placed on goodwill, not withholding the amount of work for true compatibility and to incorporate the technology. Just, if he chased the thought, it was nothing beyond the capabilities of the many scientists available to both sides of the alliance. Pleased at the solution, he released the controls to Sable, who slipped into position, fingers in cups; the blade descended quickly to ship-trance, whispers reaching Bonewhite while he prepared the hive for battle.

~Come,~ he said, and Wintersong followed him, heading out towards the dart bay, where the other members of the small boarding party waited. ~It would prove most beneficial if we could capture the hive with as little damage as possible.~

The tall blade gave a small jerk of his chin in acknowledgement. A lack none of them could pretend ignorance of, and its capture would add to their small coalition, especially if her men could be persuaded to join them. So many were lost through the pointless conflict. Another reason to celebrate Death's absence, the Hive Master reflected.

At times, he wondered about his loyalty to Guide, and whether he placed it in too vacuous a scheme. What bothered him most, still, he confessed, queasy, were the changes that had to come about if they were to survive. The Lanteans were stern taskmasters, and would not allow deviance from this path. No doubt they had taken blueprints from the weapon – after all, if he had been in their position, he would have - if only to ensure a bargaining point. Nothing quite focussed the mind like the threat of annihilation. He realised Wintersong spoke as they reached the transporter.

~...It would also prove beneficial if the allegiance of the blades and clevermen would move to Alabaster, Lord.~

~All men need a queen to follow if their own has fallen,~ Bonewhite stated, pleased his brother saw the situation with similar clarity, and Wintersong met the comment with a wolf-grin, all sharp teeth, no humour. None suffered illusions. Should this queen demonstrate a challenge for them, she would die. A section of him hoped she would not, but in this case, they might be left with no choice.

~Indeed.~ The tone was dry, filled with longing and things that flickered in the blade's mind, a vague awareness of how their society moved, flowed, turgid, to another future. ~We already have so few queens, I do not know how we might resolve such a thing?~

~Perhaps the Lanteans will help.~

The other dwelt on this as they made their way towards the great doors, which opened at their approach, the cavernous bay stretching above and below. When he replied, Bonewhite found himself struck hard by the remark. ~They have given us the means to feed safely, but why would they wish for our increase?~

Unable to answer, Bonewhite filed the comment for further scrutiny and discourse, because this raised points of contention that needed attention. The blade meant it as a throw-away observation, but because their lack of genetic diversity presented a stumbling block, the Hive Master considered it a serious issue.

Without queens, and the ability to breed fertile females, it would get worse. Bonewhite feared extinction would come to them anyway, that they were as defunct as the monstrous creatures he had seen portrayed in one of the computers on the Daedalus, as well as a joke overheard from one of the human technicians in an unguarded moment. Dinosaurs, and dead as those beasts. It chilled him down to his marrow, and he considered the Fair One. Her compassion meant she would attempt to help; he knew this without the need to speak to her. But would the rest of her compatriots prove so inclined?

~Perhaps not,~ he conceded, and climbed into his dart.

~xxXXxx~

In the cell opposite the bundle of cleverman's rags remained quiet except for random puffs of air that told him she remained alive, so Guide continued to pace, waiting for signs of consciousness. Congealed brown lumps festooned tangled fair hair, but no observable head wound was in evidence. He had no choice but to see if she woke before he would know if all that mess were the result of a head wound. Brief, sharp rage twisted Guide's mood – a useless emotion - so he stamped it out, favouring rationality, which ensured a better outcome. He set up an internal debate, ranged what he knew into order. He was captured. Ostensibly, so was the Fair One... Unless the hard bitch who seized them thought to play him at another game? Could that be a clone? No. Surely not. Appalled at those implications, Guide prowled the breadth and width of his confinement. Until Jennifer spoke, and he could set his mind at rest, how could he be certain who or what lay there?

So then, where would they have got DNA for such a thing? Okamy? The Worshipper's subterfuge ran to that? He could not conceive it. Would not, if only because it meant his crew were less observant than he could accept. Frustrated, he leaned into the bars, testing them while he calculated his chances of escape, and if that truly were Jennifer, how he would extricate them both? Frankly, he had expected Obsidian to drag him for questioning and slice his mind open like a stiletto - but with none of the nicety of such an implement - except, she had not. Yet. The confidence with which she handled him spoke of great arrogance – though that characteristic was hardly in short supply for queens.

Drawing to a halt, Guide closed his eyes, and tightened his hands on the vibrant flesh of the bars, testing the harmonies that ran through the ship. If he could interface with the hive, he would glean a better sense of intentions. Something he could fix on, work with possibly. He really needed a plan – something he could implement before Bonewhite and Alabaster came to the rescue. Which he had no doubt they would.

A soft moan alerted him that she woke. Guide waited for her to reach that magical place of awareness in silence, head canted to the side, scrutinising her. She rolled to her back, one hand draped across her forehead, palm upwards, then pushed herself to a sitting position, knees drawn up in a 'v'. Filthy locks trailed past her cheek while she rested her head against her knees.

"Jennifer," he murmured, and hoped she could hear him. He need not have worried, as she turned her face in his direction.

"Guide...?"

"Yes," he said.

"Oh," she muttered, and eased herself round to give him a proper, hard look. "Damn. They got you too?"

"So it would appear."

"That wasn't in the plan, I guess," she said, and rubbed her eyes. When he did not deign to comment she focussed on him, arms wrapped round her knees. "Sprint? Meroc...?"

Guide huffed. "Neither are here."

"You've got no idea where they are?" she said, and got up, ungainly as a new-born calf, then went to the bars, tested them gingerly when she reached them. Satisfied by their sturdiness, it seemed, she added, "That's not good."

"No, it is not."

She gave the bars another push, tottered over to the narrow bench and lowered herself onto it. "God..." A cloud of despair and deep concern ebbed around her, but it would take more than this to convince him. She glanced round her cell, and chuckled, the sound dark. "I guess they didn't want you to feed on me."

"Possibly."

"What other reason would there be?" she asked, and dark eyes narrowed, the glint in them steel while she assessed him. "Cat got your tongue?"

Guide hesitated over a suitable response, before admitting, "I do not understand the idiom."

"You're not exactly telling me much."

"Conversation is limited to those for whom it would have a purpose," he said, cold, sharper than he liked, than he wanted.

"What?" Confusion bled at him, morphed to a curious mixture of hurt and anger. "What the hell?"

Guide changed tack, his own distrust gnawed at him with sharp fangs, cut like the knife he expected from Obsidian. "Perhaps you have a suggestion about how we might escape?"

"You're the one with all the ideas usually." And if he had been cold her voice lowered the temperature by degrees. At an impasse, they stared at each other across the divide, but then the woman gave a sigh before she began to delve into the inner recesses of her coat. "I guess you've got every right to be suspicious, because so would I."

"What are you looking for?" Uncomfortable with her insight, Guide gave way to curiosity. To admit to doubts about her identity opened any number of possible disagreements, which would serve no purpose. He wondered what she thought she might find because carrying weapons was not something she did in general? "I was divested of anything useful."

She did not condescend to answer, and continued her search, a grunt of satisfaction indicating she located something. From within the depths of her coat, she produced a small case, and curious, Guide canted his head, wondered what she had. The expression she wore carrieddoubt, shadowed with hopefulness, and she opened it, then showed its contents to him, the tremble in her fingers noticeable. Inside rested a number of slender objects, two of them metal with pointed tips, and a couple of others he did not recognise, none of them of particular use. But still, in her eyes, a rigid expectancy that he would know how to use it. Closing it back up, she took careful aim, and threw it across. It skidded the last few metres, and came to rest just outside his cell doors. Guide hunkered down, stretched out his arm through the gap and fished it towards him, fumbling until he got a decent grip.

Secure in his grasp, he examined it. Made of fine black leather, the case had delicate embroidery decorating the edges picked out in dark green and bronze, a small clasp holding it fast. Opening it, he grunted, amused, withdrew one of the metal nail files, and weighed it in his fingers. Light, but probably sharp enough to interrupt the power flow to the cell doors if he threw it with enough force to embed it in the locking mechanism. McKay had told him of an escape, long ago, involving a hidden knife, and he could do no better than to emulate the Runner. In this circumstance, improvisation was in order, which Guide considered he was more than up to. A dagger would have been better, obviously, but as they had not got such a thing, this would have to do. Taking sight of the panel, Guide concentrated, and placed all his strength into the throw. A shard of blue light soared from his hand, and struck its target with a satisfying thud.

"Good shot," she muttered, and Guide eyed her as the doors creaked open; she met his gaze evenly. "We're getting out of here now?"

Just for a moment, Guide debated that, and wondered if it would be better if he acted on his own. If, however, this was Jennifer, then he needed to keep her with him. He could not spare the time to retrieve her once he completed his sabotage, and if she was not, then, well, she would be useful, if only as a shield.

Scanning the corridor that led to the confinement area, he sensed nothing heading in their direction, so he moved quickly to her cell and released the doors. Guide reached for her arm and dragged her towards him, but she stumbled, hard, and fell heavily against him. He twisted her into a tight hold, brought her upright.

Shock registered at his rough treatment, jarred like a blow. "What the hell... Guide?"

"Come," he growled, not caring how she resisted, ignoring her yelp at first. Only the wince and indrawn gasp made him reconsider, so he rearranged his grasp, wrapped his arm around her, off hand about her forearm. He headed towards the mainframe. "There are things to do."

"You are hurting me," she hissed, and jerked her arm, twisted to pull it free from the iron clasp he held it with. He tightened his clutch in response. "Guide... damn you..."

"Quiet," he snapped, and she fell silent, fear added to the melange of emotion seeping from her.

They travelled down the darkest part of the corridors, and Guide renewed his clutch when she flagged, her feet dragging. Eventuallythey arrived at the nearest transporter, one that would take them into less easily accessed parts of the hive. The interface chirped softly in response when he depressed the keys, and then light enveloped them, deposited them in a deserted hallway as far from the main thoroughfare as he could arrange, and remain uninterrupted. At least until he could ascertain the Fair One's identity, which he needed to establish if only because, when they discovered his escape – their escape, he amended, reluctant to admit the instinct clamouring at him was right – they would hunt them down. Onedge, he waited for the alarm to sound, which it would, all too soon.

"Guide..."

Her voice drew his attention again, moved it from the immediate, and he gazed down at her. "What?"

"Take... me with you."

"You presuppose I have already made a decision," he said, and kept pushing her onwards, relentless. It surprised him, this comment, though he would admit to have considered such a thing.

"Not difficult... to see... you're sitting on the fence." Under his hand, her ribs moved hard as she caught her breath from the pace he had set. "I could... help."

"How so?" A bargain? Interesting.

"If... if... you were... injured... hurt..."

"You are offering yourself as food."

"Yeah... a regular all... you-can... eat... buffet."

At that, he came to an abrupt halt, stared into her eyes. "We do not have enough data about repeated feeding on human physiology."

"Look on this as... another sample," she panted, but her tone was bitter, the joke old. Strain and exhaustion shadowed her face, a stain on pale flesh. "Just another... sacrifice for the… greater good."

Doubt evaporated in the veracity of her statement, and he pulled her close, relieved, offered an explanation. "I could not be certain who -"

"I guessed." She made a tiny wet sound against his coat, and he breathed her in, glad she understood without the need for words. Dirt and dried blood swamped him, and he growled, tightened his hold, protective. "Just happy it didn't take too long."

"Come. We have no time to waste." A muffled noise followed his remark, and wasting no time, Guide followed the route he knew led to the core of the hive.

Turning down the adjacent corridor, he moved them along at a brisk pace, grateful the ship seemed underpopulated. A lack of crew made his life a great deal easier, and he intended to take full advantage of the situation.