John props his feet on the table, now picked clean of food more from boredom than hunger by the two men. A quick glance at his watch gives him a pretty good idea why the room's temperature dropped some fifteen degrees in the past twenty minutes. They have to sleep sometime, he thinks, staring at the ceiling.
Rubbing at his arms, Rodney paces the small ten by twenty room in an attempt to keep warm. "You think they'll give us a place to sleep?" he asks.
"I don't know Rodney," John groans as he pulls his arms behind his head in a long, much needed stretch. "We got a bath and food, that's probably about as hospitable as Wraith get."
"Good point," and after a pause, Rodney continues: "I'm worried about Jen."
"Yeah, well you aren't the only one. I'll see about getting some answers next time that door opens."
Finally, tired of pacing, Rodney takes a seat close to the other man. The bare table consists of a few stray cores, the meat of the bright yellow brown speckled fruit was already turning various shades of brown. If it wasn't disposed of sometime soon, the smell would become nauseating to the humans. While delicious and sweet smelling when ripe, the jarboa (or bananapples as they liked to call them) would soon become rancid with a scent strongly akin to a rotting corpse.
Picking up one of the cores by its stem, Rodney twirls it right and left until the core breaks free. The soft flesh bounces wetly across the table's surface. "I fucked up."
"What?"
"With Jen."
"Yeah, yeah you did. Give her some time to cool down and work things out," John shrugs, leaning back on the chair's hind legs. "We all weren't at our finest back there."
To be honest, Rodney wasn't as terrible as he could have been. John rocks on the chair legs; M69-735 was the crowning glory of Rodney's worst. Predominately mountainous, and hot as fuck, the Colonel reflects on the entire team's horrible endeavor. Between the heat and deadly terrain, there were some nasty flying creatures to contend with.
John shudders at the memory of those narrow, pointed beaks filled with tiny rear facing teeth. Lieutenant Garman had been the only injury, nearly losing his arm to one of those things. Last he heard, the man still didn't have full mobility of his fingers.
While the men sit in silence, the door slides open. The familiar face at the archway did nothing to brighten the mood as Todd steps inside. "We've set a course for Atlantis. You'll be with your own in four hours."
"Great, do we have time for a nap? These chairs aren't doing my back any good," John says, rocking the chair back on all fours.
"There are some beds available on the lower deck."
Pushing his chair back, John stands and grunts as his lower back complains. Following suit, Rodney leaves his seat. "Lead the way," the Colonel says, spreading his arm in a mocking gesture.
…
"So, how'd your shopping trip go?" John asks the broad shouldered back a few paces ahead of him as they followed the Wraith down the winding halls.
The Wraith's brows furrow for a moment as he searches for the true meaning of this phrase. While normally it was asked of human females when they returned with bags in tow; this did not fit the proper context. Ah-h-h, his bond brother was inquiring how his venture into the breeding facility had faired. "Well," he replies and says nothing more.
The less these humans knew of his new Queen, the better she would fair until he saw fit she meet with them.
While prepared for an onslaught of further prying questions and sarcasm, Todd was grateful of the silence from the two men. The only perceptible sound, other than the residual hum of his Hive, was their footfalls. The swelling pool of voices is muted within the Wraith's mind. To his relief, the new Queen had been well received when introduced to his highest ranking officers. He need not bother informing the rest of his Hive of her presence, for the atmosphere was already pregnant with her grounding mind. The Hive, for the first time in months, is calm.
"And Doctor Keller, what have you done with her for the past few hours?"
The Wraith tilts his head, glancing at Sheppard's form that waivers through the clumps of hair obstructing his vision.
Jennifer had been secured in the primary laboratory with the results of Myrna's physical examination. This relieves some burden on him by keeping her occupied under the eyes of his chief scientist, freeing his Second to hand pick the Queen's guards.
"I've tasked her with isolating Myrna's virus."
"Is that all?"
…
Free of the humans, who had seemed adequately satisfied with their accommodations, the Commander made his way to the mid level of the central Hive.
Here is the safe haven of the Queens. Nestled in the center, this area would be the last to sustain damage, giving a female and anyone in the area more than enough time to reach the escape hatch.
She had been waiting for him, giving her anticipation away with a sudden lurch from the throne. Newly dressed in an outfit better suited for life on a Hive, she nearly loses her balance on the three inch heeled boots. With time, the awkwardness would fade and the added height would provide her with the proper effect of an intimidating stature.
"Your position is safe once more," the young Queen says.
"For now," the Commander replies, "as long as you play the part you were given."
"I would not jeopardize your position, for it will certainly harm me in the end."
She is a bright one.
Visibly relaxing, the Queen sinks into the enveloping cushions of the throne. Her head rocks back and closing her eyes, she continues: "My cycle is due within the month, will I be mated immediately or be forced to wait until you are finished with your affair?"
Affair? The Wraith's nostril's flare as he looks at the female, who had opened her eyes to meet his. How she knew of this confounds him, his mind had remained locked to her since she arrived.
Expression remaining as neutral as he could muster in light of the circumstances, the Commander forces a smile, "I assure you, Queen, that it was merely an act of providing the woman with incentive to work without reluctance."
"Is she the human who concocted the Hoffan plague?"
"No, her predecessor."
"And he is alive?"
"Yes," his eyes narrow.
"Wouldn't it have been more prudent to have him work for you rather than she?"
"A matter of convenience, Queen. It is not the Hoffan plague she and I are concerned with at the moment. While, yes, I intend on finding a means to cure the ill effects, there is a more pressing matter at hand."
This seems to successfully divert her attention from the matter of Jennifer. The Commander watches her lean forward, elbows perching on her knees as she asks: "And what pressing matter is this that takes precedence over the plague eradicating our kind?"
"An old threat has resurfaced in a new mold. You are too young to remember, Queen, but have your instructors allowed you to research any history of threats on our kind?"
"It is mandatory, yes."
"Good, then I will not be required to explain," he steps towards her and leans down to speak at eye level. "The shifter's virus has been remade."
"By whom?" the Queen hisses, nearly nose to nose with the male.
"It seems the hybrids do not need their leader as much as we had thought."
Barking in anger, or frustration (the Commander could not tell which, if not both) the Queen rubs her left hand over her face. "Have you made any progress?"
"My affair is attempting to isolate the virus in the host I acquired."
She asks no questions of him, and answers with a nod. Seeming to deflate with a heavy sigh, the young female stands as the Commander moves back to allow her room. "She will remain on this hive until she is has completed her task."
"And what, my Queen, will we tell the Atlantians?"
"The truth. It affects humans, does it not?"
"Undeniably."
"Perhaps they will be inclined to help with that knowledge. Be sure to explain to them all of the horrors it can cause in this galaxy. I wish to see the host you captured."