Such agonies of the deepest recesses of the mind - within a mind as powerful as an alien mind could be, unbeknownst even to the most advanced nations of the Ancients - poured their fury like molten steel, and culled it again within the shell of the ancient skull. Thin, veiny skin stretched like smooth rubber, bluish, green-hued, mottled with a hundred tattoos and well-worn tribal markings and topped by every hue imaginable of grayish, yellowed hair: once upon a time it had been white, whiter than any wraith hair had ever been known to be in its youth.
Its weight, its very length, was staggering. Great swaths and strands of the mane draped down like twisted culling-beams, and coiled upon and around the knees of the huge male alien; the ragged ends enfolded themselves within the ripples of the cracked, black cloak that draped heavily to the floor with the tattered hair of the waterfall. It seemed that the frozen thud of its landing was forever preserved in the harshly polished stones that made up the expanse of flooring that crawled with mist. Every so often, a clear patch would open up, as clouds in the night sky allowing the moon to show through for a brief second: anyone in the command center would feel as though he or she could fall right through the clear surface of what lay beneath the mist, so reflective it was, so deep, so dark, filled at times with black shadows and twinkling lights, with dull, hazy bulbs of deep reds and blues and gold-orange suspended within its depths; the edges of the glows intermingled and melted into each other without creating secondary colors.
The rims of two eyelids, heavy, wrinkled, and pale, slid upward but a fraction, revealing the lower needlepoints of vertical, black pupils. How long, how long had the depths of those irises beheld the face of she who was considered nameless; nameless, that is, to most but himself. Only she who the human race called Death, the first of the Iratus-born had uttered his name, and now, no longer, and never again would it exude from her mind.
Ten thousand years had not been enough time for Death to gather all the forces that she wished to. The Elder Primary had been too long away, too long asleep, and too slow, and her patience, once worn thin at long last, had found its outlet in ravaging the planets of the Pegasus galaxy. Her hive was no ordinary hive, for she had grown it with the sheer power of her mind, the mind that no male wraith could conquer, the mind that an unexpected trio of lesser beings had met and savagely choked out.
Thirith knew the inside of a stasis pod perhaps better than any consort Death had ever commanded. He had not slept at the same times the wraith factions throughout the galaxy did. Death was his keeper, and he slept when she bade him to. The wraith had remained awake for longer than any male wraith ever had at any time in the past ten thousand years.
And how he wished now that he could sleep, and sleep forever. The great wraith had taken to hibernating more and more frequently, and he could no longer seem to heal himself from the stress and strain as most wraith could do for themselves. He only fed upon the strongest and the best of human victims brought to him by his three thousand warriors and drones, a small company, a shameful, pitiful number left after all that Death had amassed. She had not fed upon him and returned the Gift of Life for some time and the toll it took upon her former consort was appalling. He did not hide from the galaxy merely to keep his existence and whereabouts unknown.
As he languished upon the throne that had once held his queen, his second in command was not far away, that one last reputable member of the single faction Death had left in his care. Had she not trusted her Oldest of Consorts? Had she not kept him within her domain, had he not fathered a great many wraith before the cloning began in earnest? Had he not seen to the building of the greatest hive any wraith had ever grown? Why had she thought to leave him with such a feeble inheritance, if not to allow him to succumb and die with her and as she had? Why had she not struck him the death blow, fed upon him, before leaving to pillage the galaxy, purging it of all wraith kin and traitors to the Iratus god she so worshipped?
Interruption once again came in the form of the most mediocre sound he could possibly wish not to avoid listening to; the sliding of an entrance door and the footsteps of an approaching commander. The echoing steps clunked less heavily than those of a drone; swifter, sharper, and more purposeful. The scene was not visible to the old consort, since he preferred to communicate mind to mind rather than face to face. His eyelids had fallen again, his mouth with its double rows of pale, pointed teeth sagged open a little, and his head was bowed. The five inch nails that protruded from his fingertips rasped gently, softly, over the bio-metallic armrests of the Primary Throne. The footsteps ceased.
The consort remained utterly motionless as he listened with ease to the communications that entered his mind.
"My lord, I have returned for a time. But time…may not be on our side."
"Whyyyy the delayyy?"
"I did not believe that we are heading for another civil war so soon after the previous one."
"War…is never ending. What have you learned?"
"Only this. It took time, but I finally isolated the Lanteans who were responsible for the injections. A human female worked a coding off the Hoffan drug prototype. It was not who we thought it was behind the project in the first place."
"Hhhhhow?" snarled the consort audibly, his tongue, unused to movement, catching behind his teeth. He inhaled, a rattling breath.
The commander informant lifted his head suspiciously. "My subordinate who brought me the woman also culled the company she was with, from a planet within the human territory. She was watched, easily caught, and has remained in stasis until now."
"Fool."
The commander snarled wetly. "My lord, you know that the smallest details are important. There is much she knows that we do not. My subordinate thought it wise to nip things in the bud immediately. I left the choice up to him."
"Why do you trifle me with a mere huuuuman?" the consort breathed. "Is she someone I would find delight in feeding upon? I very…much…doubt it. What could she possibly know that would capture my attention, besides the inner workings of the City and a few base codes?" He coughed.
"My lord, she might know more than just the network structure of the devices her leader released to track the progress of this new retrovirus. Cullings have decreased by over thirty percent. The wraith are calm, they have begun to sleep as humans do; and nor do they seek to reap. We are losing ground, the food supply is threatened by the wraith themselves. The two races are beginning to live amongst one another; those of us who wish to rely upon the food supply as we always have are running into many worlds that are defended by the altered wraith."
The consort was silent and his eyes had closed again. "I had thought to avoid further conflict with Atlantissss until I am strong again. But it seems that is unavoidable. You did, in fact, transport the human captives here?"
The commander bowed, barely perceptibly. "Of course. There are three. The fourth is dead by my subordinate's hand."
"How carelesssss," whispered the consort. "We could have retrieved vital information. Or was he too tempting a morsel for your supremely greedy underling?"
"The human was worthless; his rank was low and he had no history besides that of a caretaker before being given a position in one of the recon teams. A mind probe showed nothing we might be interested in. As I have said. I allowed my subordinate to decide."
"I am not prepared to allow the City into the jaws of this hiiiive. Not yet."
The commander fell silent a moment. "My lord, I foresee the downfall of a great many wraith before we can gain hope of causing Atlantis to fail once and for all. The humans are far more adept than any species I have ever come across, a fact which is as old as this hive. And we have another problem."
The consort lifted his head a little.
"I have heard from my inside informant about the lead faction permanently sworn in as part of the Alliance; their leader is responsible for the injection of the hives, and I have been unable to track his current whereabouts. His last known location is deserted.
The consort spoke in one of the feeblest, most tired sounding whispered he had yet used. "I know…who he is. The blood traitorrrr."
"I have never met him," the commander said in a delicate, deep tone.
"Nor would you wish to." The syllables came out as harsh as if they came from the dried, skeletal mouth of a fish.
The fact that the blood traitor wraith had been one of the trio to take out the Primary was not going to be uttered by the consort's servants in a million years unless they wished to be fed upon without reprieve. The commander calmly pressed on. "My informant has led us to believe that the former superior is not all that he seemed before. Perhaps, with time and under enough pressure, the leader of the Alliance can be persuaded."
"You are a fool, I could have expected nothing less," the consort hissed. "You do not persuade the blood traitor. He would take your very mind and squeeze it dry until he knew of the location of this hive. He may appear to know nothing, but flowing in his veins are traces…of…my…blood. It would appear he is still unawarrre."
The tips of the commander's teeth showed and the expression in his eyes did not change more than a little. "My lord, I am not here to call up the past. I am here mainly because we may need to relocate the fleet."
"Any sign of movement might give away our last chance to rebuild all that the allies have torn apart," the consort said. "We…wait!"
"The longer we do so, the more space the Alliance shall cover. They are on a mission to inject as many hives as they can, and they have begun injecting the very cloning facilities; young wraith will feed on the same food humans do indefinitely, even into adulthood."
The consort made a rough gesture, the first significant movement he had made in ages aside from feeding on humans, and he leaned forward. "Then we will need an override, something the Alliance will not suspect." As his face came into the light, the rivets and shadows created a horrifying swath of blend and shapes, and his eyes were open wider than they had been in the past three years. They glowed with fury.
"Which is precisely where the human woman comes in," the commander said.
"How is this possible? She is Lantean. What would a potential traitor want with us if not to become a worshiper?"
"I do not know her motives that caused my subordinate to take special interest in her, but we believe she learned a great deal from the hive remains on the planet my subordinate culled her and her team members from. Our personal beacon experiment had finished its work and was already in its decay development when she discovered it. The city's long range scanners did not detect our presence; the shield was very successful."
"Have you questioned her recently?"
"Of course. And naturally her response was to tell me nothing. She even attempted to injure my subordinate in the hand."
The consort sat back for a moment. His body simply would not heal, he was too far gone, and he would certainly allow no one but his love Death to restore him. Since she could not do this, he had preferred to waste away; with what little time remained to him, he could leave the galaxy to another. But the inherent Irata will to survive was strong, and he found himself with second thoughts on the matter. "Why is she important, besides the fact that she is from that everlasting City that claims to rule us?"
"My lord, there is much she knows that she will not tell. But my subordinate did not attempt to break her silence with illusions."
"Why not?"
"He fed on her instead. And then restored her. He believes she will be of more value and more docile as a worshipper than left as she is. She bears no traces of the Hoffan drug. It was very careless of her to refrain from taking it."
The consort closed his eyes again. The roundabouts that Atlantis had lead the various wraith factions on and the fact that they were still free as free could be while his mate had suffered her fate at their hands…this was indeed one more reason to live longer: to carry out Death's wishes. He had been so consumed, feeding on, as it were, his own despair and hatred, that he had not considered Death may have left him with temporarily immaterial means to complete her massive plans. The commander's voice struck him with every word, so isolated had the consort been and for such a duration.
A female wraith-kin had proven disastrous along with a captured male and that blood traitor once before. And now a second human woman was under suspicion and it would not do to let it go, if only to avenge Death in some small way by making the human female suffer the consequences. In the consort's dormant brilliance of mind, a spark was beginning to grow. He had not felt like his former self for such a great length of time…was he wraith? Or was he not? He opened his mouth a little, the teeth clicking together. "Bring her to me."
"My lord," said the commander softly. "You risk exposing the hive, the Lanteans are known for tracking down their people in the worst case scenarios. We made sure that any tracking devices, subdermal or otherwise, do not exist on her person. But if she were to have knowledge of your existence…"
"They will not find us," the consort said, staring now. The hair hung heavily, framing his angular, bluish face with its ugly double chin that sagged beneath an extremely gaunt jaw and stretched, oozing sensory pits. "They will not find us."
The commander simply stood there, unsure whether or not to argue. How could the consort be so confident all of a sudden? Was he merely willing to take a risk out of sheer boredom or to appear that he was still on top of his game? The commander did not dare voice his concerns about the consort's ability to think properly or to command a hive fleet, much less a faction, and before Death had left to destroy Atlantis and ravage planets, she had commanded the commander to watch her mate should he ever fall into the despair from whence there is no return without sufficient stimulus. He had done his best, but…perhaps not his best. What reason was there for the consort to remain alive, when he, the former second-in-command of Death could assume the throne? "Very well," he snarled.
"I would meet with a Lantean from outside of this galaxy since I have never done so," murmured the consort, his yellow-orange eyes glinting out from the shadows of his hair and high collar. "Bring her to me."
"As you wish." The commander bowed low, sweeping his arm gracefully across his chest to touch his shoulder with his fist. He turned and walked away with the same measured steps with which he had arrived.
….
Ritha's eyes flew open, and she found herself sagging against what felt like tendons and mush. Tough, fibrous ooze of a cocoon wall squished in her ears and some filaments of black trailed over her nose. She reached up to scratch it, but her hand didn't seem to want to move. Her face was embedded in the material, which smelled rather unpleasant. Ritha concentrated on her feet. She was standing upon a hard, flat surface, and she did not believe she was bound at the ankles or wrists, but it was hard to tell, because she could not quite feel like her old self.
Her old self…Ritha cautiously tried to move her hand again; it suddenly peeled free of some disgusting little tendon, and she reached up and felt her face. It was no longer aged, the skin was smooth once more. Her chest was aflame with a strange fire. Ritha pulled back gently, testing the strength of the material that held her in place. It peeled away from her skin with relative ease and Ritha tilted back again, breathing deeply of what little fresh air she could inhale. She probed sluggishly at her collarbone, and then at the tattered black shirt where the wraith's feeding chelicerae had bitten multiple little holes through the fabric. Blood was dried and crusted and the area still felt sore.
Ritha's thoughts turned to the moments she had realized her life was being given back to her. The feeling had been luxurious, but painful, yes, the kind of pain one might experience after being thirsty for a week and then suddenly filled up with a gallon of water. She found her thoughts concentrating particularly on that moment. Had the wraith tried to turn her into a worshiper? He clearly hadn't tried hard enough, or he had been merely testing her strength. Ritha wasn't sure either conclusion was remotely correct.
She gasped as she ripped free of the entangled hive material. Her long coat was streaked with stains, and her shoulder blades felt raw for some reason. She felt as though she had been in an exhausted sleep for a very, very long time. Ritha slid down, and felt around inside her right boot leg. The miniature weaponry was inevitably gone. There was nothing to do for the time being but try and get her bearings.
The light that leaked into the cocoon was a dull indigo, and some streaks of a harsher orange glow filtered through the opaque, papery triangles that covered some of the windows amongst the tendons. Ritha lifted her arms to allow the sweat beneath her armpits to creep downwards. With some difficulty she wriggled out of her coat. Once free, she swung her arms a few times in the cramped space, lifted her legs a few more times to get the blood flowing, and then she jumped, catching onto the stringy tendons a couple feet above her head. The effort had been too soon, and she hung there for a moment, breathing deeply.
Climbing the web-like, sticky structure was a lot more difficult than she had imagined it to be. Ritha's fit biceps strained as she hauled herself up the strangely angled ladder as she selected the best places for her feet to fit into. Reaching a smaller tendon, Ritha steeled herself. She had no knife. She might have to chew her way through some of the fibers and attempt to tear them apart enough to allow herself to squeeze through an opening and climb down the outside. She swung outward, bouncing against the strange, webby wall.
Then she did it again. It was kind of fun, actually, and she worked her arms forward, allowing the vertical trampoline to absorb the energy. She could either bounce around like a trapped fly all day or save her energy for something more useful.
Ritha wondered if biting hive material would cause her to grow sick and die of some weird disease. She mentally scanned all her studies. Perhaps it would be unwise to bite the stuff. And then she considered what might happen if she was discovered after possibly escaping. She could not fly a dart, although she had studied the interior structures of hive ships in general and interacted with the technology. She might be able to figure out how to maneuver a dart. Ritha peeked out through an opening and her eye roved about. The glowing blue corridor with its hundreds of reddish-orange patches, veins, and melty-looking shadows was entirely devoid of life. But Ritha knew better. Just around the corner could be lurking a squadron of drones, and they were as foolish and merciless as wraith could possibly be. They would not hesitate to shoot her or feed upon her.
Ritha slowly let herself slide back down in order to give her muscles a rest. Why had she been brought here in the first place? And since Atlantis still had not appeared to have dialed the gate, she considered that the city had been given a false lead. That was very possible. Ritha crouched down and began to examine every inch of her coat for a possible weapon that might have been overlooked. Then she placed her palm flat against one of the papery windows for no apparent reason, willing the door to open. Naturally, nothing happened.
Ritha jammed an arm through one of the triangular openings, the webbing creaking with a squelch. It sprang back and hurt her, and she pulled her arm inside. If only she were able to reach far enough and override the controls outside. It would be a simple enough task, but ripping through what felt like the woven guts of an orange peel was not going to be.
The broken line of skin beneath her collarbone was beginning to sting as her heartrate rose from her exertions. Ritha slowly laid down against the webbing. She needed to figure out where in the galaxy she was. It was unlikely one of the Alliance hives was her prison, but then again, experience had taught her that anything was possible. Perhaps she was far outside the bounds of the Lantean territories. Perhaps this hive was traveling through hyperspace, or it was just sitting around, part of a massive fleet. Ritha set to work to begin trying to tear through the fibrous material, calling forth all the patience she could as her fingers worked to pry apart the tough, oozing strings.
About halfway through one tendon, she froze. Heavy footfalls echoed in the passageway outside and she felt entirely exposed.
Rattling breathing sounded right, and a shadow with long hairy strands hanging around its head slowly crept along one of the orangey "windows." Ritha held her breath as there was a strange hiss and she was slowly freed from her disgusting prison.
"One false move and you will be neutralized," growled an insectoid voice.
So cliché, Ritha thought as she stepped out into the corridor and stopped to look up at the ugly commander before her. Two drones stood behind him and Ritha studied their bony masks. "Oh. So you've come to your senses. You unprofessional louse, you forgot to make sure I was still in the mellowing clutches of slumber," she said to the broad armored chest of the commander. The resultant stinging blow across her face had not been worth it. Ritha found herself whirled around and pushed in the back. "I'm guessing you aren't hungry; of course, you might prefer I'm wide awake, that I might feel the full effects of the torture you hope to inflict. Where is this ship located?" she said over her shoulder, and spitting out blood from around her aching teeth.
"We have no time to discuss such things here," the commander said harshly, his fish-like lips malforming the words somewhat. "You are not in a position to make any demands."
"Cliché." Ritha walked as quickly as she could, and hoped that her coat and the blood would not be discovered by any of the wraith; if Atlantis sent a rescue team, the clues would be an excellent find. She knew Ronan would be the first to check out the cocoons.
The route to their unknown destination was long, and Ritha took in all the surroundings with a thrill and with a sense of foreboding. The mist did not scare her, and neither did the depressing formations of twisting tunnels and fluid-filled veins that curled and arched up the walls and across papery spans of tough material. She realized that this hive was a lot bigger than she could have imagined. It didn't feel right to her; just how big was this ship? She had not had a chance to see if any of the other cocoons were occupied. Regrettable. It would have told her a great deal about recent cullings.
Ritha guessed she was not here to be fed upon, at least not immediately. As they reached a new corridor, Ritha stopped and looked back at her captor. It was definitely not the same wraith who had culled her. "Do you have a name?"
"Silence!" spat the commander.
"Ok, Silence, nice to meet you," Ritha snapped. She was pushed hard again and fell to her knees. "Whoever you're taking me to won't want me damaged yet," she said as her collar constricted around her throat, and she was hauled to her feet.
"You are wise to assume so," hissed the commander. "I can promise you that your master will not prove to be so pleasant as I. Nor so patient. Move!"
Ritha decided to remain quiet for the duration of the journey, but she had learned one thing. This commander-class wraith was nervous. He seemed to want to get this over with in a hurry, and he definitely answered to a very powerful being. His rank emblems and tattoos were numerous. Ritha wasn't sure that a queen was present aboard this hive. In fact, she wasn't sure that there was a single female wraith aboard in the first place. This was no regular hive. This was more than the usual facility. Ritha felt a wave of coldness sweep through her nerves. These wraith had probably not taken the retrovirus; the ship bore no indications that it had been injected. Ritha knew well that if it had, the walls would be shinier, pearlier, more…artistic looking. And this hive was surely one of the unaffected. Either it had never been injected or it had been, and someone had found a way to undo the effects before they took root.
Great doors ahead slid open with a deep rumble and Ritha felt herself nudged forward again by the dratted feeding hand of the impatient commander. The expanse before her took her very breath away. What appeared to be a great, hundred-foot-wide black lake crawling with mist, stretched before her, and some short burst of vertigo seized her as she took a couple steps, fearing she would sink beneath the surface. But it was nothing short of a floor. Ritha was nudged again, and she forced herself not to retaliate as she desired. She squinted as she walked forward, the mist curling about her ankles, and filling her nostrils with an unpleasant odor. Where was the Primary throne? Ritha could make it out now...and what in the galaxy was the monstrosity that languished upon it? She slowed her steps but did not halt as the commander pushed her forward again.
"Youu…." The deep voice was sickly, deep, like the vocal tones of an aged fish with bones sticking in its throat.
"Have we…met?" Ritha said uncertainly, not liking how her voice sounded so thin and light in the frozen air.
"No." The voice was multi-toned.
"Am I your newest meal?" Ritha said, still willing her feet to continue walking. By now she was more than two thirds of the way across the room.
"Iiii…do not wish to feed upon…the likes of you...permanently."
"Surprise there," Ritha said, feeling a little braver. "Why should I believe you?"
"You…do not know who I am."
"Do I want to?" Ritha stopped ten feet shy of the great steps that lead up to the throne. At first, it appeared that a huge mound covered in long, grayish-yellow hair rested upon the throne, but as the figure moved, she could make out where the head was. Ritha drew back a little.
"You…fear me."
"Who wouldn't?"
"Death…did not."
Ritha stared, feigning ignorance. "Who is Death?"
"You know the answer to that very well."
"What are you talking about?"
"You are Lantean."
"Why do you claim such things?" Ritha's heart pounded furiously as it dawned on her that she was looking at a very, very old wraith. "Sorry, I can be pretty forward," she ventured, "but you seem…so…aged. For a wraith."
"My queen has not restored me for some time, thanks to your City's intolerance of her."
"We don't usually make friends with queens who try and suck the galaxy dry," Ritha said firmly. She heard the commander's breathing stop a moment. Ahh, so he was afraid.
The huge wraith upon the throne leaned forward into the eerie light, and as his eyes came into view, Ritha was riveted to the floor. A scream such as had never been heard aboard the hive left her lips and echoed like the alarms throughout the command center. She found herself upon her knees, breathing heavily.
"Do you respect me now?" rumbled the voice, forcing its way through the very air like thunder.
"No," Ritha said through clenched teeth. "Stop toying with me. Get out of my head!"
"I have no intention of doing so until you give me some information I desire. According to my subordinate, there is much that you know."
Ritha raised her head, saliva dripping from her gaping mouth as the wraith's mind bore down upon hers. He was incredibly tall, definitely taller than Todd, although not quite as fit and sprightly, and the hair cascaded all the way to the floor.
"I have not taken many steps since my queen ceased to be," the wraith rumbled, still forcing his mind into Ritha's, and placing one foot upon the top step. "These…are my first in a long…" He took a step. "…long…" He took another step. "…tiiime."
"Much I care," Ritha spat, before her mind was completely in control of the crushing grip. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fought, feebly, to regain her concentration.
"I was Death's consort," hissed the horrible voice. "You called her that, and I assume pronouncing the designation because that is the only way you will understand what I am speaking of."
Ritha gagged.
"And your people took her from me."
The commander stepped forward. "My lord, if her mind is put under for too long, she may lose the ability to give you the information you are…"
"SILENCE!"
The commander bowed.
Ritha felt her mind beginning to resurface but she could not close her mouth. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into the feeding slit of the largest, palest, most vein-filled, knarl-y wraith hand she had ever seen. The slit was open, and she stared helplessly into the reddish tissue; it seemed that the agonized cries of the thousands and thousands upon thousands of human beings and even wraith whose live forces the consort of Death had sucked into it filled her mind and her eyes filled with tears. And yet…there was something vaguely familiar about that feeding slit...
"Do you know…who I am?"
"You're a great big show off," Ritha murmured, saliva sliding down from one corner of her mouth. She was suddenly released as the hand sharply withdrew and she fell into a bowed position to the floor. The mist rose into her nostrils; she coughed wetly.
"I wish but a trifle from you, since my subordinate deemed it so important to bring you to me," hissed the wraith, the echoes from his voice like the curling, ever changing mist the swirled about the hem of his robes and climbed partway up into his lengthy hair. "I have told you who I am, and it is very much against my nature to reveal my identity."
Ritha raised her face and tried not to look directly at the ugly one eight feet above her. "You're the one who gave your identity to me. I didn't ask for it. I have no intention of answering any of your questions."
"Oh but you will," said the wraith.
"We'll see about that. What should I call you?" Ritha persisted.
"Our names are far above your own and cannot be pronounced by the human tongues."
"Then give me a substitute, I'm not spending my time calling you "sheer ugliness," and certainly not "your majesty."
For answer, the commander, still until now, gave her a kick in the ribs. "Do not speak in that manner or tone to the Consort!"
"Too late I already did," Ritha wheezed, rolling onto her side.
"Feed upon her. It will teach her to mind her manners," the commander suggested to the consort.
"Not yet," snarled the wraith. "I told you to remain silent. Now, human, what do you call yourself?"
"Give me a name and I'll give you one." Her mind raced through the Ancient dialects and Old Latin for a name that would suit the wraith. She wasn't sure she could find a foul enough synonym of "horror" but she did settle upon "jaws of darkness" and it loosely translated into the syllables "Thirith." She murmured it aloud.
"What did you sayyyy?" the deep voice inquired.
"Thirith. That's the name I'm calling you by," Ritha said sternly.
The wraith snarled and drew back his lips to show double rows of pale teeth. It appeared that some of them were growing outwards. He was indeed one of the most deformed wraith Ritha had ever laid her eyes on.
"Give me your name."
"I don't think so." Ritha clamped her mouth shut.
"Then that confirms you are indeed Lantean."
Ritha did not answer.
"HHHHHH!" snarled the wraith, and he threw his full weight at her, his hair slapping heavily across her face.
Ritha was slammed to the ground, her collarbone snapping clean in two, and her life was once more being sucked away. As she felt the iron grip searing her facial orifices, she thought suddenly of Todd. This is how she would die.
The feeding process was broken short just shy of death, and the wraith snarled and spat. "She is not like the others. Strong, but foul. What light is this that gives her such taste? AaaahhhhGGGG!" He slammed his great hand back onto her chest and restored her to her original youth.
Ritha gasped as her body reverted to normal and she was left in a state of shock. Todd. She must not think of him, nor of Sheppard and her friends. If Thirith were to discover anything about them…oh how foolish she had been to provoke Thirith. Ritha sat up, probing at her collarbone and amazed that she had forgotten about her last mission until now. Her plan now was to answer Thirith as best she could without lying and without giving away critical information. She must fall into his favor so that there was a chance he would not attempt to mind meld again.
"Have you learned to mind my requests?!" shouted the wraith, as he clawed at the ground to push himself back to his feet.
His aged appearance very much masked his ability to move quickly, and Ritha wondered if he had assumed the disguise on purpose to give other wraith the impression that he was finished? "Fine," she snapped, getting to her feet. "What's your first question?"
"Where you come from."
"You said I'm from Atlantis." Ritha shrugged.
"I could see that you are. Your mind is as weak as I could possibly hope for, human!"
"Because I'm human," Ritha snapped back. "Anything else?"
"Your…name. I will not ask again."
"Ritha."
"Why were you brought to me?"
"Ask him!" said Ritha, pointing behind her to the still silent commander. "His subordinate culled me."
"For a very good reason," hissed Thirith, his shiny teeth snapping together.
Ritha was silent. She could not quite process the fact that she was standing in the presence of one of the oldest of the wraith in all of Pegasusian history. There had been no lore, nothing she had ever come across indicating that there was such a being still roaming the galaxy. She had not considered a consort before or after Death was extinguished since she assumed that the queen had had many, but no one really wanted to think all that much about the old Primary, and Ritha wished she had given more thought to possibilities. In all the excitement about the new treaty and the Beacons, not to mention the successful retrovirus; no one had considered other threats related to the female wraith the Lanteans called Death.