I just want to say, for the record, that writer's block sucks. And the most annoying TYPE of writer's block you can possibly get, (in this author's humble opinion), is the kind where you know exactly what you want to happen but can't get it to come out right to save your life!
That's what happened in this chapter. I spent way too much time trying and failing to write this, and I apologize for its relatively short length.
(I was originally planning to get it up within a week of Excursion: Part Four.)
On an up note, I DID manage to make a decent dent in my to-read pile, however, AND I attended a wedding where I got to reconnect with a bunch of long-lost college friends.
Yay college friends! ;P
(Now I just have to do the whole 'move to a new state' and 'find a new job' thing...)
But you don't need to hear about that yet. (Though I fully intend to use it as an excuse if I get inexcusably delayed again...)
And so, without further ado...
Let's take a trip back to long-neglected Present!
Yay for the Present! (Thought I forgot about it, didn't you?)
Happy reading!
Disclaimer: I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.
Chapter Seventeen: Hiiissssssss…
(translation: From Clarity Comes Resolve…)
Present
Deep within the personal levels of the drifting hive, within a single, unpretentiously equipped room, a pair of green, slit-pupiled eyes blinked. They drifted unseeingly as their owner's thoughts returned from speculation to the 'Here and Now.' Then, after a long, silently considering moment, they snapped abruptly into focus.
Ivory lashes dipped as the wraith blinked once more.
The obstacles he faced were great, but not insurmountable. His chosen path was straightforward, though not simple, and assuming the correct preparations were made…
The successful attainment of his goal seemed assured.
A soft hiss of anticipation whispered among the chamber's organic walls. The ghostly glow of Contentment, an ingrained response to the imminent satisfaction of Priority, brushed tantalizingly across his mind as imagination solidified the prediction. He would succeed. He would survive to experience the reality of his success, and that reality would overshadow this ephemeral taste a thousand fold… No, a HUNDRED thousand! In comparison, it would pale feebly. He must not forget, never underestimate—The rewards were—are—Remember—
He cut off, reining the reckless rush of excitement in with a rebuking snort. Dwelling on the future in this fashion would do more harm than good. There were still preparations to make. Preparations that required the utmost care. Indulging in such fantasies would only engender sporadic rushes of chemically induced overconfidence, and he could not afford to have his work ruined by momentary carelessness.
Even the smallest error could prove fatal.
Flexing his fingers, the wraith waited impatiently for the heady wisps of premature euphoria to cease. His translucent claws scratched idle patterns across the spongy surface of his sleeping pallet as he calmed his mind…
…Inhale. Exhale…
The tangible warmth of the organic cushion beneath his feeding palm soon overwhelmed and replaced the illusory glow teasing his psyche.
…Inhale. Exhale…
The intoxicating agitation vanished. Waiting several moments to make sure it would not return, he took a final, deep breath, which he then released with composed deliberateness…
…There…
Now… was the time to begin.
The wraith's gaze slid from the blue-black section of wall that he'd been unconsciously staring at while he planned, and swept sideways, to his quarter's darkened computer terminal. His most important preparations would be made there.
But to make them… HE must be there as well…
That required moving.
…Had he recovered the neccessary strength for that?
Ivory swayed against his cheeks and across his back as his face turned purposely towards the silent station. No flush of dizziness accompanied the motion. No disorientation, or sudden weakness… Loosening his grip on the edge of his sleeping pallet, he leaned forward from his sitting position slightly.
…
Uneven weight distribution didn't seem to be a problem.
He narrowed his eyes, cautiously unbalancing his posture further.
A low gasp escaped the wraith's lips as a tremor spasmed in his diaphragm and shuddered down his spine. Snarling in silent frustration, he ignored the warning sensation and tentatively lifted his hands. First one, and then the other. He carefullly shifted his feet across the smooth chitin floor, methodically testing his body's reaction to further support removal. A pervasive tiredness assailed him with the effort.
But no muscles buckled…
The wraith paused, slim fingers pressing firmly against the black cushion in preparation for movement. He was not recovered fully. Not yet. The lingering symptoms of mental shock were still dissipating, and becoming active now could potentially extend them. Possibly even indefinitely…
But he could not afford delay. His preparations needed to be complete before his next work shift, and much of this rest period had already passed.
He must begin. Despite the risk exertion posed.
With a decisive hiss, the wraith quickly pushed himself to his feet.
Fatigue crushed down like a swamping wave. A pervasive trembling that set breath hitching in his lungs and mired his limbs. He swayed. Then locked his knees, casting a blind arm back in case he failed to remain erect.
This continued weakness was maddening!
Willing his balance to stabilize, he snarled impotently and closed his eyes, touching the fingers of his non-feeding hand to his forehead to anchor himself. The living thrum of his personal quarter's impartial silence engulfed his awareness soothingly… Encouraging relaxation. Smoothing frustration away…
The wraith's slim form held perfectly still. His leather coat's fitted planes tightened comfortably with each calming breath. Tailored straps pulled familiarly…
…Inhale. Exhale…
The trembling eased slightly…
…Inhale. Exhale…
…
…The fatigue did not.
Dropping from his forehead, slender fingers trailed down a blackly glittering strap that criss-crossed the wraith's chest, meditatively tracing the textured material in an effort to expel weakness through sensory distraction. One from his shoulder… Then three thick, horizontal bands, cinching the heavy leather at his waist…
Bereft of the sleeping pallet's heat, he was suddenly aware of a chill tingle spreading through the open lips of his feeding slit. Its sensitive bristles quivered.
…Inhale. Exhale…
More quivering. The chill deepened, flirting with discomfort.
…
A distasteful solution… But a solution, nonetheless.
He focused on the sensation. Extended the bristles further. Tasted the air…
"Hissssssssssssss…………"
Hunger licked at the edges of his thoughts, singeing fatigue's iron grip like burning flames melting ore. He stoked the reflexive fire, feeling the pervasive exhaustion's hold loosen. Stability trickled slowly into his posture…
Hunger!…! The flames flared, suddenly ablaze and grasping, threatening to scorch reason. Demanding satiation. Sustenance! Hunger—
"HIIISSSSSSS!!!!!"
Ruthlessly, he stomped the blazing desire out, quashing the destructive urge before it spiraled rampantly out of control. He needed to remain calm. Rational. Sustenance would come later. He must wait. Have patience.
For his plan to work, everything must happen in proper sequence.
…
…Calm…
…Hissing a soft inhalation, the wraith relaxed his snarl to a mild grimace as the unpleasant emotion faded into a residual, nagging twinge of discomfort. He hated—Truly HATED—testing his self-control that way. Summoning Hunger purposely went against every instinct he possessed. Selecting it like a tool… It was unnatural!
HE was unnatural…
A distasteful shiver rippled down the wraith's spine as discomfort slithered amongst his thoughts. THAT must be dealt with too. And quickly.
No longer feeling in danger of collapse, he swung his palm forward from its wary position behind him and opened his eyes, watching the anchoring bristles retreat into his feeding slit. Cold invaded as the exposed fibers entwined and refurled, pulling in the exposed flesh that lined the orifice's edges. The dusky pink slash of interior tissue thinned, then vanished into a dark, tightly closed stripe… As the warmth of his hand began eroding the penetrating chill, the wraith slowly and deliberately drew a pale fingertip down his upturned palm, firmly tracing the telltale line.
The finger's blunt claw scraped along the lips of the feeding slit after it, showering the heat trail with a deluge of tickling sparks that quickly set to work unknotting the Hunger residue disturbing his mind.
The wraith's green eyes narrowed with pleasure. A simple trick, yes. But a reliably effective one. Completely natural. No distasteful side effects… Enjoyable, even. Yet too short-lived to prove a distraction.
He massaged the closed feeding organ a moment longer, (taking care not to needlessly release enzyme). Then, once it'd become used to the sensation, turned his attention to the rib-cage framework of his personal quarter's door.
It was time.
…
Without moving from his spot by the sleeping pallet, he slipped a tendril of thought into the organic wall and focused on its internal control panel. Securely locking it against operation by another, he stretched deeper, weaving his mind among the living cables until he reached the second interface. He disarmed the hidden device's self-destruct triggers with deft caresses to its telepathic sensors, and a second later it confirmed his mental signature with a low, unexpectedly rich thrum.
Ivory snaked across inky black as he craned his neck curiously, pausing to consider the telepathic signal. It seemed very strong, but he knew it wasn't…
Quickly he checked its settings. He frowned. They were as he'd left them. Which meant it was his perception of the signal that had changed.
An uneasy thrill ran through him at the idea. Time had apparently dulled his sensitivity more than he realized. A slow, imperceptible erosion…
Which begged the mildly unnerving question of, 'What else had changed?'
…
He thrust the issue aside. He would find the answers shortly, of that he was certain. The important thing was not to let the resurgence affect him unduly.
Turning slowly towards his personal data station, he instructed the hidden interface to proceed with identity verification, and then stepped cautiously away from his sleeping pallet, heading for the section of wall that'd begun tearing itself open. His muscles protested the short walk to the corner. After barely two paces they were shivering like he'd just completed a long trek on a high gravity planet.
The wraith stubbornly ignored the weakness. He concentrated on the wet ripping sounds of the wall's internal mechanisms. Visualized its covert system of tendons and joints flexing within the chitin. Rupturing membranes and cracking shell…
He braced his non-feeding hand beside the hole as it finished lengthening and reached past the torn aperture's glistening, fluid-beaded lips, firmly grasping the concealed gel-pad. The translucent substance squished beneath his palm, quickly sliding into his fingertip's sensitive enzyme hook sheaths. The cool, invasive pressure stimulated the opening of his feeding slit, and the resulting, slippery intrusion that followed elicited a violent shiver that almost buckled his knees.
Hissing reflexively, he leaned against the wall and clamped down on the pad, piercing it deeply with his extending injection hooks. The fatigue must NOT return…
His forehead brushed blue-black chitin…
As the external gel-layer immobilized the wraith's feeding hand, he pressed his glittering shoulder into the clear fluid trickling from the hole's edge and willed his strength to hold. The weakness was only an illusion. A deception of the senses stemming from the mental shock of the recent neurochemical shift. Surely he could shrug the remainder off after waiting the worst of it out—
The gel rippled within his feeding organ, and he closed his eyes, determinedly ignoring the unsettling sensation of the internal scan. He would succeed. His plan was fool proof. He'd analyzed the situation from every angle. And he had tools at his disposal greater than many, perhaps all, of his higher brothers. Assuming the preparations were finished in time, he would survive.
Priority WOULD be satisfied.
Priority…
The scan finished, and the blue lights of potential self-destruct snapped on, bathing his wrist with an azure wash that turned his skin white. Feeling the feathery tingle of focusing energy beams, the wraith straightened his arm so its odd angle wouldn't disrupt their measurements. While the telltale prickle slowly crept up his forearm, he turned his thoughts inward, deliberately seeking—
…trapped…
The panicky emotions fluttered in their mental cage. The wraith examined them like he would an exotic beast, approaching carefully, and with hyper-vigilance. Then, summoning the instinctual drive that he'd repressed earlier in the interests of rational planning, he cautiously and deftly loosened the barriers containing them…
Trapped.
…The disturbing panic trickled out, diffusing into his thoughts, inflaming the muted urgency to DO something—ANYthing—about it. Fix it. Vanquish it. Make it GO AWAY. He must stop it—NEEDED to STOP it!
Priority demanded he acquiesce!
"Hiissssssss!"
He WAS acquiescing! Executing his plan would fulfill this! Forcing the trapped panic back into its cage, the wraith repaired its prison and turned his attention to the other. To Priority. He laid his plan out before it, paving the path to his goal with the exaggerated reverence of a worshipper laying sacred totems on an altar. His desire to reach that goal grew. Bolstering his resolve. Fueling determination.
…Illuminating the path with a steely clarity that would stave encroaching weakness off more effectively than Hunger's fleeting burn ever could…
Like a switch being flicked, the intense glow of Purpose suffused the wraith's being and began chasing the unwanted trembling from his limbs. He sighed with pleasure. NOW he was truly ready. With the familiar drive suffusing him—
The blue lights changed to orange recognition, confirming the pattern of epidermal irregularities they'd mapped on his forearm.
—the wraith could accomplish anything.
The second compartment slid open. Green eyes snapped open with it, quickly flicking to the secret hollow in the bone-like structural support to receive its interior scanner's micro-burst retinal scan. They passed, (as expected), and the tingling sensation of the energy beams ceased. The rippling gel withdrew from the wraith's feeding slit in a slippery, palm-tickling rush, and the touchpad released his feeding hand.
Retracting his injection hooks, the wraith let go of the gel, reached into the compartment, and pulled out the portable data storage devices. His nose wrinkled delicately at the scent of dried enzyme that wafted from them, (evidence of his earlier impatience). Such distasteful behavior. Not to mention the waste…
He glanced into the shadowy recess. No signs of excessive heat damage or unwanted growth—Not that it mattered, really… His pale face spun away from the hiding place in a whirl of flowing ivory. It would not be needed much longer.
Reveling in his newly-regained ease of motion, the black-coated wraith stepped smoothly towards his personal terminal and sank confidently to his knees, inserting the smaller device into the computer's concealed base port. He regained his feet with equal confidence, plagued only by a slight tremor, and assumed his normal working posture. Back comfortably straight, hands lightly resting on twin gel controls…
The familiar boot-up hum cut off prematurely, and he activated the frozen console's mental interface, letting the hijack program rain its progress across its membranous screen in a deluge of scrolling symbols and glyphs. He followed the isolating modifications with serene patience, and when the telepathic beep came, signaling the console had completed the initial boot-up, he probed it expectantly.
Finding the mainframe's access points safely nonexistent, (meaning the data station itself was ALSO temporarily nonexistent), the wraith clicked the larger drive into an external port and accessed its contents immediately, WITHOUT indulging in his usual moment of anxiety and amusement ridden hesitation. There was no point in contemplating the treason inherent in its contents. Not when the path to his goal stretched so clearly before him. Not when it was the only acceptable option…
The time for hesitancy was past.
Slender fingers caressed the claw-like curves of the drive's sleek casing, tracing the black shape with unconscious gentleness as code began pouring down the screen. Such dangerous code… A treasure—A tool beyond imagining.
Its purpose glittered in his mind's eye, resonating with his own glowing Purpose.
It was inevitable, really. Deep down he'd always known he would use it. Deep down he'd felt the necessity. Sensed it. Denied it. Raged against it. But deep down…
Deep down, he'd known its time would come sooner, rather than later.
A low hiss whispered through the quiet room. Buoyed by a rising tide of resolve, the wraith slid his hand from the drive and replaced it on the empty gel control. Code flew across the screen as he brought up the changes he'd made earlier. They were extensive. Bold. Blatantly duplicitous in nature and amazingly detailed. Almost disturbingly so… Focused on the mental signals accompanying the visual data, the wraith marveled at his desperation's thoroughness. What he'd begun in a frenzied attempt to calm his mind was now invaluable. A solid base for what must come after.
Ivory rustled, slithering across smooth leather as he stretched his neck. His pale fingers flexed on the controls.
Where to begin?
…
There.
Unseen, the symbols flowing across the screen paused. This was the first correction. A necessary step for preparing the code to be used outside simulation.
The wraith's eyes narrowed with pleasure as he made the change. Its unusable state had been symbolic, mostly. An expression of his commitment to this hive. A reminder of his loyalty. A crutch to prop his flagging devotion amidst the crushing torrent of a pounding sea of confusing desires and torturous impulses.
A tether to rational wisdom that he now snapped with equally committed ease.
Translucent teeth bared in an ironic grin as the wraith switched to the simulator and adjusted it to be compatible with the change. A second stream of data joined the first and he ran them together, side by side. Deftly his mind darted from one to the other, matching alerations as necessary. Keeping the programs in harmony.
What he intended was not treason. But it was easy. So easy…
With a thought, a third stream appeared, slicing the display down the middle. Base code imported from the hijack program. It required a few changes too.
…Exhilaratingly easy…
Delicate furrows wrinkled the wraith's brow. This would be seen as treason by his brothers. The moment they discovered it—IF they discovered it. Though slimly remote, there was always a chance that they would not. IF he did this correctly.
If not…
A dismissive snort echoed against his personal quarter's organic walls.
Such speculation was NOT productive.
He threw himself into his preparations with renewed vigor. They were not treason. They were survival. His integrity would endure… If he willed it.
And he willed it. He was WRAITH!
Any brother in his position would understand.
His mind flew between the three programs, juggling their intricacies with practiced, yet astonishing, ease. More than just his perceptions had dulled, it seemed. Edit, compile, simulate… If he hadn't hidden it, would he have realized sooner?
Whatever the case, the resurgence of ability was welcome…
Edit, compile. Edit, recompile, simulate.
Stealth and speed were his allies. He would need both to survive what he had planned. Speed to complete his modifications in time. And stealth…
…
Edit, compile, simulate.
He was not a traitor.
…
…He was not. Edit, recompile, simulate.
Edite, compile. Edit recompile…
He was Not a Traitor.
…
Stealth…
Closing his eyes, the wraith summoned up the flagging glow of Purpose and shook his doubts away with a cleansing, vigorous, "HIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSS!"
—He was Wraith and he had Purpose—
Edit.
—He saw goals with Clarity—
Compile.
—And approached with Resolve—
Simulate.
THAT was the way of Priority. THAT was the way of Wraith.
…
HE was Wraith. Nothing could change that.
Edit, compile. Edit, recompile, simulate.
He was Wraith…
Edit, edit, edit.
Green eyes, slit-pupiled and intense, slipped open, fastening on the living computer screen with determined focus.
He was not a traitor. But sometimes loyalty to one's hive required a treasonous face. For the sake of his hive. For his Queen. For his life…
…
He would put on such a face.
Edit, compile. Check, check, simulate. Smoky glyphs and symbols streamed across the screen as the wraith single-mindedly threw himself into his modifications. Their dim glow caught in his hair, playing across his face like dappled moonlight. Silence settled within the small room. Watchful. Patient. He stood perfectly still, motionless except for the furious activity of his mind.
Occasionally… he blinked.
Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.
As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.
3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.