War Games

by Kylie Lee

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ask/klee/wargames.php
Summary: Poisoning The Well: two years later
Info: Beta: wpadmirer and Danvers, who rock the Casbah like whoa in their spare time

It was like seeing a ghost.

It's Noli was immediately followed by It can't be Noli. Noli's dead. A low roaring sounded in her ears, accompanied by dizziness, the hot sun looped overhead, and she dropped a basket of freshly folded bed linens, because It can't be Noli. Noli's dead was immediately followed by I know him. I know them.

Two years had passed, but she knew those uniforms and those weapons, even if they had only been half-glimpsed. She'd been in the background--he wouldn't recognize her--he probably wouldn't recognize her--

Someone touched her arm, and she started violently, then ripped her eyes from the strangers in the courtyard. A spurt of laughter kicked through the air as they headed for the steps. Comrades.

"Maya?" Gisa asked, dark-lashed eyes wide.

Maya attempted a smile, a gesture toward normalcy even as the safe world she'd constructed slid sideways. She couldn't be caught staring. She couldn't afford to draw attention, because he probably--probably--wouldn't recognize her. She needed to get control of herself. "I--I was just--if you could help me--"

"Of course." Gisa knelt, and a moment later, Maya did too, letting her long, fair hair fall forward in a curtain to obscure her face. She was preternaturally aware of the party of four. "You got the wash? Where's Freya?"

Only a few seconds had passed, each one lasting a year. If they looked over, what would they see? Two women, one light and one dark, fussing over a basket of clothing--a small, unfortunate domestic incident, nothing more.

What had Gisa asked her? Oh, yes--Freya, the chambermaid. "She--she didn't come to work today," Maya stammered, which seemed to satisfy Gisa.

"They came through the Ring of the Ancestors a few hours ago." Gisa inclined her head to indicate the strangers. "They are looking to trade for food." She brushed dirt from a sheet. Several had tumbled onto the stones when Maya dropped the basket. "Do you know them?"

She hadn't been discreet at all if Gisa could tell what had upset her. Of course, she'd been standing and staring. She stammered, "I thought--one of them reminded me of someone--someone important to me." Noli. "No, I don't know them." It was best to stick to the truth whenever possible, Maya had discovered. A half truth was better than a whole lie. She frowned at the sheet Gisa held and changed the subject, pleased to see that her hands were steady. Good. "Do you think these need to be relaundered?"

Gisa set the sheet in the basket. "No, the dirt is dry. It just brushes off."

Maya pushed her long hair behind her ear, dared a quick look. The strangers had gone inside. She wasn't sure they'd noticed her, for all that the very tall one had swung around his big head, with its unruly hair, when she'd dropped the basket. She didn't recognize him. She thought she'd seen the woman before, all sly grace, and she was sure she'd seen the other man, the one with light hair. But their leader? Oh, she remembered him. She should have paid more attention, two years ago. "Good. Can you bring this in for me and take it up to the second floor for the chambermaids?"

"Yes, of course, Maya." Gisa rose. As she leaned over to pick up the basket, showing her generous, youthful cleavage, she smiled. Maya never wore anything so revealing, favoring high-necked dresses. "The leader is very handsome, don't you think? The pale one with dark hair." She dropped her voice. They were conspirators.

"Very handsome," Maya agreed, because he was, as Noli had been. She had never thought to see Noli again. Yet for a moment that lasted as long as her flash of recognition, there he had been, as though he hadn't died when her people had been obliterated by the Wraith. She had never found Noli's body, and the Wraith scouts she knew were lurking had made it too dangerous to remain, so when she saw that her world had been cleansed of humanity, as the chancellor had feared--of course he'd feared, because he'd ordered her on her mission, saying Go, hide it someplace safe, wait at least a month before you return--she had left. She'd dialed and left, and since the day she'd walked among the dead, she'd never gone back, for all that her fingers itched to press the symbols, this and this and this, in the right order, to send the ring spinning and take her back home. It wouldn't do any good. Noli was doubly gone to her, first by his betrayal and then by his death.

He could have escaped, she had told herself, long ago, but she knew he hadn't.

That was before she had been marked, hand to chest. That was before she had realized the truth. She had been another woman then. The woman she had been would have laughed to think of herself on her knees in the courtyard, fussing over linens, because she was a scientist, not a servant, no matter how glorified.

The woman she had become couldn't afford to have attention drawn to her. They'd come to trade for food? Well, Pel was a kind of hub for commerce, with a well-known address, but it had little to offer on its own merits. She had come and stayed precisely because she blended in. Her blondeness and height would go unremarked, not like the last planet she'd been on. Many people in Peltown were from somewhere else, some scattered by a Wraith attack and looking to start again, some simply doing business.

She couldn't avoid the strangers. Thinking of Noli was only a distraction. She needed to focus. The dark-haired leader probably--probably--wouldn't recognize her, and if he did, all she had to do was smile and say he was mistaken.

Decision made, she brushed off her hands and followed them into the inn. The party of four stood in a corner of the lobby, talking with Gallus. Gallus held the master book, so Maya knew they wanted rooms. Gallus, seeing her, lifted a hand and beckoned, and she headed over. As always, she felt faint distaste for the man. His eyes always seemed to be on her chest, never her face, and it wasn't just his lack of height. She'd had to speak sharply to him more than once, when he'd gone too far or insinuated too much. And yet she counted on his eyes following her wherever she went.

"Yes, Gallus." She had to force herself to remain calm as the four swung to look at her. Not the same woman. Not the same woman at all. She met not-Noli's eyes squarely, held them for a brief moment, and then flicked them to the others, one by one, making it a professional assessment. Up close, she realized how shockingly tall the big man was. He made her feel small, and she was not a short woman.

"This is Maya." Gallus idly knocked the master book against his free hand. "She manages the inn."

"Hi, Maya," the dark-haired leader said, just as the light-haired man said, "How do you do," phrasing it like a statement instead of a question. Maya hadn't expected such a greeting, and she struggled to form an appropriate response.

"I do very well, in good health," she said cautiously.

The light-haired man gave a bark of laughter. "Actually, that was a rhetorical--" he began.

The dark-haired leader cut in smoothly. "We need rooms for three days. Gallus here seems unsure about how many rooms are actually available."

"How many rooms do you want?" Maya asked.

The man adjusted his weapon, seemingly unconscious of it. She remembered that--the way he and others from his world went about casually armed. Now that she could see him up close, she realized that he looked nothing like Noli. They shared the same coloring and height, some of the same way of moving, but that was all. Had she thought he looked like Noli when she first saw him in the lab? She found she couldn't remember. She'd been worrying about other things then.

The man cocked his head, considering. "Four rooms for three days would be ideal, but we'll take what we can get. We like the location," he added. "Convenient to the Stargate."

"The Circle of the Ancestors," Gallus added helpfully, though Maya had not misunderstood him.

Maya knew why Gallus had consulted her. "We have four rooms, but they are not next to each other, and I would prefer not to move any guests. Would you prefer to share, so that you might stay together?"

The man exchanged a look with the woman. Maya wondered if the two of them were lovers, but his next words belied that theory: "Four rooms would be fine. We've had a little too much...togetherness lately." At that, the woman made a small noise of punctuation, as if to say, "Oh, I agree."

"Do you have a place we can conduct business, out in the open?" the tall man asked in a light voice that didn't match his body. "I think that would be better than having meetings in a private room."

Gallus indicated the common area. "You can use those tables, first come, first served. They're for guests." His arm brushed Maya when he lowered it, another one of his too-familiar gestures, and she stepped away, frowning at him. It irritated her when he did that--touched her as if by accident when it was no accident at all, in front of guests.

The woman nodded decisively. "Good."

Maya broke in. "Of course we can accommodate you. Gallus can handle the details. Please enjoy your stay."

She gave a half-bow to take off the too-sharp edge of her professionalism. But before she could turn and leave, the man who didn't look like Noli stopped her with a touch on her arm. Maya couldn't help it: she flinched, and the man immediately held up a hand in apology.

"Sorry," he said. "Do I know you?"

Do I know you? She had steeled herself for this, even if she hadn't been ready for his touch. She felt absolutely calm as she met his eyes. "No, I don't think so," she said. She gave him her best smile, making sure it reached her eyes, exuding sincerity. "I'm sure I'd remember. Excuse me."

Before the man could ask her anything else, she turned on her heel and walked away, her feet tapping smartly on the broad-planked wooden floor. "Oh, please," she heard the quick-talking light-haired man say. "'Do I know you.' Does that line still work? Wait--did it ever work? Because...no." The leader laughed and said chidingly, "Rodney."

Despite the comment, the perception of his colleague--Rodney--she didn't think it had been flirtation. She could deal with flirtation. No. Recognition. As she ascended the steps, she thought she could feel his eyes boring into her shoulder blades, the man who wasn't Noli, but it was only her imagination: she looked back when she reached the landing, and he was deep in negotiations with Gallus. No, it was Rodney who gazed at her, not the leader. He lifted his eyebrows and gave her a sarcastic smile and a little wave, and she smiled back and ducked her head, as if a little embarrassed, even as her heart began to accelerate with panic, because Rodney saw through her.

If they were going to be on Pel for a few days doing business, maybe it was a good thing they stayed at the inn, where she could keep an eye on all of them. On the second floor, she paused to gather and calm herself, then entered the bright, airy linen closet at the end of the hall. The scent of the aromatic bushes that the laundress laid the sheets over to dry permeated the room, but Maya found it soothing, even if a little strong. She cracked the window to allow the smell to dissipate and looked out blankly into the courtyard. In the distance, she could see the top of the Gate.

She couldn't do anything about it. Best to wait. But it was the second time in as many days that someone had broken her calm. She'd handled the first incident. She'd handle this one too. It would be better if she could stay, but she would go if she had to.

As she sorted through the clean linens Gisa had unloaded, she wondered, as she did whenever she had to perform work that she had been taught was demeaning, how she had come to this. All the hard work and the late nights, and here she was--she, Maya, first in her class, heralded by her teachers as a brilliant mind--managing an inn and fending off the advances of a little man so far beneath her that she shouldn't even be troubled by him.

She had been readied by class, sex, intelligence, and inclination to contribute to her world's single, shining cause, and she had been happy to do it, even if the brilliance that had shone so brightly when she was a young researcher at a small laboratory and dimmed when she'd gotten the posting of her dreams in the capital city. She had wanted to work with the best--to learn, to contribute--only to find her skills small indeed, compared with those now around her. She'd clawed her way to the top, confident in her abilities, ceaselessly promoted and praised, only to have to start again at the bottom. She'd gone from the best to the least, which perhaps would have been bearable if only they hadn't simply dismissed her--dismissed her, ignored her, which was worse than engaging in dialogue, because they treated her as though she wasn't there, as if she could have nothing of value to contribute, just as Noli--

She didn't want to think about Noli.

She had never been afraid of hard work. She had always said she would do whatever she had to, whatever she was asked. She had just never imagined, back before the world ended, that she would end up a glorified housekeeper. What consumed her now? Not the intricate beauty of cells and sequencing and genomes. No. Party of four checking in, party of six for a mixed-sex trade delegation due in from Delra after noon, and one missing chambermaid. This was her world now. At least there was work to occupy her. There was always, always work.

Maya discarded two sheets with obvious dirt smears, dropping them into a hamper by the door. Gisa had been too hasty when she'd declared them clean. They needed to be relaundered, but the rest looked fine. She chose an armful of dusted-off bed linens and hastened to the empty room next door. She picked through the master keys tied at her waist, the symbol of her petty power, to make beds and set out towels and order water to be hauled up the dumbwaiter to place in the pitchers--all the thousand details that made this large, busy inn the best place to stay in Peltown. She had sequenced genes and manipulated them to create desired proteins, had spent hours bent over microscopes, had set up and run crucially important experiments, had published three articles even when she was thought to be irrelevant--and all of it, so hotly desired at the time, had never meant anything.

Stop. It didn't do any good to think of the past. But then again, it did little good to think of the future, either, because she could not return to her life's work. Instead, an outsider had helped to complete it. A practiced snap, and a sheet belled out, then settled perfectly over the bed. Only drudgery lay ahead of her, like making up room after room after room. She didn't dare reveal herself for fear of Wraith recrimination: they sought all from Hoff to complete the purge. Although few would betray her, someone, somewhere, would--someone who resented her coldness, perhaps, like Gallus. And so she tucked sheets, folded blankets, adjusted bars of freshly cut scented soap, and settled aromatic pillows just so. She was good at this job, actually, particularly organization and employee management, and her willingness to do just about anything, like fetch the laundry when the chambermaid didn't show up for work, kept the staff in line. She'd been here for four months, the longest she'd stayed anywhere, and she'd been quickly promoted. Better, she hadn't had a fit of mania or depression since she'd come here. And she'd saved six men. Pel had almost become home. Almost.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice said as knuckles rapped on the solid wood door, nudging it open. "Hello again. Maya, right?"

Maya twitched the coverlet straight and turned. Professional. Deliberate. He doesn't really recognize you. She tried on a smile. "Yes. Hello."

"I think this is my room," the man said. He walked in and extended a hand. "John Sheppard." Maya gave him her hand and let him shake it. He didn't seem to expect a response to his introduction, because he immediately said, "Is it okay if I put some stuff in here?" He unshouldered a pack and set it at his feet. "You guys seem really busy. I don't want to get in your way, but--"

"Of course not, John Sheppard," Maya interrupted. "I'm just finished here. Your room is ready. I'm on my way out."

"John," he told Maya, and she looked at him, not understanding. "Just--John. I mean, you don't have to say 'John Sheppard.'"

"All right, John," Maya said, unbending enough to give him a smile, because he stood a little too close. She was just a little shorter than him. He was flirting with her, she realized belatedly.

"You're sure I don't know you?" John asked, his eyes steady on her face. Noli had blue eyes. This man's were an odd mixture of colors. Not the same at all.

Maya had her footing now. It didn't matter whether he recognized her or not, because she could treat it as a prelude to a dance she had come to learn very well. She'd seen him a few times in the lab. He wasn't a scientist. He had never spoken to her. It had been two years ago. "Maybe you do," she said playfully, smiling, and he grinned back. "Didn't you ask me to dance at the harvest festival on Nelva last year?"

"Nelva--don't know Nelva," John said. "But I'm sure it was me. Yes, let's say it was. Harvest festival, huh? So there was...let me guess...dancing with ribbons around a maypole? And drinking."

"You know it, I see." Maya dimpled. She didn't know what a maypole was. "It's not a harvest festival without a lot of drinking and dancing. And ribbons, of course."

"And you were the woman in the white dress," John mused. He didn't seem to notice as she froze, because his hand had come up to lightly twist a lock of her long, blonde hair. "And ribbons in your hair." He dropped the lock back on her shoulder and gently smoothed it. His fingers brushed well above her breast, not at all crossing a line, but she felt a little breathless. She didn't flinch this time, because his gesture had broken something inside her, and she knew, with the sense of perfect rightness that she had come to trust, that he was the next one.

"Blue ribbons," Maya murmured, finally relaxing as the rightness took away all doubt. She thought of a white dress--her lab uniform--with its broad, stiffly starched points at the collar. The jacket buttoned up the back. It had taken her a while to be able to do it herself. In the early days, before he left, Noli used to help her. She'd worn her hair up then, as was the fashion on Hoff, twisted into a smooth knot at the back of her head. "How unfortunate that I turned you down flat."

"I was crushed," John said promptly. "Obviously. I haven't gotten over it."

"Well, next time you ask me to dance--" Maya leaned in so her lips almost brushed his cheek. She could see faint stubble. John smelled clean and masculine, nothing like the dark musk of Noli. "--I'll be sure to say yes."

John turned his head. Their noses bumped, but their lips didn't quite touch. "And I'll be sure to ask."

Maya imagined leaning in, pressing her lips to his, but it was too soon, for all that she wanted it, and for reasons that had nothing to do with Noli. Instead, she drew back. "Enjoy your stay," she said, and she headed for the door, John watching her appreciatively. She felt her hips move under her skirt, aware of her body, and with that awareness came the heat of the mark on her chest, hidden under her demure dress. "Let me know if I can do...anything to make your stay more comfortable."

"Oh, I will," John promised. "Absolutely."

"Good," she responded. She swung the door the rest of the way open, only to start in surprise and embarrassment as it revealed the man John had called Rodney filling the doorway, arms crossed. He'd obviously been watching. Watching. As Freya had watched. His eyes flicked from her--dismissing her--to John, and her relief mixed with the familiar how dare you of dismissal.

"Captain Kirk. Freaking Captain Kirk." Rodney shook his head and stepped around Maya without acknowledging her. She couldn't read him: was he upset, or was he playing at it to tease his colleague? "John," he said grumpily, "leave the beautiful natives alone and let's go. You need a chaperone? Because I'm thinking you need a chaperone."

"I do not need a chaperone, McKay, and stop with the Captain Kirk, which has, by the way, gotten so old," John began.

Maya shut the door behind her as the two men began what was obviously a well-treaded conversation, and went to make up another room. It didn't surprise her that John apparently had a reputation for flirting.

They were only here for three days, she reminded herself, as John's remark about the white dress nagged at her. Had he seen her, but his mind hadn't yet made the connection? Was it his mind's way of trying to place her? The smart thing to do would be to leave through the Gate, as she had every two months or so since she'd seen the dead on her world: she'd follow traders through, or temporarily join a party as they moved from world to world on business. She should stay out of his way, because if said something to her in public, she'd have to leave, and she had finally found the perfect place to do her work: a site where she had access to a transient population comprising frequent travelers in and out of the Gate, and where it didn't matter that she was a stranger. Instead, she should be relieved that the party had arrived without Doctor Beckett, who would definitely remember her.

No, she would stay. She had dealt with Freya, who had seen too much and known too little. She would finish her task, because when John had smoothed her hair against her shoulder, the cold, hard clarity of realization had come. He was the next to be saved. And although her mark meant she couldn't take him as a lover--because he would certainly understand its import--that didn't stop her from enjoying his attentions, and over that day and the next, those attentions were many.

She held his eyes a little too long for politeness; leaned over, a hand on his shoulder, as she asked him whether he needed anything while he and his party took dinner, then served him herself; let him brush her hair behind her shoulder when they ran into each other in the lobby. It pleased her that he seemed to like her hair. Rodney--or McKay, she wasn't sure what to call him--seemed most aware of it. He'd cross his arms when John showed her any attention, then sigh theatrically and mutter. John alternated between laughter and annoyance. The big man with the tangled hair seemed amused by their flirtation. The woman didn't seem to react at all--certainly not with jealousy--although once, Maya saw an ironic lift of her eyebrows after John made a particularly outrageous remark. Although she'd definitely felt his interest when they'd been alone together in his room, with others around, now she felt that John was just going through the motions. He never tried to touch her anywhere intimate, or find her alone. She was not certain he was doing anything more than playing a game.

She knew about games.

She discounted the woman and the big man as players. The big man didn't need that kind of guile. His cunning lay in the relationship between hunter and prey. Maya saw his role in their negotiations as muscle, little more. He would glower and loom on cue. On the other hand, the woman anchored the trading network. Maya had watched her warmly and apparently sincerely greet the people who came through the Gate to talk. She played a different game. They would become a threat only if they perceived Maya to be a threat.

No, the players Maya concerned herself with were John and Rodney. Judging by their interactions, if John remembered her, he would likely say something to Rodney. And thus she noticed the way Rodney slanted a smile at John at lunch, a smile that transformed so quickly into sarcasm that she might have imagined it. From across the dining room, at lunch, she saw John press his foot against Rodney's. Rodney didn't move his foot. Maya's heart thudded when instead, he dropped his leg sideways to lie against John's, a covert acknowledgment, a caress hidden to the others at the table, even as the two pretended to ignore each other. So that's how it was. She wasn't surprised when John briefly touched Rodney in the small of the back as they took up the rear when their party left to greet people at the Gate. She wasn't surprised at any of the thousand looks and coded gestures they made to each other that became explicable only when you knew. And yet their flirtation continued. They didn't want anyone to know, and so she dimpled on cue, and laughed in all the right places, while inside she thought, irrelevant. Again.

"Your reindeer games with Maya going well?" she heard Rodney ask John in a low voice. The two men stood in the back of the conference room during a snack break.

When she heard her name, Maya, behind a door, hidden from their view, felt her heart in her mouth, even as she inched closer to the doorjamb so she could hear. She imagined them standing very close together, but not touching.

"Oh, well, you know," John responded noncommittally.

"Because she's attractive. Very, very attractive. Some would say lovely."

John's voice sounded amused. "Absolutely."

"You figured out who she reminds you of?"

Maya leaned against the wall, straining to hear over the rushing in her ears. Reminds you of.

"No." John didn't seem worried. "Probably some girl in high school or something. I see her and I think, white."

"White? White like a bride?"

Noli taking her hand at their wedding and saying, forever. Maya briefly shut her eyes. His betrayal still hurt. He was gone to her twice, the first time by choice and the second time by death.

"Yeah, I don't get it either. She's just...familiar."

"And lovely."

"You're saying it, not me." Rodney must have made a face, because John added, "I can't ramp it back now. It's too late. And we're having so darn much fun."

Rodney asked, "So she--she hasn't shown up in your room at midnight wearing nothing but sexy lingerie?"

Maya had to strain to hear John's low response. "Well, now, that would be embarrassing, because you'd still be there, wouldn't you?"

"True," Rodney said, sounding almost smug. "Unless her--and you--and me--and sexy lingerie--"

"Okay, no. Relax, Rodney," John advised. "Stop with the jealous act."

"Just trying to tell the team leader he's making an utter ass of himself. Again."

John laughed. "I'm not interested in her, and she's not interested in me. Trust me, Rodney. It's just a game."

Games. Maya knew all about games. Getting into the upper echelons of the Project had been a game. Noli had been a game. He'd expressed interest in a rival, and Maya had set out to capture his attention, merely to show her powers to be superior. The game wasn't about Noli, but about the other woman. She'd maneuvered to put herself forward, just as she'd maneuvered herself at school and at work, until he'd looked up one day and there she was, Maya, ready to take his hand. She hadn't wanted Noli's love, but rather the humbling of her rival. She had obtained both, a rare coup. He'd proposed, and for all her very real happiness, her victory had been complete and devastating. Maya had been a little surprised when the game took that turn, when it ceased to be a game. As a scientist, she wasn't prone to sentiment.

She thought that she was in control. She had played games with love, with her career, and she had won. She always won. But now, the realization would come to her, and she had to obey. It was, after all, in some literal way, her life. Her own body reminded her of that every night, when she took off her clothes (remembering Noli standing behind her, unbuttoning her white jacket, then leaning over to press a kiss against her neck), and there in the mirror was the woman she had become, somehow much older, branded with an external sign of her internal difference: five puncture wounds circling a ragged vertical slit that was surrounded by a series of tiny dots. A hand, white hair, grinning teeth, a blow, talons, excruciating pain. And yet she had survived.

She had survived, because she had been chosen.

She always won.

And now she warred with the Wraith, one battle--one man--at a time.

"She won't look at you," Maya heard Gisa say, voice dripping with scorn.

Gallus's voice came next. They were in the nook off the kitchen. "She admires competence. And I am nothing if not competent. And patient. Very, very patient."

Gisa laughed, not the innocent laugh she gave Maya, but richer, deeper, her sweetness giving way to something darker and lewder. Maya heard the rustle of clothing being moved, perhaps removed. "She admires tall men with pale, white skin, black hair, and blue eyes. Haven't you noticed? And you, Gallus, are anything but. Black hair, yes. But you're too short and too dark to tempt her." A rustle, a sigh. A distant roil of laughter sounded from somewhere upstairs--someone entertaining in his room, a party out of hand.

"We'll see," Gallus whispered--a threat, or a promise.

Skin against skin, and Gisa sighed. "The last one--so sad," she murmured, so softly that Maya had to strain to hear. "The coughing, and then he died."

"Sad," Gallus agreed breathlessly, clearly distracted.

"And the group trading fava--all five ill, and two of them died, just days after getting home through the Circle of the Ancestors. And before that, another single man, tall and pale with dark hair. And before that, another, and before that--" Gisa trailed off, her point made, her implication clear. Betrayal.

A silent pause. "What are you saying?" Gallus asked. Maya could hear it in his voice: he had his guard up.

"Nothing." Gisa's head dipped to Gallus's neck. What could she see in him? Maya wondered distantly. He was so dark, unpleasant, and...small. So very, very small. But it wasn't Gallus she had underestimated; it was sweet, lovely Gisa, with swelling breasts and smiling eyes. "Freya mentioned this all to me, only now she's gone."

"Freya?" Gallus said blankly.

"The chambermaid. This is the second day she's missed work. No one's seen her. And Maya came in so late a few days ago--after midnight."

"Are you saying--Maya--"

Freya was simply a casualty of war. She had thought to best Maya, but Maya had her work to do, her battles to fight, her war to win. The world had had to end before the games finally meant something. She couldn't let Freya get in her way.

Gisa chuckled, low in throat. "I'm saying. Maya. Your beautiful, untouchable Maya. I don't know what or how or why. But it's not coincidence. It can't be. Cold, isn't she?"

Cold. White. Like ice.

"Tall, dark-haired men," Gisa continued. "Over and over again. Like that new guest she's all over--what's his name--"

Maya mouthed the name as Gallus spoke it aloud. "John Sheppard."

"John Sheppard. That's it. Thank you. John Sheppard." A rustling. "I predict that John Sheppard will fall ill in a day or two. So many of the pale, dark ones she notices fall ill."

"But you can't be saying--Maya wouldn't--"

"Maya wouldn't," Gisa mimicked. "Maya would. Maya has. She makes them sick, those men, and they die. They're usually through the Gate by then, and a few days pass. She thinks no one will notice."

"But not on purpose."

Gisa's low laugh sounded again. "Of course on purpose. Don't sound so betrayed."

Betrayal.

She saw them through the window of the teashop, Noli sitting close to someone, a woman, their hands touching. She had short, dark hair and high coloring--unlike Maya in every way. She moved like a bird. She still remembered how she'd felt when she'd arrived home one day and found all Noli's things gone: first worried, then fearful, and then, after she found the note, profoundly sick. She'd vomited. Too cold, and It's me, not you, and Your work comes before me, and to her every impassioned request, to talk it through, to meet her, to reconsider, No. No. No. He'd brought papers for her to sign to dissolve their marriage. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't see an advocate.

He wouldn't. He wouldn't.

She'd signed, thick slashes of calligraphy on formal, creamy paper. She'd believed him. So cold.

White. Like ice.

And there had been another woman all along.

Betrayal had a metallic taste she knew well. Noli, even Perna (we can't prioritize your research), Freya, John Sheppard, and now Gisa, who betrayed her by taking Gallus out of her power. She'd handled Freya by dragging the body deep into the woods. Animals would take care of it. She'd made it look like Freya had left town hastily, under the cover of night. John Sheppard was still a question. But Gisa and Gallus on top of Freya? She couldn't do it inconspicuously. She would have to leave--after she was done with John, of course,

She heard the sounds of love, lips meeting lips, and saw two shapes meld into one. Gisa clearly did not have the compunctions Maya did about using her body to seal a deal. Gallus would now add insinuation to his gaze at Maya's chest: They fall ill. Why is that?

Why is that?

They are saved, or they are lost. That's all there is to it. They don't all die. Half do not fall ill at all. Those are the ones she saves. She can't tell which is which to look at them--the saved or the lost. She could probably devise a blood test to figure it out, but she lacked a laboratory, and equipment, and staff, and time. All she had was a stash of the serum in a chilly cave on a world with such poor soil that nobody bothered to live there. And of course, she had her mission: the chancellor told her to leave so she could save the serum, the product of the work of generations of scientists, Hoff's contribution to all of humanity. Why did she save it, if not to use it?

So she used it. She used it to bring about the slow, inexorable transformation of the individual into the body of the divine, the body that can stop the Wraith with only the pulse of life, with blood. The Wraith would reach out with his clawed hand, and he would be met, at last, at last, with resistance. Maya bore the scorching handprint to prove it: she had defeated a Wraith, merely by existing. She hoped his death proved to be an agonizing one. She doubted that the agony of his death throes matched the agony she felt when she walked Hoff's capital city and realized that it had been utterly destroyed.

She sat in the linen closet next to John Sheppard's room for two hours, only the slow, steady beat of her heart marking the time that passed. She sat in a hard chair, hands folded in her lap and her head tilted back so it touched the wall. She's lovely, she remembered Rodney saying, and she remembered John speaking the truth that both she and he understood: I'm not interested in her, and she's not interested in me. It's just a game. She just hadn't realized that he knew. She thought she had power over him, because she was lovely and he responded to that, but it couldn't be her, ever, because it was a man. It was Rodney, and once again, she had been dismissed.

She didn't have any doubts, because even if she hadn't heard Rodney utter his concerns with each sarcastic comment, their coded, secret touching had told her that whatever they did together, it wasn't a game. It was something far more important. And yet when it all happened like she thought it would, she still felt it, in all its familiarity. Betrayal.

She heard everything, from the knock to the brief, muffled conversation to the lovemaking. Her body felt unresponsive and dead, a contrast to their desperation. They spoke in low, frantic voices. The bed squeaked. When they crested, their voices raised in release, she made a small noise. She stared out the window, up into the stars. She didn't blink, because she felt the heat behind her eyes.

It should have been her, not Rodney--not another man. Noli had come again, and again, he didn't want her. Two years had passed and she had moved beyond it, but still it cut. Noli, over and over again. The wild hope she'd felt when she'd seen John Sheppard had been dashed, but her work had to continue. Over and over again, the pale man with dark hair--Noli over and over again, dead and alive or both. Her task was too important to break against the shoals of petty recriminations. Circumstances would let her know whether John would be saved, despite this betrayal. The sedative she'd slipped into John's food as she'd served him dinner a few hours ago should make his sleep, when it came, profoundly deep, but Rodney was still there. If he stayed, John would not be saved.

He didn't stay. She turned her head and closed her eyes so she could concentrate on the small sounds of someone moving around, getting dressed. She blocked out the sound of animal hooves in the courtyard, the laughter in the common room downstairs, the squeaks of the timbers of the inn settling. She heard Rodney speak, and she heard John's mumbled reply. Rodney laughed at whatever he said, and a moment later, the door opened and closed. John was alone.

She waited a while, feeling the dead weight of her body loosen, then lift. The pressure in her eyes and nose abated as she gained control of herself, and she could scoff at herself for wanting what she couldn't have: Noli back, his love magically restored. In retrospect, it meant more to her than her reputation as a scientist. Instead, she was alive and he was dead--they were all dead. Her descent into unresponsiveness, or into tears, was her occasional reminder of the depth of her loss. Now, she simply felt purposeful. She had a job to do, just as she'd had a job in the labs on Hoff. It didn't matter whether John Sheppard wanted her or not.

Betrayal.

Design an experiment. Execute it. Assess it.

Ever since the world had ended, she had known what it was like to be chosen: you did not ask. It was given to you, a great gift, by a power so awful it had no name. What she wanted meant nothing. She knew that now. Her years attempting success had been pathetic, like a butterfly futilely beating against a great light. She had actually thought she could control her destiny. She was a scientist, after all. Cause and effect, action and reaction--she understood that. Sometimes the burden was too great and she broke under it: hours, even days, spent raging, out of control, or in a stupor so profound she could not rise from her bed.

But she now understood that it was a consequence of being forged by that power. It pounded her, turned her, thrust her into the fire, and beat her into something new, a weapon that reflected the light so that it blazed forth, only slightly diminished from its source. The little butterfly was gone. A sword had taken its place. What she willed meant little. What she felt was all, because her new sense and understanding led her to the shining beacon of the truth that had eluded her her whole life. It had always danced just out of reach, and her clutching fingers snatched only air. To have it come now, so late, when it meant nothing, tasted of bitter irony.

She had come so far, and yet the path still stretched ahead of her. As long as her cache of serum remained viable, she could remain a living example of the truth of life. As long as she could dial the Gate and return to the place that had become her refuge, she could do her work. Her parents, Noli, the chancellor, her colleagues at the lab--they were gone, and nothing she could do could bring them back.

"The battle rages at the very threshold of our laboratory now," she whispered as she rose. She was a scientist. She was a soldier. She unlocked John Sheppard's door with her master key and crossed the threshold into his room.

He stirred as she sat on the edge of the bed. His head turned on the pillow, sending a delicious frisson of panic down her spine her despite her conviction that the sedative would ensure he slept. He exhaled a sigh but did not awaken, and Maya relaxed as she took in his profile, comparing it to Noli's. It wasn't him. She knew that. But in the half-light, the pale skin and dark hair, the curve of his lips, and the shape of his nose briefly flickered, and the beloved Noli she remembered lay there. She leaned down and gently pressed her lips to his, to welcome him. She forgave him. She destroyed him. It was the same. Either way, she would save him. She would, even if he had rejected her by lying with another man, because she was better than that. She was above vengeance, because she carried vengeance inside her, in her very blood. No one knew vengeance as she did--she who had seen its work on Hoff, after the Wraith were done. She had the handprint of a Wraith on her chest to prove it.

She continued, reciting the familiar words of Farrol Mylan, Hoff's greatest scientist. "Those of us working to the last know that these few final hours have been dearly purchased, yet our concentration has not waned."

Dearly purchased indeed. She slid the light blanket aside, uncovering John's legs. The thick scent of semen wafted up. He was nude. Maya blinked away tears at the visceral punch she felt at the sight and smell, so familiar and yet so alien, because John wasn't Noli and the rumpled bed wasn't theirs, and because she had been so alone for so long, even when she used her body as a weapon in her battle. The smell, John's pale body in the bed brought back memories she did not want of happy times that had first been destroyed by Noli's betrayal. It had since become nostalgia, its thin gloss making even the bad times seem good. Noli had died before they'd made peace with each other. In death, that was his only sin.

She hadn't been Noli's wife for a long time.

She remembered Gisa's black laugh. Tall, dark-haired men....Over and over again.

Over the pounding of her heart, in half-terror that John would awaken, she fumbled in the bag at her waist. She undid the slender leather ties and unrolled the syringe she'd filled hours ago. It contained the miracle that would save him. She would grant John the power of the blood, the power to kill any Wraith who attempted to feed on him--if, of course, he survived. Half did. Half did not.

She finished speaking Farrol's words: "We cannot hope to save ourselves, but we can hope that one last insight, one last revelation before we take our dying breaths, may prevent this terrible day from happening again."

It had been a terrible day, when Hoff fell to the vengeance of the Wraith. Her revelation had come when she'd walked through the rubble, when she'd seen the dead. It had been small comfort that none of the intact bodies had the marks of feeding. The Wraith had simply slaughtered them--all of them--just as John Sheppard had warned the chancellor, and just as the chancellor had feared when the advance darts screamed overhead. He'd known, so he'd sent her away with the serum--to protect it, to ensure the Project continued past the death of all of Hoff.

At her return, she had fallen to her knees and wailed in despair so profound that only inarticulate noise would come from her throat, because she was alone, at last and completely alone. The pain of Noli's betrayal, leaving her for someone else, seemed small against the enormity of all of them dead, forever. But she had the last stockpile of the serum, and as she'd looked around, eyes tearing from the acrid smoke of the still-smoldering fires, wary, keeping an eye out for Wraith scouts, she'd known what she had to do, just as she knew what to do now.

She could save John. It was her duty. It was her calling.

She slid the tip of the needle into his hip, and in one smooth movement, she pushed the plunger home.