Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart

Story: You can run with us. (21/?)

Pairing: nothing as of yet,

Rating: for this chapter: 13 , may be higher in later chapters

Warnings: some violence

Status: WIP

Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.

Wordcount: ca. 5500

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, names or other various parts of the SG/SGA universe and all rights are with their respective owners. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 21: Rising from the ruins

If I don’t return,

I shall leave a message for you

Carved in stone

(Leaves Eyes: Twilight sun)

The white light of the dart beam swept over the ground and John found himself standing on a green hillside. At his back he knew Ronon and Illo, both ready for any nasty surprises that might crop up. All three of them had been given their weapons back before being beamed into the dart’s system. Only steps away Tarshaár materialised with a group of Wraith warriors. A third group appeared on the other side. John cast a short look at the fourth traveller in their own group: Ashaviiýr. “Looks like the coast is clear.” He knew this meant next to nothing, their real troubles would begin inside the ancient stronghold.

Tarishaár pointed ahead. “There it is.” Half a mile to the east the fortress rose up from another hill. Graceful walls and spires were clear indicators of ancient architecture, while other parts of the construction looked foreign. Perhaps it was only because it was the first fortress of Lantean design John saw. It was an impressive building, that much was sure.

Their way up to the fortress followed a steep slope, turning further south. Eventually they stood right beneath the high walls. Half vanished in the ground, John saw something which might constitute as a hatch, close to the ground. One of the Wraith removed a stonelike panel from the walls, laying bare a mechanism with three crystals, looking like the door locks on Atlantis. Interested John watched how the Wraith bridged those crystal with a small metal rod, they glowed intently and the hatch opened. The first group moved in, securing the entrance, then signalling them to follow. John followed, diving below the hatches narrow frame and into the dark corridor before him. He blinked, trying to adjust to the shadowy interior, everything was a blur.

“Eagle, two Cloud-owls are closing in on you,” Lucian had hardly any time to deliver this warning, flying through the shrouds of debris took all skill he could muster. Jandhyr had left only junk of the six darts. Right now he drove his fighter through a spiralling attack on another swarm. Lucian drove the machine into a tight spin, avoiding a swarm of rockets coming their direction. Only one of them came close, before being vaped by Jandhyr. “We need to get rid of that hive.”

Lucian silently agreed with his wingman, the hive was their main trouble. Evading another cloud of debris he correct course and drew the fighter to maximum speed. It was the fifth battle in as many weeks they were fighting at the rift, and the new tactic began to pay off. Their enemy still had trouble to adapt to the new tactic that cost him more capital ships than he had ever lost before, while they themselves rarely had any of their few greatships in these battles. Lucian manoeuvred his fighter, a lightarmored Seraph, through a heavy fire zone, vaping another pair of darts with his canons. Several others were blocking their path, but relying on the speed and agility of the Seraph he breaks through. Jhandyr follows his fighter, type Sunflower is heavier and less agile but can take much more damage. This is Lucian’s battlefield: the wide skies, full of fire, explosions and blinding light, enemies moving at lighting speed, fire smashing whole formations within moments, debris and junkyards, graves of the fallen, yet deadly traps for anyone who comes close. And when he’s piloting his fighter through these dogfights, there isn’t a real separation between him, his fighter and the burning skies outside. They melt into something unique, something he can’t describe or even name. But it still is the place where he belongs.

He drew a very tight spiral around the enemy flagship, Jandhyr matching up in speed and trajectory. Down there, the twisted form of the hive ship glowed in the light of the nearby sun. The race parallel to the hull, targeting crucial systems close to the outer hull. Two of his mini drones smash the port stabilisers, only moments before Jhandyr delivers the death blow by precisely taking out the main exhaust port. The first heavy explosions rocked the hive ship as the port thrusters were catching fire. It doesn’t need much communication between them, they pick up speed, getting away from the dying hive, another group of darts dead ahead of them. In the back he hears the com messages running through. “….heavy carbon scoring on the outside, seems inoperable.” “…group of darts incoming! Get out of there,” “Steady,” Helion’s voice cut in. “Condor, you get Shadow out of combat zone, the rest is with me.” A shriek and a curse ended in crackling static. Lucian knew that the group of darts was the same one, that they were approaching too.. “Eagle, this is Katana, we have them between us.”

A cloud of explosions and debris shook Lucian’s fighter as he made his way through the battle formation of dart’s. Closing in on the group form both sides, they raced through them, leaving only fire and explosions behind them. Lucian could tell by his shield readings, that he had done this too often already. “Bloodraven, negative on Great hive, repeat: negative on Great hive, break off!” Helion’s shout was twice as loud and startled Lucian. Below them a drama ensued. A lone fighter, one of the Sunflowers, was chasing after the fleeing Great hive that was obviously trying to escape to a distance where it could jump to hyperspace.

“Sheppard, what happened?” John found himself sitting on the ground, Tarishaár right in front of him.

“I don’t know…” John rubbed his neck. How had he managed to blank out so completely? “I saw… like a fighter battle… in space. I don’t know.” He struggled back to his feet. It wasn’t the first time some part of ancient tech got to him. “let’s move on.”

The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, crossings, partings and junctions changed with stairwells and longwinded passages. Throughout the outer layers of the city, the Wraith had little problems making their way without help. Doors and other systems were opened by them with a routined ease that left John baffled. When they reached another long stairwell, Ashaviiýr, who had been scouting ahead, turned to John. “Up there, the great doors, we’ll need you to open them.”

John frowned. “You seem to be doing fine.” He replied, his eyes scanning the area, he was uneasy in this place. He had the feeling of being watched and it grew stronger.

Ashaviiýr grinned. “As you humans say: this is like in old times.” He withdrew his knife from a mechanism he had jammed with the blade. “But up there – that’s the doors to the very heart of the fortress, and they saw to it, that we didn’t get in.”

“You have been here before – during the war?” John asked, he had come to accept that there were Wraith that had survived the ten thousand years since the Lanteans left this Galaxy, but now he began wondering how many there actually were.

“All of Lord Tarshaárs troop commanders, and many of his elite warriors are veterans of the great war.” Ashaviiýr moved out, sliding up the stairs. On his gesture John followed, Ronon followed, covering his six. The great doors were actually that: a huge double door with a key mechanism at the side. The mechanism was double long than the usual door locks were. John walked up to the mechanism, swiping his hand over it. The controls glowed brightly and the door slid open.

“Eastern tower and caverns have been swept, Sir, as have the upper levels of the Vinjamar-bastion.” The report on the com was short, to the point and that where his troops had swept through, no Wraith remained, went without saying.

“Good work, Helion, move your teams to Ucraym-bastion and assist Hephays there, he hasn’t tracked down the strike team there fully.” Lucian didn’t allow any anger to creep into his voice. It was a minor embarrassment that a Lantean commander didn’t get the job done, and needed assisting form the Dhemarigán. Not that is was the first time. Lucian was painfully aware that his own people bred true warriors only on rare occasions, they had scientists, diplomats, and any number of very enlightened beings, but when it came to efficient soldiers, good commanders or outright warriors, millennia of evolution were more of a hindrance then a help. He did not allow himself any more musings, they had a Wraith strike force in the fortress and needed to take them down. “Jhandyr, report.” He called for one of his best, most trusted Dhemarigán fighters.

“I am trailing the Wraith strike team,” Jhandyr’s response was low, he had toned down his com. “they are falling back, after unsuccessfully trying to break into the tower. They’ll rendezvous with their troops and drones in the south courtyard in about ten minutes, if they keep up the pace.”

“Very good, once I give the signal, you have free hand to take down their leader. He is to fall, no matter what the cost.” Lucian ordered. Waiting calmly for the estimated time to pass by, he checked on the progress in the other parts of the fortress. He did not even need to check the time, to know when the moment came. He switched channels, contacting the troops. “Listen up, people! The rats are heading back to their den. That mean: it’s clean up time! All squads move in on southern courtyard!” They’d move in from all sides, all tunnels, the caverns and some would be set down by gateships. The Wraith were trapped. Tapping back into command channel, he contacted Jhandyr. “The torch is falling, take him down.” He gave the code and the order, knowing it would be followed without hesitation. “And… Jhandyr, try not to get caught in the crossfire.”

John found himself halfway down to the floor, supported by Ronon. “What’s happening here?” The Satedan growled. John felt a hand gripping the side of his head and a flashlight shining directly into his eyes.

“Pupils are widened, heightened state of anxiety, heavy perspiration and hyperventilation. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s on crack.” Illo observed dryly.

John freed himself from the grip and leaned against the wall. “I keep having hallucinations… or I don’t know if they are hallucinations… it’s about some Lanteans fighting the Wraith, in space, down here in the fortress. One General Lucian, some guy called Jhandyr, another called Helion.”

“General Lucian was in command of this stronghold during the war, I told you of him.” Tarishaár had joined them, gesturing his troop to secure the perimeter around them.

John nodded. “Yeah, remember that. Those others? Jhandyr, Helion are from that war too?”

Tarishaár cast a glance to Ashaviiýr, indicating a question. The wraith warrior nodded an affirmative and said: “Jhandyr…. That was the commander of the Dhemarigán in the fortress, if I recall it right. Don’t ask which one, the fortress had at least four of them die in battle. Helion - could have been his second in command.”

The explanation helped a little. “So I am seeing things from the past?” John rubbed his temples. “Why”

“I do not know, Sheppard.” Tarishaár replied. “I had not expected you to react to this place so strongly.”

Ronon scowled. “Could it be the ghosts of the Ancestors? That they communicate with John?” he guessed.

Tarishaár chuckled. “Only if he were from a direct bloodline.”

The central spire was lying in darkness, that was only scarcely punctuated by the Wraith lights. John wished they had brought some decent flashlights, but remembered that the Wraith saw better in the dark than in bright light. “The controls for energy should be over there.” Tarishaár pointed to the circular installation in the middle of the tower room.

John nodded, they better started by putting on the lights and power back to the systems. Raising his green light stick, he could see the dark consoles waiting for someone to activate them again. He could see the hand-shaped panel that would allow him to access the main controls. But before he could rest his hand on the device, he heard a dry laughter from somewhere up in the darkness. “I’d never believed to see the day, you would do a Wraith’s bidding, Sheppard.”

Staring up in the darkness, John tried to see something. “Who are you?” he shouted up there. “And what do you want?”

The laughter was now ironic. “Can’t you guess, Sheppard?”

“Well, we’ll take a look at it.” John let his hand glide down on the panel, hoping the systems would accept him and turn the light on. It went easier than he could hope for, the lights sparked to live, as did the central core between the consoles awoke humming to life.

“I have to thank you, Sheppard. For one last time – the good Dr. Beckett was unable to activate the system.” Up on the gallery appeared a figure, looking down on them. “But now you have outlived your usefulness.”

“Michael.” John wanted to say more, but his words were cut short by Michael’s troops appearing out of the side corridors and on the galleries. Diving below the console, he evaded the first shots, coming up to fire back. They were under a three sided attack, and in the open space they were in, this was one bad idea.

The Wraith had understood that the same moment John had, they too saw that they needed to get back to the stairwell, that could be more easily defended against superior numbers. “Fall back! Fall back!” The call echoed hollow from the fortress’s walls, amplified just enough to be heard over the noise of battle. John ducked when another exploding plasma ball hit the wall behind him, frying some systems in the process. Left and right of him the team, Wraith and humans began a retreat back towards the great doors. He had no idea how many more of Micheal’s creatures would be there, hidden in the shadows of the inner tower. He threw two of the Wraith grenades, precise as his aim they landed on the gallery above, in the middle of a particularly large troop. The explosion shock the walls and the chamber around them, rocks started raining down from the ceiling on the enemy, which occupied them for a short time. But not long. Nothing they did ever stopped them for long. Out of the corner of her eye he saw Illo tossing the last of his conventional grenades onto the other side of the gallery, and another fierce explosion shook the tower hall, burying half a platoon of Michael’s warriors before they could advance any further in the direction of their holdout. In a way John was glad to see that Illo had neither lost his head nor his skill, no matter what lay behind him. John knew the next attack would come in a matter of minutes.

The attack came form all sides, even above, out of the broken gallery a whole number of Michael’s troops descended down on them, breaking up their formation. John switched from his gun to the blade, it was no use endangering his comrades with friendly fire. Ronon had jumped up, covering John’s back. The Satedan had had an unlucky landing, being cornered, and the tallest among their enemies coming down on him. But Ronon did not hesitate for a moment, sword in one hand, knife in the other unleashing a whirlwind attack on his adversary. Even as two other hybrid warriors tried to take him down same time. John leaped into an attack, that misdirected the deadly blow from Ronon. The hybrid warrior, unaware of any new adversary took a serious wound from his blow. John soon found himself not fighting one opponent but four of them. He broke free from his first adversary, spun around and saw himself confronted with a smaller warrior, who had some extra - strong armour, which was slightly a disadvantage for the him, because could not move as deftly as John did. He dodged the first attack, diving below the scimitars, and delivering a thrust upwards, that nearly broke through the armour. But a harsh blow, dealt out with the full strength armoured body of the hybrid warrior, threw him backwards. He jolted, landing on his feet again. He set a hard snap kick against the warrior to his left, toppling him, and unleashed a whirlwind of attacks on the first one, who parried half of them, and suffered some damage from the rest. Caught in between these fighters John had also received the first wounds, nothing really serious by now, but he knew he was not to last long if things went on this way. Again he spun delivering another snap kick catching one of his enemies off guard, he fell backwards, exposing one of the hybrid commanders, who was still fighting Ronon. John sliced him deftly in two pieces and some junk, that littered the ground all around them. One enemy after the other fell from their swords, metal pieces clashing to the ground, dying men in between. John’s blade bit deep into their last enemy, the hybrid warrior collapsed and his lifeless body slid to the ground.

John looked around, estimating where some support would be needed most. Too late he saw Michael, who had jumped down from the main gallery, and was standing in the middle of the hall. The hybrid raised his gun and fired the shot before John could react. A nearly brutal kick hit his knees, he stumbled forward, the shot only just missing him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Illo, who was down himself, but had used the kick to get John out of the line of fire.

All of sudden the Wraith went into a full attack. Five of them advanced, tackling the hybrids in between them and Michael. John came up again, joining them, as did Ronon, Illo and Ashaviiýr. Cutting their way through the ranks of the hybrid warriors with a fury, and strength that threw them back. Only after cutting down the tenth or eleventh of them, John realised what they had just done: they had cleared a path to Michael himself, and Tarishaár had not hesitated to confront the hybrid.

The hall fell suddenly silent, Wraith and hybrids alike had stopped, watching the fight of their leaders. John, who had fought Michael before, watched with an odd trepidation. The Hybrid had beaten Ronon before, and other good fighters too. Now he stood against an opponent equally strong and fast.

The fight went forth and back, every wound that Tarishaár received was repaid in kind. They were in constant move, attacking, stabbing, slashing, jumping, a blur of movement, of kicks delivered and blocked, of attacks delivered and dodged.

With one powerful kick Tarishaár send Michael flying against the wall, jumping down on him, his blade very nearly got the hybrid, but Michael was already up again, and his dagger hit home, cutting open Tarsihaár’s side, lodging itself in his chest. But the hybrid came too close to the Wraith Lord, Tarsihaár’s hands came up, getting hold of the hybrid’s neck, snapping it, only seconds before the Wraith Lord faltered and fell himself.

The fight that had stopped abruptly, erupted all around them again, but with the hybrid warriors at the distinct advantage of having lost their leader and most of their coordination. It didn’t take long until they began to flee.

John had followed Ashaviiýr when the Wraith warrior turned around and hurried back to the point where Tarishaár had gone down. The Wraith Lord had not risen again, the deep wound in his side and chest was bleeding, forming a large stain on the ground. His breath was shallow and pained. John didn’t need the assessment of Ashaviiýr, a short shaking of the head, to know the Wraith Lord was in a bad shape. He had seen him like that before, during their flight from the Genii prison. A weak laughter from the Wraith startled him. “The face you make, Sheppard… didn’t I tell you back then, that even if it was only for that one day of freedom, it would have been worth it?”

John remembered well, and he still did not really want to know how long Todd had been imprisoned down in the those dark cells. Back then too, Tarishaár had been dying. Dying from wounds too severe even for his Wraith regeneration to handle. Back then he had not exactly cared, not much at least, even if he had told the Wraith that they both would get out of here alive. It seemed ages ago, in another lifetime, nearly like the John Sheppard back there, had not been him, but somebody else, he had known. “You won’t die on me,” he said, trying to find the casual cocky tones, that had been his trademark once, again, before he gripped the Wraith’s right hand, the feeding hand, by the wrist and placed it against his chest. “I won’t let you die here.”

***

The trip down into the ancient fortress had proven a nightmare for Carson. The systems of the place consequently locked him out, not allowing for the slightest access. But for the longest time Michael had not believed him, and done his best to ‘motivate’ Carson to cooperate. So Carson was nearly relieved, when Michael left them, guarded by his goons, to take care of something else, a fight by the sounds of it. He crouched down beside Jircanor, who seemed to be unconscious. “I am sorry, my friend.” He said, while he quickly assessed the wounds the guards had inflicted on the man. It was nothing that should endanger his life, but bad enough for him to feel it for quite some time.

“It’s not your fault, Carson.” Jircanor sat up stiffly, his hands where still tied. “Where’s the hybrid?”

“He left, somebody else seems to be in the facility.” Carson said. “But he left these gentlemen with us.”

Suddenly the lights flared to life, bathing the whole corridor in blinding brightness and the systems came to life. Distrustful the guards looked around. Jircanor leaned forward. “It’s high time we left this merry party.” He said under his breath.

Carson couldn’t agree more, but he did not see a way out. “If you have any idea…” One that would not end up in Jircanor being on the receiving end of the next ‘motivational’ session, once Michael was back with them.

“Some at least. Can you help me up?” Jir asked.

Carson checked the guards, they had their eyes on the corridor and judging by experience would not care if he and Jircanor sat or stood. Not that standing would be much of a good use anyway. Nevertheless he helped Jircanor up, the warrior leaned against the wall, obviously a little dizzy. Carson supported him, before he could collapse again, only the last moment he saw, Jircanor using his tied hands to push a mechanism, not unlike one of the door crystals, into the wall. A white beam enveloped them both.

Stumbling Carson found himself as they rematerialized. His first check was on Jircanor, who showed no signs of dizziness any more, instead he grinned. “Here we go, thanks to whoever put the systems back online.”

“You know this place?” Carson asked, while he started untying Jircanor’s hands. “What was that… “ he pointed around, meaning the beam that brought them here.

“Emergency transport.” Jircanor replied. “I have never seen the place myself, but two of my ancestors fought and died here during the great war. The system recognised my DNA, matched it up with Jhandyr’s, recognised you as near-ascended and got us both to the infirmary, due to the residue of my injuries.”

Carson’s look around confirmed their location, the place looked like an ancient infirmary, he knew many of the devices from Atlantis. “But how did you know?” The question was out, even as he realised the answer, he had known it, since he had healed Jircanor, since he had removed this clever manipulation attached to Jircanor’s genetics. “Your people… you have a racial memory, don’t you?”

Jircanor nodded. “Genetic memory, somewhere deep there most of Jhandyr’s memories are, waiting to be triggered. By removing the compulsion, you did not free me alone, you freed generations of my family, in a way.” He turned around, taking in their surroundings. “We are deep inside the central spire, possibly past some of the lockdown mechanisms we encountered earlier on. Might take a while to get us out again.”

“First, lad, we take care of your injuries.” Carson said. “We can take our time in getting out of here, I won’t mind not running into Michael again.”

“No need for healing, Carson.” Jircanor looked slightly puzzled. “You healed most of them, when you woke me up.”

Carson stared at him, trying to understand. He had thought he felt some of the injuries, that had made the punishments so hard to bear in the first place. He was sure he had lost most of the abilities the ascension device had given him, should he somehow have retained the ability to heal?

***

The pain was a white hot flame, and it was a rush, like a drug he would become addicted to all too easily. The more the flame was burning, the more intense the pain, the more intense to glorious feeling to be alive, to burn with live.

The sensation faded but this time it left John not exhausted but energized, he felt he’d be able to get up and rip apart whatever was left of those hybrid goons. Tarishaár rose again, fully healed now. Their eyes met, none of them daring to speak, to put into words what had just transpired. The moment broke, when one of the Wraith warriors returned, reporting that the enemy had fled and the area was secure.

John nodded. “Time to find the chair room.”

Another long corridor stretched in front of them, they could see traces of Michael’s troops here and there, but beyond skirmishes they ran into no further resistance. At the end of the corridor John could see something like a forcefield, glittering in pale green light. He blinked as his vision began to blur again.

Another group of Wraith came up the stairwell, trying to escape the trap down there. Lucian and his men blocked the way, it was gory fighting: knifes and blades, Ulaks and stilettos, Wraith claws and bare hands. Five or six of the Wraith broke through, Lucian let them go, the other troops could take of them further up in the tower. A rumble rose from below and four more Wraith stormed at them, desperate to get out. Lucian took down two of them, the others were taken care of by his troops.

A sudden push brought Lucian nearly down, behind him was a Wraith, blades descending down on him. Jhandyr pushing him out of harms way, catching the Wraith blade with his body, burying his Ulak’s in the Wraith’s body, dragging his opponent down with him.

Helplessly Lucian saw Jhandyr slide down. Struggling to his feet, he knelt down beside the fallen Dhemarigán. It did no need to ask, or call for a medic, he knew it was too late. Within moments Jhandyr slipped away, the wound taking it’s toll. “To obey without question, to fight any foe and to give our life without hesitation or regrets in the defense or Lantea.” Helion slowly quoted the words for his dying brother, a tradition among Dhemarigán. To Lucian the words rang hollow.

John found himself standing right in front of the forcefield, the flashback memories more vivid than ever before. Standing right in front of it, he raised his hand, until it nearly touched the streams of energy. Somehow he knew this was the only way through here. A bright light broke out of the shield, touching his body, scanning him. Welcome home a disembodied voice whispered. Another hand touched John’s, he could see a man standing on the other side of the forcefield, mirroring his gesture, their hands nearly touched through the field. He was tall, had long, dark hair and gray eyes, John knew he was seeing Lucian, General of the Lantean armies. It was as if he had known him all along, long before coming here, long before he ever came to Atlantis. The shield collapsed and with it, the mirror image waned, their way lay open into the inner spire.

“John… did you see that too?” Illo asked, his gaze still on the point where the image had vanished.

“Yeah, he was the General of this outpost, his name was Lucian.” John replied, still trying to understand the odd connection he felt to the man.

“He bore a great resemblance to you.”

John didn’t answer, because his eyes caught a movement deeper down the long corridor. Two men were walking swiftly towards the collapsed forcefield. He couldn’t believe what he saw. One of them was Carson Beckett, however he had managed to get here. And the other… for a moment John’s perspective became unstable when he recognized Jircanor, and recognized someone else the same moment.

“Colonel!” Beckett’s voice rang with relief and joy. “Lad, it is great to see you alive.” Happy as he was he even disregarded the Wraith present.

“What are you doing here?” They had just worked all their way in here to find Beckett and Jircanor inside?

“That’s a long story.” Beckett said. “Basically Michael wanted me to release a Wraith ‘first one’ and we barely managed to get out of their hands.” He stopped. “And you… you are here for the same purpose, aren’t you?”

Contrary to Beckett, Jircanor was calm. “I guess they are, Carson.” He said without any accusation.

John nodded. “It’s a very long story, Carson.”

***

The chair felt different from the chairs he had sat in before. More alive, more vibrant and he understood the systems far better. Or no, he did not understand them, he was just able to communicate with them, to talk to them. It wasn’t hard to find the system that controlled the cryo chamber.

“So the day has come.”

John knew the voice instantaneously. It was Lucian speaking to him in his mind. “I gave my word,” he thought back. “I told him that I’d help rescue his friend.”

“I always knew the time would come.” Lucian replied. Imprisoning an enemy is not a solution, only a measure to buy more time.

“So you wanted to buy more time, for what?” John asked back.

“Time for the world to grow, and perhaps to find a solution to the terrible mistake that was made.”

“You mean exposing yourself and humans to the Iratus bug?”

“Partially. We came to a galaxy and seeded human life, disregarding the fact that other life was around. Forms of life that drew energy and emotions from each other, that could become immune to the same in the process. We were a foreign element brought into this ecosystem. And when I was forbidden to stay and to fight for the people we brought here, I hoped to at least gain them enough time to evolve far enough to adapt to their new home.”

“So taking the first one out, helped you how?”

“It took out their leader, the last and most brilliant of their leaders, out of the equation. Your friend Tarishaár was one of his best and most loyal during the first war. I remember him well.”

“You don’t hate him.”

“The Wraith too are a species we created, not intentionally, and while they might be a formidable foe, and a danger beyond what we encountered before, I came to respect many of their leaders and extraordinary warriors throughout the long war.”

“So you think that we might have a better solution than you did?”

“You already began finding one, incomplete as it is, but if you keep looking, keep working on it and relying on those who do the same, I am sure you will succeed where we failed.”

For a moment John felt again, the mind to mind closeness, he had shared with Lucian earlier on. Before it slowly began to fade, like an echo ringing out slowly.