Stargate Atlantis #24

by Melissa Scott

  John swallowed a curse.

  McKay said, “Is it me, or did he just threaten us?”

  “Sure sounded like it to me,” Ronon muttered.

  “He did not say that it would adversely affect our alliance,” Teyla began.

  “But I could hear it,” John answered.

  “I don’t think anybody ought to go,” Ronon said. “Why give in?”

  “They are our allies,” Teyla said.

  “And we’d like to keep them that way for as long as possible,” John said, and Ronon spread his hands in surrender.

  John nodded. “All right, I suppose we could send a team — Radim and Lorne got along all right during the battle.”

  “I agree that it would be good to send Major Lorne,” Teyla said. “And I’m sure that there are others who will wish to go. But, Colonel Sheppard, you are currently the leader of Atlantis. For you not to attend could be construed as an insult.”

  “The problem is, I’m the only leader right now,” John said. “And you know how the IOA has been about leaving Atlantis without a commander on site.”

  “If they were that worried about it, they could hurry up and appoint someone else,” McKay said.

  “Oh, please,” Zelenka said. “Do not wish for more trouble than we already have.”

  “Well, I for one would like to go along.” Carson Beckett looked up from his tablet. “I’m curious about this genetic program they’ve developed. If they can field an entire crew for their warship, they may be further along than I’d thought.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that,” John said. Radim’s sister Dahlia owed Beckett for saving her life: that was another useful obligation, and it couldn’t hurt to remind Radim of it. Teyla was right, of course, he needed to go himself, but the question of who to leave in charge was a tricky one. The obvious person was, of course, Elizabeth Weir, whom they had rescued after she had been Ascended and then de-Ascended, but the IOA would never stand for it. McKay was out for much the same reason: the IOA still distrusted him after he had been captured by the Wraith and forcibly transformed into one of them. Zelenka was probably the next civilian authority, but that would make the Air Force uneasy; Lorne had to be part of the mission, and the next in rank, Major Casey, was brand new to Atlantis. A thought struck him, and he tapped his tablet, switching to his calendar. Yes, there it was: the General George Hammond was inbound from Earth, scheduled to arrive in just under 90 hours. Surely this mission wouldn’t take more than twenty-four hours; he could ask the Hammond’s commander, Colonel Carter, to stand in for him for that short a time. “When is this Foundation Day?”

  Teyla consulted her own tablet. “A week from today.”

  “Right.” John made a quick note. “You can tell Chief Ladon that we’re delighted to attend. For now, it’ll be Lorne and myself, and Dr Beckett, you’re welcome to come along. Plus a Marine escort. And I’m open to suggestions if anyone else wants to attend.” He looked around the table as he spoke, but no one volunteered. “All right. Looks like we’re done here.”

  The briefing broke up quickly, McKay and Zelenka arguing about something as they left the room, Beckett with his head down over his tablet nearly tripping over a chair. John braced himself for an argument from Ronon, but the Satedan slipped out without a backward glance. Intead, it was Teyla who appeared at his side as John left the room, and he gave her a wary glance.

  “Don’t tell me you wanted to come along.”

  She shook her head. “The Genii do not particularly recognize women in authority, and I see no need to push the issue. Besides, I have made inquiries about the holiday, and it seems to be primarily a military affair.”

  “Makes sense.” John paused. “I’m not inclined to take Ronon.”

  “No, I would not invite him, either. There is no need to remind the Genii that we are also allied with Sateda.”

  “And that Sateda doesn’t like them one little bit.” John grinned in spite of himself, remembering a fight between the Genii elite company and the equally elite Satedan Band, which the Satedans had won handily. Teyla allowed herself a demure smile.

  “Just so.” Her smile faded. “And also — I would not like to remind them that they have common ground. Which is perhaps unscrupulous of me, but we need them as our allies, not allied against us and our bargain with the Wraith.”

  John gave her a sharp look. “You don’t think Sateda would do that, do you?”

  “I think it is unlikely at the moment,” Teyla answered. “But it is not impossible.”

  They had reached the door of the mess hall, and John paused. “Coffee?”

  “Of course.”

  They joined the line at the row of urns, filled their mugs, and found a table on the edge of a patch of sunlight, far enough away from anyone else that they were unlikely to be overheard. John stretched his feet into the sun, feeling the warmth through the leather of his boots. Teyla stirred her coffee, then set the spoon aside.

  “I believe you are wise to attend the ceremony.”

  John slanted her a glance. “But?”

  She smiled. “Must there be one?”

  “You’re worrying about who I’ll leave in charge.”

  “I would not say I was worrying…”

  John leaned toward her, knowing his smile was probably smug, but unable to stop himself. “The Hammond arrives Sunday. I’m going to ask Sam to take over temporarily.”

  “Ah.” Teyla blinked once, and her smile widened. “I believe that is what Rodney would call an elegant solution.”

  “Not bad, if I do say so myself.” John sobered, lowering his voice. “Not that I don’t think we’d be as well off with Elizabeth back in charge, but you know the IOA would have a fit.”

  “The IOA —“ Teyla shook her head. “No, I will not say it. But it is foolish to waste Elizabeth’s skills and training.”

  “No kidding. And as paranoid as everyone has been lately, I’m afraid to mention her name just in case they order me not to consult with her.”

  Teyla frowned. “Do you truly think they would do that?”

  “I think they might,” John answered. “And I’m not willing to risk it.”

  “It would be foolish,” she agreed, “but I would not put such folly past them.” She took a long swallow of her coffee. “So. You and Major Lorne and Doctor Beckett. That seems a reasonable group to attend the festival.”

  “Plus a Marine escort.” John wasn’t about to let anyone forget about them. “If anyone else wants to come along, I don’t see why not — some of the people who fought on Avenger might want to go back. Or am I forgetting anybody?”

  Teyla shook her head. “I cannot think of anyone else. It is only — I do not trust the Genii.”

  “Me, neither,” John said. “Not as far as I could throw them.”

  Teyla gave him a sidelong glance. “Ladon Radim is not so large a man. I expect you could throw him some distance.”

  “I —” John let out his breath in mock exasperation, very aware of the smile lurking in her eyes. “It’s an expression. Don’t worry, I’ll be keeping an eye on him every minute.”

  “That would be wise,” she said, and finished the last of her coffee.

  ~#~

  It wasn’t until late afternoon that John was able to break free of the daily round of meetings and assessments and make his way to Elizabeth Weir’s office. She deserved to hear the news directly from him — and besides, he wasn’t fool enough to turn down her advice. Assuming she was willing to offer it, of course, but she was handling her anomalous situation better than most people. Certainly better than he would have handled it if he’d been in her shoes.

  Elizabeth had been given free rein to choose new quarters, in partial apology for her original room having been taken over by her successors, and she had chosen a particularly impressive two-room suite near the base of a secondary tower. The lower room had been fitted out as an office, with a scavenged desk set in front of the enormous windows that overlooked a terrace and the sea
beyond. A spiral stair in one corner led up to the bedroom; John had only seen it once, before she had moved in, but he remembered more long windows and a narrow balcony also facing the sea. She had acquired some extra chairs since her return, both Lantean and a modernistic armchair that looked suspiciously as though it had been ordered from Ikea, and there was a rug with a bright red-and-ochre geometric pattern from one of the Athosians’ trading partners. Otherwise, though, it looked very much the way Elizabeth’s space had always done, and he stood for a moment frozen in the doorway, still not quite able to believe she was really here. But there she was, dark hair above her familiar red jacket, back to the door as she stared out over the glittering sea.

  “Knock knock.”

  She turned, surprise turning to a smile of welcome as she recognized who it was. “John. Come in. Would you like some coffee? I have my own pot.”

  “Thanks.” John leaned against the Ikea armchair while she fiddled with the machine. “I expect you’ve heard our latest news?”

  “It depends on which news you’re talking about.” Elizabeth handed him a cup — Athosian ware, this time — and waved him to a chair.

  John settled himself on the visitor’s side of the desk, and allowed himself a moment to savor the coffee. “Ladon Radim’s invited us to a party.”

  “I’d heard something about that.” Elizabeth spun her own chair back to face the desk and sat down, wrapping both hands around her cup. “Some special holiday?”

  “Yeah. Foundation Day. Celebrating the unification of the Genii under their first Chief, which I suspect actually means the day one faction finally conquered everybody else.”

  “That does seem more like the Genii.”

  “They’re also doing something with the Ancient warship we retrieved for them — to celebrate its maiden flight — but they’ve being cagey about exactly what.”

  Elizabeth leaned back in her chair. “That was after I — left.”

  “After Atlantis returned,” John said. “When the Wraith kidnapped Rodney, we were pretty desperate for intel. The Genii offered to search their worlds for us, but in exchange they wanted us to help them retrieve an Ancient warship. They’d found it wrecked on a pretty unpleasant desert planet, and had repaired it as best they could without any of them having the ATA gene.”

  “I expect the IOA wasn’t happy.”

  “Not so much. Particularly when it turned out the Genii had figured out a way to either enhance a recessive ATA gene or hook in an ATA gene from tissue samples stolen from some of our people.”

  Elizabeth made an expressive grimace, and John nodded in agreement.

  “On the other hand, Avenger came in very handy in the final battle with Queen Death. We kind of owe them one for that.”

  “I thought it was called Pride of the Genii,” Elizabeth said. Obviously she’d been keeping closer track of things than she was prepared to acknowledge.

  “That’s a terrible name,” John said. “She’s called Avenger, and she’s a very nice scout.” He saw a smile flicker across Elizabeth’s face, and took a breath. “I’ll be attending the ceremony.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I see you have to.”

  “The Hammond will have arrived by then,” John said. “I’m going to request that Colonel Carter take over as acting commander while I’m away.”

  She nodded again.

  “I wanted to tell you myself,” John said. “And — I know you ought to be the logical choice, but the IOA would never stand for it. If I tried to push it through —“

  She lifted one hand. “John. I understand the situation, believe me. More to the point, I can even understand their point of view. There are still people on the IOA board who don’t trust Dr. Jackson, after all.” She smiled as though that were one of the day’s better jokes, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I neither expect nor want to get my old job back.”

  “You’re a hell of a lot nicer about it than I would be,” John said.

  “That’s why I’m the diplomat.” Her voice was dry.

  “And I’m not sure you entirely understand the situation, at least not from my point of view.” John set his coffee cup on the corner of her desk, in a pool of sunlight that made the drab glaze show unexpected deep green flecks. “I’d be just as happy if the IOA forgot you were here entirely. Because we need your advice and experience, up to and including having been Ascended in the Pegasus Galaxy, and I don’t want anybody doing anything that gives the IOA an excuse to recall you. I realize how much that sucks for you, stuck out here with no official job, no real authority, and I’d like to find something you can do that won’t upset the people back home. But first and foremost, I need you as a resource, and I’m not willing to screw that up. I’m sorry.”

  There was a little pause, only the hiss of air in the ventilators to break the silence, and at last she shook her head. “You’ve changed.”

  “You were gone a long time.” John clenched his fists, not wanting to betray how much that stung.

  “No, I mean that in a good way. As it happens, I agree with you. It’s an awkward situation, but I can’t see how I could be more useful. And I don’t want to go back to Earth. Sometime, maybe, but not just yet.” She gave him a wry look. “Which is probably just as well, considering that I’m not sure the IOA wants to let me go back.”

  “We need to find you a position on the civilian side,” John said after a moment. Before the IOA appointed someone who’d screw things up, make her go home, or, worse, declare that she couldn’t serve as even an unofficial consultant. “I’ll get on that. Once I’m back from this little party.”

  “I’ve been giving it some thought,” Elizabeth admitted, “but I haven’t had much luck.”

  “Leave it to me,” John said, and hoped he could make it true.

  ~#~

  Ladon Radim stood in the lower mezzanine of the newly renovated Hall of Remembrance, trying to pay attention as his Chief of Media, Sarika Oban, pointed out the cameras she had hung ready for the live broadcast. One was placed almost directly in front of them, tucked into a narrow pit at the front of the balcony, so that neither the camera nor its operator would block the sight lines for the people behind them; if he craned his neck, he could see two more at the sides of the stage, hulking monstrosities tethered by multiple cables that ran offstage to hidden outlets, and a third in what was normally the orchestra pit, set directly below the rostrum so that it could film either the speaker or swivel 180 degrees and film the crowd. Behind the rostrum, the new projection screen rose into the fly space above, its surface shimmering faintly in the harsh lights.

  Sarika saw where he was looking and cleared her throat, visibly changing gears. “And also… we’ve done everything possible to make the conversation with the Pride of the Genii go as smoothly as possible. The screen and the projectors are both new, and the Scientific Services have very generously loaned us Ancient receivers to augment our own equipment. We should be able to make and maintain contact throughout the broadcast.”

  “Excellent,” Ladon said, though in his experience Ancient technology never worked quite the way anyone expected. He was glad Dahlia was handling that, in her capacity of Chief Scientist.

  Sarika put on her most ingratiating smile. “Also… We were hoping, Chief, that we might be able to persuade the Lantean delegation to spare us a few words. With your permission, of course.”

  Ladon hesitated. It would be amusing to see John Sheppard on camera, and possibly even useful, if he could be persuaded to make promises that he hadn’t intended, but that had to be balanced against the risk of giving the media more influence than they deserved. Not to mention that there were members of his own government that he could not afford to let speak. “I’ll consult with Colonel Sheppard, but I doubt he’ll be able to.”

  “Certainly, Chief.” Sarika concealed her disappointment with the ease of someone who was never entirely off display. “We have made preparations to pre-empt previous programming, and for the eastern hemisphere to view the cer
emony on a time delay, for those who don’t want to stay up all night. Though quite frankly we expect to have a sizable audience in spite of the time difference.”

  “I hope most people have the sense to take advantage of the rebroadcast,” Ladon said. “That was a good idea, Sarika.”

  “Thank you.” She colored becomingly. “We’ve chosen a time when most of the youth will be in school, should their preceptors decide it’s a suitable option for classroom viewing.”

  “Excellent.” Ladon remembered his own schooldays, sitting in the dank caves beneath the Mortissinga Range: they had been grateful for the distraction of the Foundation Day broadcasts, though you had to be careful not to be caught napping, or with a smuggled pamphlet beneath your desk. He hoped the broadcast from the Pride would be enough to capture the students’ imagination.

  “Thank you, sir.” Sarika checked her clipboard. “I believe that’s everything we needed to go over with you, unless you have further questions?”

  “No.” Ladon softened the word with a smile. “You’ve been very thorough.”

  She dipped her head in what looked like convincingly embarrassed pleasure. “Then if you’ll excuse me, Chief, I’ll get back to my team.”

  “By all means,” Ladon said. “My people will be in touch if there are any further issues.”

  She turned away, and he looked back toward the stage, careful to stay well clear of the balcony’s edge. The restoration had gone well, the paneling that had been damaged in the coup that brought Cowen to power carefully removed to the State Museum and replaced with new sections painted creamy white. The double row of stars that topped the walls and surrounded the base of the central dome-light had been re-gilded, and gleamed where the light caught them. The chairs had been reupholstered, battered cushions replaced, and in general, he thought, the Hall looked dignified but not ostentatious. Cleaners were still at work in the long outer hall, polishing and repairing the plaques that commemorated Genii heroes, but they would be done long before the ceremonies began.