by Graham, Jo
Dick Woolsey watched the helicopter disappear into late afternoon sunshine, the last IOA members departing.
Teyla came and stood beside him, her face tilted up to watch the helicopter’s path. She said nothing.
Dick sighed. “They said no,” he said. “Or rather, they said they weren’t going to ‘make any precipitous decisions’. Which means Atlantis stays here indefinitely.” He turned to face Teyla, not wanting to see her expression but feeling he must. “That doesn’t mean that going back is out of the question. It just means it won’t be happening soon.”
Teyla bent her head. “If I had made the case better…”
“Or if I had,” Dick said bitterly. “No. It makes no difference what you or I said. They were already decided to decide nothing. You don’t know the IOA. That’s how they work. Inaction is always the best course of action. Let’s make no hasty decisions. Let’s wait for circumstances or someone else to make the decision for us. It used to irritate me when I was the United States’ IOA rep. Now it makes me livid.”
“You do not look livid,” Teyla observed.
“I’m quietly livid.” Dick looked out over the sea toward the distant city of San Francisco. “We try again. We try something else. I’ve asked O’Neill to get me a meeting with the President.”
“And that is important for what reason?” Teyla asked. “Can he overrule the IOA?”
“Not technically,” Dick said. “But possession is nine tenths of the law, and we are in American waters.” He shrugged. With all that had been happening this year in the Pegasus Galaxy, he had lost track of all that happened on Earth. “We have a new president who just took office. O’Neill has briefed him on the Stargate program—he didn’t know it existed a month ago. I’ll take our case directly to him.”
“And he can decide in our favor?”
“Possibly he can swing things in our favor,” Dick said. “We’ll see. I really don’t know what to expect.”
“You know that you may use me in any way that will help,” Teyla said.
Dick turned and met her grave eyes. “I appreciate that. And you have been very helpful.”
“I am an Athosian trader,” Teyla said. “I make impossible deals.”
“Colonel Sheppard.”
Sheppard broke stride, looked over his shoulder, frowning. It was never a good day when Carson Beckett called him by his title.
“If I might have a word with you, Colonel?”
Worse and worse. Full rank and formal diction. Sheppard stopped, and took a careful breath. “I’m scheduled for a meeting with Homeworld Command and the IOA in about forty-five minutes—”
“I know.” Beckett’s face was grave, the worry lines between his eyebrows even more pronounced than usual.
Sheppard waited, but the doctor didn’t say anything more. “All right. Lead on.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Beckett said, still formal, and turned on his heel. Sheppard trailed behind him down corridors that seemed oddly crowded, full of strangers in unfamiliar uniforms. They were heading toward the medical section, but Beckett seemed inclined to avoid the transporters, took them down a set of stairs instead.
“This isn’t anything good, is it?” Sheppard asked, as the lab door closed behind them. They’d come in the back way, avoiding the areas where the SGC personnel were working, and now Carson touched Ancient fittings, adjusting the lights and bringing a bank of screens to life. They showed feeds from the security cameras, Sheppard realized, four different views of Todd in his cell. The Wraith was sitting quietly, back straight, hands open on his thighs. Sheppard could see the opening of the hand-mouth crossing the right palm, the slit-pupiled eyes staring at nothing—meditating, you might have said, except he doubted the Wraith did that.
“It depends on your perspective, of course,” Beckett said, “but—no. I don’t think so.”
“Todd?” Sheppard turned his back on the screens. He didn’t like the look of things, didn’t like the Wraith’s unnatural stillness. He cut off that thought, made himself focus on Beckett.
“Aye.” Beckett looked past him toward the images in the screens. “There’s a good deal we don’t know anyway, like how long they can go between feedings, and it’s not a question he’s willing to answer. But I believe he’s beginning to starve.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that,” Sheppard said, more forcefully than he’d meant. He didn’t know if this Beckett knew that he’d—dealt with—that problem once before, and it still showed up in his nightmares. “It’s not like we can ask for volunteers.”
Too late, he remembered the Hoffan volunteer, stooped and sick, willing to face the worst death he knew to give his people a chance at life. And then it had all gone horribly wrong… From the flicker of expression, so did Beckett, but his voice was steady when he answered. “No. But that’s not our—his—biggest problem.”
“All right.” Sheppard waited.
“I’ve received a communication from an IOA representative,” Beckett said. “They’ve been approached by a—member state, though they’ve too much delicacy to say which one. They want Todd for research.”
“No way.” Sheppard shook his head, hard. “They can’t do that.”
“Oh, they didn’t put it in so many words,” Beckett said. “And if you asked them outright, I’m sure they’d deny it, tell you it was just a security issue. That’s what they called it, mind you, a matter of security. Said it wasn’t safe to keep him here, so close to a gate, and where he could conceivably get hold of the coordinates of Earth. But then you get down to the fine print, and there’s a paragraph or three about offering him the chance to earn privileges by cooperating with medical teams, and about non-cooperation being unacceptable—” He stopped again, controlling himself with an effort. “I won’t be part of it, John.”
“How the hell are we going to stop it?” Sheppard demanded. “They’ve got a point about the security issue—”
“Stasis.”
Sheppard stopped, his mouth falling open, closed it with a snap. “Yes.”
Beckett nodded. “It makes sense. He won’t starve, which means nobody has to face the problem of feeding him, and while he’s in the chamber there’s no way he can escape or steal information. It’s perfect.”
“The IOA won’t go for it,” Sheppard said.
“But Mr. Woolsey will.” Beckett smiled. “And he’s still in charge here. That just leaves convincing him.” He nodded toward the screens.
“You want me to talk Todd into going into stasis,” Sheppard said.
“Aye.” Beckett’s smile widened. “For some reason, he seems to like you.”
“Great,” Sheppard said, under his breath. “Now?”
“No time like the present,” Beckett answered.
Sheppard touched his earpiece, trying to order his racing thoughts. “Lorne.” Get out of the meeting, that was first, then talk to Todd—
“Colonel?” Lorne’s voice sounded in his ear.
“I need you to take over a meeting for me. IOA and Homeworld Command, in—” Sheppard glanced at his watch. “—half an hour. It’s nothing special, they just needed someone from Atlantis’s military contingent to be there.”
“Uh, sir—” Lorne paused, and Sheppard could almost hear him rethinking his protest. “What do you want me to tell them when they ask where you are?”
“Tell them something came up unexpectedly.” Sheppard smiled to himself. “A security matter. Nothing serious, but needed to be locked down right away.”
“All right.” Lorne’s tone was frankly dubious, but Sheppard ignored it.
“Thanks, Major. Sheppard out.”
No time like the present, Beckett had said. Sheppard looked at the screens, seeing Todd motionless in the spartan space—bed, table, chair, all stripped to the bone to keep him from taking advantage, the forcefield giving a blue tinge to everything even in Atlantis’s regular lighting. Experimentation—Sheppard shook his head. Even if he hadn’t had plenty of ugly examples from E
arth’s past to think about, there was Michael fresh in his memory. Not a good idea. Not at all.
There was a Marine detail on duty at the entrance to the cells, two of them holding back to keep an eye on the monitors, the third forward where he could see into the cell. They were new to Atlantis, people Sheppard hadn’t seen before, and he returned their salutes with more precision than usual, gave them his ID to log this visit into the system.
“Thank you, sir,” the blond one said—the name patch read Hernandez—and returned the ID.
“Better stay well back,” the second guard said, and Sheppard glanced over his shoulder.
“Has he tried anything?”
“Not yet.” The young man—Pedersen—looked faintly embarrassed, and the third one shrugged uncomfortably.
“It gives you the creeps, sir.”
“No kidding.” Sheppard looked past them to the cell. It couldn’t be a lot of fun standing guard down here, stuck watching an alien that you knew thought of you as food, that you knew was getting hungry… He made a mental note to talk to the Marine captain in charge of the details, suggest he assign at least one experienced man to each guard team. They’d talk, of course, probably even exaggerate the Wraith threat, but at least they’d be talking facts rather than rumor, and that should make a difference.
And he was just putting off the inevitable. He took a breath and moved closer to the forcefield. Todd’s eyes shifted and focused, the pupils widening for an instant, then narrowing to hairline slits. There was a fractional hesitation before he pushed himself to his feet and came to stand just within arm’s reach of the field. Up close, without the intervention of the TV cameras, Sheppard could see the changes even more clearly: the hair was dull and coarse, the bones sharp under the skin, the way his fingers of his feeding hand curled inward, protectively. He cleared his throat, trying not to see.
“Hi, Todd. Keeping busy?”
The Wraith bared his teeth in what Sheppard thought was amusement. “Oh, I keep myself occupied.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“The space is somewhat—lacking in amenities,” Todd said.
“No hot tub?” Sheppard asked.
“No food.”
“Sorry.” Sheppard had been expecting a verbal attack, managed to answer with patent insincerity. “For some reason, there’s a shortage of volunteers just now.”
“Pity.” Todd’s gaze wandered sideways, fixed speculatively on the Marine in the doorway.
“You wouldn’t enjoy them,” Sheppard said. Marines taste terrible: he bit back the words before they could be misconstrued.
“You were very persuasive before,” Todd said, and in spite of himself Sheppard flinched.
“That was a one time only deal,” he said. “You haven’t got anything to offer.”
“You haven’t asked,” Todd said.
Sheppard shook his head. “You’re out of power, have been for a while. You’ve got nothing. Sorry.”
“I’m sure we could come to some sort of accord.”
“You wouldn’t like the price,” Sheppard said, and this time it was Todd who flinched. “Some of our scientists are—quite curious—about the Wraith.” He paused, wondering if he needed to say more, but Todd’s eyes flickered in comprehension.
“I have already spent far too much time with your doctors Beckett and Keller.”
“Sorry you feel that way,” Sheppard said.
Todd’s feeding hand contracted into a tight fist, but he managed a creditable shrug. “But then, perhaps new doctors will provide new—opportunities.”
“Only for them.”
There was a heartbeat of silence between them, and something changed in Todd’s face. “Sheppard—”
“But—” Sheppard spoke before Todd could finish whatever he had been going to say. There were places they did not need to go, not today. “Seeing as we don’t really want you making any more new—opportunities—Dr. Beckett’s come up with an alternative. We happen to have a stasis chamber to spare. You might even find it cozy.”
Todd blinked once and began to laugh, head thrown back, the white hair flying.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are an optimist, John Sheppard. Only you would come up with such a solution.”
“You’re too kind.”
“I had thought—”
Todd stopped abruptly, but Sheppard thought he could guess what the Wraith would have said. He’d been prepared to ask—not to beg, but to ask, as of right—for mercy, and that was something Sheppard wasn’t prepared to hear because he didn’t intend to have to give it.
Todd bared teeth in something between a snarl and a smile. “And once I am in hibernation—forgive me, stasis—why should I trust you to wake me?”
Sheppard matched him tooth for tooth. “Because you don’t have a choice.”
This time, Sheppard was reasonably sure the expression was a smile. “I don’t suppose I could have my own clothes back, instead of these—” Todd plucked at the front of the gray jumpsuit he’d been given in place of his fine leathers. “—ridiculous things?”
“Unlikely,” Sheppard said. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
Todd nodded gravely. “When?”
“No time like the present.”
The Wraith snarled again, but quietly—more comment than complaint, Sheppard thought.
“Your people are in a hurry, Sheppard.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Sheppard asked. “The chance to figure out what makes your kind tick—” The words rang hollow, his imagination betraying him again. Not even the Wraith deserved to become medical experiments—it was too close to horrors that he didn’t want to see Earth repeat.
“Whereas we already know much about you,” Todd said, but the words lacked force. “Very well. I accept your offer.”
“Good.” Sheppard touched his earpiece. “Dr. Beckett.”
“Yes, Colonel?”
“You can go ahead and get that stasis chamber ready. Todd’s willing.”
Even in the radio’s tinny reproduction, he could hear Beckett’s relief. “Right, then. We’ll get on it, Dr. Keller and I.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Sheppard looked back at the Wraith, safe behind the forcefield. He wanted to say something more, something to acknowledge what he was giving—and what he was asking, too—but the words weren’t there. And maybe they didn’t need to be. “I’ll ask about the clothes. No promises.”
Chapter Three
The Art of the Possible
The office was different. That was the first thing Dick noticed. Not that he’d spent enough time in the Oval Office for it to feel like home. The sunburst rug was the same, and so were the paired cream colored couches, but the heavy draperies that had covered the windows were gone. The Remington bronzes of cowboys on pitching horses had been replaced by white china containers with subdued ivy topiaries. And the desk was different. It was a mess. Papers, books, a laptop, a blackberry, and a half-empty cup of coffee littered its usually pristine walnut surface.
“Mr. President,” Dick said.
“Richard.” The president got to his feet and came around the desk to shake hands, his long, lean form looking even thinner in person than it did on TV. His collar was loosened and his sleeves rolled up, though his shirt was starched enough that even around his elbows the creases stayed crisp. “It’s good to see you again.” He perched on the edge of the desk, one leg in the air. “I’ve been reading some pretty incredible stuff.”
“It is pretty incredible, Mr. President,” Dick said. “I realize that in your former committees you never had access to these documents…”
“No.” The President smiled as though the joke were on him. “I’m not sure I would have run if anyone had said, ‘By the way, aliens are real, and they’re planning to attack Earth the week after the Inauguration. Oh, and there’s a huge shiny alien city off California!’”
“Yes, about that,” Dick began. “Mr. President, Atlantis can’t stay there.”
&
nbsp; The President’s eyebrows rose and fell. “Come and sit down and tell me why you say that,” he said.
He led the way to one of the cream couches, and Dick settled onto the other. It was always very hard to look professional on these couches, he remembered, but not nearly as bad for him as for a woman in a skirt. The former Secretary of State had always opted for one of the upholstered straight chairs.
Dick took a deep breath. Now was his chance to make his case or break it. “The presence of Atlantis on Earth is essentially destabilizing, sir. Atlantis’ weapons are far more deadly than any ICBM ever built, far more accurate, and there are no known countermeasures. A single drone could take out the Kremlin and leave the rest of Moscow intact, flying in less than six minutes and almost entirely invisible to radar. Atlantis currently has more than two hundred drones remaining, even after our encounter with the hive ship. On top of that, Atlantis’ shield is impenetrable to any human devised weapon. It has already proven that it can withstand a direct nuclear strike with no structural damage and no harm to the occupants.” He paused, waiting for that to all sink in.
The President nodded slowly. “Go on.”
“You’ve talked about a new day,” Dick said. “You’ve talked about a new era of working with our allies and building new relationships. With Atlantis, you’re talking with a gun at their throats.”
“Is that a bad thing?” the President asked mildly.
“Right now, at this moment, you rule the world,” Dick said. “You can hit any target, anywhere, and cannot possibly be hit. You can demand anything from anybody, and you can make it stick. Not to mention the knowledge contained in the Ancient databases. Not to mention control of the planet’s two Stargates. Is anyone going to believe you negotiate in good faith when you hold all the cards? I doubt that even the Prime Minister…”
“I’ve already heard the Prime Minister’s views,” the President said. “And General O’Neill has briefed me on the strategic situation. Now I’d like to hear what you think.”
Dick took another deep breath. He’d lose if he rolled too low. That’s what his instincts told him. “I think Atlantis must return to Pegasus, Mr. President.” His feet left impressions in the thick carpet, a strange thing to notice at this moment. “The situation there is almost incomprehensible. Humans hunted like animals for food or for sport, entire peoples wiped out, genocide on a scale that makes our worst moments look small. The refugees are uncountable, not hundreds of thousands but millions left homeless by the Wraith and Replicator war. There is starvation and disease on a level I doubt our world has experienced since the Black Death. True, our humanitarian relief has been a drop in the bucket, and I doubt even if the full resources of our planet were mobilized we could ameliorate all the suffering, but we owe it to our brothers and sisters to try.”
