by Graham, Jo
Chapter Eight
Jack’s Gambit
Radek had only gone to the mess hall to get a mug. It was deserted now, no one there at all. He passed Colonel Carter and General O’Neill coming out. Carter wished him a polite goodnight, while he held a bottle tight under his arm. What was there to say? He could ask questions, but he would get no answers.
Coming back out, he saw a familiar figure silhouetted against the distant lights of the Bay Bridge, hesitated, and went back for another mug before he opened the doors to the terrace.
The night wind tugged at Ronon’s hair, but his expression was inscrutable.
“Here,” Radek said, and put the stainless steel mugs down on the stainless steel table with a clunk.
Ronon looked around, his eyebrows rising. “What’s that for?”
“I should not drink alone,” Radek said, putting the bottle of Jaegermeister down next to them. “And neither should you.”
“I wasn’t drinking,” Ronon said.
“You are now.” Radek sat down and opened the bottle. “Yes?”
Ronon looked at him for a second. “Yes.” He sat down.
Radek poured three fingers into each mug. “Better days,” Radek said, lifting the mug.
Ronon nodded, lifting his and touching it to Radek’s. “Absent friends.”
“That too,” Radek said. He drank, and it was more bitter in his throat than he remembered. He held out his mug again, his eyes on Ronon’s solemnly. “Dr. Elizabeth Weir.”
Ronon held the mug tight. “Major Jim Leonard,” he said, and it took Radek a moment to remember who he was, the man who had killed himself with a grenade while Ronon was out of his mind on some planet ruined by a Wraith experiment. Leonard had been one of the Marines who had taken to sparring with Ronon.
“Dr. Kate Heightmeyer,” Radek said. “Lt. Aidan Ford. Dr. Catherine Dumais.”
“Spc. Petey Hernandez,” Ronon said. “Spc. Jill Phillips. Lance Corporal John Caycho. Sgt. Roland Biers.”
Radek recognized the names, but all else eluded him. He did not know the Marines well, but Ronon did, he supposed. Ronon was the one who saw them all the time, sparred and practiced with them, trained them in how the Wraith fought. His throat worked. “Peter Grodin,” he said.
Ronon touched his mug to Radek’s and took a deep drink.
Radek drank again. Out beyond the lights of Atlantis, the shoreline was dotted with lights, houses and cars and restaurants, people driving home from the city, living normal lives. They had no idea that the City of the Ancients sat on their doorstep. There were people who had no idea that the Wraith existed, that four months ago their world had nearly changed forever. He could see it in his mind’s eye, those things he had imagined, the sudden break of Darts from cloud cover. No one would hear them yet. They were supersonic, and their screams followed after.
It had been morning where they engaged over the high desert, but he saw them by night, a quiet evening in the streets of the Old Town, shop windows still brightly lit, buses full of students and tourists cluttering up the streets. Perhaps it had been raining, and the oil puddles on the streets reflected the streetlights in rainbow colors, slick and iridescent and wet. The river reflected the lights of Prague in a thousand shifting patterns on the surface of the water.
Perhaps someone looked up. Perhaps there was a distant sonic boom, and a few eyes lifted to the sky, wondering if there was thunder, if the rain were past. Perhaps those who knew better were already moving, those like his sister who had been with the Red Cross in Bosnia. He could see Evzenie, her hair in a long pony tail, see her face lift at the sound.
And then the Darts. Then the Darts, blue culling beams deploying as they broke through the cloud cover…
“It didn’t happen,” Ronon said.
Radek snapped back. Atlantis, and a quiet summer night, San Francisco sleeping in the distance, a mug of Jaegermeister in his hand.
“It didn’t happen,” Ronon said again, his eyes bright. “Your people.”
Radek swallowed and took a long drink. It burned.
“You stopped it,” Ronon said. “You got the city here in time. It was you. We all know that.”
Radek took another long drink. “Well, my friend, it was you who blew up the hive ship. Getting here was not enough.”
“That wasn’t so much me,” Ronon said, and put his nose in his mug. When he put it down empty Radek refilled them both. Ronon tossed it off in one, not looking at him. “I was kind of dead.”
“I have been dead too,” Radek said. “That time I was electrocuted, before Rodney brought me back to life.”
Ronon snorted. “What was it like for you?”
Radek shrugged. “I don’t remember. It happened, and then…I was in the infirmary. I do not know. And you?”
“I don’t remember the dead part,” Ronon said, his eyes on the bottom of the mug. “It’s the dying part.”
“Not so good?”
“Not so good.” Ronon poured himself some more.
“I am sorry,” Radek said.
“It was temporary.” Ronon shrugged. He looked out across the sea, toward the peaceful coastline. The sea wind lifted his hair, and his face stilled. “Do you think they’ll really ditch us? The Hammond will be there to protect your interests, not ours. All the people in our galaxy. Do you think they’ll just leave us to the Wraith?”
“Yes,” Radek said quietly. “I do not like to say so, but I do. I am Czech, and it makes me see things differently.”
Ronon frowned, but he went on.
“There was a war,” he said. “Sixty years ago, now. My people were the allies of many others, though we were and always have been a small country. We were invaded. I cannot begin to tell you about our foe, because you would not believe it. You would not believe that humans would do such things to each other. We were crushed.”
“What about your friends?” Ronon said, leaning forward. “Didn’t they help you?”
“They did, in time,” Radek said. “In time they came. It was years, you see. It was a long fight, and our foe was very strong. They were nearly defeated themselves, closer than they like to think now. But they did not save us.” He took a long drink from his mug. “They had made common cause with another totalitarian state, and when the war was done they left us to them, to their allies. We went from beneath one heel to beneath another, our servitude part of the price of peace. We traded Hitler for Stalin, not for freedom. That was forty years in coming, and many, many lives.” Radek swallowed. Somehow the mug was empty again. “I do not like to say this to Sheppard, to Carson. It is not their fault, the bargains Americans and British made sixty years ago, when they were not born yet. But they were not born into that kind of life, into that kind of fear, and I was.” He looked up at Ronon. “Do I think we will leave your people to the Wraith because it is too expensive, too far away? Yes, I do.”
Ronon nodded slowly.
Radek poured him another round, and then for good measure refilled his own cup.
“I’m going back on the Hammond,” Ronon said. “With Carter.”
“She is a fine engineer,” Radek said. “And a good commander. And I expect…”
His voice trailed off and Ronon looked at him sharply. “What?”
“I expect she would transfer you back if you wished it,” Radek said. He was drunk. He knew that. Ideas come to you when you’re drunk that don’t otherwise. In vino veritas, and all that. They were losing, yes. Had lost. And Mr. Woolsey was no Dr. Weir. But he could not believe that they would accept defeat tamely, not Carter, not Woolsey. Certainly not General O’Neill. He did not seem to be a man accustomed to losing.
“Why would I want to transfer back?” Ronon asked blankly. He was getting duller with drink, not sharper.
“I don’t know,” Radek said.
“Where are you going?” Ronon asked. His voice seemed to be wandering around by itself.
“I have a job offered at Maseryk University,” Radek said. “A very good job.
But I do not think I will give them an answer just yet. There is no hurry, is there, my friend?”
Ronon nodded seriously. “No,” he said. He looked at Radek measuringly. “You are going to be seriously messed up in the morning.”
* * *
Radek was messed up in the morning. Seriously messed up. His head was throbbing, and when they were asked to assemble in the gateroom for a special announcement he almost didn’t go. It was early, and a single travel mug full of coffee wasn’t fixing the problem.
Radek nudged up to Carson. “What is going on?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing good,” Carson said darkly. Ahead of them, Sheppard and Teyla stood shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed identically across their chests.
Above, on the mezzanine, Woolsey and O’Neill came out of Woolsey’s office, Woolsey in his best black suit and O’Neill in his full uniform with all the ribbons and decorations. They stopped and spoke for a moment, shook hands.
“This is not good,” Carson muttered.
“No, I think not.” Radek felt his head clearing in an uncomfortable way.
Woolsey came to the top of the steps and gave everyone a forced smile. “I’m sure you all know of the ongoing discussions we’ve been having with the IOA regarding Atlantis’ future.”
Sheppard shifted from one foot to another, and Radek had to step to the side to see around him.
“I’m afraid…” Woolsey paused, his eyes searching one familiar face and then another. “That the IOA’s decision is final. Atlantis will be remaining on Earth.”
A collective ripple ran through the crowd, attenuated as it was by transfers and people already left.
“And since that is their final decision, our mission is over.” Woolsey’s voice seemed to gain strength. “You have all performed admirably, and mankind will never know what they owe you, the happy few. It may never be revealed in your lifetimes what you have done. And yet you stand tall among all those children of humanity who have striven for knowledge, and to aid their fellow men.” He looked around the gateroom, as though fixing it in his memory one last time. “We are the children of the Ancients. We are their legacy. And we should be proud of what we have done here.”
Radek heard Teyla take a ragged breath, swaying on her feet.
“Our mission is over,” Woolsey said, and Radek thought his eyes rested on Teyla, on Carson, on someone behind Radek. “Our mission was to explore the Pegasus Galaxy. Our charter was to discover and preserve what we might of humanity’s past, and to make contact with our far-flung kindred. We have done that as best we could. And now Atlantis is returned to Earth, and so have we. The day is done. We have come to the end of the journey, with the City, in this place. And with the end of our mission comes the end of my work here. As the expedition leader appointed by the IOA, my job is finished. Atlantis no longer comes under the jurisdiction of the IOA, or of me.”
Radek’s head lifted, and he would have caught Carson’s eye, had he not had to catch Carson’s arm instead.
“And so, effective immediately, I am turning over control of Atlantis to General Jack O’Neill, Director of Homeworld Command. Atlantis is in US coastal waters, and henceforth comes under the direct control of the United States Air Force.”
Woolsey stepped aside for O’Neill even as the swell swept through the room.
“Bloody hell,” Carson muttered, his fist caught in Radek’s hand. “It’s a coup, that’s what it is.”
“No effing way!” Sheppard said ahead of him. Teyla’s face was frozen in a mask of outrage.
O’Neill stepped up, nodding sharply to Woolsey. “Thank you, Mr. Woolsey. You’ve done a great job.” His eyes passed over the room. Surely he could sense the unrest. “I’ll be brief. Atlantis is now designated a special Air Force base, effective immediately. Those of you who are international contractors working through the IOA will need to finish up your work as quickly as possible in order to expedite the turnover to SGC personnel. Those of you who are already with the SGC, you will see no change in your status. If you’re Air Force or Marines, you will, pending review and possible transfer, be remaining here as part of the incoming force.”
“The hell I will.” Sheppard’s voice must have carried, but O’Neill ignored it or didn’t hear it.
“I’ll see section heads in my office today. The schedule is posted.” O’Neill’s eyes swept the crowd one more time. “That will be all.” He turned and went back in the office—his office, now.
“I can’t believe this,” Carson said.
Radek let go of him, his eyes following O’Neill through the glass. The man did not look down. “I can,” Radek said.
* * *
“Mr. Woolsey! Mr. Woolsey!” Teyla zigzagged through the crowd at the West Pier to catch his arm. “You are not leaving now?”
Woolsey turned around, his black suit and subdued red tie immaculate. His smile was strained, but genuine. “No, not yet. I came to see Mr. Nechayev and Ms. Dixon-Smythe off.” Behind him, a Coast Guard tender was taking on the last passengers to shuttle over to San Francisco. Behind it, a bigger ship was coming up to the pier, a supply ship, Teyla thought. Men and women in fatigues crowded along the near rail, pointing excitedly at their first glimpses of the city. “The IOA members,” Woolsey said helpfully. “They’re leaving.”
Teyla took a deep breath. It was not that she had liked Nechayev. In fact, nobody could stand him but John. But she had hoped that as long as the IOA officials remained in Atlantis that something could be done.
“Did you like the speech?” Woolsey asked. “It was Henry IV. The quotation, I mean.”
“It was very good,” Teyla said.
“It was the best I could do under the circumstances,” Woolsey said, looking back toward the city with an expression both abstracted and sad.
“You have done your very best,” Teyla said. “Mr. Woolsey, you have nothing to regret.”
Woolsey nodded, and his smile was not unkind. “You could call me Dick, now that you don’t work for me anymore.”
“That is true. I could.”
He took her arm and steered her away from the ship coming in, the sailors throwing out lines. The powerful rumble of her engines almost drowned out his words. “We did our best, you and I,” he said. “You were magnificent.”
“I cannot help but feel that I have failed,” Teyla said, and she was surprised that she felt her throat close tight with tears. “If I had convinced them somehow…”
“You can’t win them all,” Mr. Woolsey—Dick—said. “If it’s anybody’s fault it’s mine. Jack told me the moral high ground argument wouldn’t wash. Too many people with too much at stake, too much self interest.” He sighed. “I know that. It’s one of the realities of politics. We’re neither as good as we should be or as bad as we fear.”
“I am afraid that is true of all humans everywhere,” Teyla said.
Dick nodded. “Yes.” He looked up at the towering spires of Atlantis, now half obscured by the superstructure of the incoming ship. “When I first heard about the Ancients it was with an almost religious awe. And I’m not a worshipful man, not in the least. Now we’d find out the secrets! Now we’d see the best humanity could be!” He looked at her sadly. “Do you know what I’ve found out?”
“That the parents are just like the children?” Teyla asked.
“The apple never falls far from the tree,” Dick said. “They were no different from us.”
Teyla stepped around a pallet of shrouded goods awaiting shipment somewhere, to a lab or to someone’s home, whether Ancient technology or someone’s things she could not tell. “My people felt the same,” she said. “We revered the Ancestors. We looked ever backward to that golden time when we lived in their presence and protection.” She looked at him. “And you know what happened when we met them. You were there, you and General O’Neill, when they told the Athosians to leave Lantea. They would not even speak with us in person, as though we were not even humans to treat with. Leave Lantea, they said. You
are too close to us, over in your settlement on the mainland. We will find another world for you and take you there. We will not wait until your harvest is in, until the vegetables you have weeded bear fruit. Leave your gardens to be overrun, and go where we tell you.”
She ducked her head. There was too much anger in her voice, and she knew better than to show that to anyone besides John or Ronon. Or Rodney, but he was not here.
“I know,” Dick said gently. “I was there. And I was there when the Replicators slaughtered them.”
“You were,” Teyla said. She had almost forgotten that. Dick Woolsey had been the one allowed to remain, to nearly die for the City of the Ancients. Until they had come for him, for him and General O’Neill. “Our faith is broken,” Teyla said. “And our numbers cut to the bone. I do not think we will survive as a people. Already we have dropped below genetic viability. We must change or die.”
Dick nodded slowly. “I see that.”
“That is the way of it,” Teyla said. “We must all change or die. We must all become and become again. When any people become too attached to the way things are, begin to see their way of life as inviolate…” She spread her hands. “We are scattered like seed on the wind.”
“Not dust?”
Teyla shook her head. “Seed. If it were not for the reaper, the grain would not grow.”
Dick stopped on the pier, his immaculate black shoes in a puddle of oil. “I think you are the wisest person I know.”
Teyla smiled to take the sting from her words. “The wise savage?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
“I wish you had my old job,” Dick said, putting his hands in his pockets.
“I think that is impossible,” Teyla said.
“I expect so.”
The crane swung around, sailors calling to one another. Teyla steered Dick out of its path, looking at the familiar boxes being offloaded. “Ammunition? MREs? What do they think is going to happen to Atlantis sitting in their harbor?”
Dick frowned. “You know the Air Force,” he said. “Semper Paratus. Or is that the Boy Scouts?”
