by Karen Miller
“The nurses,” Ronon said, despite knowing he shouldn’t waste time to ask. “They’ve evacuated, right?”
“They’ve still got patients,” Arvan said. “They brought in a woman with a broken back. Melena wouldn’t let us move her. And there are some people who won’t go, old people and some stubborn ones who insist they’re going to find kids who are probably buried ten meters deep under that mudslide. If that dam goes, we’re going to have some company on our way out.”
“So we hurry,” Ara said, and Ronon didn’t need any more urging to take off at a run.
They were halfway up the path to the shrine when the ground began to shake. Ronon grabbed for a tree to steady himself, and then felt the ground go out from under his feet. He held on hard to the tree trunk, hoping the entire bank wasn’t going to slide away into the river far below.
“Ronon!” Tyre yelled, pointing at the dam, and Ronon looked out to see a great crack opening up in its face, water spraying but not yet hammering through. He gripped the iron horse more tightly. He had hoped just getting it close would be enough. Apparently not.
“We have to keep going!”
The path was sliding away as they climbed, rocks shifting and sliding. One tremor followed another, and the earth kept shifting and moving even between quakes, what looked like secure footholds crumbling away and leaving them clutching at trees or newly revealed stone. Finally Ronon hauled himself up on the overlook near to the top of the dam.
The catwalk that ran out across the dam face to the shrine was cracked in two, leaving a gaping break that he would have to jump. He thought he could make it if the first part of the catwalk would hold his weight. It looked all too much like it would go sliding into the river the moment he set foot on it. He could imagine the drop vividly, hands clawing at the slick surface of the dam for purchase, the beating force of the water not lethal until he smashed down into the river far below.
“There’s no way,” Tyre said. “We have to get to higher ground!”
“Go if you want!”
Tyre swore, but scrambled up the steps and grabbed the railing of the catwalk, putting his weight on it to steady it. Ara did the same, although she was light enough that Ronon didn’t think she’d make much of a counterweight.
He stepped out onto the catwalk, moving fast. Either it would hold his weight or it wouldn’t, and creeping along wasn’t going to help. He made it to the break in the catwalk before the earth started to shake again. He felt the catwalk shift under his feet, the broken section of concrete and railing beginning to slide.
“Go!” Tyre shouted, and he crouched and then jumped. The concrete rocked as he landed, nearly pitching him off into the river, but he got a good hold of the railing and managed to haul himself up. The entire catwalk was shaking, the railing buckling under his hand as if it were made of bamboo rather than steel.
He ran. The opening into the dam face loomed in front of him, and then the catwalk began to peel away from the dam face, twisting and crumbling into the river. Ronon leaped toward the dam, and felt the slickness of wet stone and a painful sliding and buffeting as the water pounded against him. He slid, unable to stop his lethal descent, and then tumbled painfully against something hard, his fingers catching the edge of flat concrete. He hauled himself up and into the opening in the dam face, water streaming from his hair, his ears ringing from the noise of the pounding water.
It was dark, and he wished he’d repaid the Travelers more thoroughly for making off with the light fixtures as well as with the device. He shrugged off his pack and got it open by feel, and then felt his way forward until he reached the opposite wall. He felt along it and found a recessed niche, and then realized that while he could still feel the vibration of water pounding over the dam, the floor wasn’t bucking under his feet.
He pulled out the iron horse and set it carefully, respectfully, in its shrine. There was no blazing glow, no rising hum of power or crackle of energy spilling over his skin. There was only the sound of Ronon’s own breathing over the pounding vibration of water flowing over the dam. Beneath his feet, the earth was finally still.
It was late the next day before Ronon got the chance to make his report, sitting in Kell’s office in the capital with the sound of traffic outside the window and the friendly glow of an electric lamp beaming from Kell’s desk. Ara and Tyre hadn’t been called into Kell’s office, and he hadn’t made them wait to start their evening on the town, although they’d promised to meet him in one of the bars a few blocks from military headquarters.
“I knew I could count on you,” Kell said. “I want you to know I appreciate what you and your team did today.”
“Thank you, Task Master,” Ronon said. Half-formed visions of medals and shaking the council leader’s hand swirled in his head, a picture even more satisfying than being part of the honor guard for a bunch of dignitaries no one would remember next week. Heroic soldiers save town from flood sounded pretty good to him.
“And I want you to know that no one is ever going to mention it again.”
“What?”
“The Travelers are our allies. Yes, even after what happened. One of them stole from us. That’s unfortunate. But for political reasons, we can’t afford to antagonize the Travelers by advertising that we know about the theft, let alone that we successfully stole the artifact in question back. The official story will be that the iron horse was… misplaced in the confusion. No one will ever know any differently.”
“Except for the people you told when you radioed ahead,” Ronon said slowly. “When you asked the council to stall the Travelers until we could get back to the city.”
“Except for them, of course,” Kell said with an easy smile. He came around his desk and clapped Ronon on the back. “Take a few days’ leave,” he said. “I expect at your age you can find some things you’d like to do in the city.”
“Yes, Task Master,” Ronon said.
“Don’t sound so glum,” Kell said. “A few people died. That’s a tragic thing. But many more are alive today because of you and your friends. I’m told the damage to the dam can be repaired, and that the engineers are confident that the residents of the valley are safe. We can count this as a win.”
Ronon waited until he was out on the street in the glow of the streetlamps to let himself fully form the thought that had been lying like a leaden weight in his belly. No one would ever know any differently, Kell had said. As if maybe he’d never mentioned to anyone that the Travelers had stolen the iron horse at all.
Kell had political ambitions. Kell knew this was news the council wouldn’t want to hear. Kell had promised Ronon he was going to radio ahead with that news. And Ronon wasn’t sure he believed that Kell had actually done it. He could see Kell now, sitting there with his hand on the radio, knowing that the council wasn’t going to like what he had to say. Gambling on being able to get the iron horse back before anyone knew it was gone. Risking the lives of old men and little girls with rag dolls rather than risk the approval of the politicians who were his friends.
He didn’t want to think that way. Kell was his Task Master, his teacher. Before today he would have said he trusted Kell with anything, trusted him his life. And he didn’t have any proof, just a suspicion he couldn’t shake, and his grandfather’s voice telling him not to listen to the story he wanted to tell himself, but to listen for the story that was true.
Ronon hesitated outside the entrance to the bar, knowing that once he went in, he’d push away the thought and get cheerfully drunk with his friends. He suspected that it would come back in the cold light of morning, but morning was a long time away. He pulled open the door and stepped forward into light and warmth.
Inside, Ara and Tyre had claimed a table by the windows where they could watch the crowd streaming by outside. He maneuvered his way between tables, trying not to knock drinks out of people’s
hands, and wound up penned between chairs.
“Excuse me,” he said.
A familiar face looked up at him. “Ronon?” Melena was wearing a bright dress, her hair twisted up and her cheeks pink. It hadn’t occurred to him before how pretty she was, or maybe it had and he’d pretended not to notice. She smiled up at him, and a couple of her friends exchanged teasing looks.
“Melena,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should say Specialist Dex…”
“You can call me Ronon,” he said. Tyre had seen them, now, and was elbowing Ara, who followed his gaze and then smirked.
“I just wanted to say…” she began, and then twisted around in her chair to face him. He went down on one knee so that he wasn’t looming over her, and her cheeks went a shade deeper pink. “I wanted to tell you how much my friends and I appreciated everything you did in Ironlode,” she said. “I think it was very brave.”
“Not as brave as some nurses I met.”
“And I wanted to see… if you’re going to be in the city for a while…”
“Probably just a few days,” he said. “A lot can happen in a few days.”
“I don’t have any particular plans. Except tonight. I’m out with my friends tonight,” Melena said, ignoring a whisper from one of them that sounded distinctly like ‘are you crazy?’
“How about tomorrow night?”
“I would love to see you tomorrow night,” Melena said. She wrote her address down on a paper napkin, and Ronon tucked it into his jacket with a flourish. He took her hand for a moment, and her fingers lingered in his before she turned back to her friends with a blushing grin.
“Smooth, very smooth,” Tyre said as Ronon sat down at his friends’ table. “Remind me never to let you see a girl first.”
“You saw her, you just didn’t try,” Ara said. “Next time make more of an effort.”
“You mean next time we’re trapped underneath a dam that’s about to collapse? Or when we’re in town for less than a week on leave?”
“Seize the day,” Ara said.
“I’m planning to,” Ronon said, and caught Melena’s eye across the gap between the tables; she raised her glass to him, and he toasted her in return, smiling at her over the rim of the glass until she smiled in return.
“You’d better work fast,” Tyre said. “We’re only going to be in town for a few days.”
“I know,” Ronon said. He knew his leave would go racing by, but that was all the more reason to make every minute of it count. Across the bar, the band was striking up a dance tune, and Tyre stretched out in his chair in contentment, tipping his neck back to take a deep drink. “But we’ve got long enough.”
“A few good days,” Ara said, and Ronon raised his glass to hers. He figured he could probably live without a medal after all.
Stargate SG-1
Dude, Where’s My Spaceship?
Suzanne Wood
Jack strode through the hallways of the SGC, a slight grin quirking his lips, a spring in his step. All was quiet on base. Another Goa’uld was bagged and tagged, the team had successfully completed a string of missions that had paid off big time in weapons, allies and even some meaning of life stuff. Carter had a boyfriend. Teal’c had a booming new business analyzing dreams for half the base personnel, Daniel had a personal victory over the Goa’uld in the person of his once-lost girlfriend, and Jack had a slightly narcoleptic archaeologist whose unfortunate habit of dropping off to sleep mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-anything, was providing an endless source of amusement for himself and cash for the betting pools. Hammond was happy, the Pentagon was happy, his team was happy. What more could a man want?
Propriety required one to knock before entering the massage rooms situated at the far end of the gym. Jack, therefore, barged straight in. Only one of the four tables was currently occupied. The soft, recorded swoosh of waves caressing sand was the only sound in the dimly lit room. On the far table Randall, the masseur, worked on the sole of a foot attached to the man lying on the table. Rather, sleeping on the table. Jack smiled fondly and wandered over, nodding to Randall. He gazed down at Daniel’s still body, arms hanging limply over the table’s edges, muscles relaxed and pliable, face planted in the hole at the top of the table. Jack cocked his head to one side, giving his friend a careful once-over, from curled fingers, down long straight spine to limp toes. Due consideration given, target selected, Jack extended one finger and poked Daniel in the ribs.
“…it probably works best with chicken but turkey can be surprisingly effective. Just make sure you bake it for two hours.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Daniel,” Jack murmured.
“Jack?” Daniel pulled his face from the hole and cranked around to peer at his friend. “Where did you come from?”
Randall pulled the warm towel back over Daniel’s feet and patted his leg. “You’re all done, Dr. Jackson.” Smiling to Jack, he turned away and began packing up.
Daniel’s eyes rolled back in his head and he thumped his face back down into the cushioning.
“I did it again, didn’t I?”
“That would be a big yes.” Jack smiled down at Daniel. Two hours, fifteen since the last journey to the land of Nod. Twenty bucks to me!
“Nnnuugh,” moaned Daniel. “This is not fair. Why can’t Janet do something?”
“If I remember correctly she prescribed proper nutrition and rest.”
Daniel raised his head and glared at Jack. “I’ve been doing nothing but resting the last couple of weeks. I rest at night. I rest during lunch breaks. I rest in the middle of briefings. I rest with my face in my books and during phone conversations. I’m tired of resting.”
“Obviously your body thinks differently.” Jack took a couple of steps backwards as Daniel rolled off the table, pulling the towel with him. “Give it a little time, Daniel,” he relented. “You’ve been through some trying times and Osiris futzing with your sleep has just knocked you off-course a bit. It’ll pass.”
Daniel nodded his head, accepting the words. Jack had pointedly made the distinction of Osiris messing with his sleep patterns. Messing with Daniel’s head could easily be the assumption and give rise to certain old, and hopefully long-buried, doubts about the quality of Daniel’s sanity.
“So.” Jack clapped his hands together and headed for the door. “We are officially on leave. Time to bug out of here. We can pick up some beer and wine on the way home, dig out the good duds, watch a little tube, put you down for a nap and be up in time to meet the others at 1800.” He disappeared through the door before Daniel could harm him.
The drive home was uneventful. Jack drove Daniel’s Jeep, stopping off for a few bottles of wine, Guinness and some of Colorado Springs’ finest craft beer. Daniel grabbed a couple of quick, unintentional power naps. For all that he was inconvenienced by his brain tripping into sleep mode at the drop of a hat, he was in a very happy place at the moment. He sifted through his notebook, looking for yet more stories to share with Sarah this evening.
Jack jumping back into the Jeep for the second time woke Daniel again. Jack said nothing, merely headed into traffic with a light smile. “Sarah has bounced back pretty quickly from the extraction,” he remarked.
Daniel nodded, his gaze on the park they were passing. “Yeah. The process is a bit messy but I have to admit the Tok’ra know what they’re doing. She felt no pain and after the anesthetic wore off she was fine.” He sighed and snuck a glance at Jack. “Skaara was the same.” The old familiar grief and regret were still there, in their little place in his heart.
Traffic flowed on and around them. Jack said softly, “I really wish he could have had his wedding.”
Daniel looked directly at Jack, struck by a deep certainty. “They did get married Jack. I’m not sure how I know, but deep down — I do know Skaara go
t married. Life goes on as normal for everyone in Nagada.” Daniel paused, a wide grin sneaking up on him. “And they had a whopper of a party. Big, big party.”
Jack pulled into Daniel’s driveway. He switched off the engine and they sat in silence for a while. Even though Jack had spent relatively little time with Skaara, Daniel knew the grief Jack felt at the loss of Skaara and all the Abydonian people was no less intense than his own. Gradually, the corner of Jack’s mouth twitched, he stared through the windscreen at a place far beyond the Earth they currently occupied.
“You sure they’re okay?”
Daniel nodded once, emphatically. “Yes.”
“Good enough for me, then.”
A knowing look passed between them. They climbed out of the Jeep and headed into Daniel’s home. Jack made for the kitchen to put the booze on ice. Daniel wandered down the hall to his front bedroom, determinedly fighting off a yawn.
“You’ve got stuff in this refrigerator that passed its use-by date sometime in the last century. Okay if I dispose of it?” Jack’s muffled voice followed after him.
“Yep. Sure.” A monumental yawn seized him. He stood wavering, pulling in deep breaths as exhaustion swept through his bones. His bed was in front of him. Just a few steps away.
The screen door on the back porch banged. Banged again: Jack making his way out to the trash cans and back. Daniel breathed, tried to parse Abydonian verbs, just to keep his brain functioning a few more minutes. Clanks and grunts from the kitchen told him Jack was on a cleaning spree.
Should go help. Hope he didn’t throw out the tea I bought for Sarah…
“Daniel!”
He started badly, staggered a couple of steps, and refocused on the room. When had he closed his eyes?
