by Jo Graham
Lorne shrugged. “Possible? Sure. Is it likely?” He shook his head slowly. “Dr. Weir was a pretty special lady. She held this expedition together for a whole year when they couldn’t get any reinforcements from Earth and had no idea if they were ever going to get home. When she died, that was pretty bad for everybody. When she sort of came back, and then they had to leave her frozen in deep space – that was worse. There are a lot of people on this expedition who still want to believe there’s something they can do for her.”
“Even if there isn’t.”
“Probably it’s a wild goose chase,” Lorne said. “But a few wild goose chases won’t kill us. Better than leaving one of our people out there if there’s any chance she’s alive and we can get her back.”
“Copy that, sir.”
“Besides, we are in the Pegasus galaxy,” Lorne said. “Stranger things have happened.”
Ronon stood in the door of Dr. Robinson’s office, not sure whether he was supposed to come in without an invitation. “Are you busy?”
“Actually, no,” she said, looking surprised but not displeased. “Come in and sit down, please.”
He did, settling into her chair and considering how to put his question. He didn’t want to insult Eva, who he had decided he liked; for a doctor from Earth, she’d taken surprisingly well to being chased through ice caverns by fanged predators and other risks of living in the Pegasus galaxy. And at least she seemed old enough to be able to give good advice, and had been around military people before. Dr. Heightmeyer had always seemed like she didn’t know much about soldiers.
“What exactly is it that you do?” he asked finally. “I mean, what are you supposed to be for? We had doctors on Sateda, but they were just for actual medicine.”
Eva looked less offended than he had thought she might be. “You know, a lot of people ask that question,” she said. “The way I see it, I’m here to help you understand the way you think and feel, and maybe make some changes to how you think about things so that you can feel better and do your job better.”
“Like?”
“Like, sometimes people who’ve been injured, or who’ve seen bad things happen in combat spend a lot of time thinking about those things, to the point that it interferes with their daily life. One thing I can do is help people change how they think about those things, and when they think about them, so that they don’t cause as many problems for them.”
“Everybody here has seen bad things.”
“Often that’s true,” Eva said. “And that can put a strain on a community, but it can also strengthen it when people can help each other to survive and rebuild. I can’t fix anybody, but I can help people find ways to help themselves and each other.” She looked at him curiously. “Is any of this sounding familiar?”
“Maybe. There were some people in the military
—
older people who’d seen a lot
—
who would give you that kind of advice. Told you to ask for leave, or to spend more time doing something that wasn’t fighting. That kind of thing.”
“And did people listen to them?”
“Sometimes.”
“And did it help?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’m here if you want to talk,” Eva said. “Or if you want advice. I know I can’t imagine some of the things you’ve seen and done. But some of them I can imagine, because I’ve heard them before. War on Earth isn’t always very pretty.”
Ronon shrugged. “War isn’t. It’s just necessary.”
“Sometimes it is,” Eva agreed. “I wouldn’t work for the military if I didn’t think that was true.” After a minute she added, “So was there something you wanted my advice about?”
“Not today,” Ronon said, and Eva shrugged philosophically.
“You know where to find me,” she said.
Richard Woolsey worked late on what was probably his last night in Atlantis. After all, they’d said to leave everything in good order. That meant not leaving a bunch of paperwork hanging around for whoever the next person was. For Sheppard, likely. The IOA might spend months arguing over his replacement. In the meantime the work would fall on Sheppard.
The first time he’d stood in this office had been when the Ancients had briefly returned to Atlantis, at least the crew of one ship who had reclaimed their home and turned out the people from Earth like dogs who’ve overrun a temporarily abandoned building. He’d been one of the dogs. It was a new experience being nothing among people to whom all the accomplishments of his entire civilization were nothing, to whom all the great ideological struggles of Earth’s past and present were nothing more than the bickerings of squabbling toddlers. Every consuming problem, every rock-solid identity, whether ethnic, religious or racial, was to them simply foolishness, a bunch of little children arguing over whether it was cooler to wear red sneakers or yellow sneakers.
And yet they’d been killed. The Replicators had exterminated them mercilessly, and they had no idea how to survive that onslaught. Only he and Jack O’Neill had survived. Not that he took any credit for that. O’Neill had saved them both, had held on until Elizabeth Weir had returned with some of her people. Animal smarts had turned out to be the most important thing after all.
Elizabeth Weir. Woolsey shook his head, closing up his laptop carefully. He was not a religious man, and the question of what happened after death was officially not in his job description. All this business of people coming and going from Ascension was
—
disconcerting. That was the word. Disconcerting. Perhaps Elizabeth Weir was in some sense alive, somewhere, but Dr. McKay’s certainty sounded too much like the spiritual epiphanies of so many who have had sudden and life changing trauma. No, the dead were dead, and whatever their fate the dead didn’t return to haunt mortals except through their own guilt or love.
But still, there was a point where it was good for people to feel they’d done everything they could. It gave closure. Closure was an important word. It meant an end, a true and final end, the mystery solved and the file sealed. If further fruitless searching, no matter how belatedly, was what his people needed to give them closure, so be it. Eventually they’d come to that conclusion themselves. He’d be long gone by then, one more bureaucrat they used to work for…
Sheppard stuck his head in the door. “Knock, knock.”
For a moment Woolsey almost said, “Who’s there?” But no. That was inappropriate. “You’re working late, Colonel Sheppard,” he said instead. It was nearly nine.
“So are you.” Sheppard shrugged. “I was wondering if you wanted to go grab a cup of coffee.”
For a moment Woolsey started to reflexively refuse, but no. Why not? It was probably his last night in Atlantis. He could have a cup of coffee with Sheppard just like they were friends instead of people who happened to work together. In a little less than ten hours he wouldn’t be Sheppard’s boss anymore. “Sure,” he said.
They made their way down toward the mess hall, the corridors empty of personnel at this time of night. Only the duty crew remained in the gate room. And of course everybody else was off
—
either enjoying themselves or getting ready to turn in.
“Going to be strange without you around here,” Sheppard said.
“You’re probably used to it,” Woolsey said. “I can’t guess how fast they’ll send someone out. If you’re lucky, they’ll give it to Jackson.”
Sheppard stopped, looking at him curiously. “Is that an option?”
Woolsey shrugged. “It was last time. But there are IOA members who have doubts about him
—
serious doubts. They think he’s too independent.”
“And too much like Carter,” Sheppard said shrewdly.
“That too.”
The mess hall doors were closed, and Sheppard pushed them open with a sudden grin.
“SURPRISE!”
Woolsey blinked.
The mess h
all was full. Almost the whole Atlantis expedition was there and the tables were laid out for a party. On the nearest one was a big sheet cake with giant blue letters on it: We’ll Miss You!
Woolsey gulped.
“We wanted to say,” Carson Beckett began.
“We wanted to say goodbye,” McKay interrupted.
Teyla nudged him in the ribs. “What we wanted to say is thank you. All of us appreciate everything you have done.”
“Without you we would not be in Pegasus,” Dr. Zelenka said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “We would still be on Earth.”
“And that would be bad,” Ronon said.
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Dr. Robinson said.
“And for not sending me back to Earth when I broke my leg,” Major Lorne said.
“We will miss you,” Teyla said, and Woolsey was glad that her hug allowed him to hide his face against her shoulder for a moment. Crying would be very inappropriate.
SGA-22 Unascended
INTERLUDE
Elizabeth endured all the usual tests, only flinching a little as he put the needle into her arm. She watched the dark blood flow into the syringe, watched as he withdrew it neatly and put the pad of cloth against the tiny hole, the pressure comforting. She held it on as he deftly put a drop of the blood on a slide and bent over a microscope.
Any moment now, he would turn. Any moment now his face would change…
“You’re human,” Dekaas said, straightening up. “Your blood cells look perfectly normal. The sonic scan of your internal organs looks perfectly normal. Your bones look perfectly normal. I don’t see anything that’s suggestive of anything else at all.”
Elizabeth took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning back against the side of the infirmary bed. Dekaas came and stood beside her, not quite touching, as though he weren’t sure whether a comforting arm would be an imposition. “You think I’m crazy,” she said.
“I think you’ve been through a significant trauma,” Dekaas said. “Like the Mazatla, I see no sign of recent injury, which does suggest to me that you were healed. Your health is almost too perfect for it to be otherwise.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Too perfect?”
“Almost everyone has some minor issues,” he replied. “Congestion, bruises, a bad tooth, a sore muscle… To have absolutely nothing wrong with you, not even old bruises or abrasions, is unusual. To me, that suggests Wraith healing.” He shrugged. “Or some other kind, but I’m not even sure what that could be. An Ancient device, maybe. I’ve never seen one that could do that, but I suppose it’s possible.”
“I suppose.” There was some device she’d seen that could do that, but the memory escaped her. Something that was dangerous to use. But it hadn’t been used on her. That wasn’t what had happened. “O’Neill,” she said again. “He would know.” He represented something, something powerful in her subconscious. She’d encountered that before, at some time or place she shied away from, some dream that had seemed real.
“O’Neill,” Dekaas said experimentally. “I don’t know this person you speak of, but perhaps someone does. Is he a relative of yours? A friend?”
“A leader of my people, I think,” Elizabeth said slowly. A gate with a turning ring, rather than one that lit. A gate opening in a splash of blue fire… “If I can find O’Neill, I can find my way home.”
SGA-22 Unascended
CHAPTER ELEVEN
General Jack O’Neill was waiting for Richard Woolsey when he stepped out of the Stargate into the gate room beneath Cheyenne Mountain. He gave him a quick nod through the glass from the control room above as Woolsey made the usual pleasantries to the guards on duty. Even though he’d certainly identified himself before stepping through, there were always precautions.
One young Marine came almost to attention. “Mr. Woolsey, General O’Neill wants to see you immediately, sir.”
“Lead the way,” Woolsey said. Whatever his neck was on the line about this time, O’Neill would give him the straight scoop. At least he’d know what he needed to prepare a defense for. There did seem to be an unusual number of Marines in the gate room today.
O’Neill was waiting in the conference room above with no sign of General Landry. He was also wearing camouflage instead of his usual pressed blues, a sure sign something was seriously amiss. Woolsey waited until the door shut behind him, then put his laptop case on the table. “We’ve been attacked?”
“Not here,” O’Neill said. “The Lucian Alliance hit one of our outposts a few days ago. But that’s not what you’re here for.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Woolsey said. There were a lot of things he might be blamed for, starting with McKay’s Wraithification and subsequent de-Wraithification, but a Lucian Alliance attack in the Milky Way was stretching it.
“Roy Martin had a heart attack.”
It took Woolsey a moment to change gears. “The US representative to the IOA?” He’d only met Martin a few times, but he’d liked him. “He’s dead?”
“Fortunately not,” O’Neill said. “But he’s had bypass surgery and he’s got a long road ahead of him. He’s nearly eighty. Anyway, he’s tendered his resignation to the President. Says it’s time to retire for good.”
“That’s too bad,” Woolsey said. Actually it was worse than bad. Martin had been an unexpected defender of the Atlantis Expedition and of him. If he was out of the picture, things with the IOA were about to get a lot worse. They’d needed him.
O’Neill’s brows twitched. “And here I thought you were just one more cutthroat politico.”
“He’s a good man,” Woolsey said. He squared his shoulders. “I take it I’m supposed to explain something or other to the IOA on behalf of Atlantis, and that they’ve taken advantage of Martin’s absence to find fault with something. I don’t suppose this can be handled quickly so I can get back to Atlantis.”
O’Neill shook his head. “You aren’t going back to Atlantis. The President has appointed you to Martin’s seat. You’re the US representative to the IOA now.”
“Damn,” said Woolsey, and he meant it.
Rodney piloted the puddle-jumper out of the orbital Stargate, frowning as the sensors began to build a picture of the world that turned beneath. Teyla was in the shotgun seat, with Daniel and Ember behind, Ronon lurking just behind the Wraith. Rodney could feel Ember’s wry amusement at that
—
not an official guard, but more than enough reminder that he was the alien here, the enemy tolerated as temporary ally.
*You know,* Teyla said mentally so that both he and Ember could hear it, *There are more people who understand mind speech on this mission than those who do not.*
There was a momentary pause, and Rodney felt the Wraith’s amusement just as he himself laughed. Right now he was the normal one. And that was different.
“What’s funny?” Daniel asked, squinting at the sensor picture.
“Nothing,” Rodney said. He turned the jumper slowly onto a search grid.
“So what happens now?” Daniel asked.
“We scan the planet for anything interesting,” Rodney said. “Mostly,” he glanced at the screen, “It says it’s 99% water with a few volcanic islands that rise above sea level. No ice caps. Reasonable atmosphere, but hot.”
“How hot?” Teyla asked.
“28 degrees C in the temperate zone below us,” he said. Rodney shrugged. “Hot but not horrible.”
“So we’re scanning for naquadah?” Daniel asked, leaning over the seat.
“Or any other exotic materials. Or buildings. Or humans. No humans so far.”
“Those are awfully small landmasses and awfully isolated for humans,” Daniel said, his eyes on the map the sensors were building.
Ember also leaned forward. “That is so. But the Ancients liked islands for their experiments.”
*I know,* Teyla said mentally, and then glanced over at him as though she had not meant to speak, a swift, disturbing flash of an island surrounded by i
cy seas, of a Stargate flaring blue through falling snow
—
Osprey’s memories, her long ago memories of the first Wraith queen who shared her blood. The memory was tinged with fear.
*It’s OK,* Rodney thought. *This isn’t that.*
*Well I know that,* Teyla replied, the warmth of her mental touch like a hand on his arm, appreciation of his friendship and happiness that he had reached out in kindness.
“Ah,” Ember said behind, as though he had understood something. “Not so different.”
“What?” Daniel asked. “Am I missing something?”
“They’re doing that mind thing again,” Ronon said. “We’re both missing something.” He sounded annoyed. “It’s rude to have conversations half the team can’t hear.”
“You’re talking telepathically?” Daniel said.
“It’s residual Wraith telepathy, OK?” Rodney snapped. “I can hear Teyla and she can hear me. And apparently Ember can hear both of us. I can’t help hearing her, so there’s no need to be a pill about it.”
“I thought you were both just speaking normally,” Ember said. “I didn’t intend to listen to something private.” He sounded abashed as he turned to Teyla. “I apologize. I did not mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with your pallax. Please accept my regret.”
“Her what?” Daniel leaned in with an expression that looked like he was taking notes.
“Pallax,” Ember said. “One of a queen’s chosen companions.”
“He is not my pallax,” Teyla said. “Rodney is my friend.”
“Is that not what I said?” Ember sounded confused.
“We are not physically involved,” Teyla said patiently. “To humans there is a distinction in terminology.”
“Ah.”
Daniel was all over it, of course. “So you’re saying that the mental intimacy of the telepathic bond suggested to you that Teyla and Rodney were…”
Ember nodded seriously. “I made the erroneous assumption that he was her pallax from the warmth of their speech. He is, after all, an extremely high status cleverman of distinction, and I presumed that he was also high in her favor.”
