SGA-01

by Sally Malcolm

  It was the guilt, more than anything, that made her stomach churn. At her side her partner, Simon, detected her mood and reached out a hand to touch her knee beneath the table. Of them all, he was the hardest to leave. He was the hardest to lie to.

  She covered his hand with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. But she couldn’t sit there any longer, prolonging the moment where she’d hug all her dinner guests and tell them she’d see them soon and that they shouldn’t worry. The sooner it was done, the better. The sooner she was back at the SGC with her team, the better. These goodbyes were impossible.

  Abruptly she stood, beginning to clear away the long-empty dishes. Once her guests had gone she could finish her packing and—

  “Elizabeth, wait.” Simon’s hand was on her arm, an affectionate smile in his brown eyes. “Sit down a second, I want to make a toast.”

  Oh no. Please, not that. “Simon…”

  “Just sit down.”

  She did, not wanting to make a scene. Not wanting to make this any more difficult than it already was. But that, in truth, was almost impossible. She couldn’t imagine how it could get any worse than this moment, right now.

  Clearing his throat, Simon stood and everyone fell silent. He turned to Elizabeth with a smile. “Wherever you’re going this time… Whatever treaties you broker or international agreements that you can’t tell your closest friends and family…”

  Oh God. “Simon…”

  He held up a hand. “I think I speak for everyone here. As much as we will miss you, we’re willing to let you go because we all know you’re doing your damndest to make the world a better place.”

  She had no words to answer him, her throat was too tight. Shakily she smiled, blinking tears out of her eyes as everyone raised their glasses. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for deceiving you, for leaving you. For putting this thing, this crazy adventure, before all of you.

  “Elizabeth,” Simon said quietly, raising his glass and taking a sip. It almost undid her.

  It was so easy to feel sorry for herself tonight, to feel sorry for her family – and Simon. But she had to remember that she wasn’t alone, that all across the world there were people saying goodbye tonight. Every member of her team knew it could be a one-way trip, and not one them could tell their partners, husbands, parents, or children. All of them were willing to sacrifice not only their lives, but the happiness of their families, for the sake of mankind’s future – even, perhaps, for the sake of its very survival. And so she refused to wallow, refused to have second thoughts. She was their leader and she couldn’t afford to doubt the value of what they were doing.

  Determinedly, she lifted her own glass and clinked it gently against Simon’s. “To the future,” she said. And meant it.

  Dr. Rodney McKay had always enjoyed his own company. In truth, he’d made a virtue out of necessity, but that didn’t diminish the enjoyment he got from a cold beer, good TV, and the sense that he could breathe. People, in general, made him nervous. He didn’t understand them; he didn’t get people, and they certainly didn’t get him. If they weren’t asking questions so banal it made his brain ache, they were making unreasonable – even inexplicable – emotional demands that left him feeling entirely at sea. And he hated feeling like that, because he was a smart guy and he didn’t understand how stupid people could make him feel, well, stupid.

  So, his own company was relaxing. Refreshing. And it wasn’t as if he was entirely alone – he had a cat. Cats he could relate to, they didn’t demand much beyond food and the occasional rub behind the ears. If only people were so easily tamed…

  That, in short, was why Rodney McKay found himself sitting alone in his apartment staring at his telephone. Tomorrow he’d be leaving for Colorado, and from there – astonishingly – for the Pegasus galaxy. He really should call his sister and say…what? Goodbye? Sorry I forgot your birthday the last three years, but you should be proud of me, because I’m about to blaze a trail for humanity across the universe?

  Hardly. He hadn’t called her when he’d been banished to Russia for a year (and he still hadn’t entirely forgiven O’Neill for that one), so what made this different? The fact that he might never, ever return? He seriously wondered if she’d even notice. Which kind of made the phone call redundant. ‘Hi, just calling to say I’m leaving for an unspecified period of time to go somewhere I can’t tell you about and to do something that’s so top secret that I’d have to kill you if I let the truth slip.’ Ha, ha. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. She’d always thought he was the world’s biggest geek, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she assumed he was spending his time wearing a pair of Spock ears and replicating the USS Enterprise inside his apartment.

  And he didn’t even like sci-fi. He preferred his science undiluted with hokum. Not that she knew that.

  He could feel the tension mounting just contemplating the call. Ironic, that the thought of telephoning his sister was actually more terrifying than the idea of stepping through the Stargate and throwing his disassembled molecules into another galaxy. Of course, that was stomach-churningly terrifying, but that was tomorrow and this was today and the telephone was staring at him like it might bite.

  Reaching out, he picked it up. His hands were clammy and when he stabbed at the first number his finger slid off the button. She’d probably be out anyway, he reasoned. Or in bed. It was late. Too late. She’d get irritated that he’d called so late, and really he had no idea what he would say other than that he was leaving, but she wouldn’t care about that anyway and he’d end up feeling stupid and tongue-tied and—

  He let the phone drop onto the table and stood up.

  His neighbor had agreed to look after the cat. What was her name? Donna? Dawn? Denise? Something. It had a D in it. Whatever. She’d agreed to look after the cat, and if he didn’t get over there now she’d have gone to bed and his flight was so early that he couldn’t drop by in the morning, so… With a sideways glance at the phone he picked up the cat, her bowl and bag of food, and struggled to the door.

  He’d call when he got back. His sister would never even know he’d gone anyway, and maybe then he’d be able to tell her something about Atlantis. Maybe then he’d be a hero, and she’d actually be interested in what he was doing with his life.

  Yeah, he’d call later. That was fine. That was easy.

  He’d call when he got home.

  It was night now, nearly midnight over DC, and the hour was about to tick over into the next day; the last day Elizabeth would spend on this planet. And that was a thought to freak out anybody. She tried to banish it, but it wouldn’t go far, hovering on the periphery of her mind like a cloud about to burst.

  It was harder to be brave when you were alone.

  Swallowing, she focused on her full suitcase. It would all have to be transferred into a military pack when she reached the SGC, but kitting herself out like Rambo would have only raised more questions from Simon. And God knew he had enough already. He was like a walking—

  Suddenly her eye was caught by a small flash of color, buried just beneath the top layer of her clothes. She tugged at it and realized it was a gift. It was typical of him, he usually smuggled something into her bag before she left, and she smiled sadly as she turned the present over in her hand. He’d want her to wait, to open it when she arrived. But there would be no room in her pack for gifts; one personal item each. That was the rule and it applied to her as much as anyone else in the team.

  So, carefully, she slipped a finger beneath the paper and ripped it away. Inside was an elegant jewelry box. It opened with a soft click to reveal a simple silver necklace. It was beautiful, and his thoughtfulness touched her deeply and only renewed her guilt. He loved her, and she loved him. But not enough to stay, not enough to refuse this chance to do what no one else had ever done.

  Did that make her a bad person? Did that make her—

  “South Korea.”

  His quiet voice came from behind her, in the doorway. Weir laughed, but didn’t tur
n around. “No.”

  “Liechtenstein.”

  “Liechtenstein?”

  “I’ve guessed everywhere else, haven’t I?” She turned, and he smiled at her, nodding at the necklace in her hand. “You were supposed to wait to open that.”

  “I know. I couldn’t.” But she’d take it with her, even if she had to wear it under her uniform. “Thank you.”

  Hands in his pockets, he strolled toward her. “You must have some idea when you’ll be back.”

  “I honestly don’t,” she sighed. “And even if I did…” Right then, at that moment, she’d have given her right arm to be able to tell him. She just hoped, prayed, that the President would let him see the video tape she’d recorded for him. At least then he would know the truth.

  He could sense her distress, he’d always been able to read her like a book, and without another word he reached out and pulled her into his arms. For a long moment he just held her, and then quietly said, “You can still tell me how you feel, can’t you?”

  She knew what he wanted to hear, but it felt wrong to say it now, when she was leaving him – perhaps forever – and he didn’t even know it. I love you, but not enough to give this up for you. Not enough to stay… Swallowing hard, she decided on a different truth. “Scared,” she whispered. “I feel scared.”

  He didn’t answer, just held her tight and she drew what comfort she could from his embrace. It was little enough, and would have to last a long time.

  The SGC was buzzing. The excitement was palpable, bouncing off the walls, merging with the constant chatter in twenty different languages and generating enough energy to power the Stargate without any need for the ZPM.

  General Jack O’Neill loved days like this. The only downside was that his team weren’t the ones on the ramp, ready to go and take on the galaxy. But things change, and this wasn’t their moment of glory. This belonged to Dr. Weir and the team of – he had to admit – complete geeks she’d assembled. He hoped she knew what she was doing. At least John Sheppard had quit screwing around and agreed to take the mission; thank God someone would know one end of a P90 from the other. For all of Weir’s talk about peace and exploration, Jack had seen enough of the galaxy to know that most diplomacy came down the barrel of a gun. He couldn’t imagine this Pegasus place being much different.

  As he jogged down the stairs from his office to the control room, Jack saw that Weir was already there and preparing the dialing sequence. It was a one-shot deal, and the tension in the room was so thick you could cut it and spread it on toast. She was deep in conversation with Daniel – talking of geeks – but had one eye on the window, watching with some concern what was going on down in the gate room.

  Curious, Jack followed her gaze and realized that her attention was fixed on Colonel Marshal Sumner, the buzz-cut commander of the Marines assigned to her mission. Jack knew his type, and respected him. Yelling at anything that moved had never been his own style – it just made his throat hurt – but it worked for some folks and Sumner was a master of the art. Jack drew closer to the window and watched him eyeing one of Weir’s team fiddling with the content of a FRED lined up to ship out. Jack recognized the fiddler as Carson Beckett, the doctor who’d almost shot his ass out of the sky over Antarctica.

  Without preamble, Sumner muscled between Beckett and the FRED. “Everything in this room has been double-checked and triple-checked and cleared for take off,” he snapped. “Leave it alone.”

  Beckett didn’t seem at all intimidated, much to Jack’s secret amusement. “Look, Colonel, I don’t answer to you,” he snapped, returning to whatever the hell he was doing to the equipment on the FRED.

  Sumner cast a killer look at the Security Officer who’d been supervising. The kid looked about as pissed off as the Colonel. “He said the same to me, sir.”

  “That’s what your sidearm is for,” Sumner growled, directing the threat directly at Beckett.

  The doctor stopped dead, and Sumner walked away. Even Jack was unsure if the Marine colonel had been bluffing. He turned and caught the concerned look in Weir’s eye. She wasn’t used to the military, and men like Sumner took some handling; he didn’t blame her for worrying.

  “The eight-chevron address is what tells the gate to look for a point in space outside our galaxy,” Daniel blurted, oblivious to the little scene in the gate room and pulling Weir’s attention back to the dialing computer. “We won’t know until it locks.”

  Jack ambled over. “Are we there yet?”

  “We’re just waiting on Dr. McKay,” Weir told him, her eyes drifting back to Sumner.

  Jack watched her for a moment, coming to stand at her side. “Don’t second-guess yourself,” he advised. “There may come a time when you’ll want a man like Sumner on your side.”

  “As long as he remembers this is a civilian expedition,” she said. “Not a military mission.”

  So that’s what was bugging her. “He knows who’s in charge,” Jack assured her. “So do I.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded, and then glanced at him sideways. “You are talking about me, right?”

  He smiled. Yeah, she’d be okay. She’d be just fine.

  Stargate Command was awesome, in the literal sense of the word. Who’d have guessed this was buried beneath Cheyenne Mountain? Floors and floors of top secret labs and research units, the Stargate itself – this huge, incredible piece of technology that spat out subspace like water and connected the world to planets across the universe. Who’d have guessed?

  He’d been here a week already, but still John Sheppard was in awe. And not just of the technology; there were some scarily smart people around here, and he’d gradually begun to get to know some of them. McKay, the guy who’d told him to think about the solar system, seemed to be the head smart-ass. He knew his stuff alright, but was as prickly as a porcupine on a bad day. Then again, McKay spoke his mind and Sheppard admired that. Charm he could live without, honesty he couldn’t.

  As he threaded his way through the bustling corridor, Sheppard saw the doors to the gate room up ahead. This was it; this was the day when it would all happen. Or not. Last time he’d seen McKay, the guy had been fiddling with the ZPM and just about ripping out what was left of his hair. He hadn’t been too amused when Sheppard had cautioned him about that either…

  Sheppard grinned at the memory, and stepped into the gate room. It was small and dominated entirely by the massive Stargate. And there were people everywhere. It was like some kind of foreign market, full of snatches of French, German and other languages he couldn’t begin to recognize. A little guy in glasses dashed past cursing in something that sounded vaguely Eastern European. Sheppard found his heart beating a little faster, the expectation pumping adrenaline freely through his system. This was life, he thought, gazing around him. This was living. O’Neill had been right; anyone who didn’t want to do this was whacked.

  High from the buzz, he turned in a slow three-sixty and suddenly found himself trapped in the gaze of Colonel Sumner. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call a friendly gaze, but Sheppard had never been easily intimidated. “Colonel,” he said, keeping the greeting frosty.

  Sumner didn’t answer, but if looks could kill… Sheppard turned away, just as Dr. Weir entered the room. She looked tiny compared with the hulking machinery –and hulking soldiers – that pervaded the SGC. But she didn’t look apprehensive. He liked that. For a civilian, she had a strong arm.

  “Can I have everyone’s attention?” she began, instantly quelling the bustling room. Even those in the corridors fell silent, crowding close to hear what she had to say.

  Charisma, Sheppard decided. She had charisma.

  “We are about to try a connection.” The buzz that followed those words ricocheted around the room, raising expectation in everyone. “We’ve been unable to predict exactly how much power this is going to take, and we may only get one chance,” she carried on. “Most of the power expenditure is in the initial connection, so if we achieve a stable wormhole we
won’t risk shutting the gate down. We’re going to send a MALP robot probe, check for viability, and go. Everything in one shot.”

  Just like that.

  Weir shifted where she stood, chin lifting along with the subject. “Every one of you volunteered for his mission,” she said, and Sheppard didn’t miss the genuine warmth and pride in her voice. “You represent over a dozen countries – the world’s best and brightest. In light of the adventure we are about to embark on, you are also the bravest.” She was good; this was good. Sheppard was riveted. “I hope that we will all return one day, having discovered a whole new realm for humanity to explore, and that we will learn things we previously thought unimaginable. But, as you all know, we may never be able to return home.” Silence. Absolute silence filled the short pause. She wasn’t saying anything they didn’t know, but hearing it spoken aloud, on the cusp of the adventure… “I’d like to give you all one last chance to withdraw your participation.”

  No one moved, and in that frozen moment Sheppard felt Colonel Sumner’s eyes drilling into him. He returned the stare, daring the man to chicken out. But no one was backing down.

  Weir spoke again. “Begin the dialing sequence.”

  A clunk reverberated through the floor, through Sheppard’s boots and into his chest, and the gate started to spin. The speed and power of it was awesome and he had to struggle not to take a step back. He knew the principle, of course, but this was the first time he’d seen the thing in action. It was overwhelming, and as he watched each chevron lock into place he realized that this was it. This was the moment that would determine the rest of his life – of all their lives.

  He watched Weir leave the room and head up to the control room. Sumner was watching her too, before he turned away and pushed through the crowd to stand at Sheppard’s shoulder. “Let me be clear about something,” the Colonel said in a low voice, sharp enough to cut steel. “You are not here by my choice.”