“I thought your personal favorite was locating a planet with a stash of coffee beans,” muttered Lieutenant Ford.
Despite herself, and the strain in the briefing room, Elizabeth was unable to choke back a laugh. It abruptly turned into a wracking cough. Not that that was enough to faze Rodney. The scientist immediately clutched his lidded coffee mug and pulled it close.
“Don’t panic, Rodney,” John smirked. “No one’s about to steal your precious—”
“And now we’re back to the insults, which are both mean-spirited and immaterial to the issue at hand.” Rodney spun his chair to face Elizabeth. “By standing idly by and allowing this religious elitist farce to continue, we’re washing our hands of an entire civilization. This bunch of self-styled fanatics will continue to subjugate the masses until they’ve led the whole planet into their own version of the Apocalypse. Maybe I’m fuzzy on the details, but didn’t we used to be champions of the downtrodden?”
He’d said ‘we’, but Elizabeth knew the remark had been directed at her. Although she was accustomed to hearing that tone from him, the object of his ire was a surprise. Overpowering concern for the well-being of strangers seemed uncharacteristic for the Rodney McKay that she thought she knew. Then she remembered the way he’d stepped between her and Kolya’s gun just days ago and revised her opinion. The storm had brought to light hidden attributes in all of them. Still, there was no getting around the facts of the current situation. They were hardly in a position to help themselves, much less others.
“Dr McKay,” Teyla said in cool tones, “did not Kesun say that Lisera’s return will encourage all Dalerans to embrace their ancient traditions?”
“Including testing the general population for the gene, and marrying outside of the Chosen,” John finished.
“Oh, and we’re meant to believe that exclusive club of octogenarian zealots is really going to let him shake everything up?”
“Kesun’s only one of a handful of Chosen who are even capable of leaving their Enclave,” said John. “It’s not exactly like they have radios, television, or even servants to inform their retirees of what’s going on out in the real world.”
“From what we saw it was pretty low tech,” Ford added. “But then so are a lot of other places we’ve visited. Most of the people looked to be in reasonable shape. Except Lisera. But she’d been on the run since her family was culled.”
“The markets were filled with many, many items for trade,” Teyla added. “More than I have seen on most planets. And their apothecary was well-stocked.”
“So their economy is operating well,” mused Elizabeth. “That’s always a good sign.”
John wrinkled his nose. “Something doesn’t smell right, though.”
“Boring,” snapped Rodney. “Joke’s worn thin.”
“Not you. I meant the setup as well as the sewerage. It was more of a deep, ingrained stench than your average busted sewer pipe and musty ancient stone smell.”
“You’re missing the point entirely—all of you!” Rodney sat forward. “These people are in a unique position. With the Shields, they have the capacity to defend against the Wraith—if they’re administered gene therapy. Without it, they’re as good as dead. Given how rare the gene is on Earth, testing everyone in Dalera is unlikely to turn up more than one or two in the entire population. To properly defend the Citadel and even a fraction of those villages beyond, they’re going to need at least a hundred.”
Elizabeth frowned at Rodney. She wasn’t pleased that he’d offered the gene therapy to their new acquaintances in the first place. What should have been a moot point following the Dalerans’ refusal, however, was rapidly turning into a kind of crusade for the scientist. She just wasn’t certain what had triggered it. His not finding a ZPM on the planet was likely contributing to his overall frustration. Or perhaps it was simply that he needed to believe that the Wraith could be thwarted. If that were the case, she could hardly blame him.
“I understand your feelings on this, Rodney, but Atlantis is simply not in a position to go barging in and impose our system of values on other cultures. I agree with you that the situation is not ideal, and I agree with the idea of introducing low-tech items in order for people to get to the transports or directly to the Citadel faster. Bicycles, for example.”
“Personally, I’d vote for skateboards.” John slouched low in his chair and flashed a grin, briefly resembling a teenager.
“Brilliant.” Rodney had apparently redirected his irritation into dismantling the ideas of others. “And exactly how would they go about using a skateboard in the middle of a plowed field or forest?”
John feigned pondering the question and quirked an eyebrow. “Mountain skateboards?”
It was an obvious attempt to lighten the tension in the room, and Elizabeth appreciated it, but Rodney had gone beyond seeing the humor in anything. Snapping his mouth shut into a thin, bitter line, he crossed his arms and stared at some fascinating point on the ceiling, impatiently waiting for the meeting to end.
“All right,” she said, choosing to cut her losses. “For the moment let’s focus on a trade deal, food in exchange for improving the Dalerans’ method of transport. It’ll give some of the engineers a break from making repairs to the city. Let’s see what we can come up with before your next arranged meeting time on the planet.”
Rodney was the first to exit the briefing room, brushing past the swiveling wall panels while they were still in motion. Elizabeth stayed in place as the others streamed out, reaching for the box of tissues she’d taken to carrying around.
Whatever unglamorous sound she made with the tissue must have caught her military advisor’s attention, because he remained behind. “You’re looking pretty far under the weather,” he observed, concern shading his features. “Somebody bring some Pegasus germs back through the ‘gate?”
“That’s Carson’s best guess. If I ever find out who it was, I’ll put him or her on mess hall duty indefinitely.” She attempted a faint smile.
It didn’t fool him. John folded his arms and half-leaned, half-sat on the edge of the table near her. “If there’s stuff you need to hash out, I’d like to think I could be a reasonable sounding board.”
The offer would have felt less awkward had he not been studying the floor when he made it. Even so, Elizabeth was grateful. Moreover, he was right. There weren’t many people on Atlantis with whom she could engage in any kind of personal conversation. John Sheppard, whether by position or character, was one of the few.
“I’m not indifferent to the Dalerans’ situation,” she began, swiping at her reddened eyes with a second tissue.
John’s brow creased. “I never thought you were. Neither will Rodney, once he snaps out of his funk about having to leave the Shields behind.”
“I suspected something of that nature.” Her quick smile faded. “It’s just that this is an incredibly difficult issue on which to take a stance. As usual, it’s all shades of gray, which is something that Rodney has never been very good at dealing with.” She gave a soft sigh, resting her elbows on the table. “I seem to spend a lot of time lately second-guessing my decisions, wondering if some small difference might have led to a better result. You have to admit that this expedition can’t exactly be called a smashing success at the moment.”
“Based on the original mission parameters, I’d agree with that. But here’s the thing.” John fixed a serious gaze on her. “The mission was designed in another galaxy, before anyone had the first clue what we’d find out here. No one back on Earth could have predicted the choices we’d have to make, and the really tough ones tend to fall on you more than anyone else. So you can’t try to hold any of this up to Earth standards. They don’t apply.”
Elizabeth was mildly surprised by how much sence that viewpoint made. Then again, she’d immersed herself in all things Ancient for months leading up to the expedition, which might have given her a false expectation of familiarity. John, by contrast, had joined them much later
and viewed every last detail as foreign. Reality probably lay somewhere in between. “I guess we are making up our own rules, to a certain extent. Still, there are times when I worry about overstepping our bounds, and I hate feeling like I’m working without a net.” For a moment, her thoughts turned to Simon. Safe, gentle Simon. He’d always provided that support. If—when they found a way to get back to Earth, well, the prospect of seeing Simon again was something to hold on to. Meanwhile—“If I make a wrong move, will you tell me?”
His eyes flared wide for a moment, as if the trust inherent in that question had startled him. “Elizabeth, if I think you’re making a wrong move, you’ll know it.” He offered a wry smile that concealed far more than it showed. “I try not to act like a caricature of my service record, but the fact remains that I’m not known for unquestioning obedience.”
She knew that, of course, having seen his file back in Antarctica, and having received a warning from General O’Neill and a sharper one from Colonel Sumner about what it meant to take on an officer with that kind of reputation. At the time, she had dismissed their concerns. As O’Neill himself had demonstrated on countless occasions, independent thinking was not necessarily an undesirable trait in an officer. She hadn’t found any cause to revisit the issue thus far.
“Anyway, you’re doing fine,” he continued, dispelling the brief unsettledness. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right about what we should and shouldn’t do regarding the Dalerans. Kesun’s not being completely honest with us, at least when it comes to who can access the Enclave.”
When he elaborated, she nodded. “Okay, that helps me. I’m fairly confident in this one. In my experience, sudden, forced cultural changes generally leave a vacuum that makes things far worse before they can get better.”
“Mine, too.” John’s response was unassuming, but once again, it was what he didn’t say that spoke louder.
“You must have seen a lot in places like Afghanistan.”
“Enough to know that, to mess around with issues of faith, we’d need an airtight plan for the fallout. And I’ve yet to run across any of those.”
Elizabeth replied with a contemplative smile. “True enough. Thank you, John.”
“Any time. Feel better, all right?” He moved toward the door, but glanced back with a glint of humor in his eye. “I’ll ask the mess hall sergeants if they’ve got any chicken soup.”
It had been a terrifying yet wondrous dream. No. More than that, for Lisera could never have envisioned such things as she had beheld this past day. She had flown as high as a bird until the Citadel appeared as nothing more than a patch in a blanket of many patterns across the land. Then the sky above had swiftly grown dark, as if night had fallen, and she had looked down upon Dalera and seen it as she saw the twin worlds that crossed the sky at night. She was in the heavens, on her way to a land that many, including her mother, had held as nothing more than a child’s tale, a myth. Home of the Ancestors, home of Dalera; Atlantis!
When the ring of magic appeared, she had gasped and looked upon it in awe. Parts of it had glowed the same color as the Shields. She’d cried out in amazement when water shot through the ring, and Aiden had clasped her hand. Plunging into the bright, rippling pool, the glowing tunnel beyond had dazzled her. Then abruptly, it was over, and they were inside a beautiful and light-filled room.
So much to see, so many smiling people, welcoming her to Atlantis! She was nothing, just a girl of no consequence, and yet she was made to feel as important as a Chosen. After she had been taken to a smaller room where people were dressed in white cloaks, Aiden had left her with the promise that he would later return.
Someone had given her yet more medicine. This time, the needle remained in her arm and a strange, transparent rope connected it to an equally transparent bag of water. They told her that the water would make her better. A great tiredness had overcome her, and she had slept.
When Lisera awoke, her leg was encased in a thin white rock. Oddly, the worst of her hunger and thirst had gone. More, she felt clean, and was garbed in a soft robe. Time passed. She met each new visitor with a hopeful smile. Aiden would come soon. He had promised.
One such visitor had brought a platter of marvelous tasting foods. So much food! Biting back tears of gratitude, she had eaten every last crumb. Then night had fallen, and she had slept for a time. But the strangeness and comfort of such a wonderful bed could not be wasted on sleep. Her time here would be short. A night, perhaps two, was all she would be allowed on this world in the heavens.
Sitting in the darkness, running her hands across cloth of such quality, breathing in air tainted only with a sweet, salty tang, Lisera’s happiness slowly receded. She could walk, they assured her, but what they called a cast must remain upon her leg for fifty days. Once back in Dalera, like so many others who had lost all, she would still have to fend for herself. With her pace slowed, she would not be able to outrun the Wraith. This left her with no other option. She must remain in the Citadel rather than return to living off the land. The images of what Balzar had done to her mother, the foul smell of his breath and the gleam in his eyes, returned to haunt her, and she began to cry.
Soft footfalls came from behind her. Turning, she looked into the darkness. “Aiden?” A light appeared by her bed, and with it came more disappointment. It was the one called Dr Beckett.
“Hello, lassie. What’s this? Tears?”
Sniffing and rubbing a hand across her cheeks, Lisera said, “I am sorry to have woken you.”
His smile was kind, as were his eyes. “Hardly. I was just examining your blood work. Hadn’t eaten in a wee while, had you?”
Unbidden, her tears fell in full measure. Perhaps it was the gentle manner in which he spoke, or his kindness, but she was reminded of her brother, and all that she had lost.
“Are you in any pain?” Dr Beckett asked, examining the bag of healing water.
She shook her head.
Sighing softly, he pulled a white cloth from a nearby box and handed it to her. It was obviously intended for her to blow her nose, but the material felt too precious to spoil. Unwilling to offend, she reluctantly used it.
“There are different kinds of pain, Lisera, some of them no medicine can cure,” he continued.
Lisera looked into his eyes, and saw in them a faraway sadness. “You have lost those you loved to the Wraith?”
His mouth lowered in regret. “Let’s just say that I know what it’s like to lose people you care for. You’re young yet, and so it’s very hard to fathom, but the pain will fade in time.” When she said nothing, he added, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
If she spoke the truth, would they punish her? Her mother had always taught her that a lie was like theft, for it took from others as surely as stealing. She had given the payment of storytelling to Teyla for bringing her to this marvelous place. No matter the consequence, she must give truth to those who had treated her with such kindness. Truly, no punishment they could mete out could be as bad as what she would face upon her return to Dalera.
They circled each other slowly, warriors of different worlds, each taking the other’s measure in full before committing to the attack. Normally it was Major Sheppard who struck first, but this time it was Teyla, sensing an opportunity and swinging her staffs simultaneously toward his midsection.
Sheppard blocked the first move easily, the second less easily. After a few moments he tired of being on the defensive and spun, crouching low and sweeping one staff out to catch her in the legs. It knocked her off-balance for only a second, but it was enough to shift the momentum of the match in his direction.
That was acceptable. For the moment. Teyla continued to deflect his blows, even as their speed increased and he drove her backward in a wide arc. It would take time, but Teyla was both patient and observant, two traits that she had found useful when facing off against the Major. While he was in good condition, he tended to pour all of his energy into the fight from the start. Eventually he would
tire, and his focus would slip, just enough for her to take advantage.
It wasn’t obvious. A flick of his eyes—which had previously been trained on hers. She had faced him sufficient times to recognize it. The moment was coming. There—
Lying on the floor with her foot placed carefully but firmly on his chest, Sheppard cursed under his breath. “Damn it.”
From his observation post on the bench, where he’d been sprawled since his own defeat a few minutes ago, Lieutenant Ford whistled. “That was one slick move.”
Teyla sensed that the Major was caught somewhere between irritation and bemusement at ending up in this position yet again. “Your skills are steadily improving,” she told him, dropping to the floor to sit beside him.
His eyebrow arched in a manner that she had found common to the men of Earth. They often tended to think they were being patronized, regardless of whether or not they indeed were. Despite his knowledge in many things, Dr McKay in particular seemed most susceptible to this.
“Because it took you fifteen minutes to have me flat on my back instead of ten?”
“You expend too much effort too soon.” Teyla smiled. “It inevitably dulls your focus.”
“Holding you off generally requires that much effort,” Sheppard replied in defense. He sent his staffs skittering toward the bench against the wall.
Recognizing his frustration, she folded her legs beneath her, and said, “You like to run along the piers, do you not?”
“I wouldn’t say I like it, but it keeps me in shape.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, watching her. “You’re telling me this is a distance run and not a dash.”
“I am.”
“All right, message received.” There was a note of grudging acceptance in his voice, and she knew he would not disregard her advice.
Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis) Page 11
