by Graham, Jo
“Right.”
He’d prefer to have something to shoot, too, but he was comforting himself with the thought that if this worked out, they’d have a target. That was what they really needed.
* * *
“Control, this is Jumper One,” Sheppard said over the radio. “We’re ready to go.”
Radek looked over the console on the upper tier and pushed his glasses back up on his nose. The new gate technicians were all nervous at having to learn the ropes while everyone was under so much pressure. Of course, they would probably have been even more nervous had Rodney been here to find fault with everything they did.
“Copy, Jumper One,” Airman Salawi said from her station below at the gate board. She glanced up at him for confirmation, her hand hovering over the DHD, and he came around the monitors and stood beside her chair. “Not this time,” he said quietly. “We let jumper pilots dial out themselves, using the jumper’s DHD. The city’s systems will bring the jumper down from the bay automatically, and ensure it remains well clear of the kawoosh when the gate opens.”
Salawi grinned. “Is that a technical term, Doctor? Kawoosh?”
“It more or less is.” Radek smiled back. She was a good kid, come here a month ago from the SGC where she’d barely begun her training before O’Neill had sent her to Atlantis. “You people invented it. We just use it.”
“Weren’t you at the SGC too?”
“I was for a year or so,” Radek said. He shifted from foot to foot, gauging the preparations below to a nicety. “I will tell you sometime how Dr. Jackson recruited me. But I have been here more than five years now, so this is home.”
Salawi shook her head. “You must have some stories.”
“I imagine that I do,” Radek said. “But you had best hope that in the future I do not have stories of you.”
“Only the good kind,” Salawi said, grinning. “I wouldn’t mind some stories about me like the ones about Colonel Sheppard.”
“Possibly not,” Radek said, and patted her on the shoulder to soften it. “But there is a high price for stories.”
* * *
It had been a year ago that he had come back from an offworld mission, not a bad one at all, to hear what had transpired in his absence — an alien intelligence communicating with Mr. Woolsey and Rodney, Sheppard trapped on the mainland by its machinations. An alien intelligence that had at least once impersonated him to speak with Rodney.
Very weird. He had never had an alien intelligence impersonate him before. He was only sorry that he had missed it.
Or possibly not, when he saw Sheppard.
He was coming out of the mess in the morning, coffee in hand, still a little shy of six o’clock. Sheppard was sitting at one of the tables on the balcony, a mug in front of him, looking out at the sea. He was unshaved, and he slouched in his chair like a man most profoundly tired. There was no one else about.
Radek opened the door and came out, falling into the opposite chair. “Good morning.”
Sheppard blinked like a man called back from dreams. “Radek.”
“Yes.”
“Is it really you or an alien intelligence?”
“I think that it is me,” he said. “I do not feel so intelligent.”
“That’s what you’d say if you were an alien intelligence,” Sheppard said.
“I would,” Radek agreed. “But you will have to take it on faith.”
The sun was rising out of the distant sea, green tropic swells rolling softly under the dawn sky frosted with pink clouds. It was unbearably lovely.
“What the hell,” Sheppard said softly, not looking at him. “We get an alien intelligence, and Woolsey and Rodney both get people telling them they’re great.”
“You are great,” Radek said seriously. Sheppard looked around at that, and Radek shrugged. “You are. If you want me to say so, I shall. Without drugs or alien intelligence or any of that. I am proud to work with you and call you my friend.”
Sheppard blinked and looked away, lashes sweeping shut over bloodshot eyes, tired face heavy in profile. “It was Kolya,” he said. “I know he’s dead. But you know people don’t always stay dead around here. It seemed…plausible.”
“Of course it seemed plausible,” Radek said logically. “It was coming from your mind.”
Sheppard snorted mirthlessly. “Yeah, and what does that say?”
Radek settled back in his chair and took a drink of coffee. “That you are as whacked as the rest of us. We are all a little crazy. It comes with the territory. It seems to me, from what they have said, that the alien intelligence gave Woolsey and Rodney what they felt they deserved.” His mouth quirked. “Which says quite a bit about the size of their egos, actually.” He tried not to look at Sheppard too keenly. “It is a good thing I was not here,” he said.
He felt Sheppard’s glance, though he did not look away from the sea.
“I know far too well what I should have seen,” he said. He considered a moment, but there was truth sometimes in morning, and to gain a truth you must give truth for truth, slice your palm to show that your blood is red. “I should have been on the satellite, not Peter.”
Sheppard did not say anything. There was nothing to say to that. There was only the truth, staring back at them. The sea breeze rolled over them, cool and smelling of salt. The coffee mug was warm in his hands.
“I should have gone,” he said. “But Rodney would not hear it. And so it was Peter.” He took another drink of the coffee, clearing his voice again. “Sometimes I wish that it had been me. And other times I am afraid that I do not.” He shrugged self-depreciatingly, dared a glance at Sheppard. “Survivor’s guilt, I think they call it.”
“Yeah, that’s what they call it.” Sheppard nodded seriously, his eyes on Radek as though for the first time this morning he were actually seeing him.
“It was a little crazy that first year,” Radek said. “Intense. You know. When things are so intense, one feels things too strongly. When each day is a surprise.” He looked at Sheppard sideways. “I have tried to take it as a gift.”
Sheppard nodded, looked away, lifting his chin to the sea. Radek did not expect him to reply, but he thought he saw some of the tension in his face ease.
“That is all we can do,” he said. “We live with it, you and I.” His voice was matter of fact as he went on. “What did Kolya do? Beat you and torture you?”
Sheppard shrugged. “Basically. His usual schtick. Told me he’d killed the science team and he was going to blow up Atlantis and I had to give him the access codes. That kind of thing.”
“At least you did not go there,” Radek said.
“Where?”
“He did not torture your friends.”
Sheppard swallowed. “I don’t… This was about me.”
“Yes, I see that,” Radek said. “Torturing others would serve no purpose.”
“No.” Sheppard’s profile was clean against the morning sky. “He cut off my hand.”
“How very Biblical,” Radek observed. “Or perhaps that is Sharia law.” Sheppard looked at him sharply and Radek shrugged. “Teyla and Ronon would not know, and Rodney never reads anything that is not science.”
“That’s so screwed up,” Sheppard said.
“Yes, well. It is your head, after all.”
Sheppard smiled at that, as though the joke were on him. Which of course it was.
“There is nothing to do but live with it,” Radek said. “Or die.” He took a casual sip of his coffee. “And no, I do not think you are suicidal. If you were, you would only need to stop ducking.”
“That’s true. But I don’t.” Sheppard picked up his own mug and looked at it as if surprised that it were empty. “Like you said. Other times I don’t wish that it had been me.”
“I have tried to take it as a gift,” Radek said. “I do not think Peter would wish otherwise.”
“A gift.” Sheppard looked out to sea, then glanced back at him, one eyebrow quirking. “And that�
��s what you’ve got for me?”
“That is the thing I have that I think you will accept,” Radek said gently.
Sheppard looked away again, that same smile as though he were the fool. “Right.”
“I also have a bottle of Scotch, but it is six in the morning,” Radek said. “It is perhaps too early to start drinking.”
“Yeah, probably,” Sheppard said.
Radek smiled back. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
* * *
“Control, this is Jumper One,” Sheppard said over the radio. “Dialing out.”
Radek shifted out of Salawi’s way. “You will see the address lighting on your board, so that you can verify they are going where they intend to. There is the first symbol, you see, the ox head…”
She watched carefully as the symbols lit, comparing them seriously to the address displayed on her computer screen, although of course there was no error. It was not like Sheppard to make careless mistakes. The gate opened in a flash of blue fire.
Salawi smiled at the sight, and Radek couldn’t help smiling himself, remembering his own delight the first time he had seen the theoretical products of wormhole physics made real. It would be a shame to become too used to such sights to appreciate them.
The jumper lowered from the bay above, hovering above the gateroom floor, poised to thread the ring of blue.
“Good luck, sir,” Salawi said into the radio.
“Thanks,” Sheppard said. “We’re probably going to need it.”
Chapter Five: Radim’s Proposition
The Genii homeworld had not changed at all. In fact, for a moment, standing in the meadow full of flowers, the bees in the clover, John thought that he had stepped back in time as well, five years before to their first ill-fated trip there. Teyla stood beside him as she had then, but Rodney and Ford were gone.
Ford.
He wouldn’t think about Rodney being gone the same way, never to be recovered, an MIA on his file that would never be erased.
Carson bustled up behind him just as he cloaked the jumper behind them, looking up at the pristine blue sky. “Same old same old, I see.”
“Indeed,” Teyla said, as three Genii scouts rose up from the long grass, rifles pointed at them. “It is exactly the same.”
John spread his hands, though he kept his P90 in his right hand, holding it out on its sling. “We’re here to talk to Ladon Radim,” he said. “From Atlantis.”
The nearest of the men, a short man with a bulldog’s jaw nodded sharply. “We know who you are, Colonel Sheppard. You’ll come with us.”
It was a good sign that Radim’s men made no attempt to disarm them, despite the fact that their weapons were far superior to the simple repeating rifles of the Genii. John cast a sideways glance at them as they crossed the meadow to the decrepit barn which held an entrance to the Genii’s underground complex. Bolt action repeating rifles were a new innovation for the Genii. Five years ago they’d been single shot, more or less the equivalent of the 1853 Enfield. These were getting closer to the Brownings of the not-too-distant past. The Genii had been studying the weapons they’d captured, and pretty clearly they had the technology to understand what they’d seen. John’s own automatics were half a century in the future, but the gap was closing quickly. There had been Taliban still using the Brownings when he’d been in Afghanistan, with pretty deadly results.
The barn looked just as it had five years ago too, the kind of decrepit outbuilding that John had seen along the Arkansas highways not too far from his grandparents’ house thirty years ago, just a barn on a farm that nobody worked anymore, meadows left to go to seed with knee-high cedar trees. There was no reason to look inside. And if anyone did there was nothing to see except a broken down wagon minus three wheels and a pile of moldy hay.
One of the Genii soldiers scooped the hay aside with an impatient sweep, exposing the round hatch like the conning tower of a submarine. Just like Rodney had five years ago.
“After you, Colonel,” the Genii said.
“Don’t mind if I do.” John swung the P90 onto its sling to descend the ladder, a quick glance at Teyla showing that she was right where he wanted her to be, lagging back to let Carson go between them, looking deceptively small. The Genii tended to underestimate women, a facet of a pretty male dominated society that wasn’t lost on him. If it led them to underestimate Teyla, all the better. Her almost imperceptible nod told him she’d read his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them. Five years of working together had rendered any original roughness smooth. Not that there had been much. They’d always been a good team.
At the bottom of the ladder a higher ranking officer was waiting for them. “Chief Radim is looking forward to speaking with you,” he said politely.
“Great,” John said, casting a glance back up the ladder. Carson was halfway down, Teyla silhouetted against the opening at the top. “We’re looking forward to talking to him.” He hoped that was sufficiently diplomatic. It had better be. God help Rodney if his life depended on John being diplomatic!
* * *
Ladon Radim’s official office was underground, the same one that Cowan had used on their first visit. It was spartan, and there was nothing personal in it, not one photograph or book that spoke of personality at all. There were no messages here, unless they were in the utilitarian lines of metal desk and chair. At least there were no messages John could read.
He glanced sideways at Teyla as they were motioned into the office. She looked attentive, not tense. Canary in a coal mine, John thought. Teyla was their canary, and he’d learned to watch her reactions carefully in a situation like this.
“Colonel Sheppard,” Ladon Radim stood up and came around his desk to shake hands.
“Chief Radim,” John replied. He’d had the opportunity more than once to punch his lights out, and could only regret he hadn’t done it. But. Rodney. He’d put up with a lot more than Ladon Radim to find out where Rodney was.
“And Dr. Beckett.” Radim greeted Carson with rather more warmth. “I would like to tell you personally how much I regret the incident with Sora. She has been dismissed from our military. She was under direct orders not to interfere with your medical missions, and as I’m sure you know the breach of direct orders is a serious offense. I regret tremendously that you were inconvenienced.”
“She’s a bit of a loose cannon,” Carson said, shaking his hand firmly. “I do not hold you responsible in the least.”
Which was rich, John thought. As of course anyone under his orders was his responsibility, loose cannon or not. But. Diplomacy.
“You remember Teyla Emmagan, I believe?” he said.
“I do.” Radim turned and offered his hand to her as well. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And to see you, Chief Radim,” Teyla said. “I am glad to see that you continue to enjoy good health.”
Radim laughed. “I’m sure that you are! For the moment our interests run in tandem, something of great advantage to us both.”
“And what advantage would that be?” John asked brusquely.
“We are both opposed to Queen Death,” Radim said, his eyebrows rising. “Obviously she’s a disaster for both of us, and for every human in this galaxy.”
“Aye, pretty much,” Carson agreed. “She’s trouble.”
“The most powerful Wraith Queen in…” he spread his hands. “Recorded history, certainly.” Radim motioned to the three metal visitors chairs before the desk. “Shall I have my aide bring you some tea?”
“That would be wonderful,” Teyla said, catching his eye.
“I love tea,” John said, and sat down.
* * *
A quarter of an hour passed in pleasantries and tea, mostly discussion of various kinds of tea and some speculation between Carson and Radim as to how the camellia sinesis plant had been transplanted to the Pegasus Galaxy, while Radim’s aides stood silent watch beside the door.
“Maybe the Ancients liked th
eir cuppa,” Carson said, laughing. “It’s the only good reason I can think of.”
“I like mine,” Radim said, and his face sobered. “But you’ll be wondering why I’m wasting time talking about tea.”
“It had occurred to me,” John said bluntly.
Teyla cast him a warning glance. He usually had more patience, and he schooled himself to a pleasant smile, seeing the corner of Teyla’s mouth twitch as he did.
“We need each other,” Radim said. “Atlantis and the Genii, in both the long and short term.”
“Let’s talk about the short term,” John said.
Radim nodded. “You want information about where the Wraith have taken Dr. McKay, who has him, and where. You’d like me to bend my considerable intelligence network to that task, hundreds of agents on dozens of planets. You’d like me to retask my best men to find yours. It’s a risk of considerable resources, not the least of which are the lives of my men.”
“And so you want something considerable in return,” John said. “What?”
Radim leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. “We need a pilot.”
“A pilot for what?” John asked. “You guys don’t have planes. Or maybe you do, in the developmental stages. Prop planes, maybe even double engine. But you don’t need me for that. Surely you’d rather develop your own cadre of pilots. And those kind of aircraft aren’t going to pose any threat to Wraith Darts. They’d be shot down in seconds.”
“Of course they would,” Radim agreed. “Building an air corps would be a tremendous waste of money and resources on something that would be no check on the Wraith. We need something considerably better.”
Teyla’s foot brushed against his left foot, stepping down gently. Wait, she said. Hold on and listen to him.
Radim took a deep breath, his blue eyes on John’s. “We’ve found an Ancient warship. It’s a wreck, badly damaged, but my engineers say it is salvageable. We want it. We want to repair it, and certainly we want to reverse engineer systems if possible. We’re not planning to spend a century developing flight, Colonel. We don’t have the leisure. We need ships that can challenge the Wraith.”
