SGA-17 Legacy 2 - The Lost

by Graham, Jo

  Of course it is, Dick thought to himself. Who else? They hadn’t spoken in nearly twelve hours. “I’ll take it,” he said.

  The image of Ladon Radim stabilized as he made his way to the screen. “Mr. Woolsey.”

  “Good morning, Chief Radim.”

  “I hope that you can give me the timeframe in which I may expect my sister and our warship to return to us,” Radim said. His voice was pleasant, but the way he asked the question left no doubt that it was an ultimatum.

  “My scientists tell me it will be a day or two before the warship is spaceworthy,” Woolsey said, cringing inwardly as he said it. It sounded false to his own ears even though it wasn’t. Dr. Zelenka swore that it would take them forty eight hours to make the ship safe to fly — absolute truth of the unpalatable kind. “As soon as the repairs are completed adequately, our crew and Chief Scientist Radim will embark.”

  “I am sure your men can accomplish much in little time,” Radim said with a friendly smile. “I will look forward to hearing that they have left in twenty four hours.”

  “We will do our best,” Woolsey said, but the transmission was already cut at the other end. Smooth. Very smooth. The Genii thought they were lying, all the more galling since they weren’t.

  Woolsey opened a radio channel. “Dr. Kusanagi? How are the repairs to the warship coming?”

  “They are in progress, Mr. Woolsey,” Dr. Kusanagi replied, the sounds of heavy equipment in the background. “We are currently repairing hull breaches just aft of the engineering section. They are fairly serious breaches, and it is requiring a good deal of welding and heavy labor. And even so I would not say that it is a good job.”

  “Just do your best,” Woolsey said. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to get to the Genii homeworld.”

  She sounded exasperated, as much as Dr. Kusanagi ever did. “There are no shortcuts in hull repair, Mr. Woolsey. Either it holds in vacuum or it does not.”

  “Understood,” Woolsey said. And they certainly couldn’t afford to lose the ship. They’d never explain that to the Genii.

  Woolsey stopped himself. Of course, he would never risk his people on a ship that wasn’t safe. Or that was at least so unsafe as to amount to negligence. Unsafe was something his people did every day. If he never let them do something unsafe… And where was the line between cavalier disregard of human lives and safety? That was the question that Sheppard had wrestled with on the mission. When is prudence the better part of valor, and when does it make it impossible to function?

  These equations looked very different from Earth. These decisions seemed cut and dried to those who had never made them. No matter where his career carried him from here on out, he would not forget that. He would not forget the agony that went into the decision, and the guilt when it went wrong.

  He should probably have Sheppard back in here at some decent time and talk over the personnel changes on the team. Sheppard had done the math wrong, and probably no one felt it more keenly than he did. But that was part of being in charge, of moving from a field command into greater responsibility. It was a big change, and some people couldn’t make the transition. No disrespect to them. There were many fine field people who were not cut out for supervisory and policy positions, and many people who’d never done their time in the field who wanted to make policy. Dick Woolsey knew that. He’d been one of them. He’d learned the hard way, and he’d made some enemies in the process. He only hoped that now they were more generous to him than he had been to them.

  Case in point, Colonel Samantha Carter. He’d botched her relief in Atlantis, but that wasn’t the first time he’d gone to the wire with her. That had been over the SG-1 mission that had cost the life of Dr. Janet Fraiser. He hoped some of the bad feeling had been made up in goodwill over Atlantis’ departure from Earth. He hoped. Because now he was going to have to work with her as commander of the Hammond, a position that answered neither to him nor to the IOA, but only to the Air Force. She couldn’t tell him to go to hell in so many words, but there would always be excellent reasons not to cooperate if she didn’t want to. He had enough of that already with Caldwell. And with Caldwell none of it was personal.

  Also, Sheppard didn’t get along with Caldwell, while Sheppard and Carter were close. Dick had no illusions that if he told Sheppard to do one thing and Carter told him another that he’d keep control of Sheppard for ten minutes, especially since Sheppard could hide behind the excuse that Colonel Carter ranked him.

  He hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. But when Weir and Caldwell had clashed, the only thing that had shored up the civilian authority in Atlantis was Sheppard’s backing, tacit and implicit. He could rely on none of that.

  And any moment now he would have Carter here, returning to the Pegasus Galaxy for the first time since her precipitous and no doubt embarrassing departure. A welcome would be in order, something to allow everyone to vent their feelings, their chance to say nah-nah-ni-boo-boo. He could be gracious and allow everyone to make their thinly veiled comments about how nice it was to have Carter back in Atlantis and how much they’d missed her with the distinct implication that everything had gone to hell in her absence and that they would rather have her in the driver’s seat than Dick Woolsey. He should let Carter rub it in his face however much she wanted. It might diffuse the tension in the long run.

  The presence of Dahlia Radim provided the perfect excuse for a welcoming dinner. Atlantis was short on formal social life, and pulling out the stops would serve both the diplomatic situation with the Genii and soothe Colonel Carter at once. Yes, that would be ideal. The sort of formal dinner for senior staff that less chaotic postings held more regularly. Ostensibly in Dahlia Radim’s honor, such a dinner could be replete with tributes to Colonel Carter, which would doubtless also impress upon Radim the importance and power of Earth’s new battlecruiser.

  Yes, Dick thought, folding his hands. That was a plan. Now to see if the redoubtable Amelia Banks could put it together on twelve hours notice…

  * * *

  Jennifer’s quarters were mercifully quiet for all of thirty seconds, and then Newton peered out from the bedroom and began mewing piteously. She’d left out extra food for him, and Marie had promised to come by and feed him today if she’d still been away, but he twined around her legs wailing as if he’d been abandoned for days.

  She picked him up, stroking him with a flicker of guilt. He’d been more Rodney’s pet than hers, acquired in a spirit of ‘if I can’t have Atlantis, at least that means I can have a cat,’ and now Rodney wasn’t here to feed the kitten too many snacks and let him sleep on a warm laptop case at night.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, scratching him under his chin. Newton switched from complaints to a rattling purr, writhing against her hand in kitten ecstasy. At least there was someone around whose problems were easily solved.

  She slipped off her radio headset, and then winced as it almost immediately chirped at her. She settled it hurriedly back in her ear. “This is Dr. Keller,” she said.

  “Banks here, Dr. Keller. Mr. Woolsey has asked me to inform you that you’re requested to attend a dinner he’s giving for our Genii guest Dahlia Radim at 1800 hours tonight. He said formal dress,” Amelia added.

  “Oh,” Jennifer said. She was aware that a better response was required. “Tell him… tell Mr. Woolsey that of course I’ll be happy to attend. Formally dressed.”

  “I’ll do that,” Amelia said, cutting out.

  Jennifer put the kitten down on the bed, in hopes that would keep him from immediately wrapping around her ankles again, and briefly contemplated the contents of her closet. The only thing that could remotely be considered formal was the black dress she’d worn to the conference she’d attended on Earth with Rodney. They’d both nearly frozen to death, and she’d ended the evening with Rodney’s tuxedo jacket around her shoulders and his arm around her waist, holding on very tight —

  “It’s a perfectly good dress,” she said grimly to New
ton, “and I think all the water stains came out, and it’s the dress I have, so I’m going to wear it. So that settles that.”

  She glanced over to see that Newton was curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed, his tiny eyes shut. Rodney was trying to be strict about not letting the kitten sleep in the bed, but Jennifer wasn’t planning to leave her laptop on as an alternate source of warmth, and anyway she didn’t mind the company.

  “Rodney will say I’ve been spoiling you,” she said, and tried not to wonder whether he was ever really going to get the chance.

  * * *

  “Sheppard, you’re in my parking place!”

  John grinned at the viewscreen in the control room, now showing Sam Carter with an impish smile on her face. “Sorry about that, Colonel. I happened to pick up this Ancient warship somewhere, and it takes up the whole driveway. We’re doing a little classic car restoration around here.”

  “Where do you want me to put the Hammond then?” she asked, and John didn’t miss the caressing note in her voice on her ship’s name. If the shiny sleek Hammond were his, he’d be in love with it too.

  “Think you’ve got room to bring it down over on the south pier?” he asked.

  “The pier that’s to the south, or the pier that we used to call the south pier?” she replied, glancing forward at the control panels of the helmsman ahead of her. Or possibly out the main forward window at Atlantis on approach over a cloudless cold sea, weak afternoon sun casting the shadows of the towers long over the water.

  “The pier we used to call the south pier which is now the west south west pier,” John clarified. “I think there’s room, though it’s tighter.”

  “We can put the buggy in a pretty small space,” Sam said, grinning back. “Improved reverse thrusters.”

  “Send me to school, Colonel,” John said. Her smile was infectious.

  “Believe I will, Sheppard.” She cut the transmission cheerfully.

  John switched to the external cameras to watch the Hammond land. Built on the same lines as the Daedalus, she incorporated the most recent generation of features, including more heavily armored superstructure around the bridge and larger and wider landing bays for 302s. With her paint shiny and every antenna trim, she was indeed a beautiful ship. It was a pleasure just to watch. He could only imagine how much fun she’d be to fly.

  John glanced back toward the office door. Woolsey had his head buried in his laptop. John shrugged and looked at the controller on the gate array at the near board. “Sergeant, will you tell Mr. Woolsey the Hammond is in? I’m going down to the pier to greet them.” Woolsey wouldn’t want to go down anymore than Elizabeth had. She’d always made a point of making Caldwell come to her. But he could damn well go down if he wanted to.

  “Yes, sir,” Sergeant Taggart replied. “I’ll let him know.”

  * * *

  The wind was gusting as John came out of the tower and onto the pier, low clouds scudding in from the west, where the sun was dipping into purple shadows. More snow on the way, he’d bet. He’d seen those kinds of clouds over the Rockies as a boy, and it always meant another blow. It was well below freezing, so every flake would stick.

  Sam Carter and several of her crew came down the ramp from the hatch. She shivered as she stepped out of the shelter of the ship wearing only her flight suit. “Nice climate you’ve got here, Sheppard.” Her hair was more bronze than golden now, caught back in a long tail instead of severely braided as it had been when she first came to Atlantis.

  “Welcome to Atlantis, Colonel,” he said formally. It was what he’d said the first time, more than two years ago, now. He’d been glad to see her then, worn out from those sleepless and hopeless days after they’d lost Elizabeth. Having Carter step through that Stargate was like getting a real grownup, and he hadn’t realized how relieved he was until, those first briefings completed, he’d fallen into bed and slept the clock around.

  “It’s nice to be back.” Sam looked up at the bright towers, a smile on her face as though she’d missed them. “Really nice.”

  “Please let your crew know to make themselves comfortable,” John said. “We’ve got the locker rooms open with unlimited fresh water showers and there’s still the lunch line in the mess for another hour. Airman Dees there has maps of the city and transporter codes for your people, so they don’t get lost. But of course you know where everything is.”

  Sam turned to her first officer. “I’m sure we’ll be glad of the showers after twelve days in space.” She gave John another smile. “Colonel Sheppard, this is Major Tyrone Franklin, the Hammond’s first officer.”

  “Major.”

  “Colonel.” They shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Franklin said. He was a young black man in his thirties, rather short and squarely built, with a solid handshake and a direct gaze.

  “Some of it good, I hope,” John replied.

  “All of it, sir,” Franklin replied.

  “Franklin comes to us from flying a Lancer in Iraq,” Sam said. “And he did a tour at Kandahar a few years ago.”

  “Oh,” Sheppard said. Suddenly he realized why the guy looked familiar. Lieutenant Franklin had just arrived at the base when Mitch and Dex went down. He remembered him now, looking grave and spooked in the background while Colonel Chapman explained that what they had to send home was less like remains and more like forensic evidence. He felt the cold suddenly, and it didn’t come with the rising snow-laden wind.

  Sam had seen the change in his face, and she’d been around the block enough times to read it. “Franklin, it’s quite a city,” she said.

  “My first alien city,” he said with a look like he still didn’t quite believe it. Last year he’d been in Iraq. Now he was flying a spaceship to an alien city in a different galaxy.

  “The city’s pretty safe,” Sam said. “But bear in mind we’re still in a forward base. Something can come up any minute. We need to keep a full watch on board at all times. The other two watches can enjoy some liberty. You’ll arrange the rotation.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll go do that now.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Franklin turned and hurried back up the ramp, and Sam turned to him. “Franklin’s a good guy, John.”

  “Yeah,” John said, moistening his lips against the wind. “I didn’t really know him in Kandahar. He came in right before I left. Just three or four weeks, something like that.” He made himself focus on her face. “How’d the Hammond shake out?”

  Sam’s eyes lit. “Oh, she’s a beauty! You have to come aboard and let me give you the tour! She makes the good old Prometheus look like a Wright glider!” She glanced back toward her ship fondly. “The only thing is that we don’t have our 302s aboard yet. Homeworld Command didn’t want to delay our launch, given the problems you guys had getting here, to wait on our 302s when we had a glitch with them.”

  “A glitch?” John raised an eyebrow.

  “A glitch involving the Tok’ra and a very long story.”

  “That kind of glitch.” John nodded. They had moved to the door of the tower, out of the wind. “I’m glad to see you, Sam.”

  “It’s good to be back.” She put her hands on her hips, nodding fondly at the doors and the scoured concrete of the pier beyond. “I’m really sorry about Rodney.”

  “We haven’t given up,” John said tightly.

  “I know,” Sam said, and her eyes were grave. “And I’m here to help.”

  John swallowed. “Thanks.” Franklin and four of her crewmembers were coming down the ramp again, walking toward them. “And you’re not going to believe what’s up.”

  “What?”

  John shook his head. “We’re giving you a formal dinner.”

  Sam hesitated a moment, as though wheels were turning in her head, and then burst out laughing. “And here I left my Class A’s in Colorado Springs!”

  “It’s officially for Dahlia Radim,” John said.

  “Then I’d better hit the shower
s, hadn’t I?” Sam said.

  Chapter Twenty-five: Shapes in the Snow

  “All right, ma’am?” Major Franklin’s brow was furrowed as he met Sam at the Hammond’s main hatch, though his flight suit was spotless. “I’m sorry I don’t have service dress with me.”

  “Neither do I,” Sam said, gesturing down at her own flightsuit. Given that her closet on the Hammond was ten inches wide, her class As were at home, neatly shrouded in plastic in the closet, just like her bike was in Jack’s garage. Somehow she hadn’t thought she’d need them in the Pegasus Galaxy. “You look fine.”

  “I’ve never gone to a formal dinner in an alien city,” Franklin said. “With aliens.”

  “The aliens won’t seem very alien to you,” Sam said encouragingly as they hurried across the pier to the door. The wind had picked up as night fell, and it was going to start snowing any minute. “The humans in the Pegasus Galaxy look just like us, give or take ten thousand years of separation. They’re not really any different. You’ve got the same kind of politics, the same motivations. People are people anywhere. It’s just their customs that are different.”

  He followed her along the corridor. Left here, she thought, to the transport chamber. If she remembered correctly.

  “The Genii are a fairly conservative society. Very structured, very rigid in their collective labor. Their science and technology belong to the state, as does their agriculture, and the free market is limited to crafted items and consumables. Big families, fairly strict gender roles, low tolerance for homosexuality. Chief Scientist Dahlia Radim is the first female Chief Scientist the Genii have had. They say it’s because she’s the head of state’s sister.” Sam shrugged. “They’re probably right. The Genii don’t often let women rise to those kinds of positions of authority unless they’ve got powerful patronage. But I would not underestimate her, Franklin. Just because she’s the only woman in the boys’ club and she got there because she knows nuclear physics…”

  “I follow that, ma’am,” Franklin said fervently. He could see the direction that was going.