Casualties of war

Chapter eighteen

Outside the Hall, Elizabeth knelt to inhale the scent of the flowers that grew along one pockmarked stone wall. The very idea of having this moment of serenity, taken at the end of a full day of negotiations, would have been unimaginable just forty-eight hours earlier. She still marveled at the difference in tone between the previous talks and today's.

The decisions being made by Governor Cestan and Minister Galven were groundbreaking, to say the least. In short, the Nistra and Falnori would be trading roles and sizable expanses of territory. Where the informal border once ran east-west through the plains, it would now angle more north-south, so that the richest adarite veins would fall under the jurisdiction of the Falnori, and many of the Nistra would move into more fertile growing lands. The Nistra miners would train the gene-bearing Falnori in the techniques of adarite extraction, and in turn the Falnori would teach the miners about the best farming methods to support their community.

Atlantis had dedicated no small amount of effort to assisting in the transition. Currently, four jumpers were on the planet, already shuttling people to the areas where new settlements would be developed, and a team of scientists and engineers had begun work on a shield for the gate on the hill, now considered to be the south gate. Unlike the north gate, which had started its life as part of an orbital station, the south gate did not have a shield built into its systems. Fortunately, many of the expedition's engineers were conversant in all things Stargate-related, including the iris designed for the gate at the SGC. Although the two gates would not be able to function simultaneously, setting up a schedule of operation had been a relatively smooth process, to the relief of all concerned.

The sun had just begun to sink below the trees when she noticed a figure walking down the slope toward her. Elizabeth recognized the stride even before the unkempt hair became visible enough to be a dead giveaway. "How goes it, Colonel?"

"Radek thinks his team will be able to finish the iris tomorrow," John reported, slowing to a stop beside her. "They were able to salvage a lot of scrap material from the station segment that crashed with the north gate in order to manufacture the panels. Now it's just a matter of getting the panels in place and hooking up the control system."

She doubted it was quite as simple as that. "So far there haven't been any major disturbances among the displaced villages," she said, standing up. "A few disagreements and reluctant citizens, but hardly enough to be a problem. Both the Falnori and Nistra seem to be extremely adaptable when given a reason to be. It's amazing how quickly they came around to our way of thinking once we'd proven ourselves in their view."

"So if we'd just risked life and limb at the beginning of all this, we could have saved ourselves some trouble?" John cocked an eyebrow.

Again, not so simple, and this time Elizabeth suspected he knew it as well as she did. "I think they needed to see that we were truly on their side-both their sides, so to speak. Maybe getting involved in the battle was the only way to accomplish that. I don't know." Although she didn't like to think of violence as being necessary under any conditions, she was beginning to realize the limitations of applying Earth-based principles to Pegasus events. Her single-minded determination to mend this society's rifts had ended in an armistice, but it easily could have ended in disaster. She would not overreach that way again.

"This isn't going to be an overnight fix," she continued. "Many of these people will be setting up new homes, and there's a lot of infrastructure to rebuild."

"Well, we can help them with some start-up supplies, at least. Seems like it ought to get easier as they go."

A question in his gaze, John tipped his head in the direction of the gate. Elizabeth nodded, and they began a comfortable stroll up the incline.

"I think they'll settle in quickly," she agreed. "Galven has allowed Carson's staff to monitor a few of the miners over the next week to see how their neurological function changes as the adarite influence fades. If they're lucky, a lot of the effects will be reversible."

"Here's hoping."

He didn't raise the issue of the weapons research again, nor had she expected him to. Rodney had studied enough records from the Hall for them to agree with the Ancients' decision to abandon the concept. It was frustrating, but it was reality. The Ancient scientists had devoted a massive amount ofmanpower and resources to the study of adarite within a short time. Becoming increasingly desperate for technological methods to slow the advance of the Wraith, they had built up the ground facility and the associated orbital station in mere weeks, determined to maintain control of the planet against any level of Wraith assault. In that, at least, they had succeeded.

The discovery of adarite's harmful effects had not been made until the scientists took on humans to assist in their research. Then, like the expedition, they had reached a point when they became unwilling to subject themselves and their assistants to further exposure. As a consequence, there was little data on the long-term effects, irrespective of the presence of the ATA gene.

Elizabeth had raised that issue with Galven and Cestan, and she hadn't objected when they'd made clear their intentions to continue mining, at least for the near future. Already their societies had changed dramatically as a result of recent events. She wasn't in a position to dictate to them what risks they could and couldn't assume. They were aware of the potential hazard and would have to make their own decisions as to how to monitor it.

She changed the subject. "I trust you found a suitable planet for our friends from the Cadre?"

At her inquiry, the Colonel couldn't hold back a smirk. "Sure did. It's a quaint little out-of-the-way place with a scenic view of pretty much nothing." He gave a small shrug. "Probably won't take them all that long to find a way to limp home, wherever that is, but at least 418 is one planet they won't be able to bully anymore. If they're dumb enough to try coming back after the warning we gave them about the gate shields. .well, I doubt too many people will miss them."

That concept shouldn't have given Elizabeth as much satisfaction as it did. It wasn't terribly moral to imagine someone's molecules slamming into a technological brick wall, criminal or not.

In all likelihood, the Cadre would be up to their old tricks in no time, and she wasn't naive enough to believe that they were the only scavengers and miscreants prowling around. Still, Atlantis didn't have the resources or the mandate to police the Pegasus Galaxy. All her people could do was try to stamp out trouble where they found it. They had enough problems to handle already, with the constant Wraith threat lurking in the background and now the replicators joining in.

Of course, she had another, more pressing issue to address at the moment, and she had every intention of resolving it before the sun set. "John, before we head back…"

He must have heard something cautious in her tone, because he stopped walking only a step after she did. Taking the initiative, she withdrew his resignation letter from inside her jacket. "I'd like to talk about this."

She knew him too well to expect much of a perceptible reaction. Even so, it gave her hope to see a flicker of regret cross his face. "Did you read it?" he asked neutrally.

"I did." It had hurt, seeing the anguish between the carefully chosen lines, but she'd owed it to him. "And I understand why you felt you had to write it, so I won't trivialize your reasons or ask you to forget about them. But I also understand how you got to that point, even more so now that I can see how strongly I fixated on brokering this peace treaty. I was sure we were doing the right thing for these people, and I wanted so badly to achieve something unquestionably good for a change, that I lost sight of what was happening around me. I made a mistake, just as you did. We're human; we make those sometimes. So I'm asking you…" She held the envelope, slightly creased, out to him."…to change your mind."

His gaze remained locked on hers for a few seconds, and she was struck by a semi-rational fear that he wouldn't comply. Then, slowly and deliberately, he took the letter from her and pulled a small lighter from his pocket.

The paper was consumed in less than a minute. John held it by one corner, the brief, bright flare sharpening his features. When the flame neared his hand, he let it fall to the ground and extinguished it with the heel of his boot.

Relieved beyond measure, Elizabeth dug into her jacket again and came up with the other item he'd surrendered to her. "I believe these belong to you, then."

She pressed the silver wings into his palm, and he tightened his fingers around hers for a moment, letting the gesture convey everything he couldn't put into words.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"You're welcome."

They resumed walking, and within moments the Stargate loomed over them, surrounded by the iris implementation team packing up their equipment for the night. Elizabeth glanced over at her military commander again, this time with less certainty. "John, if you ever want to talk-about what that letter said or about anything else-you know where to find me."

He nodded and offered a too-ready flash of a smile, and she knew he wouldn't take her up on the offer. He never did, despite how closely they worked together. Although he'd always listen on the occasions when she absolutely had to get something off her chest, he was clearly more comfortable when such conversations were a one-way street. If asked, he evaded, saying that she had enough on her plate without adding anyone's personal hang-ups.

She understood that underneath John's casual demeanor lay a fiercely private man. As much as it disappointed her to know that he was keeping her at arm's length, she wasn't concerned, because she knew that there were others who could and would get to him-whether he liked it or not.

"You really think it's a good idea to go running with a bad shoulder?"

Ronon started to shrug, then thought better of it. He was tired of sitting around, and the arrow hadn't done a great deal of damage. Besides, he had goals for today. From a certain point of view, this was one of them. "Doesn't hurt that much."

"Yeah, yeah, just a flesh wound and all that." Sheppard didn't look convinced. "I'll go with you, but the odds are good that Carson's going to yell, and at that point you're on your own.

Giving a minor concession to his tightly-bound shoulder, Ronon set a sedate pace, one that his team leader had no trouble matching. He made up for it by taking a longer route than usual. The pair wound through much of the occupied portion of the city, jogging past corridor after corridor of laboratory space and down into the more secluded sections that housed the armory and some of the military training rooms.

They ended up on the skywalk that arced high above one of the central atrium areas. Ronon slowed to a walk for a few steps before leaning his good arm on the railing. Beckett probably had been right about not jarring the shoulder, but it didn't ache enough to mention. Taking a long drink of his water bottle, Sheppard braced his forearms on the railing as well and looked out at the activity below.

A squad of Marines emerged from the transporter nearest the shooting range. From their voices and expressions, it was obvious even from a distance that they'd won a competition with one of the other squads. Across the atrium, two blue-shirted scientists walked briskly, in the middle of a heated debate. Early sunlight spilled in through high-set windows and painted angular patterns on the floor, broken only by occasional footsteps.

"Another day, another dollar," Sheppard commented to himself before raising his water bottle again.

Ronon went for the head-on approach. "Would it have been hard? Leaving this behind?"

In mid-drink, Sheppard stopped and glanced over at him. His expression was guarded as he lowered the bottle. "You heard," he said unnecessarily.

"It wasn't much of a secret." A lot of the enlisted had been worried about who might come in to take their commanding officer's place. The rumors had mostly died down by the time Ronon had gotten back from 418 and out of Beckett's clutches, but he'd heard them anyway, and he wanted an explanation. "You really were going to give up and walk away?"

"Try not to take it personally." Sheppard's voice gained a defensive edge. "I wasn't ditching you, seeing as I had cause to think you were dead at the time."

"Is that the reason you did it?" Ronon wanted to know.

"It's not the whole reason, but yeah."

"What's the whole reason?"

The Colonel seemed to realize that he wouldn't get out of the conversation easily. His shoulders slumped a little. "I thought that you and Teyla were dead because I'd been so fixated on finding us a shiny new weapon that I let our guard down. The whole fiasco started with me." Leaning forward on the railing again, he cast a sideways glance at his teammate. "Not to wander off-topic or anything, but I don't really get why you're not pissed about that."

Starting to shrug, Ronon once more had to stop himself Force of habit. "You made a judgment call. The raiders messed it up. I don't expect you to be able to predict the future." He took a drink of his own water. "Plus, I'm not dead."

"Through some weird stroke of luck, no, you're not." Sheppard shook his head, his gaze hard. "That doesn't change the fact that I chose wrong, and I've chosen wrong before. It didn't start on this expedition, but I've had to make a hell of a lot more tough decisions here, and I'm not sure how long I can keep making them when the wrong ones cost good people's lives."

Sometimes Ronon managed to forget that, even though they ate meals and watched football together, even though they relied on each other's instincts without hesitation, he and John Sheppard weren't really peers. The other man had been in his military a lot longer and bore scars from a galaxy Ronon had never seen. Still, although Ronon didn't have the same burden of rank, he'd had experiences the Earth expedition couldn't imagine, and he was sure he knew more of conflict than almost any Marine who'd ever stepped through the gate.

"That's what command is," he said bluntly. "Losses are a part of war-any kind of war."

Sheppard spun toward him, his eyes flashing with pain masked as outrage. "You think I don't know that?"

Ronon had never seen that kind of emotion from his team leader before. It didn't deter him. "I think we both know it too well. But you need to give everyone else around here some credit for understanding it, too."

Some of Sheppard's anger-fueled energy dissipated, and he returned to staring out at the sun-streaked atrium.

"It's not that I think other people blame me," he said after a long silence. "Even I don't always blame me. It's just…" He let his head hang down over his bent arms. "The Asurans are going to keep hitting us, and sooner or later they're going to come for Atlantis. There's no getting around that. Maybe Colonel Carter and the rest of the SGC will have figured out a better disrupter weapon by then, but that's in no way a guarantee. Someday we're going to be minding our own business and those things are just going to show up, in a cityship or in a nanovi- rus or in some way we haven't even thought of yet. Hell, maybe the Wraith will beat them to it, for all I know."

"We'll fight them."

"Yeah, we will." The Colonel scrubbed a tired hand over his face. "But people will keep dying, no matter what I do."

There wasn't much Ronon could do to counter that statement. He thought for a few moments, watching the stretched light beams on the floor waver with the passing of a cloud. Finally he decided to go with the only reassurance that came to mind.

"When I joined the Satedan military," he began, "my whole recruit class thought our first field commander could do no wrong. He knew so much, and he never hesitated to act when needed. We would have followed him anywhere.

"One day we were assigned to sweep an area for Wraith monitoring devices, and someone triggered a trap. Ten of us were caught away from the rest of the division with Darts inbound. We could have tried to dig in and take cover where we were, or we could have tried to cover the distance back to the main fortified position before the Darts arrived. The commander ordered us to head for the fortification. Only six of us made it.

"He had to make a choice, and half my squad paid for it. After that, we knew he wasn't perfect. But we didn't admire him any less. We followed him because he made smart decisions, but also because he had the courage to make decisions even when he couldn't be sure of the outcome-and even when he knew the outcome would be terrible. It was a difficult duty and we respected him for doing it well."

Ronon drained the last of his water before speaking again. "Now I follow you, and I've never been sorry for it. You can't ask the ones you've lost, but I bet none of your men here regret it, either."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed down the sloped walkway, leaving Sheppard alone to think. He didn't know whether or not he'd done anything to help, but he'd said everything he had to say.

Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard,

I've thought about writing this letter a number of times over the past year Had I managed to force myself to do it at any of those times, it would have looked quite a bit different than this. I guess I could have written one at each of the so-called five stages of grief, although it took me a while to accept that grief was what I felt. After all, Aiden wasn't dead.

We watched the news religiously for the first two or three months, sure we'd eventually hear something about him. We couldn 't understand why no one ever mentioned his name. Hadn't he paid the same price as the other servicemen who'd been lost? I remembered what you'd said about how highly classified his assignment had been, but the injustice of it all still bothered me terribly.

When you sent his belongings home, I was furious with you. I was certain you'd given up on him after you'd promised to do everything you could to keep looking. After a few more months with no word, though, I started to realize that 'missing in action'wasn't the hope we'd thought it was. I still can 't fully believe that he's dead that would be betraying him, somehow but I'm beginning to accept that he won 't be walking through the door tomorrow, or the next day, and I can leave the house without worrying that the phone will ring with urgent news.

I spent a lot of time placing blame at first. I had plenty to go around. I blamed the government and the military, and of course you know I blamed you. Right to your face I accused you of abusing Aiden's faith in your leadership. I've come to believe it was shortsighted to say that without any understanding of the events that led to Aiden's loss. It wasn't fair to you, but mostly it wasn t fair to Aiden, because it belittled his judgment. And I realized that he was the one I'd really been trying to blame. I was angry at him for leaving us, for hurting his grandparents, without any explanation of how or why.

I don't ever want to feel like that anymore. I love my cousin, and I'm proud of him, no matter where he is. I have to believe that what he chose to fight for what all of you choose to fight for is right, even if I can 't always see the reasons. Aiden lived for the Marine Corps and for the people he served with. He trusted you, and so I do, too.

I'm not completely sure what I'm trying to say to you, Colonel, but I want you to know that I'm not angry anymore. With the help of caring friends, I've found a kind of peace. I hope you've been able to do the same.

After he'd read the letter straight through for the third time, John sat back against the steps of the southwest pier. His fingers reflexively tightened as an ocean breeze threatened to tug the paper out of his hand. Lara Ford was a strong person. Stronger than him, in some ways.

The bright-faced lieutenant with the goofy grin and the penchant for assigning lame nicknames had been a part of John's team for a year. He'd manned Atlantis's defenses after the Wraith had overrun the city. Even once the enzyme had taken hold and he'd barely resembled the Aiden Ford they'd known, his last act in John's sight had been to risk himself to save his former team. He deserved to be remembered. So did Harper, and Travis, and Markham, and all the others. John just wasn't sure how to accomplish that without going a little bit nuts in the process.

He'd heard and understood what Ronon had said ear her. Even the act of telling the story had meant something to him, because he knew he'd just heard more complete sentences from the Satedan than anyone had in months. He'd gotten the message, but he couldn't quite bring himself to fully accept it. Not yet.

The telltale snick of the door sounded behind him. He waited, not turning to look. Today was a down day for his team, and anyone who wanted his attention badly enough to find him out here could damn well hike his or her ass a few more yards.

A gentle hand dropped onto his shoulder, and Teyla gracefully took a seat on the step above his. "You and Chewie tag-teaming me today?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"You were missed at lunch," she responded. Teyla never pushed; that was one of the many things John liked about her. Without a word he held the letter out to her.

"I do not read your language well when it is written by hand." By her expression, though, he could see that she recognized the name at the bottom of the page. "This will take some time."

"I'll wait," he said simply.

While she read, he watched the waves, unchanging and inevitable, bumping against the feet of the city. After a few minutes, she raised her head and handed the letter back. "Have you found peace?"

He was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that. Otherwise they wouldn't be out here. "It's not that simple."

"The act is not. The question, however, is."

Exhaling a long breath, he pulled one knee up to his chest. "Not completely. I don't know how. I think maybe I'm afraid of being too okay with the losses. I mean, if a Marine dies and I just pick up and move on, what does that make me?"

Her approving look suggested that his honesty was welcome. "When we traveled on the Daedalus to Sateda, I told you that your people's dedication to each other impressed me. I should have said more. I should have told you that such dedication is one of the traits I admire most about your expedition and, even more, about you."

Caught off-guard by the praise, John couldn't figure out how to reply. Teyla might have counted on that reaction, because she pressed on. "The Athosian people have suffered great losses, both before and during my time as their leader. In spite of that, we have managed to move forward. But I believe that the day I accept a loss without pain will be the day I am no longer fit to lead."

She returned her hand to his shoulder and spoke with an earnestness that he couldn't help but believe. "Like everything else, John, it is a balance. As we have faith in you to keep that balance, you must have faith in yourself."

A knot of tension in his stomach seemed to ease at her words. He looked up at her with a faint smile, hoping she'd see the gratitude there. "I'm working on it."

"Work on it between meals," put in a deep voice. "You missed beef stew at lunch."

John started, whipping his head around to find Ronon leaning against the wall by the door. "God! Warn a guy, would you?" The big man only smirked. "Have you been there the whole time?"

Pushing himself off the wall, Ronon nodded at Teyla. "She's better at this stuff than me."

Yet he'd come along for the ride anyway. The knot loosened a little further. "I don't know," John commented truthfully, climbing to his feet. "You weren't half bad."

When the door snicked open again, it revealed an impatient scientist. "Are we done dealing with the identity crisis or whatever now? I need the Colonel in the lab."

John folded his arms, choosing to let Rodney's brash question roll off. "For what?"

"What do I ever need out of you in the lab? Your gene." Rodney heaved a put-upon sigh. "As much as it pains me to say this aloud yet again, you have significantly better control with ATA-enabled equipment than I do, especially when I'm trying to operate it and take readings simultaneously. So come be a good little guinea pig for an hour. You'll still have plenty of the day left to be philosophical."

Although John had a suspicion that this was Rodney's unique way of trying to help, he played along. "Yeah? What's in it for me?"

"Funny you should ask." With a waggle of eyebrows-Rodney could not pull off a devious look to save his life-he produced a plastic baggie containing one of Mrs. Beckett's prized scones. "All yours for a single measly hour of your time."

"How the hell did you pry that away from Carson?"

Rodney waved dismissively. "It's for the furtherance of science. If he knew, he'd be honored to contribute."

That only confirmed Rodney's motives. In deference to the man's hard-earned reputation as a self-absorbed pain in the ass, John thanked him the best way he could: by not thanking him. "Don't expect me to share this," he informed Rodney, plucking the bag out of his hand.

"Please. Like I didn't steal one for myself while I was at it?"

With the help of caring friends, Lara had said.

Maybe it could be that simple after all. At the least, it was enough to see him through to tomorrow.

John tucked the letter into his jacket and let his teammates lead him back inside.