Homecoming

Chapter Two Stasis

The battle was over. The impact of energy bolts on the shield had stopped some time ago, and then after a bit there had been a heavy thud — the city landing, surely. Guide — he would not think of himself as Todd, the meaningless sound the humans had applied to him — had seen nothing of Earth except the military laboratories, but he guessed that there were oceans big enough to land the city. Or perhaps the Ancients had built better than he knew, and the city could be brought safely down onto solid ground.

Speculation was pointless. He rose to his feet, paced the length of the cell and back again, one part of his mind counting the strides. That ritual had passed the time before, given him an illusion of freedom: count the steps until he knew them by heart, the number and the rhythm, every shift of weight and balance, then walk that pattern in his mind, letting them take him elsewhere, to other places with that same cadence, some multiple of those dimensions. In Kolya’s prison, he had walked half a dozen hives, first his own where he ruled, queenless, plotting revenge, and then, as he starved, back and back until he had walked in memory the hive of his true Queen, tracing the corridors where he had been companion and Consort. She had honored him with a son, and then, as his utility had grown, with a daughter, a scarlet-haired miniature of herself. One pattern of steps had taken him through the coiling maze of the ship-wombs, safe and secret at the heart of the hive. In memory he walked the narrow spiral, past the daughter smiling in her sleep, the touch of Snow’s mind gentle on his own. It had been a bright memory then, new and sharp, but too much handling had robbed it of its power, til at the end it had granted him no more than a few tens of minutes’ escape.

Here in the City of the Ancients, his steps in memory had taken him nowhere so pleasant. The rhythms he had found so far led to the last days of the war, when he had been young and hadn’t expected to live long enough to hibernate for the first time, pacing the corridors in an adrenaline fog, hoping for and fearing the call to man the Darts… That was no place to be, not imprisoned here, but the next pattern had taken him only to the days after Snow’s death, trailing the clevermen as they swarmed the ship, fighting to heal its wounds before the next disaster broke over them like a wave.

This most recent pattern was the best, though it had its own dangers. In it, he walked the broken streets of a human city, newly-fed and strong, a blade among blades, seeking the strongest of the survivors. They had Culled well already, their holds were full; this was sport, and glorious. They had climbed through the white-stone wreckage of a building, avoiding a well-set trap by the breadth of a finger and the quickness of a cleverman’s eye, tracked the humans to their hole and fed upon them, feeling their wounds close and heal. And stood together afterward, mind in mind, sharing, delighting in their strength and skill…

Guide let his eyes focus again, pupils narrowing against the too-bright lights. The red walls loomed above him, the space too high, too sharply angled, for comfort. With the memory gone, his hunger returned, burning in his chest. His feeding hand ached; he closed his fingers sharply, snarling to himself. Sheppard had fed him once, but that had been a matter of dire necessity, and the human had had an enemy to hand. It would not happen again. It was most likely he would die in this place, and the best he could hope for was the mercy of a quicker end.

It was worth it, though. The men who had betrayed him were dead, and, an unexpected bonus, Atlantis was removed from Pegasus. There would be time for his alliance to regroup, find a new leader — Bonewhite, most likely, or perhaps Iron. He regretted dying, would fight it if he could, but, on balance, the price was not too high. Sheppard had seen him starving, would know when the time came: Guide thought he could rely on him to give a clean death as he himself had once given the human life. He took a slow breath, letting his eyes drift out of focus, seeking inward for the escape of memory. He had patience still, and it was not yet time to die.

When John came into the gateroom in the morning Woolsey’s office door was closed. He seemed to be deep in conference with a woman John didn’t know, a black woman of Woolsey’s own age attired in an impeccable cream colored pants suit. A silk scarf around her neck gave a hint of color, and she and Woolsey seemed to be in agreement about something.

Frowning, John leaned over the control panel. Rodney was running a systems diagnostic on the gate from his laptop. “Who’s she? Another IOA member?”

Rodney didn’t look up. “No. New personnel. Dr. Eva Robinson.”

“Oh.” John relaxed. “For you, then.” They had not even begun to replace the science personnel they’d lost, and it was good to see Woolsey start doing something about that.

“Not for me exclusively, no.” Rodney tapped the keys furiously. “She’s our new psychologist.”

“Why do we need a psychologist?” John grumbled.

Rodney stopped and looked up. “Because we’re nuts.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I intend to. I’m going to be her very first appointment,” Rodney said. “Look, we haven’t kept a shrink more than six weeks since Heightmeyer was killed.”

“That’s because they take one look at us and quit,” John said truthfully.

“That’s because we keep getting these kids right out of school who have no idea what they’re getting into,” Rodney said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we have an incredibly stressful job.”

“What, because we might get killed any minute? And because weird shit happens all the time?” John shook his head. “We don’t need another roadblock, Rodney. Somebody who insists that what’s going on isn’t happening or that telepathy doesn’t exist or that somebody’s deluded instead of possessed. That’s not going to do anybody any good.”

“Heightmeyer was all right with that once she got used to it,” Rodney said. “She got over it. And Robinson’s no stranger to weird. She’s done some work with the SGC. Sam recommended her.” Rodney closed his laptop. “Besides, she’s just here for the duration of our time on Earth, to help with,” he made quotation marks with his fingers, “transition issues.”

“You mean like getting used to not getting shot at?” John glanced back toward Woolsey’s door again. “Good luck with that.”

“I think that’s exactly it,” Rodney said. “And you may laugh at my constant monitoring of my mental health, but you should think about this. Your brain is the only one you’ve got.”

“And you’ve got the most valuable brain on the planet,” John said.

“So I have to keep it in tip-top shape.” Rodney gathered his laptop up and stood. “Even you’ve got to change the oil in your brain from time to time.”

“That is a really disgusting metaphor,” John said. “And I’ve seen your brain, remember? I’ll pass on seeing it again.”

Rodney paled. “We could skip that. Drilling into my head with an electric drill…”

John put his hands in his pockets. “So you go tell Robinson about your phobia of electric drills. I’ll just…”

“…do the thing you do,” Rodney said. He looked for a second as though he wanted to say more. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he said.

Dick Woolsey watched the helicopter disappear into late afternoon sunshine, the last IOA members departing.

Teyla came and stood beside him, her face tilted up to watch the helicopter’s path. She said nothing.

Dick sighed. “They said no,” he said. “Or rather, they said they weren’t going to ‘make any precipitous decisions’. Which means Atlantis stays here indefinitely.” He turned to face Teyla, not wanting to see her expression but feeling he must. “That doesn’t mean that going back is out of the question. It just means it won’t be happening soon.”

Teyla bent her head. “If I had made the case better…”

“Or if I had,” Dick said bitterly. “No. It makes no difference what you or I said. They were already decided to decide nothing. You don’t know the IOA. That’s how they work. Inaction is always the best course of action. Let’s make no hasty decisions. Let’s wait for circumstances or someone else to make the decision for us. It used to irritate me when I was the United States’ IOA rep. Now it makes me livid.”

“You do not look livid,” Teyla observed.

“I’m quietly livid.” Dick looked out over the sea toward the distant city of San Francisco. “We try again. We try something else. I’ve asked O’Neill to get me a meeting with the President.”

“And that is important for what reason?” Teyla asked. “Can he overrule the IOA?”

“Not technically,” Dick said. “But possession is nine tenths of the law, and we are in American waters.” He shrugged. With all that had been happening this year in the Pegasus Galaxy, he had lost track of all that happened on Earth. “We have a new president who just took office. O’Neill has briefed him on the Stargate program — he didn’t know it existed a month ago. I’ll take our case directly to him.”

“And he can decide in our favor?”

“Possibly he can swing things in our favor,” Dick said. “We’ll see. I really don’t know what to expect.”

“You know that you may use me in any way that will help,” Teyla said.

Dick turned and met her grave eyes. “I appreciate that. And you have been very helpful.”

“I am an Athosian trader,” Teyla said. “I make impossible deals.”

“Colonel Sheppard.”

Sheppard broke stride, looked over his shoulder, frowning. It was never a good day when Carson Beckett called him by his title.

“If I might have a word with you, Colonel?”

Worse and worse. Full rank and formal diction. Sheppard stopped, and took a careful breath. “I’m scheduled for a meeting with Homeworld Command and the IOA in about forty-five minutes—”

“I know.” Beckett’s face was grave, the worry lines between his eyebrows even more pronounced than usual.

Sheppard waited, but the doctor didn’t say anything more. “All right. Lead on.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Beckett said, still formal, and turned on his heel. Sheppard trailed behind him down corridors that seemed oddly crowded, full of strangers in unfamiliar uniforms. They were heading toward the medical section, but Beckett seemed inclined to avoid the transporters, took them down a set of stairs instead.

“This isn’t anything good, is it?” Sheppard asked, as the lab door closed behind them. They’d come in the back way, avoiding the areas where the SGC personnel were working, and now Carson touched Ancient fittings, adjusting the lights and bringing a bank of screens to life. They showed feeds from the security cameras, Sheppard realized, four different views of Todd in his cell. The Wraith was sitting quietly, back straight, hands open on his thighs. Sheppard could see the opening of the hand-mouth crossing the right palm, the slit-pupiled eyes staring at nothing — meditating, you might have said, except he doubted the Wraith did that.

“It depends on your perspective, of course,” Beckett said, “but — no. I don’t think so.”

“Todd?” Sheppard turned his back on the screens. He didn’t like the look of things, didn’t like the Wraith’s unnatural stillness. He cut off that thought, made himself focus on Beckett.

“Aye.” Beckett looked past him toward the images in the screens. “There’s a good deal we don’t know anyway, like how long they can go between feedings, and it’s not a question he’s willing to answer. But I believe he’s beginning to starve.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” Sheppard said, more forcefully than he’d meant. He didn’t know if this Beckett knew that he’d — dealt with — that problem once before, and it still showed up in his nightmares. “It’s not like we can ask for volunteers.”

Too late, he remembered the Hoffan volunteer, stooped and sick, willing to face the worst death he knew to give his people a chance at life. And then it had all gone horribly wrong… From the flicker of expression, so did Beckett, but his voice was steady when he answered. “No. But that’s not our — his — biggest problem.”

“All right.” Sheppard waited.

“I’ve received a communication from an IOA representative,” Beckett said. “They’ve been approached by a — member state, though they’ve too much delicacy to say which one. They want Todd for research.”

“No way.” Sheppard shook his head, hard. “They can’t do that.”

“Oh, they didn’t put it in so many words,” Beckett said. “And if you asked them outright, I’m sure they’d deny it, tell you it was just a security issue. That’s what they called it, mind you, a matter of security. Said it wasn’t safe to keep him here, so close to a gate, and where he could conceivably get hold of the coordinates of Earth. But then you get down to the fine print, and there’s a paragraph or three about offering him the chance to earn privileges by cooperating with medical teams, and about non-cooperation being unacceptable—” He stopped again, controlling himself with an effort. “I won’t be part of it, John.”

“How the hell are we going to stop it?” Sheppard demanded. “They’ve got a point about the security issue—”

“Stasis.”

Sheppard stopped, his mouth falling open, closed it with a snap. “Yes.”

Beckett nodded. “It makes sense. He won’t starve, which means nobody has to face the problem of feeding him, and while he’s in the chamber there’s no way he can escape or steal information. It’s perfect.”

“The IOA won’t go for it,” Sheppard said.

“But Mr. Woolsey will.” Beckett smiled. “And he’s still in charge here. That just leaves convincing him.” He nodded toward the screens.

“You want me to talk Todd into going into stasis,” Sheppard said.

“Aye.” Beckett’s smile widened. “For some reason, he seems to like you.”

“Great,” Sheppard said, under his breath. “Now?”

“No time like the present,” Beckett answered.

Sheppard touched his earpiece, trying to order his racing thoughts. “Lorne.” Get out of the meeting, that was first, then talk to Todd—

“Colonel?” Lorne’s voice sounded in his ear.

“I need you to take over a meeting for me. IOA and Homeworld Command, in—” Sheppard glanced at his watch. “—half an hour. It’s nothing special, they just needed someone from Atlantis’s military contingent to be there.”

“Uh, sir—” Lorne paused, and Sheppard could almost hear him rethinking his protest. “What do you want me to tell them when they ask where you are?”

“Tell them something came up unexpectedly.” Sheppard smiled to himself. “A security matter. Nothing serious, but needed to be locked down right away.”

“All right.” Lorne’s tone was frankly dubious, but Sheppard ignored it.

“Thanks, Major. Sheppard out.”

No time like the present, Beckett had said. Sheppard looked at the screens, seeing Todd motionless in the spartan space — bed, table, chair, all stripped to the bone to keep him from taking advantage, the forcefield giving a blue tinge to everything even in Atlantis’s regular lighting. Experimentation — Sheppard shook his head. Even if he hadn’t had plenty of ugly examples from Earth’s past to think about, there was Michael fresh in his memory. Not a good idea. Not at all.

There was a Marine detail on duty at the entrance to the cells, two of them holding back to keep an eye on the monitors, the third forward where he could see into the cell. They were new to Atlantis, people Sheppard hadn’t seen before, and he returned their salutes with more precision than usual, gave them his ID to log this visit into the system.

“Thank you, sir,” the blond one said — the name patch read Hernandez — and returned the ID.

“Better stay well back,” the second guard said, and Sheppard glanced over his shoulder.

“Has he tried anything?”

“Not yet.” The young man — Pedersen — looked faintly embarrassed, and the third one shrugged uncomfortably.

“It gives you the creeps, sir.”

“No kidding.” Sheppard looked past them to the cell. It couldn’t be a lot of fun standing guard down here, stuck watching an alien that you knew thought of you as food, that you knew was getting hungry… He made a mental note to talk to the Marine captain in charge of the details, suggest he assign at least one experienced man to each guard team. They’d talk, of course, probably even exaggerate the Wraith threat, but at least they’d be talking facts rather than rumor, and that should make a difference.

And he was just putting off the inevitable. He took a breath and moved closer to the forcefield. Todd’s eyes shifted and focused, the pupils widening for an instant, then narrowing to hairline slits. There was a fractional hesitation before he pushed himself to his feet and came to stand just within arm’s reach of the field. Up close, without the intervention of the TV cameras, Sheppard could see the changes even more clearly: the hair was dull and coarse, the bones sharp under the skin, the way his fingers of his feeding hand curled inward, protectively. He cleared his throat, trying not to see.

“Hi, Todd. Keeping busy?”

The Wraith bared his teeth in what Sheppard thought was amusement. “Oh, I keep myself occupied.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“The space is somewhat — lacking in amenities,” Todd said.

“No hot tub?” Sheppard asked.

“No food.”

“Sorry.” Sheppard had been expecting a verbal attack, managed to answer with patent insincerity. “For some reason, there’s a shortage of volunteers just now.”

“Pity.” Todd’s gaze wandered sideways, fixed speculatively on the Marine in the doorway.

“You wouldn’t enjoy them,” Sheppard said. Marines taste terrible: he bit back the words before they could be misconstrued.

“You were very persuasive before,” Todd said, and in spite of himself Sheppard flinched.

“That was a one time only deal,” he said. “You haven’t got anything to offer.”

“You haven’t asked,” Todd said.

Sheppard shook his head. “You’re out of power, have been for a while. You’ve got nothing. Sorry.”

“I’m sure we could come to some sort of accord.”

“You wouldn’t like the price,” Sheppard said, and this time it was Todd who flinched. “Some of our scientists are — quite curious — about the Wraith.” He paused, wondering if he needed to say more, but Todd’s eyes flickered in comprehension.

“I have already spent far too much time with your doctors Beckett and Keller.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” Sheppard said.

Todd’s feeding hand contracted into a tight fist, but he managed a creditable shrug. “But then, perhaps new doctors will provide new — opportunities.”

“Only for them.”

There was a heartbeat of silence between them, and something changed in Todd’s face. “Sheppard—”

“But—” Sheppard spoke before Todd could finish whatever he had been going to say. There were places they did not need to go, not today. “Seeing as we don’t really want you making any more new — opportunities — Dr. Beckett’s come up with an alternative. We happen to have a stasis chamber to spare. You might even find it cozy.”

Todd blinked once and began to laugh, head thrown back, the white hair flying.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are an optimist, John Sheppard. Only you would come up with such a solution.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I had thought—”

Todd stopped abruptly, but Sheppard thought he could guess what the Wraith would have said. He’d been prepared to ask — not to beg, but to ask, as of right — for mercy, and that was something Sheppard wasn’t prepared to hear because he didn’t intend to have to give it.

Todd bared teeth in something between a snarl and a smile. “And once I am in hibernation — forgive me, stasis — why should I trust you to wake me?”

Sheppard matched him tooth for tooth. “Because you don’t have a choice.”

This time, Sheppard was reasonably sure the expression was a smile. “I don’t suppose I could have my own clothes back, instead of these—” Todd plucked at the front of the gray jumpsuit he’d been given in place of his fine leathers. “—ridiculous things?”

“Unlikely,” Sheppard said. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

Todd nodded gravely. “When?”

“No time like the present.”

The Wraith snarled again, but quietly — more comment than complaint, Sheppard thought.

“Your people are in a hurry, Sheppard.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Sheppard asked. “The chance to figure out what makes your kind tick—” The words rang hollow, his imagination betraying him again. Not even the Wraith deserved to become medical experiments — it was too close to horrors that he didn’t want to see Earth repeat.

“Whereas we already know much about you,” Todd said, but the words lacked force. “Very well. I accept your offer.”

“Good.” Sheppard touched his earpiece. “Dr. Beckett.”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“You can go ahead and get that stasis chamber ready. Todd’s willing.”

Even in the radio’s tinny reproduction, he could hear Beckett’s relief. “Right, then. We’ll get on it, Dr. Keller and I.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Sheppard looked back at the Wraith, safe behind the forcefield. He wanted to say something more, something to acknowledge what he was giving — and what he was asking, too — but the words weren’t there. And maybe they didn’t need to be. “I’ll ask about the clothes. No promises.”