Unascended

Chapter Nine

While they waited for Ember to arrive, Rodney took the opportunity to say goodbye to Jennifer. He wasn’t sure what there was to say that they hadn’t said already when she left Atlantis, but he also couldn’t just walk away without a word. The rest of the team were politely pretending to be interested in examining the other end of the long room, with the exception of Ronon, who was still nowhere to be seen.

“You’re really all right,” Rodney said.

“I’m really all right. Living on a Wraith hive is… interesting.”

“I would think disturbing. Maybe bordering on traumatic.”

“Well, I’ve had the retrovirus, so there’s that,” Jennifer said. “And I stay away from the feeding cells.”

The memory was intense and overwhelming: standing in the feeding cells, consumed by hunger, every instinct telling him that the humans hanging there were food. For a moment his feeding hand cramped with hunger, even though when he looked down, his palm was entirely human, the skin unmarked.

“Rodney?” Jennifer said in concern.

“I’m fine.”

“I know it’s disturbing. Believe me, I’m disturbed. But at least while we’re running these trials, every person who’s had the retrovirus who gets fed on is one fewer person who gets eaten. And it gives me the opportunity to make a case for having humans aboard under relatively humane conditions.”

“Voluntarily, or… ”

Jennifer shrugged. “Is Newton in Atlantis voluntarily?”

“Newton is a cat. We couldn’t exactly have him sign a consent form.”

“The Wraith think we’re animals. Because otherwise eating us would be too disturbing for them. The advantage of having worshippers rather than prisoners is that you can train them to do useful things, and if they get out of their cage they won’t wreck your house. That’s the angle I’ve got to work with here.”

“Some of them know we’re not cats.”

“And some of us know they’re not monsters. But there’s an entire galaxy full of Wraith and humans who don’t think that way. The thing I can do about it is the thing I’m doing.” She shook her head. “Besides, Alabaster really is helping these people.”

“Not exactly for altruistic reasons.”

“I won’t say the Wraith don’t get anything out of it. But… ” She turned to look at the end of the room where the more seriously ill and injured pilgrims were resting on their beds. “That little girl’s leg was caught under an overturned cart. Her ankle is basically crushed. I’ve given her all the painkillers I can, but even if I tried putting a cast on her ankle, she’d probably never walk normally again. I could take her back to Atlantis, get our best orthopedic surgeons to piece her leg together like a jigsaw puzzle, and hope we’re in time to preserve a reasonable amount of function in the joint. Or Alabaster could heal her in five minutes.”

“So they need a doctor here.”

“They need an entire medical clinic with an electric generator, a stocked pharmacy, and someone to teach surgical techniques. And maybe we can set that up for them eventually. But they don’t have it right now. What they have right now is the Bride. Sure, she’s not here all the time, but are we?”

She looked over at the elderly man whose wife was still spinning. “That’s Garrel. His son was getting ready to take over his fishing boat for him, only then there was a freak storm last year and his son drowned. If I had him back in Atlantis, I could treat his arthritis with painkillers and steroid injections. But that’s not going to extend his life by a single minute, or make him able to spend all day working on a fishing boat again. What Alabaster’s offering means he can keep working his boat until his grandson’s old enough to take over, so that he can feed his family.”

She nodded toward a weedy boy in his early teens sitting eating stew. At his side, a middle-aged woman was knitting, her wooden needles flashing as something indeterminate and wooly took shape on her lap. “That’s the boy and his mother.”

“So which of them… ” Rodney couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

“The mother,” Jennifer said. “I’m trying to keep the trials of the retrovirus limited to adults, even if people here don’t entirely understand why I don’t consider a thirteen-year-old boy to be a grown man capable of giving informed consent. I’m doing the best I can, here, Rodney. And how hard that makes it to sleep at night is not the important thing right now.” Jennifer took a deliberate breath. “So. How is everyone in Atlantis?”

“Fine. You know, the same as usual. I’m sure Carson wishes you were there to help, but he’s managing.”

“Carson has a lot more patience for being Atlantis’s chief medical officer than I ever did,” Jennifer said. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“He is. Fine. We’re all fine.”

“That’s good,” Jennifer said. She looked like she was running out of things to say, or at least things that she felt like it was a good idea to say. “How’s Newton?”

“He’s fine, too,” Rodney said. “But he misses you.”

“I’m sure Newton will be okay.”

Rodney took a deep breath. “Of course he will.”

“McKay!” John called from across the room. “Ember’s outside. Let’s go find Ronon.”

Jennifer shook her head. “That should be a fun ride home,” she said dryly.

“Tell me about it,” Rodney said.

The ride home was tense, but nothing compared to Woolsey’s expression when he met them in the jumper bay.

“Would anyone care to explain?” he asked.

Everyone shrugged and looked at John, who squared his shoulders.

“Alabaster’s condition for providing us with information was having one of her people accompany us as an observer.”

“I see.” Woolsey looked as if he were counting to ten, and then tapped his radio on. “Colonel Lorne, please meet me in the gate room with a security team, to escort our Wraith guest to his quarters.”

“A security team will not be necessary,” Teyla said.

“Yes, it will,” Ronon said.

“Colonel Sheppard, I’d like to see you and your team in my office,” Woolsey said, and left them standing around the jumper looking like children who’d been called to the principal’s office.

“I’ll just go and… ” Daniel began.

“He means you, too,” John said.

*Trouble?* Ember asked silently. He might have meant the question only for Teyla, but Rodney could hear him, too.

*No,* Teyla reassured, at the same time that Rodney said, *Maybe.*

Teyla gave Rodney a quelling look, and then spoke aloud. “We’ll talk after we have had a chance to debrief.”

“Of course,” Ember said aloud. *At least you are not throwing me in a cell.*

*We would not do that to our guests,* Teyla said.

*Probably,* Rodney said. It was uncomfortably easy to slip back into using Wraith telepathy, and to think of their guest not as “Ember” but as the flavor of banked-fire caution for which any spoken word was an inadequate approximation. He couldn’t help wondering if the Wraith still thought of him as the racing, skittering brilliance that had been “Quicksilver.”

Ember looked at him with yellow eyes as if he meant to answer, but Rodney deliberately closed his mind; he really didn’t want to know.

“Come on, McKay,” John said, giving him a push in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go get yelled at.”

Woolsey steepled his fingers and looked at them sternly from across his desk. “I would like to know just how you suggest I inform the IOA that we are planning to share Asgard technology with the Wraith.”

“Well, that’s really a byproduct of the fact that we’re cooperating with the Wraith to find Asgard settlement sites,” Daniel said. This was an old game, and one that he felt he had mastered. “It’s not that we’re planning to share the technology, it’s just that if we happen to find any technology and we have one of the Wraith with us, of course they’ll find out as much as we do about it. Initially. But there’s no need to share any further conclusions we come to as we study… whatever it is we find.”

“I see no need for that either,” Teyla said.

“But we are still cooperating with the Wraith,” Woolsey pointed out. “For a project that, whatever its scientific value, was initially supposed to be an archaeological study of Ancient settlement, and was not supposed to include bringing one of the Wraith to Atlantis.”

“It’s like you don’t want us to do this,” John said.

“Right, but the opportunity to cooperate with the Wraith to find Asgard technology, which we’ve all agreed could be of considerable value to Earth, is really just a byproduct of the strategic reason for bringing one of the Wraith to Atlantis,” Daniel said quickly.

“And what would that be?”

“An exchange of hostages. Not that anyone is putting it that way, but they have Dr. Keller aboard one of their ships. We’re in a better position to feel confident that she’s going to remain unharmed if we have one of their people assisting us in Atlantis.”

Woolsey considered him for a long moment. “I always used to hate it when you did this,” he said.

Daniel shrugged a little. “I know that.”

“All right,” Woolsey said finally. “Find out what Ember knows about the Asgard. If you identify a promising site, we will send him along with our team to investigate.”

“We should show him the climate control device,” Rodney said.

“You mean the weather machine,” John said.

“We don’t know that it’s a weather machine, but, yes.”

“I thought you said it was a weather machine.”

“I said that our best hypothesis based on our preliminary examination of one piece of broken machinery—”

“Gentlemen,” Woolsey broke in. “It’s extremely hard for me to justify sharing the one discovery of Asgard technology that we have made entirely on our own with the Wraith.”

“You need their help to figure it out?” Ronon asked.

“No, I do not need their help to figure it out,” Rodney said indignantly. “I was merely interested in comparing notes with someone who’s worked with similar technology in the past. That doesn’t mean that I’m dependent on someone else’s analysis—”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Woolsey said. “Because for now, I’m going to have to say no. Please confine yourselves to finding out what the Wraith know about additional settlement sites.”

“Without actually telling Ember what we’re looking for,” Daniel said.

“I’m sure you can manage that.”

Woolsey watched Sheppard’s team, plus Dr. Jackson, troop out of his office. Sheppard lagged behind.

“Yes?” Woolsey asked as the door closed.

“I was just wondering,” Sheppard said. Worrying, more likely from the expression on his face.

“Wondering what?”

Sheppard sat back down in the visitor chair, leaning back as though he were getting comfortable for a long stay. “There seems to be some tension between you and Jackson. I was wondering why.”

Woolsey took a deep breath. “That’s a long story.” And not one he really wanted to tell, actually. He wasn’t proud of his part in it, not anymore. “Let’s just say that I had some problems with SG-1 when I worked for the IOA. I don’t expect Dr. Jackson has forgotten.”

“I wouldn’t forget if somebody authorized my execution either,” Sheppard said mildly. “That’s not how we deal with compromised personnel around here. I’m just having a little trouble squaring that story with how things went down when we got Rodney back.”

Woolsey felt his face heat. Of course Sheppard had heard all about it from Carter. Of course. He and Carter were tight, part of the same military fraternity that he was forever excluded from. “The situation was different,” he said tightly.

Sheppard crossed his legs, leaning back to see the gateroom floor. The Stargate was dialing, the regularly scheduled communications dump from the SGC most likely, since nobody had called him and clearly an access code had been received. “I’m just wondering what the situation will be if we find Elizabeth. As much of a long shot as that may be.”

“Obviously given what happened with McKay…”

“I’m not saying that we shouldn’t be careful,” Sheppard said. “Hell, given the mess we had with McKay, we’ve got to be. But I want to know what the parameters are.”

“You mean you want to be sure that if we find someone claiming to be Dr. Weir we won’t just shoot her,” Woolsey said.

“That,” Sheppard said.

Woolsey steepled his hands, giving himself time to think. “You think we will find her. After how many years?”

“Jackson was gone a year before SG-1 found him,” Sheppard said. “If Elizabeth has ascended, and if the so-called rules are what Jackson says, yes, I think she’s out there.” His eyes met Woolsey’s, clear and absolutely frank. “And if she’s out there, we’ll find her.”

Woolsey took a deep breath. “Then I suppose I’d better start laying the ground work,” he said. “We’ll need an Alpha Site quarantine. There’s no way we can bring her straight back to Atlantis until we’ve completely ruled out any Replicator involvement. Understood?”

“Understood.” Sheppard got to his feet. “Then I’ll get Lorne on that. Just in case. He can make that a priority before his next scheduled mission.”

“Very good,” Woolsey said. He watched Sheppard leave. Two solid years of working together, and he still had no idea what made the man tick.

His laptop chimed softly, letting him know that the email download from the SGC had arrived. One was marked highest priority. He opened that one first and read it with an increasing sense of dread. Then he opened the intercom and called Sheppard back from where he’d been standing in the control room, leaning over Zelenka’s shoulder to look at something on his screen. “Colonel Sheppard, can you come back in here a moment?”

Sheppard stuck his head back in. “What’s up?”

“Come in and close the door,” Woolsey said grimly. He waited until Sheppard had done so and stood with his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been ordered to report to the SGC tomorrow morning, their time. I’m supposed to leave things ‘in good order’ with you in charge.”

“Not again,” Sheppard said.

“I’m afraid so.” Woolsey looked away from him, a not entirely unexpected sorrow rising in his chest. “I told you this business with McKay might cost me my job. It looks like it has.” He looked up. “I’m not sure I’m coming back this time.”

“When they tell you to bring your stuff…”

“Exactly.” Woolsey made himself smile, though he suspected it was more of a grimace. “No mention of a review. Just a recall. That means there’s no hearing and no defense. The IOA has made their decision.”

“I’m sorry,” Sheppard said, and he sounded like he meant it. “I’m really sorry to see you go.”

“Well. It’s one of those things.” Woolsey tried to sound firm and dispassionate, though he didn’t at all. “I knew this might happen when we played fast and loose with the Wraith. But that was a risk I was willing to take.” He was afraid he was going to say entirely the wrong thing if this conversation continued, something completely unprofessional. “Just wanted to let you know,” he said, and stood up. “I’m going to go do some packing now.” He pushed past Sheppard and made it into the transport chamber before his expression changed.

Lorne assembled his team in the jumper bay. Sgt. Anthony and PFC Harper were both relatively new to Atlantis, part of the Marine contingent assigned to replace people who’d been transferred out while they were on Earth. They’d spent most of their stay in the Pegasus galaxy so far getting oriented and then immediately facing a Wraith invasion of the city. Pretty much par for the course as far as newcomer orientation went.

The two other Marine privates were even greener, having come out with the latest shipment of supplies on Daedalus a couple of weeks ago. They looked like they could barely resist bouncing up and down on their heels at the prospect of actually getting out of the city to explore another world.

“All right,” he said. “You’ve all read the initial survey team’s report on M47-533. They say it’s suitable for use as an alpha site. I want you to go out there and find out whether that’s still true. We all know that there are a million things that a three-hour survey of an entire planet can miss. Let’s spend a little more time checking this place out before we set up a lot of tents and equipment there.”

“Yes, sir,” Anthony said. “How big a base are we talking about? Do we need to be able to evacuate the entire Atlantis expedition there?”

“Not this time. Figure we need room for maybe a dozen people, but they may have to be there for some time. So think about the logistics of that: they’ll need food, water, and shelter. As well as not to be eaten by carnivorous beasts, fried by weird radiation, or phased into another plane of existence by glowy rocks. Got it?”

“No glowy rocks,” Anthony said. “Yes, sir.” He looked like he thought Lorne was joking. Lorne wished he were.

“As you can see from the survey team’s report, they found some evidence of previous human activity near the Stargate. Who can tell me what that’s likely to look like, based on their report?”

“Some rocks with carvings on them, sir,” Harper said promptly.

“That’s right,” Lorne said. The rest of the team looked relieved. It made him wonder if they’d read the report at all. It was, to be fair, five pages of incredibly dry briefing materials, but the scientists had an alarming way of burying important warnings in the middle of snooze-inducing paragraphs. “So don’t put the alpha site down on top of them, or the archaeologists will come yell at us. It doesn’t matter if even they think they’re boring rocks. They’ll still come yell at us, or, more to the point, at me. Which I will not like. Understood?”

“Don’t touch glowy rocks,” Anthony said. “Don’t touch rocks with carvings on them. Got it, sir.”

“Then go do it,” Lorne said. “And don’t be a wiseass.”

“Understood, sir,” Anthony said.

“So let’s talk about Asgard settlement sites,” Daniel said. He had volunteered his temporary office as meeting space, and Rodney and Ember were both frowning at a star map display on the screen set into one wall.

He would rather have been talking about the Wraith, he had to admit. They knew so little about the Wraith and their language and social structure, and now he had an opportunity to answer some of the questions no one had apparently even thought to ask. Probably because they were too busy trying not to be turned into breakfast.

But this was the lead he had, and he needed to follow it. Because it would fill in a valuable piece of the story of the exploration of the Pegasus galaxy, and because it might lead them to useful technology. Which ended up driving their exploration every time, no matter how strong a case he made for pure research.

Maybe he should have stuck to looking for evidence of Ancient settlements. It was just hard to ignore the possibility of uncovering an entirely new part of the story. And that was how he’d ended up going down a dozen different avenues in the last few years, the history of the Goa’uld and the Asgard and the Ancients, finding a hundred starting points for a lifetime’s worth of work. If only he had a hundred lifetimes.

Ember’s hands moved over the computer console, highlighting a series of worlds and displaying their gate addresses.

“All unexplored by us,” Rodney said. “And according to the Ancient database… uninteresting. One planet with a small human population, limited by the fact that most of the planet is water.”

“Most of our planet is water,” Daniel said.

“Most of the planet as in 99 % of it,” Rodney said. “There’s no major land mass, just a lot of small volcanic islands. It hasn’t been on our list because we figured the chances of anybody still being alive there were minimal, never mind the chances of their having anything we wanted.”

Daniel considered the display. “What about the others?”

“This one was briefly settled and then abandoned because the atmosphere was proving toxic to the crops people were trying to plant, and the native vegetation was toxic to humans. I’m not sure why this one even has a Stargate, since it’s covered so deep in ice that the only reason to go there is if you really like skiing.”

“What is skiing?” Ember asked, his head to one side.

“It’s a winter sport involving wearing curved sticks… ” Daniel began.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rodney interrupted impatiently. “My point is that there’s no reason to go there. And the other three don’t have Stargates at all.”

“Which gives us the best chance of finding unspoiled archaeological sites,” Daniel said.

“If you like doing archaeology in a spacesuit. There’s no guarantee there’s even breathable air there.”

“Two of these worlds have human populations,” Ember said. “Or did, long ago.”

“How do you know?” Rodney asked.

Ember looked at him as if the answer should have been obvious. “They were part of our hive’s feeding grounds. We culled both worlds.”

“What do you remember about them?”

“What do you expect me to remember?” Ember said, sounding a little frustrated. “It was thousands of years ago, and I never set foot on these worlds. Our clevermen are not part of culling missions. I only remember them at all because some of the blades who went down to the surface brought back interesting artifacts.”

“Interesting how?” Rodney asked.

Ember let out a slow breath. “My queen has instructed me not to provide you with information about any technology we possess that you might not.”

“And we’re not supposed to tell you what we’ve already found,” Daniel said. “Which makes this a lot harder.”

“It is understandable if our people do not trust each other,” Ember said. “But a complication, yes.” He folded his hands together, considering. Daniel noticed to his interest that there was a chip in the surface of one claw, and that the nail underneath was a far duller color. He wondered if it was some kind of artificial polish, or—

“One of our finds was a holographic projector,” Ember said abruptly. “Less sophisticated than the devices of the Lanteans, which surely you have had ample opportunity to study.”

“So it won’t do any harm to tell us about it,” Daniel agreed.

“It was a small thing that could be held in the hand. The image it produced was that of one of the creatures you call the Asgard.” Ember shrugged. “The device seemed to do nothing else. We assumed it was some kind of… ” He sketched with one claw uncertainly in the air, as if trying to find a word for some concept that didn’t fit neatly into Wraith. “Decoration,” he settled on finally.

And that was interesting, because the Ancient language that the spoken Wraith language had evolved from had certainly had words for “art” and “sculpture” and “portrait.” The Wraith had visual decoration — their clothes were heavily ornamented, and at close range showed details that were probably more perceptible to Wraith eyes than human ones. But not representative art. He wondered if that was a cultural taboo, and if so, where it had begun, and when the words had fallen out of their language.

And none of that got them any closer to finding out more about the Asgard. “If there are human populations on worlds the Ancients never settled, it’s very likely those are some of the sites where the Asgard were performing experiments on humans,” Daniel said.

“Or sites settled by the Travelers,” Rodney said.

“Maybe. I don’t know how long humans in the Pegasus galaxy have had access to spaceships of their own. The impression I got was that most of the Travelers’ technology was scavenged — stuff that the Ancients left behind, or maybe stuff they considered junk. I still think it’s our best bet, though.”

“Which means we’re checking out the worlds about which we know absolutely nothing,” Rodney said, frowning.

Daniel shrugged. “What are the odds of it being dinosaurs again?”

“Never say things like that,” Rodney said.

“Is this seat taken?”

Elizabeth looked up from her PDA. Every other table in the airport coffee shop was full, and only a handful of seats remained. A man hovered next to the table, his overcoat over his arm which was burdened with a briefcase, a paper cup of coffee in his other hand.

“No, not at all.” Elizabeth rearranged her papers to share half the table, moving her own coffee cup closer, and then bent over her PDA again.

The man sat down and unfolded the Washington Post which he read while he stirred nondairy creamer into his coffee without looking at it. He was thirty-five maybe, good looking in a rugged, dark-haired way, wearing a well-cut conservative suit. Business traveler, she thought. The headline screamed “Will They Impeach?” He was turned at a slight angle, so it was hard to read the article where it dipped below the fold. Something about House sources on the likelihood of a party line vote…

“Here.” He handed her the page with a smile. “You can have the first section. I’m done with it.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth was faintly embarrassed. “I didn’t…”

“I’m done with the first page.” He picked up the second section. “You shared your table. I’ll share my paper.” He smiled and unfolded the second section, disappearing behind it.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She bent over the first section, reading the article with half her mind. It was unusual to share. It broke the unwritten code. You don’t see other people, don’t talk to them. Everyone maintains the polite fiction that they aren’t in a crowd and that other people aren’t tripping over their rolling bags. You don’t make eye contact. You certainly don’t share your paper as if the person sitting across from you in a Dulles coffee shop was an actual human being. It’s impolite.

As if he’d heard her thought, he looked around the edge of the paper and smiled. “Thank you for sharing your table.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said.

He disappeared behind the local section again. It was the Virginia edition. He’d probably bought it at the airport.

“You live in NoVa?” she heard herself asking.

He folded the paper down. “Fairfax. You?”

“In the District.”

He nodded. Someone stumbled over Elizabeth’s roller bag, kicking it and going on without pausing. She pulled it closer under the table. The coffee shop was packed. Through the windows across the concourse she could see the rain-streaked runway. Travelers hurried by with overcoats, not glancing to the left or right. “Messy day,” he said.

“Yes.” She picked up the first section and disappeared behind it, feeling oddly flustered. The rest of the article about Gingrich, the latest from Ken Starr…

“Have a good trip.” He got up, leaving the paper on the table. “Enjoy the paper.” He tossed his paper cup in the trashcan and headed off down the concourse.

“Thank you,” she said.

Her plane was late boarding, no surprise. She had a window seat on the left side, one seat beside her on the aisle and then the three across of the center section and then the two on the other aisle. Elizabeth had brought the paper with her and read the second section while the rest of the passengers boarded. There was a small commotion in the aisle, and she looked up.

A harried Spanish-speaking woman was remonstrating with the flight attendant. “But I am sure we had two seats together!” She had a little boy about three years old with her. “We have B and C!”

“B is here,” the flight attendant said. “C is across the aisle.”

“But…”

Elizabeth stood up. “I’ll be happy to trade with you,” she said in Spanish. “Why don’t you take A so that you can sit next to him, and I’ll take C?”

“That is so very kind of you!” The woman beamed. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no trouble.” Elizabeth got up and moved out of her seat, letting the woman help the little boy in and get him settled. She sat down in C. Which didn’t have a window, but there probably wouldn’t be much to see anyhow.

“That was kind of you.” The passenger in D had come in from the other side and was in his seat. It was the man from the coffee shop. “Hello again.”

“Hello.” He seemed almost like an old friend. “So you’re going to Ecuador?”

He nodded. He’d taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. “Quito.” He’d opened his briefcase and taken out a medical journal.

“You’re a doctor?”

“A pediatric dentist,” he replied, hunting around for the end of his seat belt. “I’m with Project Toothfairy. Every year I take three weeks’ vacation from my practice and go down to volunteer with a free clinic in Ecuador.” He shrugged. “It’s what I can do.”

“It’s an excellent thing to do,” Elizabeth said. “Those clinics make so much difference on a person to person level, changing lives.”

He looked at her keenly. “State department?”

“Amnesty International.”

“Ah.” He offered his hand. “Simon Wallis.”

“Elizabeth Weir.”

Elizabeth shook her head, the reverie of memory shredding like clouds. Out the window of the Durant’s mess she could see the blue shifted stars of hyperspace.

Dekaas sat down opposite her. “Thinking?”

“Remembering,” Elizabeth said. It was bittersweet.

“Someone you loved?”

“Yes.”

Dekaas took a bite of his bowl of warm grains, that same deceptively unobtrusive tone in his voice. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t remember.” She had thought he was dead, but no. That was a false memory, implanted by… She shivered, her whole body shaking.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. And Simon wasn’t dead. That memory was false. Though why it being false was utterly terrifying…

Simon knew she was dead.

That thought came to her suddenly, and though she didn’t know why, tears sprang to her eyes. He would have been told. Someone — who? Someone would have told him. It would have been someone’s job to tell him. To tell him she wasn’t coming back.

An older man in a blue suit, colored ribbons on his chest, a man you could scream at in your grief and he would take it, take every hurled accusation and question, a man who knew what it was like to lose someone you loved… “O’Neill,” she said.

“That’s the name of the one you love?”

“No. O’Neill will have to tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That I’m dead,” Elizabeth said. She looked at Dekaas. “I’m dead. I died nearly three years ago.”

Dekaas’ voice was calm and kind. “You don’t seem to be dead,” he said.

“Something happened.” Elizabeth put her hands to the opposite shoulders, trying to control her shivering. “My body died.” She looked at him, a sudden terror gripping her. “What if I’m not human? What if I’m not really alive?”

Dekaas put his head to the side. “How could that be?”

“What if I’m artificial? A robot? A Replicator?” Her voice shook.

“I can certainly find out if you are or not,” Dekaas said. He got to his feet and held out a hand to her deliberately. “Let’s go back to the infirmary and run some tests.”

“Will that tell you…”

“It will certainly tell me if you’re not a biological being. It will certainly tell me if you’re a Replicator.”

He was humoring her, she thought. Dekaas didn’t think for a moment that she was other than human, but he was being kind. Perhaps he was a psychologist as well as doctor, to lay to rest an irrational fear with hard facts. But he was wrong. She wasn’t human. It would be better not to know that. It would be better to lie. For her. Not for anyone else.

Elizabeth got to her feet. “Promise me,” she said, meeting his eyes firmly. “That if I am a Replicator you will kill me.”

Dekaas paused a long moment. Then he took a deep breath. “I promise,” he said.