Unascended

Chapter Ten

Lorne strolled out of the Stargate and looked around the barren plateau. “So, this is our potential alpha site. What are we looking at here?”

“Nothing. Nada,” Sgt. Anthony said. “The science team’s survey report checks out. You got your cactus, your little lizards—”

Lorne squinted at the bushes. “Poisonous lizards?”

“Sir, I have to ask, why does everybody assume they’re poisonous lizards? Why is it that when we report that we’ve seen foot-high cactus, everyone asks ‘but does it have poisonous spines that kill you if you touch them’?”

“Actually, those would be venomous lizards,” PFC Harper said, tugging at one corner of the tent that she and two of the other Marines were setting up. “Poisonous is when it kills you if you eat them. Venomous is when it kills you if it bites you.”

Anthony gave her a suspicious look. “How do you know that?”

“I listened to the briefing when we got here, Sergeant.”

“You also probably heard in the briefing when you got here that planets with Stargates that aren’t inhabited are usually uninhabited for a reason,” Lorne pointed out.

“We’re in the middle of a desert,” Sgt. Anthony said. “Plus the Stargate is on top of a big shelf of rock, and if you want to go anywhere else, you have to rappel down a cliff and then hike across several more klicks of desert before you get to — wait for it — more desert.”

“It can’t all be desert,” Harper said.

“Actually, it is,” Lorne said. “Up near the poles, it’s colder desert.”

“We took a jumper up and scanned for life signs. We didn’t find anything bigger than your shoe. The only sign anyone’s ever been here is some carvings in the rocks up here. We took pictures of them for the archaeologists, and we’re not going to set up the alpha site on top of them.”

“Show me the carvings,” Lorne said.

Anthony led him some distance across the rocky tableland to a spot where several large boulders might — or might not — have originally been dragged together into an intentional grouping. Several of them were chiseled with a series of crosses or X’s above with what was probably lettering. It wasn’t any Pegasus alphabet he recognized, and he’d seen a lot of them by now.

“Anything on the lettering?”

Anthony shrugged. “Not that I’ve heard. They’re going to run it through the computers in case it turns out to be just another phonetic alphabet for writing Ancient.”

“All right,” Lorne said. He turned around again, looking out at the distant horizon. The only sign of movement from this distance were some large black birds riding the thermals over the desert. “Those birds giving you any trouble?”

“They’re just big birds, sir.”

“Team Sheppard ran into big birds that set a grass fire and then chased them with nets,” Lorne said. “The Pegasus galaxy is like that.”

“Noted, sir,” Anthony said after a moment. “These birds appear to be… big birds, sir. I think they’re hunting some little mouse things. We’ve seen a couple of those. They were running away. In my professional opinion, not posing an immediate security threat, sir.”

“Don’t get smart,” Lorne said. “Whenever you’re sure there aren’t any potential security threats on an uninhabited world, it pays to think again.” He was beginning to feel like he’d given that same speech so many times he could recite it in his sleep. Each new crop of Marines and airmen thought they knew everything, and some of them would even survive long enough to learn better.

“Sorry, sir. But, seriously, I think this place is deserted because it’s too dry to grow crops here, there aren’t any animals big enough to be worth hunting, and if there are any valuable natural resources here, they’re nowhere within miles of the Stargate. I think this planet is just really boring.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” Lorne said. “All right. Start setting up an alpha site here. Any local water sources?”

“None near enough for us to use. We’ll have to bring in water.”

“All right, let’s get it done. Set up a portable AC unit, too. And keep an eye out for hostile wildlife. Or strange radiation. Or anything that glows. Or anything out of the ordinary at all. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Anthony slowed down, stopping some distance away from where Harper and the other Marines now had the tent most of the way up. “I hear that Dr. McKay has been telling people that Elizabeth Weir is still alive.”

Lorne considered several possible answers to that question, including “None of your business, sergeant,” and decided that ducking the question wasn’t going to do anything about Atlantis’s thriving rumor mill. “That’s what I hear,” he said.

“So… is he cracking up, or what? I mean, after the Wraith thing… ”

“Dr. Beckett and Dr. Keller cleared him to return to duty,” Lorne said. “Lots of people around here have been through stuff. I wouldn’t go around saying you think one of the senior staff is crazy unless he’s talking to the walls or hallucinating Wraith under every rock.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Besides, maybe he’s right.”

Anthony looked at him sideways. “You think that’s possible?”

Lorne shrugged. “Possible? Sure. Is it likely?” He shook his head slowly. “Dr. Weir was a pretty special lady. She held this expedition together for a whole year when they couldn’t get any reinforcements from Earth and had no idea if they were ever going to get home. When she died, that was pretty bad for everybody. When she sort of came back, and then they had to leave her frozen in deep space — that was worse. There are a lot of people on this expedition who still want to believe there’s something they can do for her.”

“Even if there isn’t.”

“Probably it’s a wild goose chase,” Lorne said. “But a few wild goose chases won’t kill us. Better than leaving one of our people out there if there’s any chance she’s alive and we can get her back.”

“Copy that, sir.”

“Besides, we are in the Pegasus galaxy,” Lorne said. “Stranger things have happened.”

Ronon stood in the door of Dr. Robinson’s office, not sure whether he was supposed to come in without an invitation. “Are you busy?”

“Actually, no,” she said, looking surprised but not displeased. “Come in and sit down, please.”

He did, settling into her chair and considering how to put his question. He didn’t want to insult Eva, who he had decided he liked; for a doctor from Earth, she’d taken surprisingly well to being chased through ice caverns by fanged predators and other risks of living in the Pegasus galaxy. And at least she seemed old enough to be able to give good advice, and had been around military people before. Dr. Heightmeyer had always seemed like she didn’t know much about soldiers.

“What exactly is it that you do?” he asked finally. “I mean, what are you supposed to be for? We had doctors on Sateda, but they were just for actual medicine.”

Eva looked less offended than he had thought she might be. “You know, a lot of people ask that question,” she said. “The way I see it, I’m here to help you understand the way you think and feel, and maybe make some changes to how you think about things so that you can feel better and do your job better.”

“Like?”

“Like, sometimes people who’ve been injured, or who’ve seen bad things happen in combat spend a lot of time thinking about those things, to the point that it interferes with their daily life. One thing I can do is help people change how they think about those things, and when they think about them, so that they don’t cause as many problems for them.”

“Everybody here has seen bad things.”

“Often that’s true,” Eva said. “And that can put a strain on a community, but it can also strengthen it when people can help each other to survive and rebuild. I can’t fix anybody, but I can help people find ways to help themselves and each other.” She looked at him curiously. “Is any of this sounding familiar?”

“Maybe. There were some people in the military, older people who’d seen a lot, who would give you that kind of advice. Told you to ask for leave, or to spend more time doing something that wasn’t fighting. That kind of thing.”

“And did people listen to them?”

“Sometimes.”

“And did it help?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m here if you want to talk,” Eva said. “Or if you want advice. I know I can’t imagine some of the things you’ve seen and done. But some of them I can imagine, because I’ve heard them before. War on Earth isn’t always very pretty.”

Ronon shrugged. “War isn’t. It’s just necessary.”

“Sometimes it is,” Eva agreed. “I wouldn’t work for the military if I didn’t think that was true.” After a minute she added, “So was there something you wanted my advice about?”

“Not today,” Ronon said, and Eva shrugged philosophically.

“You know where to find me,” she said.

Richard Woolsey worked late on what was probably his last night in Atlantis. After all, they’d said to leave everything in good order. That meant not leaving a bunch of paperwork hanging around for whoever the next person was. For Sheppard, likely. The IOA might spend months arguing over his replacement. In the meantime the work would fall on Sheppard.

The first time he’d stood in this office had been when the Ancients had briefly returned to Atlantis, at least the crew of one ship who had reclaimed their home and turned out the people from Earth like dogs who’ve overrun a temporarily abandoned building. He’d been one of the dogs. It was a new experience being nothing among people to whom all the accomplishments of his entire civilization were nothing, to whom all the great ideological struggles of Earth’s past and present were nothing more than the bickerings of squabbling toddlers. Every consuming problem, every rock-solid identity, whether ethnic, religious or racial, was to them simply foolishness, a bunch of little children arguing over whether it was cooler to wear red sneakers or yellow sneakers.

And yet they’d been killed. The Replicators had exterminated them mercilessly, and they had no idea how to survive that onslaught. Only he and Jack O’Neill had survived. Not that he took any credit for that. O’Neill had saved them both, had held on until Elizabeth Weir had returned with some of her people. Animal smarts had turned out to be the most important thing after all.

Elizabeth Weir. Woolsey shook his head, closing up his laptop carefully. He was not a religious man, and the question of what happened after death was officially not in his job description. All this business of people coming and going from Ascension was disconcerting. That was the word. Disconcerting. Perhaps Elizabeth Weir was in some sense alive, somewhere, but Dr. McKay’s certainty sounded too much like the spiritual epiphanies of so many who have had sudden and life changing trauma. No, the dead were dead, and whatever their fate the dead didn’t return to haunt mortals except through their own guilt or love.

But still, there was a point where it was good for people to feel they’d done everything they could. It gave closure. Closure was an important word. It meant an end, a true and final end, the mystery solved and the file sealed. If further fruitless searching, no matter how belatedly, was what his people needed to give them closure, so be it. Eventually they’d come to that conclusion themselves. He’d be long gone by then, one more bureaucrat they used to work for…

Sheppard stuck his head in the door. “Knock, knock.”

For a moment Woolsey almost said, “Who’s there?” But no. That was inappropriate. “You’re working late, Colonel Sheppard,” he said instead. It was nearly nine.

“So are you.” Sheppard shrugged. “I was wondering if you wanted to go grab a cup of coffee.”

For a moment Woolsey started to reflexively refuse, but no. Why not? It was probably his last night in Atlantis. He could have a cup of coffee with Sheppard just like they were friends instead of people who happened to work together. In a little less than ten hours he wouldn’t be Sheppard’s boss anymore. “Sure,” he said.

They made their way down toward the mess hall, the corridors empty of personnel at this time of night. Only the duty crew remained in the gate room. And of course everybody else was off, either enjoying themselves or getting ready to turn in.

“Going to be strange without you around here,” Sheppard said.

“You’re probably used to it,” Woolsey said. “I can’t guess how fast they’ll send someone out. If you’re lucky, they’ll give it to Jackson.”

Sheppard stopped, looking at him curiously. “Is that an option?”

Woolsey shrugged. “It was last time. But there are IOA members who have doubts about him, serious doubts. They think he’s too independent.”

“And too much like Carter,” Sheppard said shrewdly.

“That too.”

The mess hall doors were closed, and Sheppard pushed them open with a sudden grin.

“SURPRISE!”

Woolsey blinked.

The mess hall was full. Almost the whole Atlantis expedition was there and the tables were laid out for a party. On the nearest one was a big sheet cake with giant blue letters on it: We’ll Miss You!

Woolsey gulped.

“We wanted to say,” Carson Beckett began.

“We wanted to say goodbye,” McKay interrupted.

Teyla nudged him in the ribs. “What we wanted to say is thank you. All of us appreciate everything you have done.”

“Without you we would not be in Pegasus,” Dr. Zelenka said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “We would still be on Earth.”

“And that would be bad,” Ronon said.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Dr. Robinson said.

“And for not sending me back to Earth when I broke my leg,” Major Lorne said.

“We will miss you,” Teyla said, and Woolsey was glad that her hug allowed him to hide his face against her shoulder for a moment. Crying would be very inappropriate.

Elizabeth endured all the usual tests, only flinching a little as he put the needle into her arm. She watched the dark blood flow into the syringe, watched as he withdrew it neatly and put the pad of cloth against the tiny hole, the pressure comforting. She held it on as he deftly put a drop of the blood on a slide and bent over a microscope.

Any moment now, he would turn. Any moment now his face would change…

“You’re human,” Dekaas said, straightening up. “Your blood cells look perfectly normal. The sonic scan of your internal organs looks perfectly normal. Your bones look perfectly normal. I don’t see anything that’s suggestive of anything else at all.”

Elizabeth took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning back against the side of the infirmary bed. Dekaas came and stood beside her, not quite touching, as though he weren’t sure whether a comforting arm would be an imposition. “You think I’m crazy,” she said.

“I think you’ve been through a significant trauma,” Dekaas said. “Like the Mazatla, I see no sign of recent injury, which does suggest to me that you were healed. Your health is almost too perfect for it to be otherwise.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Too perfect?”

“Almost everyone has some minor issues,” he replied. “Congestion, bruises, a bad tooth, a sore muscle… To have absolutely nothing wrong with you, not even old bruises or abrasions, is unusual. To me, that suggests Wraith healing.” He shrugged. “Or some other kind, but I’m not even sure what that could be. An Ancient device, maybe. I’ve never seen one that could do that, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“I suppose.” There was some device she’d seen that could do that, but the memory escaped her. Something that was dangerous to use. But it hadn’t been used on her. That wasn’t what had happened. “O’Neill,” she said again. “He would know.” He represented something, something powerful in her subconscious. She’d encountered that before, at some time or place she shied away from, some dream that had seemed real.

“O’Neill,” Dekaas said experimentally. “I don’t know this person you speak of, but perhaps someone does. Is he a relative of yours? A friend?”

“A leader of my people, I think,” Elizabeth said slowly. A gate with a turning ring, rather than one that lit. A gate opening in a splash of blue fire… “If I can find O’Neill, I can find my way home.”