Jo Graham: Homecoming

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.”