Sonny Whitelaw - The Chosen

During her brief tenure as head of Stargate Command back on Earth, Elizabeth had learned that some enemies were, as Daniel Jackson had pointed out, pure evil. The Wraith might or might not be evil, but they assuredly were vicious predators to whom humans were nothing more than food. How was a person bred for diplomacy meant to face an opponent with whom there could be no negotiation?

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Probably just as well, despite the fact that she hadn’t yet managed to write word one of her report on the events of the past week. “Yes?” She looked up, an expectant smile firmly, if artificially, tacked in place, to see the tousled dark hair of Major John Sheppard.

“Hey.” His smile was cautious, not quite reaching his eyes. “You busy?”

“No! No. Come in, John.” She stood and walked around to the front of the desk. “Actually, you’re just who I wanted to see. It occurred to me that I never thanked you for taking down Kolya. I’ve never had my life saved quite so…directly before.”

The Major seemed to shrug off her gratitude. “Had to make sure I didn’t get stuck with all your paperwork.” He eased into the room and the glass door slid shut behind him. “How’re you doing?”

His gaze remained guarded, betraying the weight of the obviously loaded question. Elizabeth didn’t take offense at his concern. During her years negotiating peace agreements, she had encountered more than her fair share of moral lepers, people who regarded the lives of others with no more compassion than she gave to the contents of a trashcan. She’d seen that same look in Kolya’s eyes, heard that same tone in his voice when he’d held her and Rodney captive. Before, though, she had always seen such things from a distance. With Kolya, she’d been close enough to feel the coldness.

Gesturing for the Major to take a seat, she leaned back against the desk. “I just wish it could have gone another way.”

“Listen—”

“I know!” She held up her hand. “I know that the Genii attacked us first. I know they’ve been deceptive from the start. It’s just that they’re not Wraith. They’re human, and the Wraith are far greater enemies — to both of us. It’s such a waste for us to be fighting one another.”

“Is that how you think it works?” John asked with a humorless chuckle. “In your experience, have people ever been all that great at setting aside their differences and working together in the face of a common foe?”

Taken aback by his uncharacteristically acerbic tone, Elizabeth examined John more carefully. She’d wanted him on this expedition because he carried the Ancient Technology Activation gene, and more significantly, used it without any apparent effort. Just as importantly, he’d enjoyed working with the highly individualistic people in the confined and hostile environment of McMurdo Station. Military background notwithstanding, Major John Sheppard had proven to be a surprisingly good diplomat; perhaps better than any of them, herself included. If anything, he’d seemed almost too trusting, too friendly — until they’d encountered the Genii.

The surgical precision with which he’d systematically taken out each of the attacking Genii, the way he’d aimed at Kolya and fired without a second thought… She could still feel the hot whine of the bullet as it sped past her ear. Her very next memory was of him offering her a hand and asking her if she was okay. With sudden insight, Elizabeth realized that, despite his professionalism, what set John Sheppard apart from men like Kolya was the way he reacted to killing.

Wondering if he himself could see that distinction, she said, “I’m trying to tell myself that we can’t hold ourselves responsible for the Genii’s actions. It was their choice to see us as an enemy. Likewise, if you’re still rethinking your decision to close the shield, please don’t. Yes, a lot of their soldiers died, but you and I both know what they were coming here to do.”

He cast a sharp glance in her direction, but a knock at the door cut the metaphorical thread. Peter Grodin was looking through the glass panel. She considered asking him to wait, but his excitement was obvious. Opening the door, Elizabeth stood back for him to enter. “Yes, Peter?”

“Dr Weir!” he declared. “I think I’ve found one.” Peter’s eyes darted to Sheppard. “Sorry, Major. Am I interrupting?”

“One what?” said John, standing.

Feeling a surge of anticipation, Elizabeth replied, “I asked Peter to work backward through the database, to locate the worlds most recently visited by the Ancients before the city was placed under siege.”

“Before they accepted the possibility that the Wraith might defeat them?” John’s interest was obviously tweaked.

“Of course they could still have visited those worlds via the Stargate, even after Atlantis had been submerged,” Peter explained as they left the office and crossed the walkway to the control room. “We assumed that, by then, they would have been concentrating their resources on defending Atlantis. If the Ancients were forced to abandon outlying worlds in a hurry, they might have left a ZPM behind, one that’s only ten to fifteen thousand years old. Which is exactly what appears to have happened with P3Y-986. Here, come and have a look.”

Peter moved in front of the large flat-screen monitor mounted on a panel behind the DHD, and tapped the screen. “The Ancient database indicates that the Stargate is in orbit around the planet.”

“We still don’t know why they placed certain ‘gates in orbit,” said Elizabeth.

“Quarantine?” The Major’s brow creased, and he rubbed the side of his neck where the iratus bug had been attached. “Having a ‘gate in orbit would’ve restricted travel to space ships.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption.” Elizabeth nodded. “We can send a MALP through. That would tell us for certain.”

“Why don’t I just take a puddle jumper? We can’t afford to keep losing MALPs.”

“I agree with that,” Elizabeth said, looking at him. “But we can less afford to lose you if there’s a Wraith ship — or worse — waiting on the other side.”

“Fair enough,” he said slowly, his smile suggesting a compromise. “How about we get the puddle jumper ready, then send a MALP through ahead of it? If it looks okay, we go, recover the MALP and—”

“How can anyone be so stupid?” demanded a loud, familiar voice.

Elizabeth’s enthusiasm was tempered by resigned amusement — which quickly turned to distaste. Leading a delegation of three extremely angry people in her direction was Dr Rodney McKay. At least, it was someone who walked and sounded like him, but it was hard to be certain because he was—

“Having a crappy day, Rodney?” John quipped, keeping his distance but looking remarkably cheerful.

The sight and smell of raw sewage wasn’t new to Elizabeth; she’d spent plenty of time in dirt-poor villagers in third world countries. But seeing Rodney literally covered in effluent, stomping across the pristine floor of the control room, was so bizarre that she had to stop herself from laughing.

“Oh, yes, biohazards are a laugh riot, aren’t they?” When it came to sarcasm, Rodney existed on a wholly separate level from anyone else she’d ever known.

“Well, it was your suggestion to try it!” declared one of the equally filthy people accompanying him.

“You could have at least warned me!”

The argument gained volume. From what Elizabeth could make out, it sounded like some sort of explosion was involved, but beyond that, the details seemed to be in the eye of the beholder. “All right, everyone. Calm down,” she called. “Now, is anyone hurt?”

“Calm down!” Rodney spluttered. “Calm down ? It’s not enough that I’m probably going to catch pneumonia because some lunatic forced me to work outside in the middle of a hurricane. Do you have any idea of the number of pathogens that inhabit a septic tank? If just one of the billions, billons , of bacteria gets inside this cut—” He pointed to his arm. “Rampant septicemia. That’s it,” he added conclusively. “I’m gone!”