by Jo Graham
The façades of the buildings were darkened from fire here and there, upper windows still boarded up, but at street level there were shutters with louvers on them and even a few windows with glass. The bricks had been neatly scrubbed. The streets were clean and well lit. From one building across the square came the sound of music, some kind of stringed instrument and voices raised in song. This city was not deserted. It was alive.
It was cold, and Elizabeth shivered even in the jacket Dekaas had given her. She carried her bundle around the line of fences as a door opened and two men came out. They were unarmed, but their voices sounded official. “Inbound traveler, who are you and what’s your business on Sateda?”
“My name is Elizabeth,” she replied. “And I have lost my memory. A Satedan who lives with the Travelers thought I was also probably Satedan, so I’ve come to see if I can find my family or friends.”
At that their faces relaxed. “A lot of Satedans have been returning lately.”
“I didn’t expect it to look like this.” Elizabeth gestured around the square. “I thought it was deserted.”
“We’ve been coming back a little at a time,” the taller of the men said. “We have a government again. Ushan Cai is our elected leader. You can talk to him in the morning.” He pulled out a little notebook and jotted a few lines. “Returning Satedan, name Elzabet. Any skills or profession?”
“I have some experience in medicine.”
He nodded quickly, making notes. “That’s good. We can always use more medical personnel. Tell you what, go on over to the hotel and tell them you’re cleared. You can get a blanket and sleep in the ballroom. Tomorrow you can talk to Cai and figure out where you want to go.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She looked around the square again, the buildings of a maddeningly familiar type, and yet not familiar at all. “I can’t believe it looks like this. Those are electric lights!”
The second guard agreed proudly. “That they are. We’ve got a naquadah generator from the Lanteans too!”
“A what?”
“We have electric power again. Limited, but enough for some basic things,” the first guard said. “It’s the middle of the night here. Go on over to that building there. It’s warm and you can get some rest.”
“That sounds perfect,” Elizabeth said, for all that she wasn’t the least bit sleepy since for her it was only mid-afternoon.
Unsurprisingly, lying on a cot with a thin blanket in the hotel ballroom, she couldn’t sleep. All around her twenty or so people slept, most on cots or on the floor in bedrolls. The walls of the big room had originally been painted white and gold, though there were places where plaster had fallen exposing lathe and beam beneath. A few holes in the ceiling showed where light fixtures had once hung, but it was dark except for a little lamp on the desk at the door. The broken windows were closed with shutters against the cold. A small space heater cut the chill a little, a white box in a suspiciously familiar design purring softly in the corner.
Was it familiar because it was Satedan? Probably. Surely. Elizabeth rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position.
A night like this, and quiet, the sounds of other people sleeping in a big, empty room in a deserted city…
…she slept in a bedroll in the corner of her office, the room she’d taken for her office. Who could tell what it was supposed to be? Probably it was the office of the person who oversaw the control room just outside the door, but it was impossible to know what the Ancients had intended.
She should sleep. There was a great deal to do tomorrow and the next day and every day after that. But adrenaline wouldn’t let her sleep. Nothing would, though it had been nearly forty hours since she had spent her last night at home in one of the guest rooms at the SGC, wondering, hoping, praying, that the gate address would work….
Elizabeth sat bolt upright on the cot. She had remembered something. She had remembered something intentionally. It had been a room just off a big room that echoed, ceiling and windows lofty and strange, patterned with colored glass. There were people there too, sleeping in bedrolls under consoles and around screens, while a few bolder ones had branched out into the conference rooms and suites nearby. Everything was quiet, surrounded by the green light of the sea.
It wasn’t her home planet, but it had become home. She remembered it.
Tears filled her eyes. That was home. That was where she belonged. And it wasn’t here, not on Sateda. Though she had no idea where it was, what the name of the world was where that city stood, she would find it no matter what.
SGA-22 Unascended
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
John was in the shower when his radio crackled. “Colonel Sheppard?” Amelia Banks’ voice asked.
John turned off the water with a thought
—
a nice perk of the ATA gene-sensitive controls over in this tower
—
and jumped out to press the button. “This is Sheppard.”
“Larrin’s calling in. She says she’s rendezvoused with Lesko’s ship.”
“On my way,” John said, already pulling his clothes on.
It was less than ten minutes before he stepped out of the transport chamber in the gate room and hurried over to the console. Larrin smirked at him from the viewscreen. “Busy, Sheppard?”
“Washing. I do that sometimes.” He gave her what he hoped was a charming and insouciant grin. “Banks says you’ve got Lesko’s ship.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have your friend,” Larrin replied. “Lesko says she got off when they rendezvoused with another of our ships, the Durant.”
“What? Why didn’t he stop her?” John blurted.
“Why would he? Why does he care where a passenger goes? She was a passenger, not a prisoner.” Larrin tilted her chin. “I think it’s about time you leveled with me about who your friend is.”
Banks looked up at him from her terminal, and John was aware of a sudden hush falling around him.
“She was an important part of our expedition,” John said. “And we never leave a man behind. If she’s wandering around injured, not even remembering who she is, we have a responsibility.”
Larrin’s eyebrows rose. “Well,” she said, “that makes sense. She went over to the Durant because they have one of our best doctors. If she was hurt or hoped he could help with the memory problem, she was smart to transfer over.”
Which did reassure John somewhat. That was like Elizabeth, trying to work this problem from the other end, and he let himself feel a tiny glimmer of hope. “OK, thanks,” he said. “Any idea where this ship, the Durant, is?”
“They’re due for planetfall on Manaria day after tomorrow,” Larrin said.
“Manaria?” John frowned. “Manaria was practically leveled by Queen Death a few months ago.”
Larrin nodded. “Yep. That’s why they’re buying ores from us. They need metal for rebuilding, and we’ll bring it in at the right price.”
“Which is high,” John said.
“We’re not philanthropists, Sheppard. Everybody’s got problems.”
“I know. I appreciate you taking the time to call.”
Teyla and Rodney had just come in and were standing back from the camera side by side with expressions on their face that suggested they were having one of their silent Wraithy conversations.
“Just remember that in the future,” Larrin said, and cut the communications link.
John turned around. “So,” he said.
“Manaria,” Teyla said.
“Day after tomorrow,” John said. “OK, we’re in business.”
Which of course meant there wasn’t anything he could do about it right that minute. John went down to the mess and got breakfast to bring back to Woolsey’s office. No, to his office. Which was not a good thing.
It wasn’t that he minded the paperwork necessary for Atlantis’ military contingent. It wasn’t even that he minded the jobs that kept him in Atlantis rather than in the field. He’d found t
hat he actually liked the training part. There was something really satisfying about helping the new, young airmen and Marines figure out how to deal with a universe they’d never imagined existed a year ago. He didn’t even mind dealing with the Air Force brass now that he mostly went directly through General O’Neill rather than General Landry, who hated him ever since the part about stealing a puddle-jumper out of the SGC.
No, what he hated was the IOA. With Woolsey gone about ninety percent of his inbox was IOA stuff
—
reports and questions and a million nit-picky stupid things which either didn’t make any difference or were for reasons that anybody with half a brain could have seen. “Why do you transmit on Tuesdays?” Why not? Tuesday was a perfectly good day to transmit. “Why do you maintain encryption on internal messages?” Because our computer systems have been compromised so many times they look like Swiss cheese, and anything that will slow people down for ten minutes buys us ten minutes.
Overnight there had been another email upload, thirty-seven messages this time, all of them work related. There really wasn’t anyone on Earth who sent him personal email messages. And there was one from Woolsey with fat attachments. John opened that one first.
He read it three times, then took a gulp of his coffee and considered. The Indian research vessel, the Asoka, was launching earlier than expected. OK
—
that wasn’t actually a surprise. It was a usual Air Force thing to allow more time than you actually needed in case problems came up, and he doubted the Indian Air Force did things differently. If they were anticipating a summer maiden voyage, they must be having smooth trials now, so they were going ahead and sending out research and maintenance personnel. Made sense. That way when the Asoka arrived they could look her over after her shakedown cruise. But that was a pretty big contingent. Other than the US contingent, that was the single largest other nationality represented. If the Asoka’s crew was anything like the size of the Hammond’s, that meant when they were in port the Indians would be about a quarter of the total population of Atlantis. That would change things. And the Asoka wouldn’t be going back and forth like Daedalus and Hammond, nor primarily Milky Way based like the Russian battlecruiser. It would be based in Atlantis and its mission was to explore the Pegasus galaxy. This was going to be really different.
But it was probably a good thing. The more non-US nations that had a stake in Pegasus, the less likely that a political retrenching would close Atlantis down. No, they were here to stay, and the Asoka was one part of that. His job was to make it work. So he’d better start talking to whoever the IAF liaison was. It was going to be a brave new world.
Lorne collected his tray in the mess hall and settled down at a table. There was a shipment of trade goods to Sateda scheduled for that morning, but for once he actually had time to sit down and eat breakfast. He had his first bite of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth when his radio crackled to life.
“Perfect timing,” he muttered, and then said more loudly, “Lorne here.”
“Sir, we’ve been working on getting the equipment set up at the alpha site,” Sgt. Anthony said. “But we’ve run into a few problems.”
“And those problems would be?” Lorne prompted, watching the eggs on his plate congeal.
“It’s the equipment we were issued,” Anthony said. “It’s junk. The first tent we put up is already falling apart, and one of the ones we just put up ripped as soon as the wind picked up. And two of the water containers that we brought through are leaking.”
“So come back and get new ones,” Lorne said as patiently as he could.
“Affirmative, sir, I’ve sent Harper back with the jumper to do that. She could use some flight time in the jumper anyway. But this stuff is out of the shipment that just came out on Daedalus. Maybe we just happened to pull some bad equipment, but… ”
“But if they sent us defective equipment, we need to know that now,” Lorne finished. “I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Harper’s bringing back the gear that fell apart.”
“Great,” Lorne said, his mind on his rapidly cooling breakfast. “When she gets back with replacements, get that alpha site set up. We may not need it, but if we need it we’re going to need it fast. And we can’t park people on a desert planet without water.”
“Copy that,” Anthony said, and cut the transmission.
Lorne started to go back to his interrupted meal, now complete with an extra helping of nagging worry. He looked up as Radek Zelenka put his tray down. Zelenka was the acting head of the science department – everyone had been a little nervous about handing that responsibility directly back to Dr. McKay, despite all the doctors’ assurances that he was fully recovered from having been a Wraith. He ought to know if the scientists were having any similar issues.
“Hey, doc. Have any of the scientists been having any problems with the equipment that came out on Daedalus?”
“You mean the most recent shipment?” The Czech scientist frowned. “Not that I have heard. Dr. Elkins in botany complains that the broad-spectrum lights aren’t adequate to their needs, but he has made that complaint about every shipment of them we have received. And Dr. Kusinagi reported her new mass spectrometer was damaged in shipment. She expressed herself in fairly strong terms about it.”
“Do you think it was defective in some way?”
“No, I think that somebody dropped it. The SGC personnel are not always as careful as they should be with scientific equipment.” Radek looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “Why do you ask?”
“One of my teams had some of their gear fall apart. Probably they just had the bad luck to grab the wrong tent and the wrong water containers, but… ” But those were two separate items, probably packed in entirely separate shipping containers for the trip from Earth, both of which had turned out to be defective. “But you never know around here,” Lorne said, scooping up his scrambled eggs in a piece of toast. “I’m going to go take a look.”
“There is the trade mission to Sateda scheduled for this morning.”
“I’ve got time if I eat breakfast and put the fear of God into the supply officer at the same time. I’m in the Air Force, we can multitask.”
“I will ask around as well,” Radek said. “But I have found that the scientists rarely hesitate to complain. Especially when they know it is me and not Rodney who they will be complaining to.” He shook his head. “If they do not put Rodney back in charge soon, I may have to ask him for lessons in appearing less sympathetic.”
“He could probably give you some pointers,” Lorne said, and headed off, improvised sandwich in hand.
Teyla nodded to the Marine on duty outside the door of Ember’s guest quarters and then opened the door. *Ember?* she called silently. *Are you there?*
He was, of course. It was courtesy to ask, as she’d already felt his presence. Ember was sitting before the floor to ceiling window looking out across the city, the only light the bright reflections of the lights of other towers and the distant stars, more than enough light for a Wraith to see by easily. His dark coat blended with the black leather of the bench he sat on, though he rose to his feet immediately. A white ball fell out of his lap and picked itself up indignantly, washing one paw with a superior expression on its little gray face.
*The animal was friendly,* Ember said sheepishly. *I do not know where it came from. It simply was here.*
*That is Newton,* Teyla said, shaking her head as the cat looked up at her. *It is Dr. McKay’s cat. No matter where he tries to keep it, it gets out and roams where it wishes. I will tell him where it is.*
*I did not harm it,* Ember said.
*So I see.* The nearly year old cat was winding its way around Ember’s ankles, purring loudly.
Teyla walked over to the window. It was indeed an awe-inspiring view. *You know that you do not have to stay in this room. You are a guest, not a prisoner.*
Ember’s reply was the mental picture of the Marine at the
door.
*That is an escort, not a guard. You are more than welcome to join the rest of us this evening.*
*In the Mess Hall?* Ember’s mental voice was amused. *I do not think there are
—
things
—
that I would eat.*
*Are you hungry then?”
*Not noticeably,* Ember said. *I can go several days yet if I do not have to heal myself. If I am still here then…*
*If you are still here then, there are many who have had the trial of the retrovirus,* Teyla said. *Perhaps a volunteer can be found.*
Ember came and stood beside her. *You would ask one of your men to do this?*
*I expect a volunteer can be found,* Teyla said, not intending her mental picture of Dr. Zelenka to be seen, but it was.
*I gave him great pain before.*
*But no lasting harm.* Teyla put her hand to the glass.
*It seems not.* There was a shade of embarrassment in his mental voice, and she could find the source of it easily enough
—
that he had been so far gone in pain as to be without restraint, desperate enough to save his own life that he would have killed the man who had helped him if Radek had not had the retrovirus. *I would have been sorry to kill him,* Ember said quietly.
*I know.* Teyla took a deep breath. *There are many I have killed for which I am sorry.*
Ember looked at her sideways, as if wary to receive such confidence from one he considered a queen.
*But we do what we must to live, or else we die,* Teyla said. *And I have never been one who was willing to die.* She shook her head. *And that was the choice of the First Mothers. I cannot say I would have chosen differently.*
His mind was open, and she showed him a shard of memory
—
the bright tapestry of a starfield far from any world, beyond heliopause in the silence between systems where the Wraith were safe. Five ships hovered there, small and awkward for hive ships today, but hive ships nevertheless, grown from mollusks found on a distant world a thousand years ago. Five ships and two hundred and seventy four people, four daughters and twenty one sons, two granddaughters and sixty two grandsons, innumerable friends and consorts and men of other lines come to join her