Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis)

by Whitelaw, Sonny

There was an unfamiliar current in that tone, and Rodney glanced over. A stay in the infirmary had returned the Major’s color and bearing to normal, but something dark still lingered behind his eyes. A fresh wave of self-loathing rolled through Rodney as he realized that Sheppard had been forced to make a number of exceptionally ugly choices during the mission, a burden that until now had gone unnoticed by at least one of his teammates. And once again we see that the world—any world—does not revolve around Rodney McKay.

  He decided to offer an olive branch in the form of the confession Sheppard had apparently come here to draw out. What the hell—maybe it would help in some immeasurable way. “Look down there.” Rodney waved a hand at a pier that had taken a pounding in the recently passed storm. “We did everything we could think of, and we just barely made it through. We tried to change things for the better on Dalera, and it all went to hell anyway and will probably revert back to business as usual before long. It’s hard to keep from wondering if there really is any good we can do out here. Maybe the universe is just going to do what it wants to do, no matter how much we run around and wring our hands.”

  Fatalism rang loudly in that declaration, but Sheppard seemed unmoved. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.”

  “Oh, I don’t?”

  “No. If that were true, you would have wanted to leave the Dalerans to sleep in the bed they made right from the start. You sure wouldn’t have busted your butt to defend the Citadel the way you did. It undeniably sucks that it got so bad, but a lot of people are still alive on that planet because of what we did. A lot. Don’t trivialize that.”

  It was a reasonable statement, but for once, Rodney knew he needed more than reason to get past whatever this was. “This from the guy who flipped a coin to decide whether or not to go to another galaxy? The guy who’s proved to be utterly indispensable on this expedition, but who wouldn’t even be here if not for a piece of metal that fell face-up? You’re part of what’s screwing up my outlook, damn it.”

  The resulting laugh caught him off-guard. “I’m an accessory to your existential crisis?” Sheppard shook his head, ignoring Rodney’s withering glare. “This I have to clear up, just for the record. Okay, yes, I flipped a coin. But I left out the part where I didn’t like the result and flipped it again.”

  There was a pause while Rodney studied his face, gauging his honesty. “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah. If we were supposed to go hands-off on everything and expect to be led by the nose through life, what good would it be to have a gigantic brain like yours?”

  Rodney’s mouth closed with an audible click. “Oh. Well… okay. That’s something.” It wasn’t much, and he was pretty sure they both knew it, but it might keep them going, which was about all he could ask. Any port in a storm, and all that. “I was so sure we could fix things somehow. This is kind of a first, running into something I couldn’t fix. Well, maybe not the very first. There was that time when Major…um, Colonel Carter—”

  Abruptly he straightened. “Listen, don’t think I don’t appreciate this. I just…Sometimes I’m not entirely sure what it is we’re doing here.” The only thing Rodney despised more than not knowing something was admitting it in public. He watched Sheppard for his reaction, already primed to revert to full-on sarcasm at the first sign of danger.

  The Major’s gaze didn’t change. “The best we can.” After a moment, he tipped his head toward the door. “Come on. Dr Weir wants to do the debriefing, and since I’m temporarily grounded and have nothing better to do…”

  Rodney turned to follow him without a second thought, realizing with a considerable degree of surprise that there were those on this expedition who were worthy of being followed. In a way, he’d envied the Dalerans their faith, as faith of any kind had never come easy to him. In this place, though, it often seemed like faith in each other was all they had to sustain them. Maybe that counted for something, too.

  A typical post-mission debriefing lasted approximately an hour and a half. A debriefing with Atlantis’s prime team averaged about two hours. This one took nearly four.

  Elizabeth listened with amazement to the account of the uprising and the Wraith attack. She noted that the team members traded control of the narrative back and forth, sensing each other’s strengths and viewpoints. If this was how they compiled an after-action report, she had little doubt that their off-world capabilities were becoming similarly integrated. Good for them. To look at them a few months ago, four exceedingly different personalities, she wouldn’t have believed it.

  “Well, I’d like to thank Rodney for his commendable performance on your return trip,” she began. “Most people don’t have such stressful first solo spaceflights.”

  Lieutenant Ford snorted. “The Major could’ve done better even with the concussion.”

  Unexpectedly, Rodney didn’t offer a biting retort, only a bored and vaguely morose look. John, however, stepped in. “Obviously not, since I was too busy taking a header into the controls,” he pointed out wryly. “We got home, so no whining. But McKay, don’t think this’ll get you out of your next lesson. I can put up with a lot, but dinged fenders—”

  That got the anticipated reaction. “Spare me,” Rodney shot back. “There’s not a scratch on your beloved ride. I told you they’re practically indestructible.”

  “Jumpers aside,” Elizabeth said, redirecting the conversation, “does anybody see a circumstance in which returning to Dalera would be beneficial to us or them?”

  Heads shook around the table. “I would’ve liked to have taken a look inside one of the downed Darts. Some weren’t wrecked that badly,” John said.

  “More importantly,” Rodney said, “that Wraith-specific beam. I’ve got some ideas about that.”

  “But we’d be running a pretty big risk to go back,” John cut him off gently. “If any of the Genes got it in their heads to mess with us, all they’d have to do is park themselves next to the jumper with a Shield, and we’d be grounded. The Ancients put the ‘gate in orbit for a reason. If we leave the Dalerans alone, maybe they’ll manage to get back on track as far as Dalera’s original plan is concerned.”

  A derisive chuckle emanated from Rodney’s side of the table. “Who’s laying odds?”

  Elizabeth turned toward him. “Not feeling optimistic?”

  “Einstein said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”

  “We don’t know that they’ll revert completely back to their old system,” she pointed out. “From what you’ve said, I think they have a reasonable chance of adapting their mindset. Yann in particular seems to have evolved a fairly balanced attitude about the whole system.”

  “He’s only one man.”

  “We were only four.” Teyla’s lyrical voice broke into the exchange. “And yet we helped mount the defense that saved Dalera from utter destruction.”

  Elizabeth exchanged an approving glance with the Athosian woman. At that moment the similarities between them, as the leaders of their respective peoples, seemed especially apparent. “We didn’t come to Atlantis simply to find a ZPM and a few gadgets,” she stated. “Our mission is much broader than that. We were tasked to learn all we can, from the Ancients and from whomever else we may find along the way. I suspect that this past week has fulfilled our mandate better than you think.”

  There was a pause before John offered, “Well, firmly in the category of ‘good to know on one level and really not good on another,’ we’ve got some firsthand evidence of what will and won’t kill a Wraith. We also saw enough of the hive ships’ destructive capabilities to know that we really don’t want to meet one in a dark alley.”

  Rodney continued to study the table top until he suddenly jumped in his seat and glared at John. Elizabeth suspected that his shin had come into contact with the Major’s boot. “I suppose there are avenues to be explored on the topic of electromagnetic field theory and that Wraith beam,” mumbled the scientist.

>   “You mean the Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator?” Ford put in with a grin.

  The expression on Rodney’s face was priceless, caught somewhere between annoyance and utter bewilderment. He turned to John for help, but the military commander was already chuck-ling.

  “Marvin the Martian. Ford, I just might reinstate your naming rights for that one.”

  Hiding her own smile, Elizabeth asked, “Any mission-related information to add, Lieutenant?”

  Ford blinked. “Uh, no, ma’am. Just thinking about how Lisera will do. You know, with her new responsibilities and all.”

  “The Aiden Ford Fan Club loses its only member.” Rodney affected a grave mien. “Truly a dark day.”

  “At least I came back through the ‘gate wearing my own clothes.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Get out of here. Take the rest of the day to decompress a little. Rodney, since I know ‘decompress’ means ‘go to the lab’ in your mind, check out what Dr Gaul’s working on. He said earlier that he’d found something on the long-range sensors. A satellite of some kind, at a unique point between a planet and its sun where the gravitational force does something interesting—?”

  “A Lagrange Point? Really?” Some of the spark returning to his eyes, Rodney stood up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  The others drifted toward the doors as well, until only John and Elizabeth remained. By unspoken agreement, they moved to stand at the edge of the room, where the ‘gate was just visible behind the partitions. “Your cold must be on the way out,” he observed.

  “It seems to be gone. Strange kind of bug, according to Carson. Different from Earth, but in some ways much the same.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against one of the panels. “I think we should talk more seriously about accelerating the gene therapy program on Atlantis. Not only is there the obvious efficiency benefit from having more people who are capable of interacting with the city, but…”She didn’t want to compare their expedition to the class struggle on Dalera, but it lurked in the back of her mind.

  “Yeah. Anything that might remove an artificial barrier between people sounds like a good idea to me.”

  Grateful that he seemed to understand, she smiled. “So, for future reference, do you see a circumstance where offering the gene therapy to a culture might be beneficial?”

  “Theoretically, sure. The Athosians could certainly have handled it, if it had offered them a viable defense against the Wraith. And it would have worked for the Dalerans if we’d had a little more intel on what was really going on.”

  “Fair enough. Rodney will be all right, don’t you think?”

  “I do,” John replied gamely. “He got his world pretty well rocked, but he’s nothing if not resilient.” He glanced out at the control room, where two technicians were testing a console damaged in the storm. “We all are.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. “Out of curiosity, do you have any idea what’s interesting about a Lagrange Point?”

  “Not really, but I have a feeling it won’t be long before I’m forced to find out.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Sonny Whitelaw

  With a degree in geomorphology and anthropology, Sonny Whitelaw decided that a career in academia wouldn’t be as much fun as running a dive charter yacht and adventure tourism business in the South Pacific. Photojournalism came as a natural extension to her travels, and Sonny’s work has been featured in numerous international publications, including National Geographic.

  Sonny is also the author of Stargate SG-1: City of the Gods, The Rhesus Factor, a contemporary eco-thriller, and Ark Ship, a sci-fi drama. She currently resides in Brisbane with her two children.

  For more information, visit www.sonnywhitelaw.com

  Elizabeth Christensen

  Although currently a resident of central Ohio, Elizabeth Christensen still considers Novi, Michigan, to be her hometown. A civilian engineer with the U.S. Air Force, she works on propulsion and aircraft subsystems projects at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. She received two aerospace engineering degrees and witnessed five seasons of stellar football from the University of Michigan. When not dodging Nerf balls thrown by her co-workers, she shares pilot-in-command time in a Grumman Tiger airplane with her husband. This is her first novel.

  For more information, visit www.elizabethchristensen.com

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