Secrets

Chapter Eleven Prisons

There was a light were no light should have been, far underground in icy caves that had kept their silence too long. The corridors echoed with footsteps once again, the sounds of boots on polished floors. Voices echoed in the gloom.

Power flickered, but the batteries were emptied, the last expended in a rush days ago. Even for him it could not comply. Even for him, the power starved systems could not obey. There was nothing left to give.

Flashlights slid over the silent terminals, screens refusing to light at his touch.

“Ronon, I thought you said this thing was working?” John said.

“It was,” Ronon said, coming to stand beside him. “Cadman and I had it up for a while.”

“There is no power,” Radek said, shining his flashlight over the indicators on the wall. “There must have been some stored in batteries or the like.” He shook his head. Of course there might have been. It was likely that there were backup batteries so that the ZPM and its connections could be pulled for maintenance. “This is not good.”

William, who had already been here with Ronon, looked up from the silent equipment. “We might have run out the ZPM?”

Radek shook his head again impatiently. “If there were a ZPM connected you could not run it out with a few lights and one terminal, not even if it were almost emptied. The amount of power in 1 % of the capacity of a ZPM is enormous.”

“Maybe it’s burned out then,” William said. He shone the light over the two isolation cells at the back of the room, clear glass windows reflecting.

“That is probable,” Radek said.

“Ok,” John said. “Let’s see if we can find the ZPM room.” He took one final glance around the control room. “Radek, do you see anything you need in here?”

“No.” Radek said. “These are standard environmental control systems. There is nothing here of value.”

“They stripped the place when they left,” Ronon said from his position already in the corridor. “They didn’t leave anything worth taking.”

“Let us hope they left the ZPM,” Radek said.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t. Radek swore under his breath at the empty socket, while William shone his light fruitlessly into corners, as though it were likely that the ZPM were just lying around. “Pulled,” he said.

John frowned. “Isn’t that weird? Don’t most of these installations still have a ZPM?”

“It is unusual,” William agreed. “We’ve found about a dozen Ancient installations since the first was discovered by SG-1. In most of them there is a ZPM but it’s entirely depleted. We’ve never found one where the ZPM had been deliberately removed. That was not the Ancients’ normal method.”

“Yeah, but weren’t most of those bases intended to be used again?” John asked. “This puppy was closed down for good. Ronon said they even took the light fixtures in the living areas.”

Radek blew out a long breath. “Well, there is not much point in our staying. There is nothing here except the power control terminal for the ZPM, but since there is no ZPM and we have about eight of these in Atlantis…”

“What’s this?” William said, kneeling down beside the pedestal where the ZPM should be, fingers exploring grooves in it, hard to see painted as they were to match the rest. “Bullet holes?”

John knelt down beside him, squinting in the light of the flashlight. “Could be. If so they were sanded out and painted over. Or maybe it just got banged around.”

“Projectile weapons?” William mused. “Why would you use projectile weapons if you had energy weapons?”

“If you were shooting at something energy weapons couldn’t touch,” Ronon said gruffly. “If you needed some stopping power.”

John’s long fingers ran over the small indentations. “Could be bullet holes. But if so it was before this place was abandoned. They’ve been pretty much sanded out, primed and repainted. Somebody did a nice repair job.” He stood up. “Ok. Radek, are we done here?”

Radek spared a glance for William, who was still investigating the almost imperceptible imperfections in the pillar. “Yes, I think so,” he said.

“Hammond, this is Sheppard,” John said, keying his radio on. “You can beam us out any time.”

“With a ZPM?” Sam Carter’s voice sounded cheerful.

“Unfortunately, no,” John said. “Out of luck this time.”

“Ok. Pulling you out.”

There was a shimmer in the air, and darkness took the installation once again.

For a long moment, Rodney lay blinking in the harsh light, wondering where he was. Atlantis, that much was certain — there was Elizabeth, smiling at him, her expression for once relaxed and open and kind, and Carson, too, frowning at his monitors, oblivious to her presence. It was good to be home, Rodney thought, and wondered why his mind was so sluggish, why his hand was filled with a distant ache. Because he needed to feed, of course, except that was wrong. And Elizabeth was dead, and Carson, too, and he blinked harder, trying to think. Elizabeth was gone, but Carson was still there — yes, Carson was dead, but his clone was alive, and that’s who that was, looking up from the screen at the first faint movement.

“Easy, now,” he said, and came closer to the bed. “Easy, Rodney. You’ve been through a lot.”

No kidding, Rodney thought. His mouth was painfully dry, his throat burning, and he swallowed, wincing, not daring to speak.

“You’re back in the isolation chamber,” Carson went on. “You’ve had surgery to remove the feeding organ from your hand — which was entirely successful — and the rest of the transition is proceeding well.”

“Jennifer?” The word came out a croak, barely intelligible, but Carson nodded.

“She’s fine. She did the surgery yesterday, and she’ll be in to see you shortly, I expect. In the meantime, your sister’s here to see you.”

“Jeannie,” Rodney whispered, and turned his head to see her sitting beside the bed. He blinked at her with watering eyes, not quite believing she was really there. “Jeannie?”

She nodded, the gold curls bobbing. “You — oh, Meredith!” There were tears in her eyes. “You idiot!”

Rodney smiled then, relaxing, and let himself drift off into sleep.

Jeannie was still there when he woke, though he thought her shirt was different. He had lost all track of time, he realized, had no idea of the day, never mind the hour. He blinked at her again, frowning, and she shook her head.

“Honestly, Meredith!”

“What?” Rodney pushed himself further up on his pillows, and was almost surprised when his body obeyed him. “Look, it’s not like I asked for this to happen to me —”

“You got yourself caught,” Jeannie said. “Oh, look at you.”

“I haven’t,” Rodney said, more sharply than he’d meant. That was the fear he saw, and the grief, his Wraith shape reflected in her gaze. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“The SGC asked me to come and help with the security problems,” Jeannie said. “I’ve been helping Dr. Zelenka find and close your back doors.”

“Oh.” That made sense, even if it was painful to think of: Rodney seized instead on the piece that led elsewhere. “OK, that explains why I thought I was up against myself some of the time. Of course you could copy my thinking.”

“Well, your ego certainly hasn’t suffered,” Jeannie said. Her expression softened. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Rodney said. And he was, his muscles ached as though he’d had a fever, and there was a weird deep thrumming at the center of his bones, as though he could feel the marrow changing. “And can’t they turn the lights down?”

“It’s pretty dim already,” Jeannie said, doubtfully.

Rodney started to bare teeth at her, and stopped himself midway. “It’s my eyes, isn’t it? I’m going to have problems.”

“Dr. Beckett said you’d continued to change,” Jeannie said, “to revert to normal, and I imagine that includes your eyes. But, yes, he said you’d be photosensitive for a little longer. He said the Wraith prefer a lower light level than we do.”

I suppose we — they — do, Rodney thought. He was having trouble making that adjustment, and that made him want to snarl again. “Where is Carson, anyway?” he asked. “I’d expect him to be spending more time with his patient, considering that this is something he hasn’t exactly done before —”

Behind her, the door slid open, and he checked. Not Carson, but Jennifer, neat in her uniform. “Oh,” he said again, and Jeannie managed a smile.

“I’ll leave you to talk,” she said.

“That’s not —” Rodney began, but she was talking over him.

“I need to get something to eat anyway. I’ll be back in a little bit, Meredith. Jennifer.”

And then she was gone, the door sliding closed behind her. Rodney fiddled with the sheet, words deserting him, and Jennifer crossed to the bedside.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice was level, professional.

“Sore,” Rodney said again. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this, his girlfriend treating him like any other patient. It wasn’t that he wanted her to fall into his arms, like the cheerleader in a high school movie — that had never been his thing, and, anyway, what he really needed was the chance to apologize, to make sure she was all right. But if this was what she wanted, what she needed from him, he’d try to provide it. “Queasy, just at the moment. And my eyes are — they’re watering, and it would help a lot if you would turn the light down. And my vision’s blurry.”

“The lights are about as low as I can get them,” Jennifer answered. “But I’ll see what I can do. Let me take a look.”

Rodney leaned back against the pillow, the knobs of his spine digging painfully through the padding, submitted to her peering into his eyes, her penlight flashing painfully. Green streaks filled his vision, blurring her face even further. “Ow. I can’t see.”

“It’s actually — you’re making progress,” she said. “The internal structures are shifting back to human norms.”

“That’s good,” Rodney said, dubiously.

“It is, you know,” Jennifer said.

“Yes.” Rodney paused. “How are you? Jennifer, I —”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

“I guess the retrovirus was a complete success.”

She nodded. “Yes — well, there are some issues, and I need to run some more tests, but — yes. It works.”

“That’s really good news,” Rodney said. “Look, are you sure you’re OK? Because I did —” He couldn’t say it, and Jennifer looked away.

“I’m fine,” she said again.

Rodney reached across his body, caught her wrist in his unbandaged hand. She stood still, made no effort either to move closer or to step away. “Jennifer.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “Not right now.”

Rodney released her, struggling to focus on her face. “I —”

“I mean it,” she said, and Rodney bowed his head.

“OK. If — if that’s what you want, OK. I’m just — I’m sorry.”

The words were ridiculously inadequate, but Jennifer managed a faint smile. “It’s all right,” she said, and turned back to the console, checking the most recent notes. It’s not all right, Rodney thought, but he made himself keep silent. It’s not all right, but I–I’ll do what I can. Somehow.

Richard Woolsey examined his emails from the IOA with a grimace. Yes, they had sent him back to Atlantis in charge, but he knew all too well it was only because they couldn’t think of anything better to do. It had looked for a few days there as though Dr. Daniel Jackson would be taking his place, something which had thrown several members into fits. He, of all people, was aware of just how intractable Jackson could be. And so they’d reinstated Woolsey. But he would be a naïve fool to assume that they weren’t still planning to get rid of him at the earliest opportunity.

Woolsey sighed and laid aside his laptop. It was very early in the morning, and in the control room the duty crew were changing shifts. Dr. Zelenka was huddled with Dr. Kusanagi at the far end, possibly going over the day’s work and deciding who was needed where. Airman Salawi was on her way to bed.

Woolsey closed his eyes. He’d like to go back to bed. He hadn’t slept well. Somehow Atlantis had that effect on him. This morning all the coffee in the world wasn’t producing bright attention. He rested his head for a moment on his hands, fingers against the his brow.

The soft sounds of the machines outside. The whirr of his laptop’s drive. A dull, inchoate murmur of voices from the control room. The soft hiss of the ventilation system, as though Atlantis breathed softly. It was quiet, peaceful. Almost enough to put him to sleep right here at his desk…

There was the sound of footsteps just inside the office door, and Woolsey looked up. He hadn’t heard the door open.

There was no one there. He’d been mistaken, of course. He’d almost fallen asleep at his desk and imagined that someone had come in to speak with him.

That wouldn’t do. Woolsey got up briskly. More coffee was what he needed. He’d take a quick walk down to the mess and refill his travel mug. It would do him good to get moving, wake him up a bit, make him less sleepy and fanciful.

For a moment as he lifted his head he’d thought he’d seen a flash of scarlet, Elizabeth Weir standing at the office window, looking out into the gateroom.